Ceremony Book Novels & Stories

Velyana switched up and I found myself smiling. “I never had much of an expectation. Seeing my parents’ relationship made me dread one. Then Alpha Enzo happened to me. But anyway, I don't really care about the decorations or planning. I just want it to be beautiful for everyone that attends," I said to Velyana in a heartfelt way, hoping to get out of whatever it was she was planning. “Wrong answer! You think you're sleek right? We are planning this ceremony and you are going to be involved every step of the way!” Velyana said to me and then she produced a book binder that I didn't notice earlier.

But the woman’s face was completely serious. She pulled out a small book from beneath the table and flipped through it until she found the page she wanted. “It’s more than just sex, my dear. It’s the most ancient ceremony of our kind: the Joining. It’s old magic, but it is what our ancestors did to seal the most precious of bonds. It’s what our kind has always done when they find their mate.” She showed me the page. It was covered in diagrams of various sexual positions. A man and a woman tangled together in an array of poses. I blushed, but didn’t look away.

She had never seen the book in her life. "I don't—" But Maeven stopped her with an upraised hand. I see," she said. "Ink in this book is a ritual for temple rituals. It's only something a high-ranking witch would be allowed to use. The same ink that disappeared three nights before." The onlookers started murmuring. Mark and Lark exchanged glances across the yard. Maeven slowly turned the book over, presenting the eyes gathered there to rest upon the heavy ceremonial ink and jagged markings within.

A single pedestal rose from its middle. And resting atop it....... was a book. Everyone froze. The book looked ancient. Older than anything they'd seen before. Its cover was made of black leather. Silver symbols decorated the edges. The same symbols connected to the Gate. The Key. The families. Everything. Seraphina's face lost color. "No." The whisper escaped her lips. Zevarion frowned. "What is it?" The woman stared at the book. "The Founders' Record." Silence. Even Lucien looked shocked.

The February afternoon light through the west windows, lower angle, longer shadows, the specific quality of light that thinks about what it touches. It filled the room. It gave the room room. The ceremony was small — just the people who mattered, which was exactly right, which was always what we’d said. The registrar was a woman named Margaret, which I took as a sign from the universe that everything was connected. She spoke briefly, clearly, with the professional warmth of someone who had done this many times and understood that the ceremony was not the point, the people were the point. Caden went first. He looked at me.

“She came early. Sitting with Benson and Comfort the way she sat at the symposium. She brought something. A small envelope. She is holding it in her lap.” Sera looked at the curtain. The hall held three hundred people. She had not known how many would come on a Tuesday evening in November for a book published that morning. Dr. Sarpong had told her not to concern herself with the number, that the people who needed to be there would be there, and Sera had accepted that and then found herself unable to stop wondering at four in the morning while revising her opening remarks. She breathed.

“You explained it well enough the first time. I’m not interested in a second draft.” He held my gaze a moment longer, searching, I think, for the version of me that might still waver. Then he let Selene pull him toward the door. It clicked shut behind them, quiet and final, somehow carrying further than all that brass and strings ever had. Strange, how a sound that small could draw a cleaner line than any of it. Two hundred people exhaled at once. The officiant cleared his throat, glanced down at his ceremony book with the particular focus of a man who needed something to look at, and then looked up at the two of us with the particular helplessness of someone

The anniversary arrived on a Thursday. Three years since the ceremony. The clearing. The white dress. Sixteen words. Sera woke before dawn. Lay still in the room she had chosen. The room that smelled of fresh timber and open air. The room that was hers. She did not perform the anniversary. Did not narrate it to herself. Just lay still and let the morning arrive. The specific patience of someone who had learned that real things did not require ceremony to be real.

I pressed one hand flat over my sternum and held it there until the ministers' voices faded around the corner and the corridor was empty again. I exhaled. Not yet, I told myself. I went back to the kitchen and peeled the rest of the vegetables and did not allow myself to think about crimson eyes or cultivation Aura that suffocated rooms or the exact way his battle cape had moved. The third week brought the ceremony preparations, and ceremony preparations brought chaos, and chaos — I had learned this quickly — was the servant's best ally.

"I'll go back first. I have to advise Geo to join now before the opening ceremony starts." Oneil smiled too. He gestured for her to continue with her task. He will proceed anyway on talking with the executives. The opening ceremony went well. His preparation for the launching of the book about the Mercator Group in its fifty years has finally come to its fulfilling stage. Everyone has applauded the anniversary greetings from the employees, scholars, friends, and business partners. The teams delegate on the presentation of the bright ideas that Oneil and the committees collaborated to formulate. They went to the expo of Mercator Products and the exhibits of the partners' shops.