Drova came last.
Arezoo had been quietly bracing herself for whatever Drova was going to say. Drova had spent the last several months scandalizing her with romance novels' sizzling scenes, and Arezoo had been certain that she would deliver some final unfiltered remark designed to send her into the wedding night with her cheeks on fire.
Her best friend walked over with her usual long-legged stride, stopped in front of Arezoo, looked at her, and then pulled her into a hug, which was surprisingly gentle, calibrated exactly to how much pressure was okay to apply to Arezoo's human bones without breaking anything. Arezoo hugged her back as hard as she could.
"I wish for you and Ruvon to have a good life together," Drova said quietly, into her hair.
"Thank you."
"That's my whole speech."
Arezoo pulled back, looked at her friend and felt, alongside the relief, a slight disappointment. Drova's commentary had been the engine that had pushed Arezoo through every uncomfortable conversation about her wedding night.
She'd been sure that Drova would send her off with one final scandalous comment, and that the comment would carry her into the next part of the night.
But apparently, Drova had decided to behave.
Drova turned to Ruvon. "You treat her right."
"I will."
She offered him her hand, which he took, and the shake lasted a beat longer than a handshake usually did.
"If you don't, I'll make you regret it."
He smiled. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life making Arezoo happy. No threats necessary."
"I know. It is for my own peace of mind."
"I understand."
She released his hand, gave Arezoo one last assessing look, and stepped back.
"Good night, you two," she said.
"Good night, Drova."
Arezoo gathered the front of her skirt, took Ruvon's hand, and got into the cart. He climbed up beside her, and Anandur took the driver's seat.
"Let's go home, my love," Ruvon said.
The cart began to move.
Arezoo braced for Anandur's jokes because that was what Anandur usually did, but instead, he began to sing.
It was a soft song in a language she did not recognize. Scottish, she thought, or possibly Gaelic. The melody was slow and rolling, a tune that seemed to climb and fall the way the cart was climbing and falling along the village paths. Anandur's singing voice was rougher than his speaking voice, but it carried atenderness she had not heard from him before, and the words, whatever they meant, sounded like words a person used when they were singing about something they loved.
She didn't understand most of them, but she didn't need to. The melody was achingly beautiful, and her eyes misted with tears.
Ruvon's arm came around her shoulders, and she settled her head against him.
"I don't even know what he's singing about," she whispered. "But it makes me emotional."
"I think it's a love song."
"It sounds like it. It's beautiful."
She closed her eyes and listened to the rough warmth of Anandur's voice and the soft creak of the cart over the path. The night air was cool against her face, and Ruvon's body was warm against her side, and for the first time all day, she felt her ribcage expand.
