The Last Silver

Dinraal had faced armies with steadier hands.

He stood in front of the narrow mirror in his quarters, attempting for the fourth time to fasten the collar of his shirt.

The first attempt had been crooked.

The second had trapped a fold of fabric.

The third had ended when his gauntlet decided that a reinforced clasp would be more efficient and nearly joined the collar permanently.

Now the silver had withdrawn to his wrist.

“Stay there,” he told it.

A knock sounded.

“If you’re speaking to your clothes,” Aurelius said through the door, “I should probably come in.”

Dinraal opened it.

Aurelius took one look at him.

Then he smiled.

“Having trouble?”

“The collar is poorly designed.”

“Of course.”

“It is.”

Aurelius stepped inside and straightened it in a few practiced movements.

Dinraal endured this with as much dignity as he could manage.

“There,” Aurelius said.

Dinraal examined himself.

Dark fabric. A clean collar. Silver at his wrist.

No armor over his chest. No weapon in his hand.

He looked strangely exposed.

Aurelius seemed to understand.

“You’re allowed to arrive at your wedding without being prepared to withstand artillery.”

“I’m not certain Rhiannon agrees.”

“Rhiannon has already threatened three people this morning. You should be perfectly safe.”

“Only three?”

“It’s early.”

Dinraal laughed.

The nervousness remained, but it became something he could breathe around.

Aurelius rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Ready?”

Dinraal looked toward the door.

“Yes.”

Then, more honestly, “I think so.”

“That will do.”

Isolde had been ready twenty minutes earlier.

Rhiannon disagreed.

“Hold still.”

“I am holding still.”

“You moved.”

“I breathed.”

“Try to do it less disruptively.”

From the chair by the bed, Tiamat covered a smile with her hand.

Isolde caught the movement in the mirror.

“You could help.”

“I am helping. I’m keeping her from adding anything else.”

Rhiannon paused with a pin between her fingers.

“One more would balance it.”

“No,” Tiamat said.

“A very small—”

“No.”

Isolde’s dress was simple, as she had requested.

Soft ivory fabric fell comfortably to her ankles. The sleeves left her silver bracelets visible, and the neckline carried a narrow border of stitching that Rhiannon had completed herself.

Isolde had discovered that fact only when she noticed the tiny puncture on one of Rhiannon’s fingers.

“You sewed it?”

Rhiannon had looked offended.

“I possess skills beyond frightening people.”

Tiamat had made a thoughtful noise.

“Occasionally.”

Now, with her hair pinned back and a few small flowers tucked into it, Isolde scarcely recognized the woman in the mirror.

Not because she looked entirely different.

Because she looked happy in a way she had rarely allowed herself to imagine.

Rhiannon noticed her expression.

Her hands stilled.

“Too much?”

Isolde shook her head.

“No.”

“Not enough?”

“It’s lovely.”

For once, Rhiannon accepted the answer without argument.

Tiamat rose and came to stand beside them.

For a moment, the three women looked into the mirror together.

Then Isolde said, quietly, “Thank you.”

Rhiannon’s expression softened.

“Oh, darling.”

She wrapped her arms around Isolde with considerable care for the dress and very little care for the hair she had just arranged.

Tiamat joined them a heartbeat later.

Somewhere in the embrace, one of the pins came loose.

Nobody mentioned it.

The observation lounge had never been so quiet.

Usually, someone was arguing over a projection, discussing repair schedules, or stealing the last comfortable chair.

Today, the chairs stood in two short rows.

Flowers framed the windows. Warm lights glowed between folds of pale fabric. Beyond the glass, the muted radiance of transit moved across the hull.

Dinraal paused in the doorway.

Everyone turned.

Gilgamesh immediately opened his mouth.

Cleopatra touched his arm.

He closed it again.

Dinraal pointed at him.

“You can say it.”

“I was merely going to observe that you appear more nervous than you did before our last battle.”

“I am.”

That earned a ripple of laughter.

Alexander rose to clasp his shoulder. Julius offered a quiet congratulations. Johanna smiled at him with an expression that made his throat tighten unexpectedly.

Arcturus stood near the rear, speaking softly into his communicator.

When he saw Dinraal looking, he lowered it.

“The bridge has everything in hand.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“What about—”

“Dinraal.”

He stopped.

Arcturus’s expression was patient.

“For the next little while, other people can keep the ship moving.”

Dinraal nodded.

“Right.”

Near the windows, Asha stood beside Eve.

Neither held a tablet.

He stared at them.

Eve sighed.

“Yes. We left them in the laboratory.”

“All of them?”

Asha looked away.

“Asha.”

“It’s switched off.”

Johanna held out a hand without speaking.

After a moment, Asha produced a small device from her pocket and surrendered it.

The First Weapon watched the exchange with solemn interest.

“Is the confiscation part of the ceremony?”

“It is now,” Cleopatra said.

Dinraal laughed, and suddenly the room felt familiar again.

These were his people.

He could do this.

Aurelius took his place beside him.

Aramaeis waited near the entrance, hands clasped behind his back. Tiamat had appointed him to make certain nobody wandered in carrying maintenance equipment.

He had accepted the task with the seriousness of a military command.

Then his expression changed.

He stepped aside.

And Dinraal forgot everyone else.

Isolde stood in the doorway between Rhiannon and Tiamat.

For a heartbeat, she looked only at him.

Then she smiled.

It was the small smile he knew from quiet rooms and shared glances. The one she gave him when she had something to say that belonged entirely to them.

He tried to smile back.

Judging by the warmth that spread across her face, he managed.

Rhiannon squeezed her hand before letting go.

Tiamat bent close and murmured something that made Isolde laugh softly.

Then she began to walk toward him.

There was no long aisle.

Only a few steps between the people who had brought them this far.

Dinraal was grateful for that.

He did not think he could have endured a longer wait.

When she reached him, he offered his hand.

She took it.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered.

“You look as though you’ve forgotten how to breathe.”

“I might have.”

“That could complicate things.”

“I’ll try.”

Aurelius cleared his throat gently.

Dinraal glanced at him.

The older man’s eyes were bright.

“If you’re both ready?”

Isolde’s fingers tightened around his.

“Yes,” they said together.

Aurelius had refused to prepare a lengthy address.

When Rhiannon asked how long he intended to speak, he had told her that they all knew the couple and had lived through most of the relevant history.

Now he looked around the little room.

“We have gathered under difficult circumstances before,” he began. “To decide where we should go. To count those who returned. To remember those who did not.”

Dinraal felt Isolde’s thumb move against his hand.

“Today, Dinraal and Isolde asked us to gather for their marriage.”

Aurelius smiled.

“I am grateful they did.”

Rhiannon was already holding a folded cloth.

Tiamat noticed.

Rhiannon gave her a warning look.

Aurelius continued.

“I will not tell either of you that marriage means you must never be afraid, never disagree, or never fail one another. You have both lived enough to recognize an impossible promise.”

Isolde’s expression grew thoughtful.

“What you can promise is honesty. Patience. The willingness to return to a conversation when pride would make silence easier.”

Gilgamesh glanced toward Cleopatra.

She did not look at him.

Aurelius’s gaze settled on Dinraal.

“And the good sense to understand that being loved does not require you to bear every burden alone.”

Dinraal swallowed.

Beside him, Isolde whispered, “I like that part.”

A few people laughed.

“So do I,” Aurelius said.

Then he stepped back a little.

“Dinraal.”

Dinraal turned fully toward Isolde.

He had tried to prepare words.

There had been several versions.

One had sounded like a military oath. Another had become so complicated that he had lost track of what he was promising halfway through.

Now, looking at her, he could remember none of them.

“I had this written down,” he admitted.

Isolde smiled.

“Should we look for it?”

“No. It wasn’t very good.”

“Then tell me.”

He looked at their hands.

Then back at her.

“You know the things I’m afraid of,” he said. “You’ve seen me angry. You’ve seen me make mistakes. You’ve seen me when I didn’t know what I was becoming.”

Her smile softened.

“And you stayed.”

“Dinraal—”

“I know,” he said gently. “You’ll tell me there was nowhere else you wanted to be.”

“Yes.”

His eyes stung.

“I want you to know that I choose you too. Every part of you. When you’re brave, when you’re tired, when you’re furious with me because I’ve done something foolish.”

“That may happen often.”

“I thought I should account for it.”

Her laugh trembled.

He stepped a little closer.

“I promise to listen. I promise to tell you when I’m struggling, even when I would rather pretend I’m fine.”

Aurelius lowered his gaze for a moment.

“I promise that the life we build will have room for what you want. Your hopes. Your choices. Things that matter to you even when no one needs saving.”

Isolde’s eyes filled.

“And when we find our home,” Dinraal continued, his voice roughening, “I want to learn how to live there with you. Ordinary days. Arguments about where things belong. Waking up beside you when there isn’t an alarm.”

He drew a careful breath.

“I love you. I want to be your husband. For as much time as we’re given.”

Isolde pressed her lips together.

Behind her, Rhiannon surrendered the folded cloth to Tiamat and produced another.

Aurelius waited until Isolde nodded.

Then he said her name.

She took both of Dinraal’s hands.

“I used to think about our future in very small pieces,” she said. “Getting through the next hour. Seeing you come back through a door. Having one evening where neither of us was hurt.”

He remembered.

All too clearly.

“Then I started wanting more. A room that was ours. Somewhere to leave things because we expected to come back. Time with you that we didn’t have to borrow from a crisis.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

Dinraal lifted a hand to brush it away.

She leaned into his touch before continuing.

“I promise to tell you the truth. Including when you’re being impossible.”

“That seems fair.”

“I promise to listen when you tell me the same.”

He smiled faintly.

“I promise to stand beside you without forgetting that you sometimes need someone to stand in front of you and make you rest.”

That earned a quiet sound of agreement from several chairs.

“And I promise to let you do that for me, too.”

Her voice softened.

“I love the man who comes looking for me after a terrible day. The man who asks whether everyone has eaten and forgets to eat himself. The man who thinks he has to earn every good thing that happens to him.”

Dinraal could no longer trust himself to speak.

“You don’t have to earn this,” she whispered. “I want you. I want to marry you. I want all those ordinary days.”

She squeezed his hands.

“And if you lose your way, I’ll help you find it. But when you come home, Dinraal, I want you to remember that you’re allowed to stay.”

He bowed his head until his forehead touched hers.

For a few seconds, neither moved.

Nobody hurried them.

The rings came from Aramaeis.

He stepped forward with a small box held carefully between his hands.

Dinraal had expected silver.

Instead, two plain bands rested inside, made from a warm, pale metal.

“I thought,” Aramaeis said quietly, “you might like something that remains a ring when you stop thinking about it.”

Dinraal looked up.

His uncle’s mouth lifted slightly.

“There are still some things worth making by hand.”

“Thank you.”

Aramaeis inclined his head and stepped back.

Dinraal took the smaller band.

His fingers were unsteady again.

Isolde held out her hand.

“Careful,” she murmured. “This appears complicated.”

“I’ve repaired a ship in flight.”

“Yes, but this is important.”

He laughed through the tightness in his throat and slid the ring onto her finger.

She did the same for him.

For a moment, they simply looked at the bands.

Small things.

Solid.

Aurelius’s voice was quiet when he spoke again.

“You have made your promises before the people who love you. By the authority entrusted to me, and with considerable personal happiness, I recognize you as husband and wife.”

Dinraal looked at him.

Aurelius smiled.

“Yes. You may kiss her.”

Isolde reached him first.

Gilgamesh cheered loudly enough to startle everyone.

Then the room filled with movement.

Tiamat hugged Dinraal so fiercely that his feet nearly left the floor.

“You could have warned me,” he managed.

“No.”

Her voice broke on the word.

He stopped smiling and held her more tightly.

Over her shoulder, he saw Rhiannon embracing Isolde with equal determination.

Aramaeis waited until Tiamat released him, then pulled Dinraal into a quieter hug.

“Be happy,” he said.

The simplicity of it caught Dinraal unprepared.

“I’ll try.”

“Good.”

Johanna kissed Isolde’s cheek. Julius shook Dinraal’s hand, then apparently decided that was inadequate and embraced him too.

Alexander presented them with a bottle whose origin he refused to explain.

Cleopatra immediately took charge of it.

“For the meal,” she said.

Gilgamesh looked disappointed.

“It is nearly the meal.”

“It will survive the wait.”

The First Weapon approached last.

Dinraal turned toward him.

For a moment, the ancient figure seemed uncertain.

Then he licked Dinraal’s hand.

Dinraal’s expression softened.

“I know what you mean, buddy.”

The First Weapon looked toward the flowers, the chairs, the people laughing around the little table.

Isolde walked toward Dinraal.

She reached for his hand and drew him toward the others.

The meal was crowded, warm, and slightly disorganized.

Rhiannon had arranged the table beautifully.

This lasted until Gilgamesh moved three decorations to make room for another serving dish.

Tiamat objected.

He offered her bread.

She accepted the bread while continuing to object.

Asha and Eve sat together, discussing something in low voices until Johanna glanced their way.

“We’re talking about the cake,” Eve said.

Asha nodded too quickly.

Dinraal raised an eyebrow.

“There’s a cake?”

Rhiannon looked offended again.

“Of course there’s a cake.”

“We said small.”

“It is a small cake.”

Alexander, passing behind her with a tray, glanced toward the side table.

“It has structural supports.”

“One,” Rhiannon said.

Isolde laughed so hard she had to set down her glass.

Dinraal watched her.

His wife.

The thought arrived with such force that he missed whatever Julius asked him.

Isolde noticed.

“What?”

He shook his head.

“Nothing.”

She glanced at his ring.

Then at her own.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

She leaned against him, smiling.

For a while, the conversation went on around them.

They let it.

Later, when plates had been cleared and the room had settled into smaller conversations, Eve approached.

She carried no tablet.

Dinraal noticed the care in her expression.

“Is something wrong?”

“No emergency,” she said immediately. “This can wait.”

Asha stood beside her.

Dinraal glanced at Isolde.

His wife nodded once.

“Tell us.”

Eve pulled up a chair.

“We found something in the encounter records. We wanted you to hear it from us before it enters the next briefing.”

Asha rested her hands on the table.

“The damaged transport recorded the same pressure you described. So did two of the rear escorts. Their instruments were unreliable, but the timing matches closely enough to examine.”

“When we went outside,” Isolde said.

“Yes.”

Dinraal’s gaze sharpened.

“It noticed us.”

“Possibly,” Eve said. “There’s another detail. The distortion increased when you joined your silver around the transport’s drive.”

Neither of them spoke.

“Does it mean the Questioner can track us through the silver?” Isolde asked.

“We don’t know,” Asha said. “We’ve checked the later jumps. There’s no repeat of the pattern. Your armor has been active since then without the same effect.”

Eve leaned forward.

“We’ll compare future readings against it. Quietly. We have a place to begin now.”

Dinraal looked toward his right wrist.

The silver lay still.

“Thank you.”

Asha hesitated.

“I’m sorry. Today—”

“Today I got married,” he said. “That still happened.”

Isolde slipped her hand into his.

Asha smiled a little.

“Yes,” she said. “It did.”

By the time the lounge emptied, the lights had dimmed automatically.

A few flowers had slipped from their arrangements. Someone had left a folded jacket over a chair. Two plates of cake remained on the table because Johanna had insisted they take them back to their quarters.

Dinraal stood beside the windows with Isolde tucked against him.

For the first time all day, they were alone.

Almost.

Rhiannon opened the door, saw them, and stopped.

Tiamat appeared behind her.

“We forgot—” Tiamat began.

Rhiannon pushed her gently back into the corridor.

“It can wait.”

The door closed.

Isolde smiled into Dinraal’s shoulder.

“They’ve been wonderful.”

“They have.”

“Terrifying.”

“Also that.”

She turned his hand in hers, studying the ring.

“Any regrets?”

“The collar.”

She looked up.

He nodded solemnly.

“A difficult start.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I write about today.”

“You’re going to write about it?”

“I think I’d like to remember the details.”

He looked around the room.

Aurelius beside him.

Tiamat crying and pretending otherwise.

Isolde walking through the door.

“Yes,” he said. “So would I.”

She rose onto her toes and kissed him.

This time, there were no cheers.

No one waiting to embrace them.

Only her hand against his cheek and the quiet hum of the ship beneath their feet.

They reached the new system the following morning.

A gentle signal sounded in their quarters.

Dinraal woke with Isolde’s head on his chest and one of her hands resting over his heart.

For a moment, he remained still.

Then Arcturus’s voice came through the communicator.

“We’ve arrived. Initial readings are clear.”

Isolde opened her eyes.

“The planet?”

“Coming into visual range.”

They dressed quickly.

Dinraal managed his own collar.

Isolde looked excessively impressed.

When they reached the bridge, the others were already gathered around the forward display.

Asha had her tablet back.

Eve stood beside the sensor officer, checking a stream of measurements. Alexander and Julius spoke quietly over the formation map.

Aurelius turned as they entered.

“Good morning.”

Dinraal felt Isolde squeeze his hand.

“Good morning.”

Then the display changed.

The fourth planet filled it.

Sunlight shone across an ocean. Clouds curled over a broad continent, gathering against a long line of mountains. Farther north, ice caught the light.

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

The survey image had been beautiful.

This was a world.

Moving.

Waiting beneath them.

“No artificial signals detected,” Eve said softly. “No fleet contacts. Orbital survey is beginning.”

“Atmosphere remains within the expected range,” Asha added. “Surface samples come next.”

Dinraal stepped closer to the window.

Below, morning was reaching a green stretch of coast.

He pictured roofs there.

A landing field.

People stepping out of ships with their belongings in their arms.

Isolde came to stand beside him.

“That’s a great deal of room,” she murmured.

“Yes.”

“Enough for a house?”

He looked at her.

“With a room where we can leave things?”

“And expect to come back.”

Dinraal lifted her hand.

The new ring caught the light from the planet.

“We’ll find a place,” he said.

Then he turned toward the waiting bridge.

“Begin the survey.”