Page 29 of The Second Marriage

Taral’s concern grated instead of soothing. Sejun rubbed at his eyes. “Yes. I’m only tired. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“All right.” But Taral stayed where he was as Sejun rose and filled the washbasin with water from the pitcher. Sejun washed his face and then opened his inner robe to wash beneath his arms and between his legs. Behind him, Taral said, “Are you sure nothing’s troubling you? You haven’t seemed like yourself all evening.”

Sejun wrung out the rag in lieu of wringing Taral’s neck. He was so tired of Taral pretending he was oblivious to Sejun’s feelings. “You can’t guess, Taral? You have no insight into why I might seem distressed?”

Taral made a frustrated noise. “If I knew, I wouldn’t need to ask. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Sejun tied his robe again with slow, deliberate movements, then turned to face Taral, whose expression matched what Sejun could feel through the bond, a mixture of bewilderment and concern. “I don’t understand you at all. Sometimes you seem to—to enjoy being with me, maybe, or at least to tolerate it, and then you push me away again. If you just disliked me and avoided me all the time, that would be easier, because then I would know what to expect.”

The bond flooded with the familiar sour tang of Taral’s guilt. “I’ve had work to attend to since we returned from Barun.”

“It’s more than that, and you know it. In Barun, I thought—but then something happened, didn’t it? And you drew away from me again.”

“You aren’t wrong. I haven’t treated you well.” Taral was quiet for a few moments, staring blankly at some point on the floor. “I suppose I hoped you would be indifferent to me and wouldn’t mind. But instead we bonded.” He raised a hand to touch his forehead. “Sejun, would you come sit with me? You deserve an explanation, and it’s sorely overdue.”

“That’s the sort of thing people say before they deliver terrible news.”

Taral’s mouth slid into a wry smile. “It’s not terrible in that sense. No one has died or is going to, as far as I know.”

Sejun draped the rag over the side of the washbasin to dry and sat next to Taral on the bed. If there was some reasonable explanation for Taral’s behavior, he would be glad to hear it. He folded his hands in his lap and gave Taral an expectant look.

Taral took a deep breath and began. “I’m sure you know that the household’s finances weren’t in good order before our marriage. My mother, who was queen before Iniya, sold so much of our land that we couldn’t support ourselves, then took on debt that we didn’t have the income to pay. The situation has gotten fairly desperate in the past few years.”

“I’m well aware that you married me for my money,” Sejun said. He folded his arms over his chest. What form of apology was this?

“Please understand. I didn’t think—Iniya wouldn’t let the idea go once she had it. I agreed because I didn’t think there was any chance the marriage would progress. I knew I would reject you once I was in heat.”

“But you didn’t,” Sejun said, still not understanding where this was going. “Why did you think you would?”

Taral looked down at his hands. His tense determination crumbled into grief and self-loathing in an abrupt wave that smashed over Sejun through the bond and left him gaping. Without intending to, he shifted closer and set his hand on Taral’s forearm.

“Forgive me.” Taral drew a shuddering breath. “I was married before, you see. When I was about your age, in fact.”

“Oh,” Sejun said.

“I loved him. I thought we would—that we would bond, of course we would bond, and have a dozen children, and die on the same day in our very old age, while holding hands.” Taral glanced up, the twist of his mouth belying the raw ooze of his emotions. “But I was wrong, as you see. When he came to me after our first marriage, when I was in full heat, I wouldn’t have him. I screamed like an angry ghost and fought him until he went away.”

Sejun didn’t know what to say. He felt drawn to comfort Taral, but he was too shocked and discomfited to muster the words.

“So I thought, of course, that it would be the same with you,” Taral went on. “Forgive me, Sejun. I didn’t enter our marriage with an open heart, and I know I’ve done you harm.”

Sejun stood and paced a circuit of the room, his head whirling. Taral’s distress battered at him, further clouding his already muddled thoughts. He had known that Taral had conflicted feelings about their marriage, but he hadn’t guessed that Taral didn’t want to be married to him at all. Because that was what he was saying, wasn’t it? He hadn’t thought they would remain married past his heat, and wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise.

“You lied to us,” Sejun said. “To Aunt Hasri, and to my parents. And to me. You made us all think that you looked to be married. And Hasri did say you picked me because of my dowry, but you didn’t actually intend to marry me at all.”

Taral’s mouth worked. “I—no. I didn’t. Iniya—”

“Stop blaming Iniya.” Sejun’s voice cracked out more sharply than he had intended, and Taral flinched. “You’re fully capable of standing up to your sister. It’s a coward’s move to point the finger at her.”

“You’re right.” Taral looked down at his lap. “We’ll return your dowry and dissolve the marriage.”

Sejun stopped his pacing and folded his arms tightly across his midsection. A sharp stab of misery sliced through his gut. “Is that what you want?”

“Idoenjoy being with you,” Taral said quietly. “I’ve come to care for you. Under other circumstances—but I’m not fit to be a good husband to you.”

“You still love this other man,” Sejun said, realizing, and didn’t need the bond at all to read the answer from Taral’s face. He turned away, hurt and ashamed to have been so obvious about his regard when Taral only saw him as a—a nuisance.

“I do think of him still.” Taral was quiet for several moments as Sejun stared fixedly at the far wall, his eyes burning. Then he said, “I understand if you want nothing further to do with me. I can move back to my old room—”