The Deepest Blue(6)

Maybe all of Renthia.

It’s just one day, she thought as she watched everyone scurry around the wedding site. They looked like hermit crabs on a beach, scuttling back and forth across the sand. Three cousins were wrestling a table piled high with cooked shrimp and clams. Another cousin was plucking petals from a barrel of flowers so that guests could toss them into the wind—a good-luck tradition. Yet more cousins were tying firemoss lanterns to posts so that dancing could continue long after the sun went down. Everyone seemed obsessed with making sure every detail was perfect. Which made her stare at them in wonder.

Because I don’t care whether today is perfect. I care about all the days that come after.

And I care about getting some of those shrimp. . . .

She caught one of her cousins by the arm. “Ilia—”

“Oh, you look gorgeous!” Ilia squealed. “Kelo is brilliant!”

“Yes, I know—can you snag me some of those shrimp before Uncle Imer spots them?” Mayara nodded at the shrimp table. Uncle Imer was well known for his ability to consume shellfish at an impressive rate.

“Can’t, Mayara, sorry! Grandmama told me to wake the drummers. She wants them to start early so we can dance before the ceremony begins.”

“But they’re supposed to play all night. If you wake them now—”

“Do you want to argue with her?”

Mayara winced. She would cheerfully dive into the narrow crevice from that morning all day, but even she knew better than to argue with Grandmama. Standing on tiptoes, she spotted the formidable matriarch, the self-appointed leader of the village grandmothers, in the center of the ceremony site. She was seated so regally on a kelp-green chair that she may as well have been sitting on a throne. Though too far away to hear, Mayara could still tell her grandmother was barking out orders to all her progeny—and anyone else who accidentally wandered within range.

“Is it too late to go back to Kelo’s studio?” Mayara asked Aunt Eyara, who was still beside her. The other aunts had fanned out, immersing themselves in the fray, when all Mayara wanted to do was turn tail and flee. And Kelo thinks I’m brave. Clearly I’m not. Being the center of so much attention was more unnerving than facing down a spirit underwater. She didn’t think of herself as superstitious, but she felt like she was tempting luck. “Or I could just take a nice nap in one of the storm-shelter caves. . . .”

Aunt Eyara chuckled. “You know what they say: Marriage is for the bride and groom; weddings are for the family. All the family, even those of us you don’t like. Come on, Mayara, you know you’d do anything to be with Kelo—I’ve seen the way you are with him. Being the star of the best party ever thrown is not such a terrible price to pay for a lifetime of joy and happiness.” She laughed even louder at that, then firmly ushered Mayara forward into the chaos.

Mayara spotted Kelo through the crowd. Ha! He hadn’t escaped after all—he was with his parents and had been roped into stringing charms along the cliff wall. Their wedding site was a stone plaza built on a cliff that had once been part of a leviathan’s sternum, not far from Kelo’s studio. Over the centuries, the ancient rib cage had filled in with dirt and rock. On top of it, the islanders had built the plaza as a place to hold celebrations and ceremonies, and they’d surrounded it with a hip-high stone wall to keep anyone from falling off the edge. It jutted out above the village and boasted views to the south and the west.

The plaza had always been a part of life. She had played here. Had seen other family married here. Had snuck out at night to meet Kelo here for a different kind of play. As much as she wanted to run away, she knew she was exactly where she wanted to be too.

Mayara weaved her way through friends, neighbors, and cousins until she reached Kelo and his parents. Kelo was the only child of two only children, so he wasn’t related to nearly as many of the guests as she was. Lucky, she thought. But even in her thoughts, she didn’t mean it. She loved her huge, crazy family.

Kelo’s mother embraced her, while his father nodded approval at her dress.

“Kelo, it’s a masterpiece,” his father proclaimed.

“She’s a masterpiece,” Kelo replied.

Mayara rolled her eyes. “You two rehearsed that, didn’t you?”

“Only once or twice,” Kelo admitted. “Did you like it?”

She was about to answer when an odd jerking movement in the clouds on the horizon caught her eye. Stepping up to the wall, she stared out across the ocean toward a cluster of gray and blue clouds. Making a comforting sound, Kelo’s mother said, “Not to worry. The storm is a long way out. You’ll be good and married before it reaches the islands.”

But Mayara continued to stare at the distant clouds. She thought she’d seen . . . But the clouds were behaving normally now, with no twitches or sudden un-cloud-like movements. I must have imagined it.

She forced herself to turn back to Kelo and the preparations. Across the plaza, the drummers began to play, and a few of her younger cousins and neighbors started to dance, romping in a circle. She smiled at them, and they waved at her.

Don’t worry about the storm, she told herself. You aren’t sugar in tea. You won’t melt in a little rain. She just hoped rain was all it was.

IT WAS A PERFECT SUNSET.

All the clouds on the horizon had shifted, as if Mayara’s relatives had bargained with the storm to dissipate so that Mayara’s mother would come see her daughter’s wedding.