Chapter Text
“I don’t think you can possibly have thought this through.” Ursa paced the length of the glass wall of the sitting room. It was nearly dusk and outside the window the fiercest blizzard of the season raged loudly. Alrich watched her pace back and forth, strangely calm, from his seat on the couch.
“Ursa, for the past two years, I’ve hardly thought of anything else. Are you honestly telling me you haven't? ” Ursa twisted the band on her finger nervously.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Do you want to marry me?” Ursa paused, looking at the floor.
“Of course I do.”
“Then say yes .”
“I can’t .” A heavy silence fell over the room. Ursa’s gut felt twisted. She’d give anything for things to be different, but there was no universe where her mother would approve. An artist from the disgraced Clan Cadera? Just imagining her mother’s reaction was sickening enough.
“That’s interesting.”
“What?” She risked meeting his gaze. There was something different there—something bold, something fierce, something strong, something…Mandalorian.
“Never thought I’d see Ursa Wren back down from a fight.” She tried not to bristle at the accusation, because she knew that was his intention, but she couldn’t help it. She was a Mandalorian herself, after all.
“That’s a low blow and you know it.”
“I know you’re running and you know it too. Tell me what your plan is, exactly. Tell me where we go from here. How many more years of planning secret short-lived rendezvous months apart? I love you. I want to marry you, and you want to marry me. Not one of those things is in question, the only thing left is what you are going to do about it.” Ursa’s fingers curled into fists by her side. She was angry. She wanted to be angry at him, but she knew who she was really angry at—everyone else. Her mother, her father, every infuriating politician plunging them into new depths of chaos, even herself—but not him. No, she couldn’t be mad when he was the only one fighting for their future. She couldn’t be mad at him for having the courage she hadn’t had herself.
“There’s so much at stake.” She knew Alrich could tell he’d gotten through to her, because he stood and took her hand, rubbing circles over her knuckles, but keeping a bit of distance, letting her have her space to think.
“There always has been. There always will be. Something will have to give.” She nodded. He was right, but the problem now was what . It wasn’t just her relationship with her mother and her clan at stake–-her mother would kill him. Even if she didn’t, there was a larger issue—the issue of winning her hand.
This was no trivial show of bravado for the possession of her objectified person—the Wren family trial was a very serious tradition, one intended to weed out those unworthy to partner with the formidable heir to the Wren Clan. More importantly, it was unique to each bearer of the task, and it would be Ursa’s mother who determined the details. Her expectations would be merciless should she not approve of the suitor. This would be grim enough for any average Mandalorian, but accomplished and brilliant as he was, Alrich was no typical Mandalorian. One thing was certain—Ursa would not allow him to undergo the trial.
What other option she had—that eluded her.
“Ursa?” Alrich prodded gently. She realized she’d been staring intensely into the roaring fire across the room in the fireplace. She looked up at him, the glimmer of a plan starting to form.
“You’re right,” she said slowly, as it became clearer. Her heart raced in anticipation. This would be an undertaking unlike any she’d attempted before—but as she met Alrich’s eyes, saw the love, support, and adoration there, she knew she would do it. She was a Mandalorian, and this time, she would not be taking no for an answer—not even from her mother.
“Are you alright?” He asked. She realized she’d trailed off again. She smiled and squeezed his hand.
“Better than ever. I’m going to go talk to my mother.” He peered at her quizzically.
“Really?”
“Really.” She slipped her hand out of his and strode to the door, her heart beating faster by the minute.
“Woah,” he protested. “What are you—”
“Wait here,” she instructed, turning just before the exit to look back at him. “I’ll let the house know you’re here and they’ll take care of you. They’ll prepare you a room in the guest wing.”
“Wh-what is happening?”
“There’s a lot of procedure and tradition to consider,” she explained, which wasn’t a lie . “I will likely be in conversation with my mother for several days.”
“But shouldn’t I—”
“This is something my mother and I need to handle alone,” she assured him. She crossed back to him, kissing him on the cheek and giving his hand a quick squeeze. “Don’t worry, I have a plan.” She returned to the door, but turned once more. “Oh, and once the storm clears, you’ll want to send for Bo.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me. Fill her in, she’ll come. I love you.”
“I—” the door shut behind her. “...love you too.”
To say it was out of character for Ursa to burst into her mother’s private hall without warning or invitation would be like saying it was of mild concern for a bantha to stand straight on its hind legs and perform a Jakkian jig—it would be an inconceivable understatement.
“Ursa?!” Her mother exclaimed, perhaps less harshly than she would have under normal circumstances (it was that shocking for Ursa to behave in such a manner). “What on Mandalore —?”
“I require an audience,” Ursa announced. When no one moved. She folded her arms and gave her mother’s advisors a withering stare. “Now.” Safe to say, they were quickly alone.
“Ursa Wren, never in all my years have I endured such outrageous disrespect— ”
“I have something to discuss with you and it cannot wait.”
“What has come over you?”
“I am to be betrothed.” It was almost worth the fuss just for the priceless expression on her mother’s face. She had never seen her anywhere close to as floored as she appeared now.
“You’re what?! ”
“I am twenty-two years old, I’ve come of age, I’ve proved myself on countless occasions as a warrior, a diplomat, a Mandalorian, and heir to your title and rank. According to tradition I am more than within my right to seek a suitor.”
“And just when exactly did you meet this suitor ?”
“I’ve known him for five years, we’ve courted for over four.”
“You—how is that even possible? How could you keep this from me?”
“I knew you would not approve.”
“You think that’s any less likely now?”
“I know it is not.” Ursa inhaled calmly through her nose. She remembered how Alrich had looked at her. She touched the ring he’d given her all those years ago. It gave her courage.
“And who is this suitor?”
“Alrich Cadera.” Her mother laughed .
“Clan Cadera was all but decimated by Duchess Satine’s administration. All that remains are penniless artisans and tradesmen. You can’t possibly be serious.” Ursa’s resolve did not waver.
“I no longer require your approval for personal reasons. I only require your blessing for official courses.”
“You absolutely will not have it.”
“I thought you’d say that.” Ursa walked slowly around the other side of the table her mother had been working at before she’d interrupted. “I have a proposal.”
“It would be a kindness for you to accept my disapproval now,” her mother cautioned her darkly. “You know I can ensure any unfit suitor is ultimately eliminated.”
“A union must be championed by a trial of a suitor’s fortitude, courage, and strength,” Ursa recited.
“Indeed.”
“ A suitor , not the suitor .” Her mother’s gaze narrowed.
“Ursa, make your point.”
“I will undergo the Trial.”
“Jare, ” her mother hissed. “Is this really how you want to play this?”
“You’ve known me all my life, mother. Have you ever known me to jest about such matters?” Her mother’s glare was icy and blazing all at once.
“You’d risk everything—all I’ve given you, all I’ve sacrificed for you, for some irrelevant fling?”
“I don’t expect you to know anything about love, mother. I know better than anyone you’ve never experienced it yourself.” Her mother scoffed, brushing off the scathing blow.
“I should have known—should have expected something like this from you.” Ursa clenched her fists.
“And why exactly?” She challenged, something angry and scalding building in her chest. “When have I ever given you any reason to doubt my unwavering loyalty and obedience? When have I ever challenged you? When was I anything less than what you asked of me?” Her voice built to a shout without her intending for it to, but it poured out so freely—unchained.
“Oh save me the pity party,” her mother bit back bitterly. “You did what you were told—do you expect an award? Do you expect me to praise you for amounting to the bare minimum?”
“The bare minimum? I was the best ! I am the best! I am everything you ever asked of me and more , any parent would be proud to have me as their daughter!” She hadn’t meant for her father’s sentiment to spill out, but it felt in that moment like the only thing either of her parents had ever given her. A weapon, of sorts. Better yet, a foundation, a defense against everything she’d endured for their sake. Validation for how strong she’d been—for the woman she’d become, in spite of their failures.
“Go ahead then,” her mother conceded, eerily quiet, yet just as intense and seething. “If you’re the best, submit to the trial. Prove it. What do you have to lose?”
“Everything,” Ursa replied coldly. “But I have nothing to prove.” Ursa turned and strode to the door, filled with a foreign confidence.
“It’s suicide,” her mother called after her. “You’ll receive the same challenge I would have issued him. You’ll never make it out alive.”
“Maybe not,” Ursa replied as she turned the handle. “But I’ll be free.”
In the early hours of the morning, Ursa dressed, made her bed, and perched on her footlocker to write two letters. The first was to Bo, to explain Ursa’s plan, and to ask her for a favor. The second was to Alrich, to explain her plan—in the event it failed—and to make clear in written word how deeply she loved him, and how far she was willing to go to prove it. When the second letter was finished, she tucked her ring into the envelope alongside it. If she succeeded, she’d know it was safe and return for it. If she didn’t—she wanted him to have it. Maybe love could still be near even when she was not.
Outside the entrance to the Countess’ hall, she entrusted the letters to the head of house, and waited in the early morning light for her audience with her mother. As she stared at the details in the grand doors, she tried to calm her nerves by thinking of Alrich, somewhere in a guest chamber on the other side of the compound, fast asleep. She absently reached to twist the ring that had been on her finger for four years, but it was not there. It was sobering.
A guard slipped out of the hall, and the head of house caught his arm.
“How much longer?” He whispered tersely.
“They’re still arguing,” the guard explained gravely. “They’re still trying to convince her to reconsider.” The head of house replied with a stiff nod.There wasn’t anything else to say. If the Countess’ advisors were risking an argument, the situation was dire indeed. But every clan member knew there was no changing Liluria Wren’s mind—so they waited for the inevitable.
When Ursa was finally let into the hall, it was silent as judgement day. Even the storm had quelled for the occasion. There was no roaring wind, not even a breeze, no sleet or thunder; everyone held their breath. All Ursa could hear was the pounding of her own heart in her ears.
Her mother’s advisors were seated around her. The atmosphere was tense and bleak. Still, Ursa bent to her knee to bow to her mother. Her mother allowed her to remain there far longer than usual, drinking in the deafening silence.
“Rise, Ursa Wren of Clan Wren, House Viszla, honored in the ancient way of Mandalore.” Ursa did so, still lowering her head in deference.
“Do you submit, in full understanding of our customs and traditions, to the trial of your character and strength as a warrior of noble Mandalore for the purpose of championing a legitimate claim to your proposed union, such as it concerns the integrity and posterity of Clan Wren?”
“I do.”
“And you do so in full faculty of mind, soul, and health?”
“I do.”
“You understand that in doing so you forfeit your mind, your soul, and your health to the conditions of the trial endowed upon you by the authority of Clan Wren?”
“I do.”
“And possessing such knowledge, you maintain your submission to the trial?”
“I do.”
“By the authority of Clan Wren, you are so bound to the conditions of your trial, separation of which can only occur upon completion or your demise. Step forward to accept your trial.” Ursa slowly accended the steps to her mother. The Countess held out her closed fist expectantly. Ursa extended her hand, and her mother pressed something into her palm. It was a cold, jagged crystal, a cool white, almost transparent.
“Cin’ciri choruk,” Ursa recognized. “Snow stone.”
“Correct. You know where it is found?”
“The peak of Mount Jiriad. In the Solus caves.”
“Indeed.” Her mother took the crystal back from her. “This stone is the only of its kind on the compound. Another can only be acquired from the Solus caves themselves. You will bring me one before the sun sets tomorrow. If you cannot return with the stone by then, you should not bother returning at all.” Ursa nodded.
“I understand.”
“According to custom, you may bring basic provisions and supplies along with you, but you may receive no guidance or support, else you forfeit your trial.” Ursa nodded.
“Dismissed.”
Ursa was met in the hall by a few of her clansmen, who offered her pained smiles of support. With the trial in progress, they could not speak to her, but they handed her the supplies she was allowed—a small pack of basic rations and survival provisions, three whistling birds, and a single blaster pistol with full charges. Then she was outside—alone. The storm had started again.
What an outsider might not understand about the task Ursa had been given was that it was, in every conceivable way, impossible. The trek to the peak of Mount Jiriad was a rare passage sought out by only the most capable of Clan Wren’s warriors. The journey required stamina, strength, considerable survival skills, and mental fortitude. Under normal circumstances, Ursa would be honored to undertake the task, were it not for the time constraint and the condition of her solidarity.
The trek to the peak of Mount Jiriad was typically undertaken over at least a week-long period. Those with less to prove took as long as a month to return safely. To return in less than 48 hours—it had never been conceived of, much less done. To have a hope of completing it, Ursa would not be able to stop, not once. She would have to limit her load to as light as possible, and she would have to pray to any higher power that might exist that the deadly conditions would not kill her before she returned. Even more daunting, she would have no one to fall back on. It was a herculean task, impossible for even the strongest of Mandalorians.
So Ursa did what any Mandalorian worth their salt would do. She started walking and she didn’t look back. There was not a second for hesitation, not if she had any hope of returning to Alrich, to the life they hoped to share together. To press forward was quite literally all there was to do. As she walked, she took inventory.
Water was heavy, she could not afford to carry it, the bottles stashed in the pack were the first to be discarded in the fallen snow. She would not have time to distill the mountain streams either, she’d have to risk the hundreds of diseases she could contract from unfiltered ice melt (which felt like a far-off concern for an unlikely Ursa who made it off the mountain alive). Of the rations in her pack, she stuffed a few bars in her pockets—the rest joined the water bottles. She wouldn’t have time to pause to eat anyway. Any rations that required preparation, boiled water—those were impractical. Quickly, she picked through her pack. The emergency blanket was folded compactly enough to go in her pocket, the matches she had little use for. By the time she discarded the empty backpack, she was left with five ration bars, the emergency blanket, four endothermic pocket warmers, a compass, and the three whistling birds.
Despite the gravity of the situation, each step closer to Ursa’s goal filled her with a new feeling, something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a very long time—hope.
It had only been approximately sixteen hours since Ursa had left Alrich in the sitting hall, and he was already restless. Considering he’d been in albeit fitful sleep for at least seven of those hours, he didn’t think he was off to a great start. The thought of Ursa being in conversation with her mother for several days induced enough anxiety that he'd skipped kaf at breakfast (he’d also forgone breakfast—he wasn’t so sure it would stay down).
“The storm still hasn’t let up?” He noted, looking across the mess hall table at the flurry outside the window. Across the table from him, Ursa’s clanmates exchanged glances.
“It cleared for a moment this morning,” one of them clarified.
“But now it’s worse than before,” another added with mysterious tension.
“At this rate–”
“There’s no sense in worrying over it,” another one—Dekrek, Alrich remembered his name was—interrupted, casting his peers a warning glance. “There’s nothing we can do but…wait for it to pass.” Alrich frowned.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Oh it’s just—we’ve been waiting on a supply shipment, but the transports won’t dock in this weather,” Shae explained quickly. “We’re a little tight, but Dekrek’s right, there isn’t any sense in us being tense over it. We’ll make do.” Her words didn’t seem to alleviate her companions’ concerns. A grave tension lingered.
“Well I’ll feel better when it’s over, anyway,” Alrich announced, trying to alleviate the discomfort. “Ursa asked me to send for Bo, and honestly the sooner she’s here the safer I’ll feel.” He chuckled awkwardly. (Although he wasn’t lying, Bo was a comforting ally to have in your corner). Jekki leaned forward urgently.
“Oh, sending for Lady Kryze is brilliant!” Rhokyra tugged on her arm severely, but Jekki shrugged her off. “If anyone could fix this nonsense, it’s her!” She argued.
“Okay, am I missing something?” Alrich asked. “You’re acting awfully strange.” Jekki turned to look at him intensely.
“Send for Lady Kryze now.”
“But the storm—”
“There’s no time, send for her now.”
“Why? Is something wrong?” No one looked him in the eye, a sinking feeling grew in his gut. “Is Ursa alright?”
“We can’t say more,” Dekrek explained. “But–she’s right. If you send for Lady Kryze now, maybe she can make it…before it’s too late.”
“Alrich, do you have any idea what time it is here?”
“If it makes you feel better, it isn’t a sensible hour here either.” Alrich was just relieved his transmission had finally gone through. The storm outside hadn’t helped matters. It only raged stronger than ever, which filled Alrich with anxiety. He’d pieced together that the storm had something to do with Ursa’s situation, whatever that was—he was trying not to think about it.
“Is something wrong?” Bo asked. Her hologram was patchy—interference from the storm. He hoped the connection held out long enough.
“I suspect something is very very wrong—I just don’t know what. I’m really worried, Bo. They won’t tell me anything, and she’s been gone for over a day now.”
“Who’s been gone–Ursa? Alrich, where are you?” Urgency crept into Bo’s tone.
“I’m on Krownest. I…I think Ursa’s in trouble.” He explained to Bo the premise of his visit, and what Ursa had said to him before she left.
“I’m leaving immediately.”
“But there’s a storm, Bo. You won’t be able to land.”
“You let me worry about landing, you stay right where you are. Ursa’s mother is next level gundark- shebs crazy, you stay away from her , got it? If I leave now and all goes well, I can be there by noon tomorrow.”
“And if all doesn’t go well?”
“Pray it does.”
Things did not exactly go well. Bo arrived a few hours past noon the next day, and was immediately escorted to see the Countess. Alrich was starting to get the feeling Ursa was not talking with her mother. He still wasn’t ready to consider where she was . The only thing he could find hollow comfort in was that just after Bo landed—the storm began to lift. He wasn’t sure why that was reassuring, but he had a feeling it should be.
With no answers, Alrich sought an unlikely refuge—the training hall. Though he was vastly out of his element—and immersed in Ursa’s, which felt a bit like drenching an open cut in fresh lemon juice—there was a simple satisfaction in punching a bag over and over and over again. It was something to do, at least. He spent hours in there, watching out of the corner of his eye out the window as the sky grew darker and the sun set. Though he was tired, he pressed on. He didn’t feel like he could sleep, wondering what was happening behind closed doors.
“Alrich Cadera, I presume.” Alrich turned, a little startled. Standing before him was the Countess Wren. The first thing he noticed was that she bore a striking resemblance to Ursa in many ways. The braided circlet Ursa always wore was a striking element of her appearance. She was a little shorter than Ursa by a few inches, closer to Alrich in height. She wore ceremonial armor emblazoned with the clan wren signet. Her expression was impassive, similar to how Ursa wore hers by default at times—but much colder.
“Correct,” he agreed. He bowed slightly. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Countess Wren.”
“I can’t say the same,” she replied curtly. “Take a walk with me.” She strode off without waiting for a response, which Alrich supposed felt apropot.
The hallways of the compound were dark, but outside the large open windows the snow and the grey sky glowed softly. The storm had passed completely, and the night was still. After the days of roaring wind and sleet, Alrich found the silence deeply unsettling. The Countess strolled casually to a particular window and stopped, gazing out at the blank canvas in the courtyard below.
“I understand you’ve been seeing my daughter for some time now.”
“Four years.”
“So she said. And you hope to marry her.”
“See, that’s the thing I don’t think you understand, Lady Wren.” No one was more surprised than Alrich himself that the words came out so confrontational, but forty-eight hours of anxiety and frustration bubbled in his chest unexpectedly. He was stressed, and worried, but a new feeling was emerging, one he often tried to quell and balance for the sake of diplomacy; but he was tired. Anger felt just right.
“ I don’t understand?”
“No, you don’t,” Alrich snapped. “You don’t understand because I don’t hope to marry your daughter. I am going to marry your daughter.”
“You are?”
“I am. I am going to marry her, and there isn’t anything you or anyone else can say about it, because I love her and I want to marry her, and more importantly, she loves me , and she wants to marry me . So I don’t know what game you think we’re playing right now, but I’ve had just about enough of it. And while we’re on the subject, your daughter is incredible , and you’d do well to recognize it.” Feeling like he’d done a thorough job of sealing his imminent demise, he felt like that was a good place to end. The Countess was very quiet for several minutes, still fixated on the falling snow. Finally, she slipped crystal, perfectly sized for her to grip, out of her pocket. It was opalescent and almost shimmered in the moonlight. Then she slipped out another one, smaller. She examined it for a long time, then without looking in his direction, she pressed the second stone into Alrich’s hand.
“As I’m sure you know, Ursa does not require you to defend her. By rite, she has secured your union. She returned from her trial an hour ago. She is in the sitting room now. If she survives the night, by all means, marry her.”
“If she—” Alrich stood, frozen in terror for several moments as the Countess pocketed the first crystal and walked away without ceremony. Then he ran.
Bo was waiting for him at the door when he reached the sitting room. Her expression only made him feel worse. She tried to slow him in the entryway, but he pushed against her, feeling frantic.
“Is–is she—?”
“She’s still with us, but the medic is still stabilizing her. I just want you to be prepared—it doesn’t look good right now.”
“I want to see her,” he insisted, pushing past her (which wouldn’t have actually been possible had she not given in—Bo was a lot stronger than he was).
Ursa looked so fragile crumpled on the couch in the sitting room—Alrich had never thought of her that way before, and it broke him now. Her face was ashen. Her overclothes had been removed for access to her wounds—there were gashes and scrapes all over her body, but that was less concerning than how she trembled. Her fingers were purple, her lips were blue. The medic had fitted her with oxygen tubing and was in the process of putting in an IV. Taken altogether, Alrich might have assumed she was dead, had Bo not told him otherwise. He dropped to the ground beside her, slipped his hand into hers.
“Ursa.” His heart lightened when her fingers gently gripped his hand in return. Her breaths were raspy and labored, but she managed a whisper of a smile.
“I—I did…it…”
“Shhh.” He brushed loose strands of hair out of her face, caressing her cheek. “Just rest, sweetheart.” She closed her eyes. Alrich pulled the blanket over her shoulders.
“Why is she here?” He asked the medic. “Shouldn’t she be somewhere more comfortable?”
“It’s not wise to move her,” the doctor replied. “It’s a miracle she’s still alive.”
“What can we do for her?”
“I’ll be working through the night to stabilize her vitals. Her vital systems began shutting down to conserve body heat and protect the brain. But if I can keep her breathing until morning—I think we’ll be through the worst of it.”
“Thank you,” Alrich whispered.
“I’m going to intubate her,” the medic explained gently. “It would be best if I had some space, but I’ll let you know as soon as I’m finished.” Alrich reluctantly squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead.
“I love you,” he whispered. She squeezed his hand, and he smiled. “Stay strong.” He rose to his feet, pacing anxiously near the fireplace. Bo joined him.
“She’ll pull through,” she assured him. “You know our Ursa. She doesn’t even know her own strength. She’ll be kicking our shebs in no time.” Alrich allowed himself a small smile.
“I still don’t know what happened. Why wouldn’t she tell me—I could have helped her.”
“Hey.” Bo put a hand on his shoulder. “She saw what she needed to do and she did it. She did it for you. There will be time for all the talking later, but tell me honestly—would you have done anything less for her?” He glanced sideways at Ursa. She was in undoubtedly the roughest shape of her life, on the doorstep of death. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he loved her—mind, body, and soul.
“I’d do anything,” he said, and Bo smiled. She believed him.
“You should rest,” she urged him. “You look tired.”
“I won’t leave her,” he dismissed, returning to her side. Bo shook her head and smiled.
“Of course you won’t.”
It was three days before the medic felt comfortable removing intubation, and Ursa slept another twelve hours afterwards, but the medic assured them she was making a steady recovery. Bo stayed until she was sure her friend was in the clear. She promised to return for the union, but she had a few things to attend to Kalevala.
Alrich spent his time corresponding with the Art Institute on Mandalore. Now that he was going to marry Ursa, his time in Sundari was coming to an end; he’d be moving to Krownest. The change was bittersweet, but he was looking forward to a new adventure—the greatest adventure.
“Hey you.” Alrich grinned as he set down his bag by the door. Ursa was sitting up, and there was some color in her cheeks, which eased the worry he’d been bearing for almost a week. “Hey,” he replied. He sat on the edge of her bed, and she leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
“I’d kiss you, but I haven’t brushed my teeth in days,” she explained. “It’s at the top of my list.”
“It’s a relief to see you feeling better,” he admitted. “You had me worried for a while there.” She shrugged with a wry smile.
“Can’t keep me down.”
“Yeah, well, eventually we’re going to discuss how displeased I am with you deciding to get yourself half-killed.”
“Oh, you’ll forgive me.”
“Sure, but I’ll be very grumpy about it.” She laughed and squeezed his hand.
“It almost doesn’t feel real,” she confessed. “You’re going to be my husband.”
“You’re going to be my wife.” It was impossible not to smile when he said that. She smiled too.
“I could get used to that.”
“You better, because I’m going to remind you all the time .”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m going to tell everyone I meet.”
“Oh, stop.” He did, but only because he didn’t want her to wear herself out laughing.
“Hey, I have something for you.” He produced an envelope from his pocket. Ursa blushed.
“Bo wasn’t supposed to give that to you if I made it back.”
“She thought I’d want it anyway.”
“I hate her.”
“Sure,” he laughed. “If platonic marriage was a thing you’d ditch me in a heartbeat and spend the rest of your life with her and you know it.”
“It’s true.” He shook his head, slipping the ring out of the envelope.
“This is yours,” he said. “I—fixed it a bit. I hope you don’t mind.” She took it from him, holding it up to study the new addition—a white crystal inlaid in the silver band.
“ Cin’ciri choruk, ” she noted. “The one I brought back?” Alrich nodded.
“Your mother gave it to me. I thought it would be a nice reminder; of all we sacrificed to get here.”
“I love it,” she said. “It’s perfect.” She looked up at him, her eyes shining. He was so in love with her . “I love you.”
“Oh good,” he teased. “That could have been awkward.”