Two months later…
Ryan
The Harvest Festival has been held at the festival grounds between Endova, Teshka, and Navvan for centuries. When we arrived two days ago, leaving only a few people behind in Silverhide to make sure the animals are tended to in our absence, the wide, open space had been nothing but rolling plains.
Now, it’s a city of canvas tents and twinkling lights, the air spiced with smoke and the smells of meals being cooked at each fire. Songs mingle as I walk through the festival with Aviva on my arm. I’m wearing a normal outfit. Well, not normal, actually. Mom forced me into a suit and tie with the Crescent Falls royal banner and all of my metals from my years as a warrior draped over my shoulders. Aviva is wearing that white, fur-lined dress again and a pair of new sheep-skin boots Freya and Mercy made for her, but inside of freshwater clam shells and pearls decorated her hair, her curls are woven into a tiara my mom gave her.
Sapphires twinkle in a white gold setting as we pass another fire, another row of tents. Children dart between us, squealing as their mother’s shout after them.
“What are we supposed to be doing again?” I ask, looking down at my wife.
She frowns playfully, nudging me with her hip. “Getting married.”
“Again? How many times are you going to put me through this?”
She rolls her eyes and scowls. “It’s your own damn fault for killing that hellhound during the spring hunt. That was the deal, remember? Whoever made a clean kill first got the final decision, and you decided to marry me.”
“Oh, yeah,” I tease, “that does sound vaguely familiar.”
She chuckles lightly as we cut through another row of tents, following a path toward a row of even larger tents that rest at the base of a hill.
The hill is the only rise for miles, and on top, an ancient stone circle sits in the glare of the full moon, which is nearly at its apex. The moon is an incredible burnt gold color tonight and just… massive. The largest moon I’ve ever seen in my life.
The harvest moon, of course, hence the name of the festival.
“What’s on the agenda tonight? Are they cutting our arms off this time?”
“Misty told me you were dropped on your head as a baby, and I believe her,” she quips, glaring at me, her eyes full of moonlight. “And no, we’re not being flayed open this time. But…”
She turns us into a tent where Freya and Andrew are taking up most of the snug space. Freya is standing over Andrew with a supportive hand on his shoulder while he sits on the ground, pale and flushed, with his eyes closed as a gnarled old woman pokes a needle into his ring finger over and over again.
“He’s a bit squeamish,” Freya says apologetically. She flexes her hand, giving us a glimpse of the tattoo on her ring finger.
“What is it?” I ask, more than curious about the strange symbol she’ll wear on her skin in place of a wedding ring.
“A hammer and a knitting needle,” she says proudly. “For his forge, and my skills with textiles, of course.”
I glance at Aviva. “Do we get to choose?”
Aviva shakes her head with a sly smile and motions to the absolutely ancient woman currently torturing my friend. “She’s a seer. She decides on the tattoo.”
Something stirs in my chest reminiscent of unease. I wonder what the symbol for our union will be but then notice that the third couple getting officially married tonight isn’t in the tent with us. “Where’s Jacob and Mercy?”
Aviva turns to Freya, but Andrew murmurs, “They went first, got here early to get it over with.” He grimaces as the old woman pauses to inspect her work and then continues with fervor, much to his dismay. “Goddess, I hate needles.”
Freya grips his shoulder in solidarity. “They got two crescent moons, crossed.”
Aviva tilts her head from side to side. “That’s fitting for them.”
“How so?” I ask, but neither woman is listening to me. Two more couples crowd the tent, and now it’s a party, even though Andrew looks like he’s about to throw up or faint. Finally, he’s released, and Aviva is motioned forward. She sits cross legged on a rug and extends her hand to the woman, who takes it and examines the scar running across her palm.
“So many fated mates this season,” the old crone says in a gravelly voice as she examines Aviva’s palm. “What an interesting change of pace.”
I watch with bated breath as she rights Aviva’s hand and wets a fresh tattoo needle with black ink.
Aviva sits perfectly still, barely breathing, as the needle hovers, but then the woman stops. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” I ask, looking from Aviva to the Seer.
She begins to make little marks across Aviva’s ring finger. Four long, arched lines. Talons.
My heart races as the Seer works quickly, drawing an arrow through the talons. Aviva’s skin turns pink, but if she’s in pain, she doesn’t show it. Around the original marks, she sketches a circle, like the full moon.
Wordlessly, the woman motions me over to sit beside Aviva. My mate watches as the same marks are made on my skin.
“A beast and his hero,” the seer whispers to herself. “The gods are rejoicing in your union tonight.”
A chill whispers up my spine as her milky eyes meet mine. She’s probably completely blind yet makes such beautiful tattoos. Still, I can feel my heart rate skyrocketing as Aviva stands and extends her hand to me. “Ready?”
I’m not sure what I’m ready for, but I am. In my eyes, we’re already married. We have been for months now, but there’s something special about this festival, something that hums through the air as we walk side by side toward the hill where a crowd has started to gather.
“There’s thirteen couples getting married tonight,” Freya explains when we reach her and Andrew. I spot Jacob and Mercy making their way toward us, following an excited Lora and Shoshannah, who skip with their lanterns as the moon starts to creep toward the center of the night sky.
“Thirteen might be a new record,” Aviva replies, stepping closer to me as the crowd swells, everyone clambering for a view of the stone circle. Some groups are sitting on the side of the hill while others stay near the tents where food and drink are being shared.
I look over the top of what looks like hundreds of heads and spot my mom, dad, Sydney, and Sarah cutting through the crowd, nodding and smiling at surprised onlookers who didn’t expect a group of royals to show up.
But a hush runs through the sea of people as figures appear in the stone circle.
Jerrod and the patriarch of Teshka, their priestesses, and… someone else.
The couples are called forward. I take Aviva’s hand and led her up the hill. There’s a chill in the air brought on by the changing of the seasons. From the top of the hill, I can see the distant forests washed in gold instead of green. Soon, we’ll face another winter in Silverhide, but we are much more prepared this time. In the darkest days of winter, I can happily imagine myself tucked in my house with Aviva, watching the snowfall. I can imagine a future together where we’re happy, and safe.
She knits her fingers in mine as we stand before the patriarchs, flanked on either side by Jacob, Mercy, Freya and Andrew.
But my eyes land on Kenna, who’s standing between her parents on the far side of the circle, her eyes glowing silver and her shadows dancing around her in a show of her strength.
To my surprise, Maeve is on her hip, and squeals when she picks Aviva face out of the line of couple.
Aviva takes a deep breath and smiles at her while the priestesses rattle off some speech in the old tongue. Each couple is blessed, showing the priestesses our tattoos, as moonlight bathes us in gold. There’s an electric feeling in the air as the moon drenches the circle, and when I look at my aunt and uncle again, I notice they’re watching our every move.
Ella, dressed in a dark red cloak and dress, steps forward. She looks down the line of couples, looking less like my aunt and more like the Firestone Queen these people worship like one of their own gods.
Her eyes land on mine, and she gives me a glimpse of a smile, a wink, then looks down at Aviva.
“What you have done for your people…it was an extraordinary sacrifice that hasn’t gone unnoticed. The old gods and our Goddess thank you, Aviva, Luna of Silverhide, for your service to my crown and kingdom.” Ella, who bows to no one, drops to a knee in front of my wife.
A hush falls over the crowd at the base of the hill. I look down the line of couples, noticing the confusion on their faces. But then Jacob steps forward and drops a knee. Andrew follows suit, followed by Freya and the rest of the couples. Aviva is blood red as she watches, her hand gripping my fingers so tightly they’re turning white.
Mercy is the only one standing. Her watery smiles reaches her green eyes as she nods at Aviva and kneels, her expression shining with pride.
Aviva whips around as the crowd below kneels, falling to their knees in a wave that rushes toward the city of tents. I spot my parents and brother kneeling and it does something to me. My heart lurches as I turn to my mate, caressing her cheek. “Aviva,” I whisper as she turns from the crowd to look up at me in awe. “I love you.”
“I love you,” she echoes, her voice cracking over the words.
And then I kneel, brushing my lips over her knuckles, just as the moon fully illuminates the clearing.
Ella steps toward us, Ryatt by her side. He reaches into his jacket pocket and hands something to Ella–a necklace. Ella turns to a shocked Aviva and motions for her to turn to the crowd as she places the necklace on her neck. It’s a moonstone…I think. It’s not milky white or translucent. It’s red…a soft crimson that shines to life when it touches Aviva’s skin. Aviva jerks, surprised by the feeling I can sense down the bond.
“You are our commander. The leader of the Firestone army, from this day forward.”
Aviva gapes up at Ella, who’s roughly a foot taller than her by my estimation. But Ella’s serious, queenly expression breaks just for us. She squeezes our joined hands as I rise and says, “Congratulations, you two. We’ll see you for the Solstice? Right?”
“Yeah, Aunt Ella,” I croak, but the words are stolen by a rush of applause coming from the crowd.
Ella hugs us, and then Uncle Ryatt is clapping me on the shoulder. But he leans in, and instead of offering congratulations, he says, “I need you both in Moonrise for a meeting soon, once your harvest is over.”
With that, I watch them walk away.
Soon, we’re overrun by excited family and friends of the new couples married under the harvest moon. Mom kisses me on each cheek before throwing herself on Aviva, going on and on about she’s thrilled there’s another red-head in the family, and how cute our future children are going to be, and how excited she is to be able to spread a week with us in Silverhide after the festival.
Dad hugs me for the first time in what might have been years, and I lean into it. They leave our side to go talk to Ryatt and Ella.
“I want to see the tattoos!” Sarah beams as she releases us from a hug, taking our hands. Sydney examines the tattoos with his mate. “Did it hurt?”
“No,” I reply under my breath. It’s a lie. It hurt like hell.
“He’s lying, trying to be tough.” Aviva grins up at me with mischief in her eyes and suddenly the only thing I care about, the only thing I want, is to go back to our tent and make love to her until morning, and then take her home.
“Sarah has a tramp stamp,” Sydney says unprompted, his cheeks going red.
“I do not! He’s drunk, don’t listen to a word he says!” She howls with laughter and swats her mate on the chest.
“The Deadlands makes great–wine,” he hiccups, laughing. “Terrible whiskey, though.”
I laugh and smile as my family gathers around us again, feeling like…like everything is fine, for the first time in years.
I take Aviva’s hand, and she looks up at me, smiling knowingly. “What do you want to do now?”
“Let’s go home.”