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The house is abuzz with noise and movement. It’s not a large place, and it’s stuffed to bursting with various family and well-wishers; Colum’s brother Ram has just been married.
Eighth weddings are muted chapel affairs, but the receptions are some of the liveliest events for which the House allows — even then, they’re positively restrained compared to the extravagant celebrations held by many of the other seven. Still, it is a special occasion to see so much joy in a single building. Ram has been clapped on the back perhaps more times than Colum had believed possible. His bright-faced new bride is surrounded by her yet-unmarried friends, chittering excitedly (though not, of course, in a manner meant to evoke vanity or pride) about her simple wedding dress, the white floral sprigs in her pinned-up hair, the plain white gold band on her finger, luxuriously inset with a single small white stone.
Most exciting of all, however, is the fact that the Master Templar himself, the Eighth’s highest-ranked theocratic official, Silas Octakiseron, is in attendance. It is the first wedding of his tenure at which he has ever been present. He had not performed the ceremony himself, of course — such matters were not so high-priority as to require his direct intercession — but he had sat quietly in his elegant, mid-formal robes of office with the cavalier primary of the Eighth in the front row of the cathedral, along with the groom’s family, and watched with curious approval.
The Master Templar, to be clear, is five years old. The groom, Colum himself, and their erstwhile brother Capris are his nephews. Colum Asht, age twenty-one, is his cavalier.
There had been a minor intrafamiliar dispute as to whether Silas should make an appearance. Capris had been of the view that his attendance would draw excessive focus from the bride and groom, and more specifically that “every other thing this family does is about him, so why should Ram have to give up his own wedding to some spoiled boy-king who can’t yet even write his own name.”
Ram had cuffed him quite harshly, chastising him for his blasphemy, and stated that it would be his honor for the Master Templar to be present. Colum had agreed somewhat hesitantly with Capris, although he didn’t appreciate the coarse manner in which he spoke about Silas and let him know as much. Silas had been making good progress with his letters, as well, and it was unfair to say otherwise. It was not his fault that his surname was eleven letters long.
Privately, Colum had additionally been worried about Silas’s young age and tendency to grow overwhelmed in crowds of strangers. Though Silas was almost preternaturally well-behaved, as befit a child of his holy station, Colum did not wish to interrupt his brother’s nuptials with an ill-timed bout of frightened or exhausted tears from his small charge, whose most favored place of refuge was the crook of Colum’s shoulder.
Their mother had stated in no uncertain terms that Silas would be there if he had the time and inclination — “the inclination, he’s five, he’ll just do whatever Colum tells him —” “Capris!” — and that it would be their great honor and pleasure to host him, and that was the last word on the matter. So here he is.
They’re nearing the end of the evening now, and people are slowly beginning to filter out. Many of them make a point of bowing to Silas, who is snuggled safely into Colum’s side on a sofa in the small living room. To his credit, though full of the simple supper Colum had cut up for him and obviously growing sleepy, Silas blesses each of them as they pass and bids all of them a polite farewell.
“Almost done, dove,” Colum murmurs very quietly, leaning down a little so Silas may hear him better. “You’re doing such a good job. The very picture of your office.”
“You will have to carry me home,” Silas says, in the eerily courteous little voice of which Colum is so deeply fond.
“Of course. And you’ll have your bath and your teeth brushed and your clean pajamas, and I’ll comb your hair, and then we’ll say the nighttime prayers and tuck in for bed.”
Silas nods vigorously at this concept, soothed to have the steps laid out in chronological order. He dearly cherishes cleanliness and routine. He visits the house of Colum’s birth frequently enough that it is a safe, “clean” space in his mind, generally not mandating that Colum scrub him off immediately as soon as they return to their own rooms. The crowd of strange people gathered now, however, in tight quarters where they all bump against one another and breathe the same recirculated air, will make him feel a sort of dirtiness of which he is pathologically conscious, and he will fervently wish to be washed. Odd fixations like this are not uncommon in Colum’s family line — they had troubled Colum himself in his own childhood, and sometimes return even now under stress — but as a rule they are not spoken about. Silas is perfect with or without them.
Nothing has ever come so easily to Colum as does loving Silas. He had been terrified, waiting for him to be born, waiting to see which of the available Asht bodies would prove useful to him, but it is easy. He knows that there is some concern that he dotes on the young Master too much, that he will soften his heart so that he cannot properly drive away sin as he grows into his role. Colum thinks that this is a patently ridiculous idea. The idea of caring for frail, sweet little Silas, who clings to and adores him, in the cold, perfunctory manner the elders seem to idealize is utterly repulsive to him.
And anyway, Colum is the only one he’ll listen to about anything, because Colum knows he can be coaxed by calling him things like little lamb, and making his morning porridge with milk rather than water, and allowing him to have an extra devotional tractate read to him before bed even if he has already heard and discussed the theological merits of two. The elders seem to believe that the solution to a child who does not wish to listen is to repeat the same order more loudly and severely until something gives. This is, shockingly, less than effective, particularly with Silas, who in spite of his good manners and polite disposition has a will to spite the devil’s, and can be extremely inflexible when he wishes to be. He cannot yet write, but he has already learned to ominously intone.
“Colum,” comes his tiny voice from Colum’s side. “My vestments, please? I am too warm.”
Colum scans the room. The guests have dwindled to almost exclusively Colum’s immediately extended family, close cousins and such, so it’s alright to be a little less formal, he thinks. Silas does look flushed from the heat of the crowd.
“C’mere,” Colum replies, scooping Silas into his lap. “Arms up.”
Silas obeys. Colum tugs the two decorative top layers of his robes off over his head, which are just as elaborate as an adult’s would be for the occasion. This leaves him in a soft, plain white kirtle and white trousers, already looking significantly more comfortable. He turns to lean his small shoulder against Colum’s chest, ash-white flyaways from his braided hair sticking to his damp forehead, as Colum delicately folds up the clothes he’s removed to avoid damaging their fine details.
“They’re out of their minds putting all that shit —” (“Language!” bark both other Asht brothers and their mother with impressive simultaneity, Colum instinctively covering Silas’s ears) “— on a little kid, Master Templar or no,” Capris remarks lazily. He sits at the kitchen table, nursing a glass of wine, honestly not nearly drunk enough to justify the manner in which he’s running his mouth. “Are you comfortable in all that fussy chapel stuff, Brother Silas?”
“They are my robes of office,” Silas replies politely. “I must wear them. They show respect for the occasion and to the Lord.”
“But surely it feels better to wear clothes you can actually move in?”
Silas cocks his head, small brow furrowing slightly in confusion. “I can move in all of my clothes, when I am not poorly,” he says, after thinking on it a moment. “You saw me walking just tonight, Brother Capris.”
“For God’s sake, Capris, leave it,” Ram groans. “Show some respect. Master Octakiseron is only a boy.”
“I’m sorry, don’t you have a marital bed to busy yourself in right now, fair bridegroom?” Capris replies with a slight sneer. Colum closes his eyes and lets out a long breath through his nose.
Ram is, predictably, incensed. “Do not make implications of that nature in front of the —”
“Implications of what nature, Brother Ram? I only meant that you must surely be exhausted.”
“What did you think of the ceremony, Master Silas?” Colum asks conspicuously, hoping to stave off a physical fight on the night of his brother’s wedding. It works, thankfully — both Ram and Capris turn to look at Silas, even if Capris does so with some measure of visible disdain.
Silas glances up at him, deep brown eyes wide. “It was very nice,” he says. He drops his gaze again to gather his thoughts, which always makes him look far older than his age. “I thought the verses from the Tome were well-selected, and the vows were good. And I liked the flowers in Sister Ochoan’s hair.”
He looks up at Colum again, curious. “May I wear flowers in my hair?”
“Not for religious occasions,” Colum replies, petting the hair in question. “In your own time, though, I’m sure we could arrange it. I could tie some into your braid.”
Silas nods agreeably. He understands the specificity of his ceremonial attire down to the most minute detail, but that means the simple clothes and few accessories he is permitted to wear in his spare time take on a specialness of their own.
“Oh — and Brother Ram looked nice as well,” Silas adds, glancing apologetically over at Ram as he realizes the omission.
Ram smiles fondly at him. “You honor me, Master Silas.”
“Will you ever get married, Brother Capris?” Silas inquires. It sounds like a question asked in mere politeness, but Colum sees the truth behind it — Silas would like to know if he will again have the opportunity to participate in an event so exciting. Colum braces himself preemptively for what he knows will be weeks of questioning about the concept of a wedding and marriage in general.
Capris barks a laugh that makes Silas jump; Ram cuts him a disapproving look. Colum's arm curls instinctively tighter around Silas in his lap.
“I don't think it’s in the cards for me, Brother Silas,” Capris drawls, ignoring them both. “Maybe on a very cold day in Hell.”
“The core of Hell is said to be frozen over without the light of the Lord,” Silas replies helpfully. “So that may be any day now.”
Colum fails to suppress a smile. Capris snorts.
“I’m a little short on proposals, kid,” he says, somewhat ruefully. “I believe you’ve just witnessed the last wedding this family will have until Ram’s children are married, unless our mother suddenly decides to take up with someone new.”
“Which is highly unlikely,” Colum clarifies, before Silas has the chance to wonder too much about the process of a widow’s remarriage, or why she would want to in the first place.
“What about Colum?” Silas asks instead, tipping his chin up again to look at him.
“Yes,” Capris agrees smoothly, “what about Colum?”
“Don’t tease him,” Colum replies, a bit snappish.
He turns back to look at Silas. “I won’t marry, Si,” he says, significantly more gently. “The cavalier primary is not permitted to. It would take too much of my time and attention away from my necromancer.”
“Me?”
“You, love.” Colum pets his hair again. “The vows of the cavalier primary and the vows of marriage don’t go well together.”
Silas’s brow furrows again in thought. “But would you marry? If you didn’t have me?”
“Maybe,” Colum shrugs. “Or maybe not. We’ll never know.”
“I would come to the wedding,” Silas states. “And I would sit in the front pew.”
“Sure you could. You’re the Master Templar, you could sit wherever you like.”
“What about you?” Capris asks languidly, finally finishing off his glass and pouring himself another. “Were you not Master Templar, Brother Silas, what kind of person would you marry?”
Silas’s head tilts to the side. “May I not?”
“The Master Templar doesn’t marry either, Si,” Colum reminds. “You know that. The Master Templar’s first love is the Lord, and her second is the Lord’s children.”
Silas nods, remembering. It seems to be the first time he’s ever given this part of his role significant thought.
“But just as a thought exercise,” Capris continues. “If you could.”
“Stop harassing him, Capris, for God’s sake,” Ram says sternly. “You don’t have to advertise that you’re on a level intellectual playing field with a five-year-old.”
“It’s only a question, Ram, you’re such a —”
“Don’t finish that sentence —”
“I’d marry Colum, of course,” Silas interrupts, prompt. “That’s easy.”
Both brothers immediately stop talking.
In the discomfited silence that follows, as though the issue is a failure of understanding, Silas explains: “If the Master Templar could get married, the cavalier primary could get married too. So Colum would be able to marry me, and I would be able to marry Colum.”
Ram looks somewhat stricken. Capris maintains a straight face, but the corners of his mouth are visibly trembling with the effort of not bursting into laughter.
After another beat, Silas glances up at Colum, confused. “Have I said something wrong?”
“I’d say so, yeah,” Capris interjects. Colum glares at him.
Silas looks a little worried, now. “I am sorry if I have offended,” he says, still looking up at Colum. “I only said it because I like you best. And because you take good care of me. And because we are to make vows to one another soon. Like Brother Ram and Sister Ochoan.”
“You’re okay, Si,” Colum replies gently, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s only that you can’t get married to someone you’re already related to. It has to be someone else, like how Sister Ochoan wasn’t part of our family before Ram married her.”
“Oh,” Silas says, deflating a bit as he begins to understand.
“And also, in sort of the same way, a necromancer can’t marry their cavalier. It’s like…” He pauses, thinking of the best way to phrase this. “The person you marry is someone you’re not related to, and someone you have a special, separate kind of relationship with. A courtship. A necromancer and a cavalier have a relationship that is not a courtship, and cannot become one. It would make it all messy and confused, and the Tome frowns on it.”
“But a marriage is much the same as a necromancer and a cavalier,” Silas says. “Isn’t it? You love and protect each other always. And you make a promise.”
Ram attempts to intercede. “They are similar,” he says. “But they are different, as well. The nature of the promise is different. Like, when Colum swears himself to you, he will be granting you the necromantic use of his soul, and the use of his sword in combat. The promise of marriage is more like — someone with whom you would like to have a family, and raise up children. And someone to whom you are attracted. I don’t really know how to define that,” he says, casting a somewhat helpless glance at Colum for assistance.
“Someone you think is beautiful,” Colum takes over. “And someone who has traits that you like, and morals that align with your own. And with whom you think you could live together in a household that glorified the Lord.”
“I think you’re beautiful,” Silas says quietly, a little ashamed now that he’s been corrected, but ever unable to lie even by omission. “I think you’re the most beautiful man in the world.”
Colum goes a bit pink around the edges. Capris has put his head in his hands. His shoulders shake with silent laughter. Ram looks like he has had a brick dropped on his head.
“Thank you, lamb,” Colum replies gently. “I think you’re very beautiful, too. It’s different than that, though. You’ll understand better when you are older. Though it isn’t the concern of the Master Templar, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much at all. Okay?”
“Okay,” Silas says, leaning against him again with a small yawn. The house has almost completely emptied out; it is getting to be time to put Silas to bed.
“If I could marry, then,” he continues, “I would marry someone just like Colum. Someone handsome and strong and kind to me, who would protect me and take care of me. And who would put milk in my porridge in the morning sometimes instead of water. And since I would be big enough to hold the jug by myself I would put milk in theirs, too, when they had deserved it. And sugar, maybe.”
“That sounds very nice, Si,” Colum agrees. Capris has still not looked up from where he appears to be wheezing to death on the kitchen table. Ram has begun to busy himself with seeking out his wife, who appears to have been spirited away by her bridesmaids at some point in the evening. “I think it’s time we head home, don’t you? You’ll be wanting your bath. You did such a good job representing the Order for everyone.”
“You promised to carry me,” Silas reminds. “I am much too tired to walk.”
“I did,” Colum replies, gathering Silas’s things and beginning to help him put on his tiny white slip-on shoes before putting on his own. “And so I shall.”
With Silas appropriately dressed and his vestments tucked neatly over his arm, Colum scoops Silas up, hitching him onto his hip and holding him with both hands. Silas wraps his arms around his neck and nestles into his shoulder.
“Goodbye, Brother Ram,” he says, a little muffled. “Goodbye, Brother Capris.”
“Goodnight, Master Silas,” Ram replies warmly, offering him a wave as he wanders back out into the backyard.
“Adieu, little husband,” Capris says, raising his glass in salute. “Keep my brother well in line.”
Turning around so Silas doesn’t see or hear, Colum mouths an extremely impolite invective, accompanied by clear instructions as to exactly where Capris should take himself, in Capris’s direction while Ram is distracted. Capris only snickers, polishing off his glass and picking up the near-empty bottle to stalk off to his own room.
“I still have questions,” Silas mutters sleepily, stifling another yawn, as Colum finally makes it out the door and begins the walk home in the cool night air to the quarters of the clergy. “Many of them.”
“I’m sure,” Colum replies. “But I’m sure they can wait until morning, too.”
“Okay,” Silas mumbles. With that reassurance out of the way, he begins to doze against Colum’s neck, warming Colum with an overflowing tenderness.
It is easy. Colum loves him more than anyone in the world.