“It’s bâbâ?” Cordelia picked up the heavy skirts of her dress and rushed out into the hall. Risa was already headed downstairs, her expression stormy. Elias passed her without a glance, racing to the top of the steps with a smile on his face, a hand on the newel post.

Cordelia came to a dead stop. A wave of joy had gone over her when she heard her father’s voice, but now—now she couldn’t move as her mother hurried past her to embrace Elias. Cordelia felt oddly far away, as her father embraced and kissed her mother, then stood back to lay a hand on her rounded stomach.

Sona dipped her head, speaking softly and rapidly to Elias. Though he was smiling, he looked exhausted, deep grooves lining his face, gray stubble in patches on his jaw. His suit was threadbare, as if he’d been wearing it every day since he was taken away.

He put his arms out. “Cordelia,” he said.

She broke out of her paralysis. A moment later she was in her father’s embrace, and the familiar feel of him, the rough scrape of his stubble as he kissed her forehead, soothed her despite everything. “Bâbâ,” she said, tipping her head back to look up at him. He looked so old. “Where have you been? We’ve been so worried.”

The scent of his clothes and hair—smoky, like tobacco—was familiar too. Or was there a sweet rot underneath? Was she smelling alcohol on him or imagining things?

Elias held her at arm’s length. “I appreciate the welcome, my dear.” He looked her up and down and, with a twinkle in his eye, added, “Though you didn’t need to dress up so much just for me.”

Cordelia laughed and thought, My father is back. He will be at my wedding. That is what matters. “It’s my wedding dress,” she started to say, just as Elias interrupted her with a smile.

“I know, child. It’s why I returned today. I wouldn’t have dreamed of missing your wedding.”

“Then why didn’t you return when the Basilias released you?” They all turned to see Alastair, who had just emerged from his room. He had clearly been in the process of getting dressed for the ceremony—his cuffs were unfastened and he was jacketless. He wore a black waistcoat, traced with golden runes for Love, Joy, and Unity, but his expression was anything but celebratory. “We know they let you out a week ago, Father. Had you returned earlier, it would have eased Mother’s mind. Layla’s, too.”

Elias looked at his son. He did not hold out his arms, as he had to Cordelia, but his voice was thick with emotion when he spoke. “Come and greet me, Esfandiya¯r,” he said.