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no right to these silky fabrics and feminine ribbons. This was not to be romance for her, not even lust. This was duty on his part. Nothing more. She sighed as she stood and let the nightgown slide from her body to the floor. She opened the bedclothes and lay down on her half of the bed. She felt Hest roll to face her.
‘So,’ he said, and the spirits on his breath now brushed her face. ‘So.’ He sighed himself. A moment later he took a deep breath. ‘Are you ready?’
‘I suppose so,’ she managed to say.
He shifted in the bed, coming closer to her. She rolled to face him, and then froze, suddenly dreading his touch. It shamed her that despite her fear, she felt a flush of warmth as well. Dread and desire mingled in her. It reminded her with disgust of two of her friends who had endlessly nattered on about the dangers of being raped by Chalcedean raiders. It had been all too apparent to Alise that they were as titillated as they were frightened by the prospect. Stupid, she had thought them then, making breathless fantasy of lust and violence.
Yet now, as Hest’s hand settled on her hip, she gave a small involuntary gasp. No man had ever touched her bared flesh before. The thought sent a shiver over her skin. Then, as his touch turned hard, as his fingers gripped her flesh hard to pull her close, she gave a low cry of fear. She had heard it might hurt, the first time, but had never feared he would be cruel about it. Now she did.
Hest abruptly gave a small huff of breath as if something were suddenly more to his liking. ‘Not so different,’ he muttered, or perhaps his words were, ‘Not so difficult.’ She scarcely had time to think of them, for with a suddenness that drove the breath from her, he pushed her onto her back and he shifted his body onto hers. His knee parted her thighs and pushed her legs open. ‘Ready indeed,’ he said, and thrust against her that which she had never seen.
She managed to accommodate him. She gripped the bedsheets; she could not bring herself to embrace him. The pain she had been told to expect was not as great as she had feared, but the pleasure she had heard of in whispers and had gullibly anticipated never arrived. She was not even certain that he enjoyed it. He rode her quickly to a finish she didn’t share, and then drew his body apart from hers immediately afterwards. His trailing member smeared warmth and wet across her thigh. She felt soiled by it. When he fell back onto his half of the bed, she wondered if he would now drop off to sleep, or would rest and then approach the matter again, perhaps in a more leisurely way.
He did neither. He lay there long enough to catch his breath, then rolled from the bed and found, at last, the soft warm robe that had been laid out for him. She more heard than saw him don it, and then there was a brief flash of dim light from the hooded candles in the hall. Then the door shut behind him and her wedding night was over.
For a time she remained as she was on the bed. A shiver ran over her. It became a quivering that developed into a shuddering. She didn’t weep. She wanted to vomit. Instead, she scrubbed her leg and her crotch with the sheets on his side of the bed, and then rolled over to a clean spot. She worked at pulling air into her lungs and then pushing it out again. Deliberately, she made her breathing slow. She counted, holding each inhalation for a count of three and then breathing it out as slowly.
‘I’m calm,’ she said aloud. ‘I’m not hurt. Nothing is wrong. I’ve lived up to the terms of my marriage contract.’ A moment later, she added aloud. ‘So has he.’
She got up from the bed. There was another log for the fire. She put it on the coals and watched it catch while she thought. In the remainder of the predawn hours she contemplated the folly of the bargain she had struck. She’d shed her tears. For a time, she choked on her disappointment and humiliation and regretted her foolish choice. Briefly, she entertained the idea of storming out of Hest’s house and going home.
‘Home’ to what? To her father’s house? To questions and scandals and her mother demanding to know every detail of what had upset her? She imagined her father’s face. There would be whispers in the market if she went to shop, muted conversation at the next table if she stopped for a cup of tea. No. She had no home to go to.
Before the sun rose, she set aside her girlish fancies and her anguish. Neither could save her from her fate. Instead, she summoned to the forefront of her mind the practical old maid she had rehearsed to be. No tender-hearted maiden could endure what had befallen her. Best set her aside. But the dedicated spinster could accept her fate with resignation and begin to weigh the advantages of it.
As the sun kissed the sky, she rose and summoned a maid. Her own maid, as a matter of fact; her own personal maid, a pretty girl with only a small tattoo of a cat by her nose to mark that once she had been a slave. The girl brought her hot tea and a herbal wash to bathe her eyes. Then, at Alise’s request, she had fetched a hot breakfast of Alise’s choosing, on a lovely enamelled tray. While Alise ate, the girl set out a selection of pretty new dresses for Alise to choose from.
That afternoon, Alise sailed into the first of several reception teas in their honour, attired in a demure gown of pale green with white lace. The simplicity of the dress belied how expensive it had been. She smiled cheerily and coloured prettily when some of her mother’s friends whispered to her that marriage seemed to agree with her. The gem of her satisfaction was when Hest appeared, nattily attired, but hollow-eyed and pale.
He stood in the door of the drawing room, late for the gathering and obviously looking for her. When his gaze found her, she smiled and waved her fingers at him. He had seemed astonished both at her air of well-being and how little she seemed to care for his quickly whispered apology for his ‘condition’ the night before. She merely nodded and gave all her attention to her hostess and the guests assembled to honour them. She did her best to be charming, even witty.
Strange to discover it was not that difficult. Like any decision, once she had reached it, the world suddenly seemed simpler. Her decision, cemented as dawn rosed the sky, was that she would meticulously live up to her end of the bargain. And that she would see that Hest did, too.
The very next day, she summoned the carpenters who transformed the dainty sewing room next to her bedchamber into her personal library. The tiny desk, all white and gilt, she replaced with a large one of heavy dark wood with numerous drawers and pigeonholes. And in the weeks that followed, the book sellers and antiquity dealers quickly learned to bring their freshest inventory for her to peruse before offering it to the general public. Before six months passed, the shelves and scroll racks of her little library were well populated. She judged that if she had sold herself, at least she’d demanded a high price.
Day the 17th of the Rain Moon
Year the 8th of the Reign of the Most Noble and Magnificent Satrap Cosgo
Year the 2nd of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug to Erek, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown
In the enclosed scroll case, two queries. The first, to be posted generally, asking if any mariner or farmer has had any sighting of the dragon Tintaglia, who has been absent some months from the Rain Wilds. The second, a message for the Bingtown Traders’ Council, a reminder that funds are due to assist in paying those who tend and hunt for the young dragons. A swift reply is desired and expected.
Erek,
My deepest condolences on your loss. I know how joyously you anticipated wedding Fari. To hear of her untimely death saddens me beyond words. These are hard times for all of us.
Detozi
Day the 10th of the Greening Moon
Year the 8th of the Reign of the Most Noble and Magnificent Satrap Cosgo
Year the 2nd of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Erek, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown to Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug
Sealed scroll is a message for the Rain Wild Councils at Trehaug and Cassarick, from the Bingtown Traders’