I looked up at her, trying to control the emotion in my voice. “Thank you.”

She said nothing, but smiled. Idris helped me to my feet, then kissed the back of my hand.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No,” I replied honestly. Camera probes flew around us, flashing and clicking as they captured the moment. We made our way through the camp to its head, followed by the Salihis, and picking up stragglers as we moved through. The parade itself would be headed by the Salihi cavaliers, all dressed like Idris, behind them were the drummers and ‘Issawa of the Banu Ifran, and then our palanquin. Behind us would be the rest of the families, Vathek and Andalaan. My nerves ricocheted between joy and fear. Mathis would be assassinated soon, sometime while we were en route, and I could not get that out of my head, even as I boarded the palanquin and waited for Idris to join me.

Despite all that, this felt so much different than the last time I’d boarded a Vathek procession. The first wedding rite I’d taken part of had felt like a funeral procession rather than a celebration of marriage. I remembered the heavy mantle of grief that had lain over me. This was not my wedding; it was not the culmination of ceremonies meant to consecrate my marriage and alliance to Idris. And yet—because I knew one day we would be together, that he would be mine—I felt joy. Even if our festivities were not so large or so loud, they would exist.

This was not an end, but a beginning.

The palanquin rose to its full height smoothly. One moment it seemed the entire camp was in chaos, and then, suddenly, we were moving forward.

The city was joyous. Likely in part, I realized, because the probes had broadcast my moment with the Salihi matriarch to the city. They were loud and waved the flags of their cities and the families in the retinue. Not even the presence of the Vath could take away their joy from seeing Idris and his family, or the Banu Ifran. Or, I realized with some joy, me. They loved Maram, even as she straddled the two worlds. I wished, suddenly, that Maram had come in her own place to see this. Wished that she could experience how much her people had come to love her in a short time. That all they’d needed was a show that she was one of them, a part of them. I heard a chorus of women in the back start crying out, “S’laat s’laam,” and grinned.