Byrne checked every last one of the chairs. They had to be perfect. Yesenia wouldn’t notice if half were on their side and the other half upended, but he would, and others would, and on the day his sister stepped willingly into her happiness, there could be nothing amiss.
“Arboriana could accommodate so much more,” Asherley said, but she approached the task with the same meticulous care as her husband did. He was surprised she’d joined him on the trip, but his marriage had been full of surprises, most of them welcome. There were no signs yet of a child, but she was more ardent to the task these days, and so was he. It would happen when it was meant to.
“Aye, but it wouldnae be true to them, would it?”
“You know your sister best,” she replied. She splayed her hands on her hips and surveyed the sea of chairs covering the entire clearing, skirting the forest line. “There’s a charm to this though, isn’t there?”
Byrne squinted into the soft breeze rustling the trees overhead. It felt nothing like home, any more than Longwood Rush did, but as he watched his wife dust pine needles off of chairs, it occurred to him that home could be anywhere. For him, it was with her.
He noted Gwyn and Mara near the altar, each holding a child. Ransom was nearly old enough to go running into the forest on his own, a fact Gwyn seemed all too aware of as she fought her son’s wriggling attempts to squirm away.
Torquil, Yesenia and Corin’s newborn son, dozed peacefully against Mara’s shoulder.
Asherley followed his gaze. “They’re both beautiful children.”
“Aye.”
“Does it bother you we’ve not had our own joy to welcome?”
Byrne quickly shook his head. “No, it’s... isnae for lack of trying.” He flushed, adding, “And though I shouldnae say it aloud, I hope our first is a daughter.”
Asherley eyed him. “You do? Really?”
“Gwyn is already with child again. The future of the Southerlands is safe with Khallum, with Gwyn.” Byrne gripped the back of a chair, still watching the women with the little ones. Asherley’s sister, Maeryn, had joined the group, as had the Dowager Lady Quinlanden. The Widow soon appeared as well, fussing over Ransom. “Is that not what you’d want, Ash? A daughter to take your place one day?”
“Women haven’t always ruled the Westerlands.”
“Was a woman who changed that, as I recall.”
“Rhosyn was a Ravenwood. A sorceress. She left her life behind for love when she came to the Westerlands. It’s how the Blackrooks became the Blackwoods. Thedyn Blackrook loved her that much.”
“I know the story,” Byrne said. “The whole kingdom does. ’Tis the reason they call ye the Westerland witches.”
Asherley grinned, a twinkle in her eye. “I thought that had to do with the poison we grow in our gardens?”
“You do work hard to keep the rumors alive,” he agreed, and they laughed together.
Asherley passed behind him, sliding a hand across his lower back as she went to join the women.
“Father should be here.”
Byrne’s eyes broke away from his wife at the sudden interruption of Khallum beside him.
“Aye,” Byrne whispered. “He should.”
“He deserved to see his lass happy. He...” Khallum’s thoughts trailed off.
“I think about him a lot, Khallum.”
“Aye.” Khallum crossed his arms over the ceremonial sash the Widow had packed him for the occasion. “One day...” He tapped a fist against his thigh. “We’ll see him avenged, Byrne, aye? Father was right; we have work to do, before we’ll be ready. But in our lifetimes? It will be done.”
“You mean that?” Byrne’s voice caught.
Khallum nodded. “The work has already begun to train our men to arms. I will take down this king, brother. One day, I’ll turn my eyes to all the other Reaches to join us. And we will all take back what is ours.” Khallum’s gaze fell on the women. They narrowed. “What are the bootlickers doing here?”
“Yesenia invited Maeryn, and Asherley hasnae seen her sister in so long...” Byrne said. “As for the Dowager Lady Quinlanden, her invite was Corin’s doing. Says he’s learning to forgive, that he feels bad for his mother. Says she wasnae always like this.”
“Bigger than what I could offer, were I him.”
“Aye,” Byrne replied. “But isnae that the purpose of this day, Khallum? To let the past be past?”
Khallum’s answer was a short exhale as he scanned the generous but humble arrangements. At the center of them sat a freshly built chalet, a gift from their friends on Slattery Row. The modest cabin was where Yesenia, Corin, and Torquil would begin their life anew.
Byrne shared a moment with his brother, enjoying the silence of the unsaid.
A few celebrants came to take their seats, followed by more, until slowly the rows filled. Byrne recognized only a handful in the crowd, but Yesenia and Corin knew them all. Loved them all.
Khallum coughed into his fist. “Aye, well, I ken she’s been doing for the two of us, all of our lives. Time for us to do for her.”
Byrne clapped his older brother on the back as they went to take their places.
Corin melted at the sight of his wife, flanked by her brothers, as they led her to him. She’d chosen her practical leathers from her Southerland life, but one of the women had added floral arrangements to her hair, which she wore down, free, and brushed into soft, bouncy curls.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her as Khallum and Byrne wound the thick wedding rope around his and Yesenia’s wrists, binding them together for the ceremony ahead. Korah blubbered into a lace handkerchief from her seat nearby.
Corin didn’t know what to expect from the traditional wedding rites of the Southerlands, but he suspected all he’d remember was how he’d felt as he witnessed her watching him, the love reflecting in the gold flecks of her dark eyes and the soft parting of her mouth as she held back sighs.
Khallum cleared his throat and fumbled with the vellum, unrolling it. “Salt and sand,” he read, then again, louder and stronger. “Salt and sand. So begins all sacred happenings. So ends all promises. In the salt of the sea, we are most free, like a bird upon the wind.” Khallum swiped his sleeve along his brow, his eyes wide with nerves, and continued. “Or... or a fish in the deep. But the sand is there to ground us, to remind us of our tethers, our bonds of duty and fealty and love.”
Khallum tugged at the sash that should’ve been worn by a Grand Minister of the Reliquary. But the day wasn’t about the traditions of the kingdom. It was a choice Corin and Yesenia had made for themselves, to commit to their life on their own terms. Corin knew, as he watched Khallum’s eyes swim with tears—as he observed Byrne behind him, fighting the same—that they could not have chosen better men to seal these vows.
“’Tis the lot of a man or woman of the Southern Reach to be both free and bound, both of the sea and of the land that connects it. There can be no greater manifestation of these truths than the joining of the two who have chosen to temper their salt and cultivate their sand together.”
Yesenia grinned. “You’re more salt and sand than you know, Corin.”
“Aye,” he said, laughing, twining their fingers deeper into the tangle bound by the knot. “I’m glad ye see it.”
“No jumping ahead,” Khallum whispered. “Kissing is for the end.”
Yesenia bit her bottom lip. Corin could hardly keep still.
“Eh, Corin Quinlanden, son of Chasten, son of Mariana, do you enter this joining heart open, mind willing?”
“Aye, brother. I come before you, heart open, mind willing.”
Khallum dusted the vellum and turned toward Yesenia. “And you, Yesenia Warwick, daughter of Khoulter, daughter of Sancha. Do you enter this joining heart open, mind willing?”
“Aye, heart open, mind willing. I do.”
Khallum squeezed his eyes, then opened them wide again. “Then I will ask you both to repeat the Five Sacred Promises. Aye, eh, turn to one another. Corin, fold her hands in yours, as you will for the rest of your...” He grinned. “Aye, ye already have. Good. Good.”
Yesenia’s eyes sparkled with tears. She didn’t avert them, inviting Corin to see her as she was, in her raw vulnerability.
His heart had never been fuller.
“Repeat after me,” Khallum said. “I have reached into the sand, and the sand has offered me strength. This I offer you, until my promise is spent.”
Yesenia and Corin repeated the words in imperfect unison, grinning.
“I have faced the wind, and the wind has offered me breath. This I offer you, until my promise is spent.”
“Until my promise is spent.” Corin fought himself to not kiss her now, declaring for all the world his greatest weakness, which was also his greatest strength.
“I have mined the gold from our cliffs, and the gold has offered me prosperity. This I offer you, until my promise is spent.”
Corin felt the gazes of his loved ones falling over him like a protective veil. This was not the past, where everything he did was scrutinized, in anticipation of his inevitable failure to rise. None who had made him feel that way was there today, except his mother, and he’d invited her more for himself than for her. To give himself to Yesenia in the way he most wanted—wholly, perfectly—he could have no darkness constricting his heart. Not anymore.
“I have submerged myself in the salt of the sea,” Khallum said, “and the sea has offered me courage. This I offer you, until my promise is spent.”
Corin willed a calm to fall over himself. These were the vows they’d chosen, not the ones forced upon them. He didn’t want to forget a single word—nor a single falling tear, twitch of her hand, or nibble of her lip.
“I have faced the deaths of those who came before me,” Corin said, repeating in perfect timing with Yesenia, “and death has offered me life. This I offer you, until my promise is spent.”
Khallum squinted at the vellum. “I, uh, wasnae supposed to bind ye until the end, I ken, so we’ll skip this part. But eh, aye, here we are. It is these vows that bind you. Let this rope rest eternally upon your heart, as a constant reminder of what you have both surrendered but also gained in this union. Ye are now one, and naught but death can sunder this bond.”
The applause that followed buoyed Corin up and then he kissed her, skipping his lips across hers as they both withheld their laughter. They at last connected for a proper kiss, which sent an approving ripple through the crowd.
Khallum backed up and drew Sandspire, their father’s sword. He nodded for them to hold out their hands while he carefully, his hands shaking, made the cut.
He passed the severed rope to Corin. “Donnae ye ever give me cause to come retrieve this.”
“Never,” Corin whispered, accepting the gift with a reverent nod.
Mara joined them then, passing Torquil into Yesenia’s arms. She pressed the infant against her chest and turned toward Corin with a contented smile.
“That’s it. It’s over now.”
Corin kissed the top of his son’s head, then connected again with his wife, lingering as the celebrants filtered down the path, toward the Row, where the evening was only getting started.
Yesenia handed Torquil to Corin. “I’ll meet you there, aye?”
He grinned. He held his son and the rope against his chest. “Aye.”
Khallum fiddled with the vellum, failing to squeeze it back into the tube. Yesenia waited for him to finish, but when it was clear he wasn’t going to get it on his own, she took it from him and stuffed it herself.
“There,” she said, patting the top on.
“I’d have gotten it.”
“Aye. Of course.” She held out her arm. “Walk with me to the Row?”
Khallum stared at the offer before taking it. “I hear the ale is shite.”
“Isnae a Southerland brew, but it will take ye off your feet, you underestimate it.”
“Underestimated you and look what happened. Ye fell in love with a tree-dweller.”
“Not a tree-dweller anymore,” Yesenia said to remind him. They found the path and followed it into the Merchant Quarter. “I said some things, Khallum, when I was angry.”
“I grew up with that mouth, Yesenia. I ken you’ll have to be more specific.”
“What I wanted to say was thank you,” she whispered, swaying into him with a light nudge. “For today. For stepping into Father’s place. I miss him so much, but... Today, it was like he was here.”
Khallum nodded, looking ahead. “Aye. I felt it too.”
“He would want this, aye? For the three of us, to be happy. But also... also not to forget.”
“I’ve forgotten nothing, Sen. One day...”
“Aye. One day.”
“You’ll still be spending your winters in the Southerlands?”
“We want Tor to grow up knowing who he is, Khallum. To know his uncles, his cousins, to understand what salt and sand means, not just how the words sound saying them. The physician said...” She lost her voice. “He said Tor might be the only one for me, after the trouble bringing him in. So, aye. We’ll be there.”
“Then he’ll be a fortunate lad, to have ye all to himself.”
“You and Gwyn, you’re always welcome here too.”
“Donnae share your warmth for this damp, green land, but thank you.”
“It grows on you,” she mused aloud, squeezing both arms around her brother’s one. “Thank you, as well, for coming when Erran received Anatole’s raven. Even if there wasnae a war to fight when you got here, that ye came at all... you honored your blood bond.”
Khallum settled his cheek atop her head briefly and then peeled himself away. “I promised ye, Sen. I know I disappointed ye along the way, but I’d never abandon you.”
“I know.”
They reached the bend in the path that would take them into the Row. Yesenia turned when Khallum stopped.
“Ye coming?”
Khallum’s slow nod seemed to take him somewhere else. “Aye... eh... just lost myself a moment.”
“Well, find yourself because that shite ale isnae gonna drink itself,” Yesenia teased and held out her arm to her brother once more.
After watching Torquil pass through the arms of most of the women in The Misty Merchant—and Anatole, who was more keen to childmind than she’d ever have guessed—Yesenia needed a moment alone with her son.
She bounced him near the hearth in the back room, holding him close to her heart as her memories took over, transporting her. She was once again waking in this bed to the sight of Corin’s troubled eyes, listening to the tremor in his voice as he awaited her first words following the fire at the chalet.
Had she not been so stubborn, she’d have known her heart then.
Ahh, but she knew it now.
Yesenia pressed her son’s smooth forehead to her mouth, humming a song she’d never learned the words to. Her mother had always sung it like this, a soft vibrato of sound and feeling. The Widow had caught her humming it once, not long after Yesenia’s mother had gone to the Guardians, and told her the song was called “Reborn in a Mother’s Love.”
Her gaze caught Tristan’s drawings hanging on the wall. He’d improved since he’d switched to the vellum and charcoals Yesenia had given him. Riona had a proper artist on her hands.
Yesenia smiled to herself and kept humming.
Corin’s shadow passed into the doorframe. Yesenia lifted her finger to her lips.
Sleeping? he mouthed.
Yesenia nodded. She leaned over the cradle in the corner and let Torquil come to a gentle rest. His small mouth puckered in response to his dreams.
She tugged Mara’s quilt over his waist and kissed him once more before turning.
Corin’s eyes were bleary from the drink. His slow blink revealed the exhaustion of the day. When he held out his arms, she tiptoed into them.
“I have faced the deaths of those who came before me, and death has offered me life,” he whispered into her hair, his words just slightly slurred. “Yesenia.”
“Donnae get too soft on me,” she whispered back, her words fading against his vest.
Corin spun her in his arms, his feet lightly stepping in time to a dance without song. He led her across the floor of the room where she’d fallen in love with him, listening to his heart beat out of rhythm, an imperfect match for her own.
“I know better than to believe our peace will last forever, but...” Corin spun her, then snapped her close once more. “I would exchange a lifetime of sorrow for just one year where the three of us can be a family, without the rest of the world closing in to remind us who we are.”
“Just one?” Yesenia nibbled his ear, swaying in time with his movements. “When I’ve offered you a lifetime?”
“You’re not afraid?”
“No,” Yesenia whispered, wrapping her arms around him and surrendering, letting him bear her weight. “Not anymore. For I have submerged myself in the salt of the sea, and the salt has offered me courage.”
“Mm,” Corin said. “You were listening.”
“Every Southerlander knows the vows. They’re a part of us, like the blood in our veins.”
He swept her off her tired feet and laid her on the bed, then climbed in next to her. “I think...” His voice trailed off.
Yesenia rolled her head on the pillow to look at him. “You think what?”
Corin’s eyes fluttered closed. He reached for her hand and wound it through his own. “I think I take it back, what I said before. The Guardians could give me a thousand lifetimes with you, Yesenia, and I’d still beg for more.”
Yesenia looped her arm under her husband’s head and settled him against her chest. As her eyes closed on the evening, she released her thoughts, allowed them to ride the gentle tide sweeping her imagination toward the everlasting allure of a thousand lifetimes as Yesenia Warwick Quinlanden, mother of Torquil and wife of Corin.
The Book of All Things continues with a new couple in The Altruist and the Assassin, the first tale in the Guardians Cycle. Fated love, dark secrets, and a mysterious guardian whisk us away as Rhiainach’s entire life is turned upside down after a chance encounter with shadowy Asterin. Read further for an excerpt.
Looking for Erran’s HEA? For more salt and sand romance? These stories are coming to the Southerlands Cycle! Newsletter subscribers stay current on upcoming releases, special offers, bonus content and more. You can also join The Kingdom of the White Sea Official Reader Group on Facebook for latest news and exclusive content.