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By Root 1560 0

was no doubt about that. White velvet ribbed in white satin cording for a jacket, full white sleeves of a silk so light that it fluttered in the breeze like fine gauze, white leather gloves and boots so supple that they clung to his body like a second skin, fringed and embroidered with silken threads of the same hue. Against such a background his skin, normally so pale in aspect, took on the bronze sheen of a healthy tan, and the sun picked out Core-gold highlights in his newly trimmed hair. He looked good and he knew it, and his self-confidence, as always, was irresistible to those who surrounded him. Karril chuckled as waves of lust rose from the crowd that gathered around him, mostly (but not all) from women. As for the ladies he had courted and seduced in the past, there were dozens of them here today, and not all had come to wish him well. For the most part they crowded around the wedding lawn with an impatient mixture of curiosity and resentment, waiting to see the waiflike foreigner who had stolen the prize they had so coveted.

She was beautiful, there was no doubt of that. There was no Iezu illusion active here, nor any need for it. The soft silk gown of graduated layers, Revival-inspired, made her slender form seem almost wraithlike, angelic, and her jet-black hair, hanging loose about her shoulders, cascaded down her back like a second veil. When the wedding crowns were placed upon their heads (of her own design, it was whispered, sculpted and polished by those same slender hands that now offered and received a pair of rings) the fine silver filigree glittered against the jet-black strands like stars on a clear night.

“Flat as a board,” one woman whispered, drawing up her own considerable endowment into a position of prominence. “Pale as a ghost,” another observed, lightly stroking her own cocoa skin. “Won’t last a week,” a third muttered, and they all nodded their agreement that yes, they knew Andrys Tarrant’s taste in women, and no, this stick of a ghost-child wasn’t going to keep him amused for long.

It was a priest of the One God who bound the two together, and Saris nodded her approval as the second rings were exchanged, the bonds of Earth joining those of secular marriage in a tradition as ancient as the Tarrant name. She had known, as Narilka had not, the tradition of that family, and as much as she would miss the girl as a worshiper she knew there were times that even a “goddess” had to give way to fate. Would she have signed on to his faith so willingly if I hadn’t released her back then, when all this started? she wondered. Either way, she had no regrets. The difference between a true godling and a Iezu was that the latter wasn’t dependent upon worship. And love, besides, was a very special kind of beauty.

“Come on,” Karril urged, nudging her forward. “We’ll miss the fun.”

A reception line was forming now, and it stretched across the courtyard and back again; officials first, then neighbors, friends, and whoever else cared to greet the host and hostess of the afternoon’s festivities. In that Andrys Tarrant was claiming the ancient title of Neocount with all its prerogatives and responsibilities, there were more than a few men and women of local importance who had seized this opportunity to introduce themselves. Most of them clearly had their doubts about the situation—a few even had the bad manners to mutter that it would have been better for them all if Samiel had survived, rather than this irresponsible playboy—but one by one, as they shook Andrys’ hand, they saw in his eyes an indefinable something which said that yes, this man had changed, and if they would give him a chance, he might surprise them. That, too, was a Iezu gift, but one so subtle that neither side noticed its oddness.

“I don’t understand—” Saris began, and Karril whispered, “Shhh!”

There were past lovers coming to the head of the line now, buxom women with temptation in their gait and a knowing sparkle in their eyes. Coolly the first one took Narilka’s hand and offered her congratulations, her eyes never leaving those of Andrys.