That was indeed a lofty goal that would probably never materialize because the Brotherhood preferred things the way they were. The less stability there was in the world, the better for them.
"Can you believe it?" he asked quaintly.
Max frowned. "What, that you're getting married or that Kyra is going to fight forever?"
"That Navuh was captured by the clan and that he's no longer in power."
Kalugal grimaced. "Don't remind me. My mother keeps throwing out hints that Lokan and I should pay him a visit and try to reconcile with him. She doesn't want to accept that we don't want anything to do with him, and he doesn't want anything to do with us."
When the doorbell rang, Ruvon assumed it was Boleck, who was the only one missing. "I'll get it."
He set his glass down, walked back into the house, and opened the front door.
There was no one there, but down on the doorstep was a square box wrapped in white paper that was secured with a blue ribbon.
He lifted the box and carried it to the back porch, where everyone had stopped talking and looked at him and what was in his hands.
"An early wedding present?" Shamash asked.
"I don't know." Ruvon pulled out the card that was attached to the box. "It's from Arezoo, and it says to open the box right now."
"Then open it." Kalugal waved with his cigar. "Don't keep us in suspense."
Ruvon set the box on the table next to the platter and the bottle and carefully removed the white paper. Inside was a flat wooden box, plain and lacquered, with another card folded on top of it.
I wanted to get you something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. My mother told me that this is not how the tradition works because these items are for the bride, but I told her that the clan has no rules for weddings and that we are free to make them up as we go. The card is new. The box is old. The poem inside is borrowed, and you can give it back to me tonight. The ribbon is blue.
I love you forever and beyond.
Arezoo.
Ruvon read it twice and felt his throat close up.
"Well?" Rufsur prompted.
"It's a card."
"What does it say?" Dandor asked.
"It's private."
"Of course it's private, but what does it say?" Dandor insisted.
Shaking his head, Ruvon set the card down and opened the wooden box. Inside, on a bed of dark velvet, lay a small, folded square of paper tied with a thin blue ribbon.
He untied it carefully, set the ribbon aside, and unfolded the paper.
It was one of the poems that she had read to him at the café months ago, the 'Garden of Becoming.' She had copied it out by hand in her careful, slightly slanted script, translating it from the original Persian into English.
This is the one about freedom. It's about us.
Ruvon stared at the paper for a long moment, not reading anymore, just looking at her handwriting, and felt eight pairs of eyes watching him from the half circle of chairs and couches.
"It's a poem," he said.
"Ah." Kalugal nodded sagely as if this was exactly what he'd thought it would be.
Ruvon refolded the paper carefully along the original creases, tied the blue ribbon back around it, and tucked the small bundle into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, against his chest. He picked up the card and put it into the same pocket. Then he sat back down and picked up his cigar.
