Mayra's stress

"Twenty-three, Peter. TWENTY THREE weddings in one. How do I... What do I... I give up. Clearly everything is going to work well without me. I might as well go home and never look back." Mayra was fetching another load of firewood so the brides could cook their wedding meals. Peter was on her heels with his arms full as well. 

She threw the wood down in a pile for the girls to fetch, while Peter set his down a bit more gently. By the time he did, Mayra was already off running to check that all the wedding clothes were properly cleaned. 

"Mayra! Mayra will you slow down a moment?" He caught up to her. She'd been frantic that Brenna's disappearance and the accusations against her getting out would discourage the Cetoan men from marrying the Rhone girls, throwing all her careful plans into disarray. 

When it became clear that no such pause in matrimonial pairings would be forthcoming, it put the matchmaker into overdrive to get all the unions set and completed. 

"There's no time!" She snapped a little absently, when Ashley emerged from the Bridal Hut to meet her. 

"Calm yourself," The older woman breezed airily. "The brides will all be properly attired. It is a fashion travesty for a single bride not to have her own day of pomp and ceremony, but each of these girls will be lovely in their own way." 

"Thank you, Ashley," Mayra finally paused long enough to take a deep breath. 

"You'll have to teach me that trick," Peter commented. "She's been running ragged since sunup." 

"I'm afraid it is a talent confined to another lady, Peter," Ashley gave her former comrade-in-arms a sly smile, "but there are others you could learn to keep our young friend in check." 

Ashley quirked an eyebrow at him, and his face burned in response. He glanced over at Mayra, but she still seemed too overwhelmed by stress to take notice of the little interchange. He cleared his throat. 

"What was that you were saying about going home?" He asked. 

"Oh, nothing I guess. Only, I question what I'm even doing here, other than getting in the way." She sat down on a nearby rock. Peter turned to Ashley for help, but the lady simply smiled and tilted her head, indicating he should be the one to handle it. 

"I'll check on the venue and see if there's anything else that needs doing. You've been handling this marvelously, Mayra! I wonder how you managed without help for as long as you did." With a final, significant glance at Peter, Ashley breezed away in search of more tasks to do. 

"Hey!" He called after her. "What do you mean 'without help'? I'm a lot of help, aren't I?" He turned to Mayra, who had a hint of a smile playing at her mouth. 

"Your help has been incalculable." She responded. 

"I'm sure you mean, I've been so helpful that you cannot even calculate it, and not the reverse," He narrowed his eyes. 

"Which do you feel you have been?" She questioned. 

"I've been an enormous help! I've helped with so many things! Just now I carried firewood like a farm boy instead of guarding like a man!" He complained. 

"That was extremely helpful. There are times I wish I had all my brothers around, and carrying firewood is one of them." Mayra smiled at him.

"Hmph. Replacement brother, that's me!" He said sarcastically. 

"Maybe sometimes." Mayra couldn't resist prodding, could she? 

"And other times?" He pressed back. She had to know by now how his feelings toward her were growing stronger. 

"Other times you dance with me." She replied, and his heart stopped. 

Her tone held something he couldn't pin down. When his heart restarted, it was at double speed. Peter opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but she was already on her feet and ready to move on to the next task. 

"We need to check Haf's list with him to make sure he knows how to say all the brides' names." She launched into a list of things still to be done, as if to distract from what she'd said only moments ago. 

But that was fine. Peter had just confirmed that dancing was the way past the wall. He would dance with Mayra all night for the chance at her heart. 

___________

Caspian watched the ceremony next to his wife. Their wedding had been the first in quite a long while, but so many couples had joined since then that it was beginning to feel almost commonplace. 

He surveyed the crowd. Edmar was noticeably absent. Somehow he'd learned that Brenna had escaped instead of being taken away.

Since then he'd tried to run off twice before being brought home. He was determined to get to his desired bride by any means possible. 

It wounded Cora deeply to see her oldest son like this. He was held under guard until such time as he could be trusted to stay in the settlement. Though the public story was that he was ill, the truth found its way out in the form of whispered rumors. 

Especially since he wasn't exactly quiet in his captivity. The noise he made at each attempt to flee was heard for quite a distance. 

And so, he was confined, like a rabid dog that no one was willing to put down for its own good. 

Prince Roland stood in his place, so there was no gap beside Haf. It actually made the picture more complete; the Rhone brides represented by their Prince, the Cetoan grooms by their Commodore. Everything felt balanced and right. 

Roland also leant an extra air of formality to the unions. His imposing presence and piercing eyes let the men know that the brides of Rhone would not be defenseless in the case of abuse. 

When it was time to tie the couples together, the Prince's eyes became a little distant and sad. Caspian wondered at it, but had no time to linger over the observation. There was no more time for delay. He had to find time to talk to the man tonight. 

His heart was in too deep, and it was too late to save it from being crushed, but he had to know for sure about Naomi. The Prince surely held the key to his dilemma. 

The opportunity came just after the ceremony while the feast was being brought out. Naomi had gone to congratulate a few of the brides that she'd met since their arrival, and Roland stood alone to the side. 

"Prince Roland," Caspian greeted. 

"Caspian... er... I'm deeply sorry, is there a title you use? Commodore is an unfamiliar word, and I'm not entirely clear on the governmental structure yet." Roland bowed his head in deference. 

"Captain, when I'm in command of a ship, but just Caspian is fine on land," He explained. 

"You must just call me Roland," the foreigner replied, offering his hand to be shaken. 

"Roland, then. I have a few questions, if you don't mind." He cringed at the idea of asking such sensitive things in public, but he'd been unable to talk to the man alone until this moment. 

"Of course, how can I help?" Roland's smile faded slightly as he took on a diplomatic air. 

"I was wondering about the herbs, specifically the ones that Brenna used on Edmar..." Caspian began, and Roland sighed. 

"I'm sorry. I've told all I know to your mother and father. I'm not sure whether or when your brother will improve." Roland seemed tired of the topic. 

"It's not that," Caspian flinched a little, "It's... did other Rhone girls ever use the same thing? That you know of, I mean." 

"Not that I've ever encountered." Roland scratched his head in thought. "Of course, Brenna was the only Rhone woman I was ever around before I married. It would have been reckless for one to try and use it on me after that. Still, Father didn't seem to think there were any outside of the Void's immediate circle with those kinds of skills." He was silent for a moment before his eyes snapped up toward Caspian. 

"Why? Do you suspect one or more of the Rhone women here of doing such a thing? I must ask if this is general curiosity or particular suspicion that causes your question." Roland's voice became tense. 

"I... well..." Caspian paused. How much information could he trust to this stranger? He hadn't said anything about this to a single soul, but something about Prince Roland seemed oddly familiar and trustworthy. "I'm married, you see." 

"Yes, to kind Naomi. She stayed with my adoptive parents in Klain before her journey here." Roland smiled, and then it faded as he looked at the Cetoan's face. "If she had the ability you suspect, I think she would have used it in Klain on a rich man there instead of taking her chances on a journey here." 

"That makes sense," Caspian conceded, "only... I was determined not to like her at all. But I do. I think I might love her… And I don't know if it's real."