Reid paced in the early evening sunlight of the old pear grove. It burnished his hair more golden than copper, caught the fine stitching of his jacket and made the threads shimmer. He’d forgone his bandolier for the occasion, instead buckling a single sword at his waist. He steadied it with one hand as he trod a well-worn path in the grass. His other he dragged through his hair.

Beau watched him with unabashed amusement. “Tell me you aren’t nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.” Reid scoffed as if insulted, but his eyes still darted to the opposite end of the grove, where guests had already begun to arrive. It would be an intimate ceremony. They’d invited only those they loved or trusted: Zenna and Seraphine, Toulouse and Thierry, Johannes Pan and his wife. Babette mingled with a handful of other witches, all of whom kept one eye on Jean Luc and Father Achille. Blaise and his children hovered at the edge of the grove, speaking little, until Toulouse beckoned them to come sit. Even Elvire and Lasimonne were in attendance, lounging regally with their diamond gowns and fishhook earrings.

Reid, Beau, and Jean Luc had spent the morning filling the grove with chairs. On the backs of each, they’d painstakingly looped brightly colored ribbons and flowers—poppies, marigolds, peonies, and cornflowers. Scarlets and golds and blushes and blues, all nestled in beds of deep green. More blooms spilled from the stumps of pear trees throughout the grove, where lush moss crept over gnarled wood.

Reid glared at the stumps, the only piece of the scene out of place. Only yesterday, he’d painstakingly constructed the arbor of vines and florets overhead. Every detail had been planned. Every flower plucked to perfection.

Beau followed his gaze with a wistful expression. “If only Claud were here. He could’ve grown new trees.”

Reid looked at him incredulously. “He could also be dead.”

“We don’t know that. He’s a god. Perhaps after he’s served his time—”

“The ground opened up and swallowed him.”

“—he will return to us, good as new,” Beau finished determinedly, clasping Reid’s shoulder. Forcing him to a halt. “Loosen up, brother mine. It’s your wedding day.”

“I know.” Reid nodded to himself, shaking free to pace again. “I know. I just want it to be perfect.”

“And it is.”

He was right. Lou would love it.

If my heart ached that I too couldn’t be part of this moment, this memory, the pain eased when I caught sight of an empty chair in the front row. In a burnished oval frame, a picture of my likeness had been affixed to a bouquet of sunflowers. Warmth radiated through me as I knelt to study it.

They’d saved me a seat, after all.