Page 74 of The Sorcerer's Alpha
When the tent was up, and all the Sarnoy had wished them well and gone on their way, Marut and Sycamore went inside to take stock. They had no furniture, not even a stove, but Twin Rams’ carpenter was already at work on a bed for them, and the rest would follow.
“We’ll have to commission an altar,” Sycamore said, looking around the empty space. “Or a statue of the One God, who I suppose will look after us now.”
“I think a few chairs, first.”
Sycamore laughed. “A chest to store our non-existent belongings. Well, let’s go to Temur’s, then, and bring over what we have.”
They had come from Chedi with nothing but the horses and their clothing. Bayarmaa had put out a call for donations and the people of Twin Rams offered bedding, cooking pots, bowls and spoons, rugs, and everything else they would need. These items had spent the past week piled up in Temur’s tent, and Temur sat outside now and watched with narrowed eyes as they carted everything away, as if to be sure they didn’t forget anything.
“You’ll have your quiet again now,” Sycamore said to Temur as they carried the final bundles out. “Thank you for tolerating us.”
“I hope not to see you for at least two days,” Temur said. “Goodbye.”
Sycamore chuckled as they walked off. Marut didn’t understand his relationship with Temur but was willing to accept it as one of the ongoing mysteries of his life. Some things were past human comprehension.
The tent looked less barren with their new belongings unwrapped from their bundles and sorted into clusters by function. They filled the mattress ticking with fresh hay and laid the blankets on it, and then they had a bed. This would be their home for the rest of their lives: the two of them and their child, ancestors willing.
Marut watched Sycamore sorting through the scrying materials Temur had given him, frowning as he turned the bowl over to examine the underside. Sycamore was perfectly well and his heat wasn’t even late yet; if it weren’t for his magic, there would be no indication of his pregnancy. But Marut couldn’t stop thinking of the small life growing within him, a life they had made together and would love and raise together.
Sycamore glanced up. “What is it?”
“Should we?” Marut asked. “Now?”
Sycamore smiled at him. “Yes. I’m ready.”
They had no wine, so they made do with a cup of mare’s milk. They stood outside their tent in the warm summer light, with the breeze stirring through the poplars and the stream muttering in the background, and shared the wedding cup between them.
“I don’t know the words,” Sycamore said.
“I do,” Marut said; he had seen many weddings at the temple, and the prayer wasn’t long or complicated. He spoke the words to ask the ancestors for fortune, the Wind Below for patience, and the Sun Above for the warmth of devotion. When it was done, he took Sycamore’s face in his hands and kissed him.
Sycamore drew him in and held him close with his arms around Marut’s back. Marut dropped his forehead to Sycamore’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The bond sang with joy between them, a song of life.
“Now we’re married in truth,” Sycamore said, and laughed a little.
Marut smiled with his eyes still closed. “My husband,” he said, just to hear himself say the word.
EPILOGUE
“And don’t forget,” Temur said, “to check—”
“To check the river ice. Temur, I know.” Sycamore managed not to roll his eyes, but it was a struggle. Temur had ostensibly retired the previous summer and transferred his duties to Sycamore and Sarangerel, but in reality he was still trying to run the show from his bed. Sycamore’s patience received vigorous daily exercise, but at the same time he was grateful beyond words that Temur was still alive to annoy him.
“Well.” Temur fussily adjusted the furs draped over his lap. “I suppose you don’t need any input from an old man.”
Sycamore leaned over to open the stove and add another dung cake. “I always value your thoughts, Temur. Do you need anything before the storm begins? Marut trapped a few quail.”
“I do like a quail,” Temur said wistfully.
“Then Yuvan and I will come later to bring you one.” A visit from the baby always lifted Temur’s spirits. Sycamore stood and added another fur to Temur’s pile. The temperature was already dropping; tomorrow would be frigid after the storm blew in from the south, bringing with it cold air from the wastes. He laid his hand on Temur’s shoulder. “Sarangerel will be back soon.”
“I await my quail,” Temur said, and Sycamore laughed and went out.
He walked down to the river to check the ice as he had promised. They were still two months or more from the thaw, but Temur had checked every day from the first freeze until the first thinning of the ice, and so Sycamore did, too. He was Twin Rams’ wizard now and he took his duties seriously. And it wasn’t unpleasant to walk down to the river every day, even when it was as cold as it was now, with the wind blowing so that he hunched inside his coat and tucked his hands into his sleeves. He had learned to love the steppe in its vastness and unpredictability, and he liked to be outside in the open air, and to hear the earth dreaming beneath his feet.
Also, Marut was there.
His woodworking was no longer limited to his little carvings. He had made Yuvan a sled with curved runners and a seat with a high back to prevent any untimely flopping over. Yuvan loved it, and Marut had been taking him out every day for walks along the frozen river. That was what they were doing now, and as Sycamore drew closer he could hear Yuvan’s delighted laughter.