Any other day, Kire would have enjoyed this atmosphere very much. To her credit, when Ruli muttered in response to her prodding to hurry, Kire tried to keep her temper in check. She was glad that he decided they not stay at the first shop, which was too crowded for her liking. At the second one, it didn’t particularly surprise her that Ruli picked more muted colors. When asked—and she was a little surprised that he did bother to ask—she picked out a few more colorful pieces that looked like they would go with the others he had selected, nothing too loud or obnoxious. To her consternation, he picked out a few very loud designs afterwards, and she briefly entertained the notion that he did it just to annoy her. The silver lining, though, was that it had succeeded in temporarily taking her mind out of the dark mood she had been in.
“Food, then swing back,” Kire replied, carefully rearranging the rolls of fabric in her arms. “I think there was still a bakery open—” Men on horseback trotted down the street, telling the bystanders that the procession would be starting soon, and to make sure not to block certain passages in the city. “—on second thought, let’s hurry back now. I don’t want to be caught in the middle of the mob with my arms full.” As they made their way through the crowd that had become almost frantic in their excitement, Kire saw that shops along this street were closing, anyway, with their curious owners wanting to be in line to see the procession. They had time to make it back to see it, Kire surmised, if the two parties were starting from opposite ends of the city. And if this lord was peacocking in front of this large crowd, they wouldn’t be in a hurry to show off his new plaything, Kire thought, already feeling a little sorry for whoever was going to marry this slimy nobleman. She was almost tempted to ask Ruli that they just find the nearest deserted alley for their disappearing act.
When they got back, the procession was underway. The people nearest to the street all had in their hands what she recognized as pure white orchids—a feat, Kire knew. Orchids were her favorite, and she knew the difficulty that went into their care. Suppose that’s what the botanist was so pressed about. “Here he comes!” came an excited whisper from one onlooker, and a murmur of anticipation vibrated throughout the crowd. The ladies right next to Kire giggled, as if they were the ones about to meet their future groom. “See a better spot?” she muttered to Ruli, though there was little chance of that. She could already see the banners of Cordon flying, the standard bearers signaling the beginning of Lord Itallos’ train. “Of course. Bloody well marching so slow it’s like a funeral,” Kire muttered under her breath. A distant trumpet, coming from the opposite end of this street, indicated that the bride’s own party was on approach.
Kire reached for Ruli’s wrist, gripping it tight, her eyes wide. Her gaze darted back and forth, her mind buzzing like a bee’s nest. That feeling. It’s back! But where’s the source? The taste of Gemini magic filling her mouth and nostrils—and something else. The trumpets blared again, this time coming from both sides. On one end, finally, she saw the man of the hour: Lord Itallo Reynard, riding a resplendent white stallion, in bright red robes, a simple gold necklace with a locket dangling from his neck, a ruby ring on his finger. Kire’s gaze lingered on that piece of jewelry for a few good moments.
He smiled warmly at the crowd, an orchid pinned to his collar. It would have looked like too simple an ensemble for a show-off lord if it weren’t for the red and gold cape draping down from his shoulders. The lord himself was well-groomed, his curly hair tamed and slicked back, his beard trimmed close, his skin nicely tanned. His eyes seemed tired, but he hid it well behind his easy smiles and his manner. There was something—off about him, but the sensations in Kire’s mind weren’t coming from him primarily, no. Or no, that wasn’t it. She was confusing it for something else. “Ruli. There’s—I can’t explain it, but there’s more than one here. What’s going on?” she whispered, the last more to herself as she scanned Itallo’s side of the procession. There were other lords behind him, the Councilmen of Cordon. Where was the Gemini?
“The bride! The bride has arrived!”
You are mine, Akire, My Wyvern.
Kire gasped. That voice—the memory came unprovoked, save for a wave of a familiar aura. Kire turned sharply towards the bride’s side of the street as the lady’s carriage halted. The first person to emerge was a young man, green eyes set on a face too placid and cold for the celebratory air around them. His hair, too, was slicked back like his lord’s, though he wore simpler garb. That was the presence she had felt in the city, and the signature that was faintly present in the warehouse. Kire glared at him, committing his appearance to memory, then stopped at what he was wearing on his hip. Her eyes widened. She hadn’t let go of Ruli’s wrist, and her other hand was gripping her sword.
It was the hunting knife she had left behind in Ziad, when the Kartaians tried to kill them both. Kire’s lips parted in surprise, but she had no time to put it into words for Ruli, because the young Gemini they called Gavin had just bowed to the bride, his hand extended for her to take it as she disembarked.
She was definitely a beauty. Deep black raven hair pinned delicately up in a simple but elegant style. She wore a simple silk dress, head bowed as she stepped down, but when she stood straight, the quiet confidence of royalty was in her stance. She smiled down at the boy, who smiled back without warmth as he stepped away. The woman’s pale face scanned the crowd before turning to Lord Itallo, who had trotted his steed up to the carriage. Her eyes, almost glinting like rubies, stood out against the pale ivory of her skin. “My Lord Itallo,” she purred, curtsying. Itallo bowed low, took her hand, kissed the cold fingers.
“My Lady Akuma.”
The hand that held Ruli’s wrist shook.
