Page 133 of The Seeker
Rhys’s parents, clearly anticipating future grandchildren, brought a richly illuminated copy of theHokman Abat, the Irin manual for fatherhood.
“Read it before you need it,” his father advised. “There are many wisdoms about caring for a mate in theHokman Abat.It’s not only about children.”
“Is this the Salman translation?” Rhys asked.
“It is.”
He frowned. “Do you think it’s more accurate than the Gen’ez? I’ve never asked, but I’ve read varying opinions on which holds most closely to the—”
“Rhys.” His father smiled. “Not the time.”
Rhys glanced at Meera. “I imagine she’s curious too.”
“The Gen’ez version is what’s used most widely in Udaipur,” Meera said, reaching for the book. “So I’m curious to compare the two for discrepancies.”
“Heaven above.” Angharad sighed. “She really is perfect for him.”
“I told you,” Edmund said. “The Creator makes no mistakes, my love.”
Meera slid the book over to a silk-covered table with other gifts. “Thank you. We’ll enjoy examining it later.”
Gift after gift. Song after song. Eventually Rhys wanted all of them to just go.
And then Ata came forward.
As the honored guest, she wasn’t required to give a gift. Her presence was deemed to be more than enough. But dressed in her finery, Ata reached into a beaded leather bag and withdrew a small, leather-wrapped package.
“Open it later,” she said. “When you are alone. Rhys will understand what it is.”
“Not me?” Meera asked.
“No.”
Then she turned and walked away.
Ata’s departure was like a bell being struck. The singers making music walked toward Rhys and Meera to sing and lead them to the tent that had been prepared. Rhys rose and held his hand out for his mate. She took it and followed him.
They walked down a torch-lit path strewn with purple and red flower petals, then turned at the door and watched as the singers walked back, extinguishing the torches as they went.
And at last they were alone.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rhys let out a long breath. “I thought this day would never come.”
Meera turned to him with a smile. “I told you the formal feast was a marathon. And that wasn’t even the long feast, that was the short—”
“No.” Rhys took her hand in both of his and brought her knuckles to his lips. “I’m not talking about this week.”
He led her inside the tent, which had been outfitted like something out of a fantasy novel. Rugs and pillows covered the grass, tapestries hung on the walls, and banners covered the ceiling. A bed was raised on a platform near the center of the tent, and a washroom and bath had been built and partitioned off the back. There was no electric light, but skylights would illuminate the interior during the day and lamps glowed at night.
Meera had never seen anything like it, not even during her luxurious upbringing in Udaipur. “This is amazing.”
“Beautiful.” Rhys wasn’t looking around the tent. He was looking at her.
“Rhys—”
“I want to say something to you,” he said softly. He led her to the center of a tent where a round stove sat with a small glowing flame. It wasn’t cold, but Meera knew the fire was from the sacred flame burning in the ritual room of the haven. Rhys would need ashes from the fire to tattoo histalesmafter their mating.
