Free Wedding by Ann Herendeen

that Dominic’s future bride was little better than a
whore. Luckily Katrina, like everyone, was eager to make excuses
for me. “I suppose,” she said, “that if you lived among them, you
had to follow the fashion.” She lowered her eyes as she spoke,
sorry for me.
    It was so simple to continue like this,
forgetting I was Terran, never correcting anyone, just going with
the flow. It would only hurt Dominic—I came up with another
rationalization—if his entire household thought he was marrying a
Terran, a whore or a misfit. There was little chance we would marry
anyway, so I would not have to maintain the charade much longer. “I
wanted to look like the others, as much as I could,” I said,
smiling with pleasure at the noble lie. “And it was so easy to take
care of.”
    Katrina had the servant’s desire to flaunt
her skills through her lady’s appearance. “It’s a pity you can’t
wear Margrave Aranyi’s betrothal gift,” she said, bringing out the
glass comb Dominic had given me when he came for me at La Sapienza.
She brushed her fingers over the smooth surface, admiring the
subtle colors and delicate filigree, then lifted my straggling neck
hairs, scrunching them together in her fist. “Maybe you’ll be able
to wear it by the time he comes home.”
    I had not heard her last words. Betrothal
gift . I recalled Dominic’s hazy thoughts when he gave it to me,
and the unambiguous words. He had said his grandfather gave it to
his grandmother, and so on, for generations of Aranyi before them.
It had not been just a hint or a wish. Everybody at Aranyi knew the
meaning of this object. No wonder Dominic had been offended when I
had rejected it at first.
    We never had a chance to talk . I
clenched my teeth in anger. Every time we met there was a crisis, a
situation, that meant one of us had to go off somewhere, first me
to La Sapienza, now Dominic to this war. Our days in the travelers’
hut, which could have been a chance for us to figure things out,
had been ruined—by Eris. I almost wished I were not pregnant, that
I could have gone on the expedition. I would have enjoyed helping
to destroy that thing that had so disrupted our communion.
    Katrina saw my frown and knew she had erred
in some way. “Forgive me, my lady,” she said. “You are beautiful
whether or not you wear the comb. Margrave Aranyi will be pleased
with you when he returns, however long your hair.”
    I looked up, startled out of my thoughts. For
the first of countless times, I encountered the heavy
responsibility that comes with all this luxury. Katrina depended on
me. She would study my every careless word and unguarded facial
expression, interpreting them as they affected her. If her innocent
remarks offended me, I might take my annoyance out on her, punish
her for nothing or, worse, dismiss her from my service.
    I made the effort to smile. “There’s nothing
to forgive, Katrina. You simply spoke the truth. I do wish I could
wear Margrave Aranyi’s gift. But he knew, when he gave it to me, it
would take time.”
    There was the whole trouble. It would take
time, maybe more than a little, for Dominic and me to decide what
to do, what we wanted, what was allowed. Now that I was pregnant we
no longer had the leisure to wait for inspiration. I could almost
laugh when I thought of all the emotion I had wasted at La
Sapienza, longing for Dominic, wishing I could conceive his child,
knowing it was impractical. Now it had happened. Not as I would
have liked, but wasn’t that so often the way?
    I had rejected the obvious solution. Aborting
it would be the easiest thing to do, using the power of my crypta , so early in the pregnancy, but I had never
considered that option. I had already made the psychological
transition to motherhood. By now I knew it was a girl and I loved
her, as I did her father, unconditionally. I wanted only to protect
and nourish this little lump in me, who had me eating like two
troopers, who made me feel ten years younger