Page 17 of The Second Marriage
“I do, in fact, but I also don’t want you to succumb to despair. You aren’t helpless. Manifest some occupation for yourself.”
“But what?” Sejun cried. “The steward will barely glance at me. I don’t know anything about how the fortress operates.”
“Begin with the obvious. The fortress is crumbling around you. Surely you can hire some workers to whitewash the walls.”
Sejun tried to think of some objection to this reasonable advice and couldn’t. “Well, I suppose.”
“There you are. I’ve solved your problems.” Batsal lay down again and closed his eyes. “Come visit me soon. Shubhu will be glad to see you.”
* * *
Sejun weighedhis options for a few days after his family left. Batsal’s simple suggestion was a good one, and Sejun could think of several other similar projects. Surely no one could object to him rectifying the fortress’s neglect, and he might even earn himself some good will.
Still, he was sure to ask Iniya first. She and Abiral lived with their children in the citadel tower, and if they weren’t in the courtyard they were usually in their solar. He found them there one morning after a breakfast with Taral during which Taral replied to all of Sejun’s attempts at conversation with brief, uninformative responses until Sejun gave up. It would be all too easy to grow discouraged and sit in his room until everyone in the fortress forgot about him, but Sejun refused to set himself aside while everyone else enjoyed the fruits of his dowry. He was of Tadasho now, too, and they would have to reckon with him in one way or another.
Ujesh, the steward, delivered Sejun to the solar. The children were playing together near a window, the two girls dangling a ribbon for the baby to grasp at. Iniya and Abiral were enjoying their own breakfast. As Sejun came into the room, Abiral smiled at him and said, “Tea?”
Sejun accepted a cup and sat with them as they finished a conversation about someone Sejun didn’t know—one of Abiral’s cousins, he gathered. When they were done with their gossip, Iniya said, “Sejun, I’m so glad to see you. I hope you’ll come to visit with us more. We tire of each other’s company and need some fresh conversation.”
“Do we?” Abiral asked, laughing, and Iniya leaned over to swat at his arm.
“I’m afraid my conversation isn’t of much interest,” Sejun said. “But I would be glad to have yours.”
“Oh, and modest as well!” Iniya exclaimed. “What a delightful addition to our household. Abiral, we must be very engaging so that he’s happy here and doesn’t run back to Merek when he realizes how dull we are.”
“Iniya,” Abiral said, and they exchanged a look Sejun couldn’t interpret. Iniya subsided, and Abiral said, “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way. We’re not at all displeased to see you, and I’d be happy if you would stay for a while and visit with us. But I assume there’s something you want to ask of us if you’re here instead of with Taral.”
Sejun hesitated. He hadn’t fully thought this through. He didn’t want to insult Iniya, but surely she could see how the fortress was crumbling around her. “I was thinking,” he began, “that as a wedding gift to Taral I would like to have someone repair the murals in the entryway. The artwork is so beautiful.”
“Oh,pleaseyes, do something about that,” Iniya said, to Sejun’s relief. “He won’t ever let me spend money to make this place look nicer. I’ve been campaigning to whitewash the outer walls for at least three years now.”
“Oh, well. I don’t want to displease him, if—”
“Who cares what he thinks?” Iniya waved a dismissive hand. “It’s your dowry, and you’re his husband. He can only get but so angry with you.”
“Iniya,” Abiral murmured.
Sejun would prefer Taral not be angry with him at all, but he didn’t want to say anything to Iniya that might hint at the precarious state of his marriage. “Thank you for the advice,” he finally settled on, and Iniya seemed pleased enough with that reply. She poured some more tea, and the conversation moved on to other things.
He considered his best course of action as Taral continued to ignore him other than in their bed at night, the only time Sejun was certain he had Taral’s full attention. He rode into town one day and asked around until he was sent to the home of a person who was said to be the best mural artist in this part of Tadasho. They agreed to come to the fortress the next morning and take a look at the artwork in question, and Sejun rode home wracking his brain trying to come up with the sequence of words that would make Taral pleased with his scheme instead of annoyed.
He could think of nothing, so the One God would have to guide his tongue.
Taral came up to their room, as he usually did, at nightfall, and shortly afterward the servant Daxa brought them their dinner. Sejun tried to assess Taral’s mood as they ate. He seemed neither happy nor sad but simply intent on his meal, which gave Sejun no useful cues. He would have to state his intentions and see what Taral thought.
“I went into town today,” he began. Taral glanced up from his plate with his eyebrows raised. “There’s a person there—do you know them? An artist—”
“Tejal? Yes, I know who you mean.” Taral’s eyes narrowed. “Is this about the murals at the entry?”
He didn’t feel angry. Sejun decided to forge ahead. “I thought it might be nice to have them touched up. And the walls whitewashed.” He watched Taral’s face. If anything, Taral was amused, which wasn’t at all the reaction Sejun had anticipated. “And some of the brickwork repaired, where it’s crumbling.”
“You’ve been speaking with Iniya, I take it.”
“It was my idea. Taral, anyone with eyes can see the fortress has fallen into disrepair. It would reflect well on Tadasho to have some of these things taken care of.”
Taral’s expression shuttered at once. The bond flooded with shame, which was quickly replaced with anger. “I’ll thank you to let me worry about Tadasho’s reputation. We have more pressing concerns than painting the walls. That’s a waste of funds while I’ve yet to settle our debts.”
Sejun carefully kept hold of his temper. “This is my home now, too, and I want it to be a comfortable home for everyone who lives here. If it’s lack of funds you’re worried about, my mother can always send more.” As Sejun spoke, Taral’s anger faded into shame again, which gave Sejun the courage to add, as gently as he could, “I’m not your underling, Taral, to order around as you see fit. I’m not asking for your permission, only hoping for your approval.”