The third bell tolled across the castle, soft and bronze-voiced, and Jean Goliath looked at Salviana as though she were about to hand her a live grenade.
"Ready?"
"For what? The wedding? I'm nervous." Salviana stood before the long mirror in her gown, and the stars on her hem shimmered with every breath. Her red hair had been braided into a crown threaded with onyx beads and tiny white moonflowers. She hardly recognized the woman in the glass, and she loved her. "Jean, you've been strange all day. You keep looking at the road, you keep touching your pockets, you even laughed when Emma dropped the comb. What aren't you telling me?"
"A great many things," Jean said serenely. "It is a very busy day. Come."
"Where?"
"To the east window side."
"The ones I'm not allowed near until the third bell?"
"Exactly," Jean said, linking their arms. "And that was the third bell."
