I love her so much that my chest hurts.
The dress is white.
Not the Verdance's prismatic shimmer. Simple white. Cotton. Fitted through the bodice, loose through the skirt, with thin straps and a hem that falls just above the grass. Sarah found it at a shop three days ago, and when I put it on, I cried because it looks exactly like the kind of dress Grandma Jo would have picked.
Sarah does my hair. Simple, loose, with a few small flowers tucked behind my ear that I grew myself without meaning to. My marks glow faintly through the thin fabric at my shoulders, golden lines visible in the afternoon light.
Mora helps with the last adjustments, her steady hands pinning a loose strap, smoothing a crease. She's quiet, but when she steps back and looks at me, her eyes go bright.
"Elle."
That's all she says.
"Don't you dare make me cry before I get out there."
"You look like someone who has earned this."
That does it. I hug her, and she holds on as we stand in Grandma Jo's bedroom for a moment.
"Okay," I say, pulling back. "Let's do this before I ruin my face."
"Too late," Peeble says from the windowsill. "Your mascara is already compromised. But don't worry. Nobody's going to be looking at your face."
"Excuse me?"
"They're going to be looking at me. I am the officiant. I am wearing a custom-fitted garland handcrafted by Bryx, and my shell has been polished to a high shine. I am the main event."
"Peeble, this is my wedding."
"Technically, it's my ceremony. You and Kaelren are just the props."
The afternoon sun filters through the canopy, throwing patterns of light and shadow across the root-woven aisle. The chairs are full. Leo sits in the front row beside Sarah, and he's already crying. He started when he saw me come through the back door, and he hasn't stopped, and Sarah is holding his hand and looking at him with tender exasperation.
Thalia stands to the right of the elm, hands folded in front of her, gown catching the leaf-filtered light. She's watching me walk down the aisle with an expression of love and the fierce, quiet pride of someone seeing exactly what they hoped for.
Sarnyx stands behind Thalia, thorns retracted, posture rigid, eyes scanning the perimeter even now. When I pass her, she gives me a nod. One nod. It contains everything.
Bryx is in the second row, Kevin on his shoulder, both of them draped in so many flowers they look like a parade float. Bryx catches my eye and mouths the word "gorgeous" with such theatrical sincerity that I nearly laugh.
Vashael and Nimor sit together, her hand in his, her skin luminous in the afternoon light. Eltrien sits beside them with a satisfied smile on his face.
Raskel is on a stack of books in the back row, his stick across his knees, his tiny face set in an expression that is attempting to be grumpy and failing.
And at the end of the aisle, under the elm tree—
Kaelren.
He's wearing black, and he looks devastating in it. The shirt is fitted and open at the collar, showing the corruption marks that trace his throat. His dark hair is loose. His silver eyes find mine the moment I step onto the aisle, and they don't leave.
He watches me walk toward him with the same expression he wore in the Verdance plaza when he first saw me in the festival dress. Like the air has been taken from his lungs. Like the world has narrowed to one person and everything else is noise.
I reach him. He takes my hands. His fingers close around mine, warm and steady, and the contact sends a pulse through my marks that makes the flowers along the aisle brighten.
"You grew the aisle flowers," he says quietly.
"I can't help it. They respond to strong emotion."
"Then the garden is about to have a very productive afternoon."
