“Yes, my lord.”
“Hef h’Elas,” said Nym, “the blessing of this house and its Guardians upon this union.”
The old man came forward, and it was Hef who completed the ceremony, giving Mim’s hand into Kurt’s and naming for each the final vows they made. Then, according to custom, Ptas lit a torch from the great phusmehaand gave it into Kurt’s hands, and he into Mim’s.
“In purity I have given,” Kurt recited the ancient formula in High Nechai, “in reverence preserve, Mim h’Elas e Hef shu-Kurt, well-beloved, my wife.”
“In purity I have received,” she said softly, “in reverence I will keep myself to thee to the death, Kurt Liam t’Morgan u Patrick Edward, my lord, my husband.”
And with Mim beside him, and to the ritual weeping of the ladies and the congratulations of the men, Kurt left the rhmei.Mim carried the light, walking behind him up the stairs to the door of his room that now was hers.
He entered, and watched as she used the torch to light the triangular bronze lamp, the phusa,which had been replaced in its niche, and he heard her sigh softly with relief, for the omen would have been terrible if the light had not taken. The lamp of Phan burned with steady light, and she then extinguished the torch with a prayer and knelt down before the lamp as Kurt closed the door, knelt down and lifted her hands before it.
“My Ancestors, I, Mim t’Nethim e Sel shu-Kurt, called by these my beloved friends Mim h’Elas, I, Mim, beg your forgiveness for marrying under a name not my own, and swear now by my own name to honor the vows I made under another. My Ancestors, behold this man, my husband Kurt t’Morgan, and whatever distant spirits are his, be at peace with them for my sake. Peace, I pray my Fathers, and let peace be with Elas on both sides of the Dividing Sea. Ei,let thoughts of war be put aside between our two lands. May love be in this house and upon us both forever. May the terrible Guardians of Nethim hear me and receive the vow I make. And may the great Guardians of Elas receive me kindly as you have ever done, for we are of this house now, and within your keeping.”
She lowered her hands, finishing her prayer, and offered her right hand to Kurt, who drew her up.
“Mim t’Nethim,” he said. “Then I had never heard your real name.”
Her large eyes lifted to him. “Nethim has no house in Nephane, but in Indresul we are ancestral enemies to Elas. I have not burdened Kta with knowing my true name. He asked me, and I would not answer, so surely he suspects that I am of a hostile house; but if there is any harm in my silence, it is upon me only. And I have spoken your name before the Guardians of Nethim many times, and I have not felt that they are distressed at you, my lord Kurt.”
He had started to take her in his arms, but hesitated now, held his hands a little apart from her, suddenly fearing Mim and her strangeness. Her gown was beautiful and had cost days of work which he had watched; he did not know how to undo it, or if this was expected of him. And Mim herself was as complex and unknowable, wrapped in customs for which Kta’s instructions had not prepared him.
He remembered the frightened child that Kta had found among the Tamurlin, and feared that she would suddenly see him as human and loathe him, without the robes and the graces that made him—outwardly—nemet.
“Mim,” he said. “I would never see any harm come to you.”
“It is a strange thing to say, my lord.”
“I am afraid for you,” he said suddenly. “Mim, I do love you.”
She smiled a little, then laughed, down-glancing. He treasured the gentle laugh: it was Mim at her prettiest. And she slipped her hands about his waist and hugged him tightly, her strong slim arms dispelling the fear that she would break.
“Kurt,” she said, “Kta is a dear man, most honored of me. I know that you and he have spoken of me. Is this not so?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Kta has spoken to me too: he fears for me. I honor his concern. It is for both of us. But I trust your heart where I do not know your ways; I know if ever you hurt me, it would be much against your will.” She slipped her warm hands to him. “Let us have tea, my husband, a first warming of our hearth.”
That was much against his will, but it pleased her. She lit the small room-stove, which also heated, and boiled water and made them tea, which they enjoyed sitting on the bed together.
He had little to say but much on his mind; neither did Mim, but she looked often at him.
“Is it not enough tea?” he asked finally, with the same patient courtesy he always used in Elas, which Kta had taught his unwilling spirit. But this time there was great earnestness in the question, which brought a sly smile from Mim.
“What is your custom now?” she asked of him.
“What is yours?” he asked.
“I do not know,” she admitted, down-glancing and seeming distressed. Then for the first time he realized, and felt pained for his thoughtlessness: she had never been with a man of her own kind,—nor with any man of decency.
“Put up the teacups,” he said, “and come here, Mim.”
The light of morning came through the window and Kurt stirred in his sleep, his hand finding the smoothness of Mim beside him, and he opened his eyes and looked at her. Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark and heavy on her golden cheek, her full lips relaxed in dreams. A little scar marred her temple, as others not so slight marked her back and hips, and that anyone could have abused Mim was a thought he could not bear.
He moved, leaned on his arm across her and touched his lips to hers, smoothed aside the dark and shining veil of hair that flowed across her and across the pillows, and she stirred, responding sweetly to his morning kiss.
“Mim,” he said, “good morning.”
Her arms went around his neck. She pulled herself up and kissed him back. Then she blinked back tears, which he made haste to wipe away.
“Mim?” he questioned her, much troubled; but she smiled at him and even laughed.
“Dear Kurt,” she said, holding his face between her hands. And then, breaking for the side of the bed, she began to wriggle free. “ Ei, ei,my lord, I must hurry,—you must hurry—the sun is up. The guests will be waiting.”
“Guests?” he echoed, dismayed. “Mim—”
But she was already slipping into her dressing gown, then pattering away into the bath. He heard her putting wood into the stove.
“It is custom,” she said, putting her head back through the doorway of the bath. “They come back at dawn to breakfast with us.—Oh please, Kurt, please, hurry to be ready. They will be downstairs already, and if we are much past dawning, they will laugh.”
It was the custom, Kurt resolved to himself, and nerved himself to face the chill air and the cold stone floor, when he had planned a far warmer and more pleasant morning.
He joined Mim in the bath and she washed his back for him, making clouds of comfortable steam with the warm water, laughing and not at all caring that the water soaked her dressing gown.
She was content with him.
At times the warmth in her eyes or the lingering touch of her fingers said she was more than content.
The hardest thing that faced them was to go down the stairs into the rhmei,at which Mim actually trembled. Kurt took her arm and would have brought her down with his support, but the idea shocked her. She shook free of him and walked like a proper nemet lady, independently behind him down the stairs.
The guests and family met them at the foot of the steps and brought them into the rhmeiwith much laughter and with ribald jokes that Kurt would not have believed possible from the modest nemet. He was almost angry, but when Mim laughed he knew that it was proper, and forgave them.
After the round of greetings, Aimu came and served the morning tea, hot and sweet, and the elders sat in chairs while the younger people—Kurt and Mim included, and Hef, who was chan,—sat upon rugs on the floor and drank their tea and listened to the elders talk. Kta played one haunting song for them on the aos,without words, but just for listening and for being still.