by Jim Butcher
“Oh, aye,” Kitai said, nodding. “It was used for that among my people once, back before my Aleran woke up its sleeping guardian and nearly destroyed the world.”
“Will you never let that rest?” Tavi asked, grinning.
“One day. When you are old and toothless. I promise.”
“We’d best go on in,” Isana said. “Tavi, do you want someone to hold him?”
“No, thank you, Mother,” Tavi replied. “We decided that he’s coming with us.”
Kitai nodded firmly and accepted the infant from Amara. She settled him against her, fussed with his blankets, and told the child, “It is foolish, but we must endure this Aleran nonsense. It will make your father happy.”
“It’s a necessary formality,” Tavi said, nodding to the other four as they went on into the amphitheater. “That’s all.”
Kitai ignored him to continue speaking to the baby. “Like many Alerans, he places undue value upon acts performed in front of witnesses in which all manner of ridiculous things are done that would be much more simply done at a desk or table than here. But we love him, so we will do these things.”
“You love him, do you?” Tavi asked.
Kitai smiled up at him, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “Very much.”
Tavi put his hand on the warm head of the little person who had entered the world scarcely a week before. His other arm slid around Kitai’s shoulders. They stood like that for a moment, not moving, both of them looking down at the sleepy face of Gaius Desiderius Tavarus, their son.
Desiderius. The desired one. Let there never be a doubt in his mind that he was welcome in their family and in their world.
Tavi felt . . .
Complete.
“I love you, too,” he said quietly. “Ready?”
“Remind me of the ceremony?” Kitai asked as they started walking.
“We go down the aisle to the podium and table. We’ll stop in front of Varg, who will do the reading. Maximus will vouch for my identity and your father for yours. Then we’ll each sign the marriage contract.”
Kitai nodded. “And then what?”
“What do you mean? And then we’re married.”
She stopped in her tracks and looked up at him. “You . . . are quite serious, aren’t you?”
Tavi blinked and tried not to sound as baffled as he felt. “That’s . . . the wedding ceremony. I mean . . . granted there’s no swordplay or arson or rock climbing, but what were you expecting?”
Kitai exhaled patiently, composed herself, and began walking again.
They entered the amphitheater, and as they did they came into view of forty thousand Citizens and freemen, Canim and Marat, and even one of the Icemen, who wore a coldstone around his shaggy neck like an amulet. To the “First Lord’s March,” that clanking and lurching piece of attempted music, they walked slowly down the aisle toward the center of the amphitheater. By the time they’d gone a third of the way, the amphitheater was already erupting into cheers.
“We both sign a contract,” Kitai said from between her teeth. No one in the crowd would see anything but her smile. “We scribble on a page.”
“Yes,” Tavi replied the same way.
She looked up at him, her warm green eyes merry as she rolled them, and said, as though mouthing a curse, “Alerans.”
