There were cries of disappointment that filtered through the crowd, growing into a roar of disapproval. Gared pulled his axe and blade, banging them together with a resounding ring. ‘Shut it! Man saved this town, and he wants privacy, he’s gonna get it!’ He turned to the Cutters. ‘You heard the man! Clear the way! No one gets near the Holy House!’

Immediately the Cutters formed up, encircling them and opening a path through the crowd.

‘You’ll need a witness, at least,’ Hayes said.

Arlen turned, looking at Gared. ‘Will you stand with me, Gar?’

‘Me?’ Gared squeaked, suddenly sounding more like a pubescent boy than the giant general of the Cutters.

‘Stood by my side ’gainst a horde of demons,’ Arlen said. ‘Think you can handle this.’

‘Ay,’ Gared said. ‘Be honoured.’

‘The baron will do,’ Hayes said, nodding to Franq. ‘Have everyone else wait outside.’ The Child nodded and moved quickly to the Holy House. A stream of people left as the Inquisitor and his guests approached. They pressed close, following along as they went, but the Cutters kept them back.

‘Have you the rings?’ Tender Hayes asked Arlen.

‘Don’t need any …’ Renna began, but the words died in her throat as Arlen reached into his pocket, producing two rings – woven gold and silver, covered in tiny wards. Even at a glance, she recognized his delicate script. The rings drew on his magic, shining brightly with power.

She looked at him, and Arlen grinned like a cat. ‘Think I ent been planning this, Ren? Meant it for after new moon, we were still alive, but I finished these days ago.’

Renna felt tears welling in her eyes, and made no effort to stop them falling as Arlen slipped the smaller of the rings on her finger. Her hands shook as she took the larger one and slid it onto his. ‘You are going to get such a wedding night,’ she whispered.

The Tender coughed. ‘In the name of the Creator, here in His house, I pronounce you man and wife. Go forth and multiply in His name. You may kiss …’

Renna threw herself into Arlen’s arms, pressing her mouth against his, and if the Tender finished the sentence, it was lost in the thrumming of blood in her ears.

‘Owe you a favour,’ Arlen told the Tender when they finally broke. ‘Won’t forget.’

Hayes smiled. ‘Nor will I.’

‘Congratulations,’ Gared said, slapping Arlen on the back when he turned the baron’s way. The slap would have knocked most men across the room, but Arlen stood his ground. ‘Honoured to be yur witness. Don’t deserve it.’

‘Honour’s ours, Gared Cutter,’ Arlen said. ‘Hollow’s got good men looking after it now.’

Gared looked suddenly sad. ‘Ent been as good as I should. Even after you come to the Hollow. Made … mistakes.’

Arlen smiled, reaching a hand high to put it on the giant Cutter’s shoulder. ‘We all make mistakes, Gared. But those that can see ’em are halfway to being better men. Whatever you done, I forgive you.’

The light that came over Gared’s face was unmistakable. He straightened to his full height, towering over even the Inquisitor – a step higher on the altar – then bowed low. ‘Gonna make the other half of that trip, startin’ now.’ He glanced at Hayes. ‘Creator as my witness.’

‘Love you, Arlen Bales,’ Renna whispered. Arlen took her hand and led her back down the aisle.

Gared rushed ahead of them, pushing the great doors as if they were weightless. They slammed open with a boom, revealing hundreds of people swarming about the Holy House with a steady stream coming from every street, filling the Corelings’ Graveyard. Folk stood on balconies around the square for a better view, and children sat atop their parents’ shoulders.

Renna froze. The only time she had seen such a crowd was the night the whole of Tibbet’s Brook had gathered in Town Square to see her staked out for the demons. A thousand souls, come to watch and not lift a finger while the corelings tore her apart.

She felt her heart stop, and before she knew it she was reaching for her knife.

‘Man and wife!’ Gared roared, and the cheer that arose from the crowd was deafening, shocking Renna back to her senses. She stood stunned as hastily picked flowers began to rain on them and the Jongleurs in the sound shell struck up a reel.

Arlen bowed, offering her his arm, his voice too low for any without their enhanced hearing to catch. ‘They ent here to hurt you, Ren. Just wanna give their regards and dance.’

Renna took his arm as he led her out into the crowd. An older woman appeared, a nervous smile on her face as she curtsied. ‘Meg Cutter,’ she said. ‘My family was proud to stand with your husband at the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow. None of us would be here, not for him.’

She pressed a beautifully painted pot into Renna’s hands, adorned with a few half-wilted flowers. ‘Pot’s been in my family a hundred years. Don’t know if it’s true, but my grandda said he bought it from a Messenger said it come from before the Return. Know it ent much, but I’d love for you to have it, to bless your wedding.’

Renna froze, not knowing what to say. The woman was acting as if the gift was nothing, but it was clear in her eyes she treasured it. Such a thing was not given lightly.

‘I … Thank …’ she began at last, but the woman was swept away by the crowd as another took her place. Renna knew the woman’s face but not her name. She loved the rosebush in the woman’s yard and had once told her so in passing.

‘Sandy Tailor.’ The woman curtsied awkwardly, thrown off balance by the huge bundle of roses she held in her arms, tied together with red silk. Renna could see the cuts and scrapes where she had torn her sleeves and flesh hurriedly pulling them. She must have denuded her entire bush to make the bundle. ‘Know you like roses, and a bride should have a bouquet.’ Her face flushed redder than the flowers, and she turned to go, then looked back, pointing at the bow. ‘That’s real Krasian silk,’ she noted before vanishing into the crowd. Renna tried to add them to the pot, but they would not fit and was left holding both awkwardly.

She felt drunk as people came on. Her night senses, instincts that kept her alive when she was out among the corelings, screamed at her, expecting them to rush forward – grabbing, clawing. But folk kept bowing and offering hastily chosen gifts. The Hollowers did not have money, but again and again they came forward with things Renna knew were more precious by far.

‘Stood with your husband …’

‘… please accept …’

‘… Mairy Blower …’

‘… please accept …’

‘… husband saved my life …’

‘… my son’s life …’

‘… every last one of us …’

‘… please accept …’

‘… please accept …’

‘… please accept …’

Even with her night strength, it became hard to hold all the baskets and bundles. Before long she felt like a Messenger’s pack mule, and still the well-wishers came on, hundreds in the line. Thousands.

Amazingly, it was a Krasian woman who saved her.