Epilogue

S’ahveki didn’t putup too much of a fuss when I requested a second vacation. It turns out that Fallil Eyrie didn’t report us to their government, so as far as we know, my rather eventful rescue plan didn’t have any unfortunate repercussions for our crew. Pavok was able to help Vozu through his heat—with medical treatment, not the old-fashioned way, much to my friend’s disappointment. All in all, what was an adventure of a lifetime for Sohven and I was barely a blip on the radar for the rest of our crew.

Being a person of sound mind, I told Sohven we were absolutely not vacationing on another planet. It took a little convincing to get him to agree to Milska Station, but I think he’s come to see the wisdom of my judgment.

I glance at Sohven. He’s standing to my right looking straight ahead. I wipe a few nonexistent creases out of my trousers and take a deep breath, or at least try to. I borrowed this suit from S’ahveki, so it fits a little tighter than I’d prefer, but from the way Sohven’s been looking at me today, I think it’s a success even if the embroidery on the wide lapels is a bit much for my taste.

Sohven’s wearing one of his sashes and a pair of flowing red trousers. It’s a good look with his wings. The Nallioth in front of us is draped in a shimmering, beaded white robe. It’s open so we can see his scales shining beneath it. He smiles down at us as we await the next part of our ceremony.

We’ve already jumped the broom, spit in each other’s palms, stomped on a replica of an arm-length Soovil seedpod, whipped each other with a bog weed from Havolia, and completed about three other wedding traditions gathered from several of the more populous species in this quadrant. This ritual’s the last.

The quality may not be great, but when our Nallioth officiant hands me the only silver-plated ring in the Wedding-Mart’s inventory that was big enough to fit a Lohnya finger, I couldn’t be happier.

“Repeat after me, with this ring—”

“I have my own words, thanks,” I say, interrupting the officiant before he can get any further. My vow is simpler, but I don’t need to say anything else. I take Sohven’s hand in mine and slip the ring past his talon before I look up at him and speak. “Sohven, I choose you.” I push the ring the rest of the way onto his finger, inexplicably nervous as I wait for him to return the gesture.

He lifts my hand. The metal ring touches the tip of my finger before he glances up with a subtle smile. The white beads on the officiant’s robe are reflected in Sohven’s space dark eyes, making his expression harder to read than normal. I swallow over the lump in my throat and try to breathe quietly. He slides my ring into place, and then he finally speaks.

“I choose you, Jhevase.”

He pulls me against his broad chest, and then he spreads his wings and wraps them over us, blocking out all the noise, all the distractions.

“Jhevase,” he says softly.

“Sohven,” I say back before I kiss him.

By the traditions of nine cultures, under the light of real and artificial suns, we’ve made our promises to each other. Nothing’s going to tear us apart now. I’m holding him tight, and I’m not letting go.