When he turned back, he shared, “It is with darkness in my heart that the first official occasion you will stand at my side as my queen that is not our wedding will be the funeral of the woman who helped raise me. But we will give her the rite she deserved as to her place in this palace, her place in my father’s heart and her place in mine.”

“It will be with a sad heart, but still my honor to stand at your side for that, my king,”

And that was his Silence.

Mars dipped to touch his mouth to hers.

When he pulled back, he asked, “You are sure you wish to attend the procession?”

Silence nodded.

“If you need to leave, I will have you escorted back.”

“That will not happen.”

“You do not have to become my mother in one day, Silence.”

“Yes, I do, Mars.”

Mars studied her again.

Yes, this was his Silence.

And by the gods, she pleased him.

Every day, in new ways, this came more and more.

She was correct. Yesterday had been eventful, that night fraught, and there was much happening that day.

Perhaps she was conserving energy to endure it.

This was wise.

This was Silence.

He should not be concerned. His bride was clever. He knew that already.

She simply continued to prove it.

He stood, holding her to him as he did.

He only let one part of her go when he was on his feet.

After her legs swung toward the floor, he held her close, her toes brushing the tops of his feet.

“Then let us get this done,” he muttered.

His bride nodded.

Mars then put her on her feet, took her hand, tucked it to his chest, and moved them to the door.

He would ride to the pits barefoot and bare-chested.

She would ride before him on his mount, barefoot, bloodied, but entirely intact, healthy and resplendent in their victory.

And his people would see, much more than any fetching red dress could show them, the great strength and trueness of the woman who would very soon be their queen.

G’Seph

Catacombs, Go’Doan Temple, Fire City

FIRENZE

In a rage, G’Seph sent the clay pots flying.

They crashed against the empty sepulchers of the walls, carved out and waiting to bear the shrouded bones of dead priests, the ash of the spent incense in the pots dusting the air.

“How could it bloody fail?” he screeched.

“My liege,” one of the men behind him murmured.

Seph turned, doing it lifting his arm and backhanding the soldier. As the man’s head jerked to the side, Seph neared him, putting his hands on his shoulders and lifting his knee covered in the dark robes of The Rising and catching the soldier sharply in his groin.

The man’s hands went to his crotch, he bent forth and coughed.