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“Sterre,” Callum murmured, palming my throat again. “It’s the language of the Gods. It’s almost nonexistent now, only used in rituals in the temples for the most part, and some of our oldest places are named with it. Sterre was a title given to those chosen by Sora, anointed by her while she still walked Avicourt. It means divine star, though some just say star-blessed.”

The Votarist waited on the other side of the altar, their hands held in front of them, a small book in their palm. There was no sign of impatience, so I took another stolen moment.

“Sterre,” I whispered. “Divine star.”

He nodded. “Blessed of the Goddess of the Sky, Mother of Understanding. A gift whose light will never be matched.”

“You called me that in Wolfrest.”

When you thought I was going back to Arizona.

“I did.”

The two words held a wealth of meaning, and I shivered. Vanilla and oranges wove around me, around us both, and he gave another soft smile. He kissed me, soft and shallow, and then turned to the Votarist. I mirrored him, adjusting until I stood in front of the other bowl full of a coiled incense.

“Callum Addis, second son of the King of Marish, son of Calliope, do you present yourself before Freia in accordance to her will?”

The Votarist’s voice was faint and weathered with age, but their hands didn’t tremble as they continued to hold the small book.

“I do, Honored,” Callum said, clear and ringing.

The Votarist didn’t turn to me, but I felt their attention all the same.

“Amethyst Webb, first daughter of Ephraim, daughter of Rina, do you present yourself before Freia in accordance to her will?”

“I do, Honored.”

“May you do so now,” the Votarist said.

I carefully picked up the burning tea light and tilted it so the flame sat against the prepared end of the incense.

Like a birthday party, I thought, nearly whimsical, and wanted to laugh. I rolled my lips to keep from ruining the atmosphere.

Once the incense burned on its own, the flame even smaller than the tea light’s, I blew out the candle and set it behind the bowl.

“In our esteemed tradition, omegas—already blessed of Freia—are called to cleave from their life and begin again anew, forging a new path that will lead to better understanding, patience, and hope. Amethyst Webb, do you avow to maintain this [expectation] to the best of your own ability?”

“I do, Honored.”

Again, they didn’t turn to Callum, but I felt their attention shift all the same.

“As established in the formation of the Grand Rite, alphas—already set apart by Freia—choose to submit themselves again to the Goddess’s will, to choose for themselves a new thread, twisting it and tending it in offer of thankfulness to the Goddess’s never dimming charity. Callum Addis, do you avow to forge a path forward that leads with dignity and understanding and allows for a deeper appreciation of all those on Avicourt?”

“I do, Honored.”

The small flame of the tea light caught on some of the faint scars on his hands, nicks and scratches from the training he’d done since his father made him Commander of the Armies. His incense took its flame at once, though it was still small like mine. His lips formed a nearly perfect ‘o’ as he blew out the tea light. The sight had desire building in my stomach. Vanilla swirled around me, and I flushed.

“Joining together, you shall create a life worthy of the Goddess.”

I carefully lifted the coil of incense from the bowl, moving slowly enough to not risk the flame extinguishing. Callum did the same, and we held them both over the large white candle, both flames licking at the untouched wick.

The flame of the incense went out on its own as I set it back in the bowl. At the same time, both doors leading into the chamber opened. In my peripheral vision, I saw more green robes enter the room and spread around the perimeter, their hoods pulled up, hiding their features. My breath caught in my throat.

The Votarist in front of us set down the small book they’d been holding, opening it to a page that held only my name and Callum’s written in a dark red ink that matched the marks on our hands. From their robes, they pulled an unmarred acora feather. Swallowing heavily, suppressing the memories of being on that beach with no understanding of what was happening, I held out my hand, the mark shining in the new flame of the candle. The Votarist pressed the tip of the acora feather into my mark first.

The mark blurred, the ink moving like it had when it had first been laid. I slowly counted to twenty, forcing my breathing steady. At fifteen, the Votarist pulled away. As the tip of the feather left my skin, so did the ink. My skin sat unblemished. Without looking down, the Votarist took the ink now welling at the tip of the feather quill and scratched a line over my name in the book. Then they turned to Callum and did the same with him. When his name had also been marked through, the emblem of Freia—a hare surrounded by pomegranate blossoms—appeared on the bottom of the page, filling the rest of open space.

Carefully, I took the bundle of dried herbs in my hand, holding it over the burning candle. Callum wrapped his arms around me, guiding me into him until our bodies were flush. His voice was low and fervent as he offered his own prayers of thankfulness.