"And be we faithful always, one to the other," Tom Downey and Sara Deepwell responded.

"The grace of the gods be with you always," the priestess said. "You are now one before this company, before the gods, in this world, and in every world where you may travel."

Tom and Sara kissed. Cilla Monabi could feel the radiant glow in her sister Ilduin's heart, and her own heart shared Sara's joy. Yet this time of joy would be fleeting. Sara met her eye, just for an instant, and nodded. She, too, knew.

But for tonight, they would celebrate.

The stones of Anahar did not sing in celebration, though Cilla could feel the joy of the gods as she walked through the temple. A precious love was joined, and even in a world fraught with war and the black hatred of Ardred, that precious love was worthy of joy.

The marketplace before the temple was adorned with the trappings of a wedding, for in the wake of the war that had taken so many of their number, the Anari longed for just cause to wear their finest, cook their best, sing and dance beneath the stars. Cilla found Ratha at the edge of the crowd, his iridescent blue-black face impassive, his obsidian eyes unreadable.

"Dance with me, cousin," she said.

"I cannot," he replied quietly, almost with shame. Cilla placed a hand on his strong, muscled, scarred arm.

"Look around you, Ratha. The men and women of Monabi Tel are dancing. Giri was their kin, and my own as well."

"He was my brother," Ratha said. "We had endured so much together. I am not whole without him."

They had endured much, Cilla knew. Ratha and Giri Monabi had been betrayed