Page 2 of The Second Marriage

Her mouth twitched into a smile. “That’s true. My dear, you can’t worry about this. You’ll get along with him well enough, or if you don’t get along you’ll do what everyone else does in these situations, which we won’t speak of now.”

Sejun wrinkled his nose. No, he didn’t want to discuss such matters with his aunt. “Tell me what I should wear, at least, for the ceremony.”

“For the first marriage? It hardly matters. Look presentable. His heat is coming, so you’ll want to appeal to him. Wear your robe open at the neck. Isn’t that the fashion these days?”

Sejun straightened from his slouch and tried to look dignified. “Thank you for your time, Aunt Hasri.”

“You’re welcome,” she called after him as he left, her voice filled with laughter.

Sejun went down the hall to his own room, a corner room with a view over the valley. Someone had slid aside the interior shutters to let in sunlight and fresh air. A bird of some sort was singing in a tree outside. Sejun sat on the edge of his bed and looked down at his hands.

He wasn’t so young to be married. His father had been married by his age, with Batsal well under way. If Sejun wasn’t ready, if he felt rushed, that was only a sign of his immature and frivolous nature. He was a man and should behave like one.

He changed out of his dusty traveling clothes and washed his hands and face in the basin that been set out. Despite what he had said to Hasri, he knew very well what he was going to wear: a silk robe woven in patterned stripes of blue, purple, and magenta. The fabric had come from Nirawi across the sea, and Sejun thought it looked very fine. People always commented on his good looks, and he hoped Taral would agree.

He folded back the sleeves of his inner robe, being sure to make the creases straight and crisp. After a moment’s debate, he pulled at the neckline of the robe to spread it open and show his collarbones and his favorite necklace of filigreed gold beads. Hasri wasn’t wrong.

The ceremony took place that afternoon in the courtyard, beneath the fig tree. Taral wore his same gold robe with a white scarf draped over his shoulders. He stood with his hand in Sejun’s as they listened to an elderly monk fumble her way through the brief marriage blessings. Taral’s hand had calluses in places that drove Sejun to distraction trying to imagine what had caused them. Archery? Extensive letter writing? He would know soon enough, if all went well and they progressed to their second marriage.

“Drink now,” said the monk, and the queen herself offered the wedding cup, filled with clear water. Taral drank first, and Sejun after, taking care to place his mouth precisely where Taral’s had been. Taral wasn’t looking at him as he did it, instead gazing up into the branches of the tree, where a bird sat singing, maybe the same bird Sejun had heard before.

The monk took the cup and poured the remaining water over the roots of the tree. “The One God binds you,” she said, and so they were married.

The gathered onlookers dissolved into casual chatter. Sejun and Taral regarded each other. Taral was taller than Sejun, although only by an inch or two, and considerably slimmer. Out of the dimness of the throne room, his eyes were hazel.

“We can walk together,” Taral said. “If you’d like.”

He had a low, pleasant voice, deeper than Sejun had expected. “I would be pleased,” Sejun said, and prayed he didn’t look too eager.

He followed Taral to the topmost story of the fortress, where they turned to stroll along the shaded colonnade overlooking the courtyard below. Sejun thought of commenting on the architecture, then the size of the fig tree, then the weather; then decided he would be better off waiting to see if Taral might come up with some more interesting topic of conversation.

“The weather has been mild lately,” Taral said after a long silence.

“Yes,” Sejun said. “A pleasant summer.”

Taral walked with his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze directed at the walkway before them. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath their feet. Taral liked collecting rocks, Aunt Hasri had told Sejun, and riding in the mountains, and discussing political matters. He had a quiet nature. Sejun liked none of those things and was the opposite of quiet. He didn’t know why anyone had thought they might be a good match.

Perhaps no one did. Taral’s family had status but no wealth, and Sejun’s family had wealth but no status. That alone made their pairing ideal, as Hasri had told him more than once.

Taral came to a stop at the end of the walkway and turned to look down at the courtyard. Some children were playing with a rolling hoop, running and laughing. Surely now, Sejun thought, he and Taral would exchange something of substance. He couldn’t imagine going through heat with someone who was still entirely a stranger.

He shifted closer, hoping to catch a hint of Taral’s scent. The books he read described omegas as smelling wonderfully tempting, but he’d never been close enough to one to confirm. There was something there, a tantalizing undercurrent, but the breeze was too strong and wafted it away.

“I hope your journey from Merek went smoothly,” Taral said.

Sejun swallowed down his impatience. “A quick morning’s ride. We encountered no difficulties.”

“It pleases me to hear that.” A child fell over and cried briefly before standing again. “What do you think of Tadasho?”

Crumbling, faded. “Very fine,” Sejun said.

“I passed through Merek once. A fine town.”

To call Merek a village was an exaggeration. To call it a town was an outright falsehood. “We enjoy our view over the river, and the black eagles that come to feed on the gravel bars.”

“Majestic birds,” Taral said. He was still staring down into the courtyard, not looking at Sejun at all.

Sejun’s vexation overpowered his meager good sense. “I know this marriage may not be what you hoped for,” he blurted. “But my wish is that we can be friends and live together in comfort.”