A Husband for Deva

An Offer of Marriage

There were no more letters.

As the days flowed into one another with monotonous consistency, Deva re-read every book in her small library.

The Queen had not visited her daughter since the day she had discovered that she was to be a grandmother, and Deva finally ceased to expect her. Her mother's withdrawal stung a bit, when Deva thought of it; in all honesty, though, absence was more bearable than the painful coldness of that one awkward interview, and it was almost possible to pretend that the Queen was only too busy to visit.

No one visited, except for Ashlen. "Why shouldn't you have company?" the Islander muttered, on more than one occasion. "Aidh mach betát miye!  Your belly will not infect anyone. They teach you nothing, then they hide you like a criminal."

The winter's first snow began to fall.

Deva moved a chair in front of the one westward-facing window, and worked on embroidering her cap, which she would wear over her kerchief as a married woman. He will be a good husband for you, Ashlen had said. She'd seemed so sure.

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Deva paid no attention when Jenia set two chairs to the small table where Deva ate her meals, nor did she notice that the table was set with greater than usual care. The bowl filled with an arrangement of frostberry twigs and evergreen moss did surprise her – upstairs and out of everyone's sight, Jenia hardly bothered with niceties of presentation – but even then Deva thought nothing of it until the bells summoning one and all to the evening meal sounded throughout the Fortress, and Jenia asked, "Will you be wanting to change your kerchief and smock before the meal?" Smirking.

"And when in the past weeks have I bothered with that to eat alone?" Deva said crossly, wondering what in heaven the lady-in-waiting could be so pleased over.

"But you're not eating alone," replied Jenia with poisonous sweetness. "Didn't I mention it? You might have noticed the particular trouble I've taken to arrange the table nicely."

"It looks lovely," Deva murmured with automatic courtesy. "No, you didn't mention anything. Is Ashlen joining me tonight? That will be nice." There wasn't time to change her kerchief, but Ashlen wouldn't mind.

"Pardon me, but as far as I know, Princess Ashlen will be eating with her husband in the Great Hall," corrected Jenia. "Her Majesty the Queen will be dining with you." Before Deva could do anything but draw in a startled breath, a cursory knock at the door heralded the Queen's arrival, and Her Majesty graced the room with her presence at last.

"You... you knocked," blurted Deva, though it wasn't at all what she had meant to say.

"You've... grown," said the Queen in the same moment, then looked slightly nonplussed, as if that wasn't what she'd meant to say either.

Jenia hovered, devouring the awkward moment.

"Do sit down, daughter," the Queen suggested, a tentative smile beginning at the corners of her mouth, "it isn't wise to stand too long in your condition." Turning to the lady-in-waiting, she added with much less warmth, "Jenia, you may have them bring in the meal now, and mend the fire. Then you may go."

Supper was served and the attendants withdrew. In the fireplace, a log broke and shifted, settling on the grate with a popping of sparks and a soft crackling sigh.

"Eat," said the Queen, flicking her fingers at Deva's plate with impatience. "I think you'll be pleased to hear that a messenger from the Western Isles arrived today with an offer of marriage for you."

"Is that why you're speaking to me again?" Deva asked.

"Please don't be bitter with me, Deva."

Deva sighed. "No, mother. I've missed you, that's all. Please, tell me about this offer of marriage."

"Your situation has been... something of a strain for all of us," the Queen admitted. "But now your future is settled, and I think all will be well for you; this Brialach isn't much older than you are, and the Keireidhe men are a handsome lot, as I recall." With a passing smile for a long-ago memory, Deva's mother patted her gently on the shoulder, eyes bright with relieved contentment. "You should have no complaints at all, my dear. Would you like to see the marriage contract?"

In response to the Queen's summons, one of the royal ladies-in-waiting appeared so quickly that she must have been waiting at her mistress' command outside the door. She bore a ribbon-bound portfolio, which she opened and presented to Deva at a nod from the Queen.

The document inside seemed more like a letter than a contract.

To His Royal Majesty King Hafred Galreddi Ilujaven, it read, laid out on heavy vellum in a bold angular calligraphy. Greetings are presented on behalf of Arthlach Keireidhe Maestát by his son and heir Cealach, acting in his name by reason of grave illness. We have the honor of proposing a second alliance between our royal houses through the persons of Brialach Keireidhe and Deva Hafreddi Ilujava. It seems to us a suitable match in all ways, and thus we tender a proposal of marriage... Deva read on, right to the end, where Cealach had signed it and pressed the Keireidhe royal seal into a glob of dark red wax.

"Where do I sign it, mother?" she asked. "Why hasn't Brialach signed it?"

"You don't, my dear. Islander marriage contracts are not like ours. They will expect your father to send a letter back with an acceptance or refusal, and his seal."

The handwriting blurred in front of Deva's eyes, and she snapped the portfolio closed.

The Queen drew back in surprise, and then looked more closely at her daughter's tear-welling eyes. "Why, Deva! What troubles you, my dear?"

Deva swallowed hard and blinked away the moisture in her eyes, but her mother still waited for an answer. "How do I know that he's willing?" she muttered at last.

"Oh, my silly girl, is that all the trouble?" the Queen said, with the light laughter of relief. "They'd have no reason to send you an unwilling bridegroom, no reason at all; the Keireidhe family is not short of fortune or status. You're a fine match for a younger son, and they'll surely know how happy Ashlen has been with our Hal."

"But... my condition... he..." and Deva stumbled over the words, realizing as she spoke that she could not make her mother understand, could not explain the magical window through which she had seen her lover's devastated face.

Misunderstanding, the Queen patted her daughter's shoulder. "Deva, Ashlen has assured me that it's not a problem – her people don't prize maidenhood as we do. They... they consider fertility beautiful. Set your mind at rest."

But he's only coming because of the baby, Deva's inner voice sobbed, he doesn't want me!  She took a gulping breath, steadied herself. Nothing to be done. Impossible to explain. "Yes, mother."

The Queen rose from the table and kissed her daughter on the forehead. "Goodnight, my dear," she said.

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So he's coming, then. A lover, a stranger.

Deva laid her embroidery in her lap and looked out through the snowflakes glittering in the morning light, toward the distant west from whence he would come riding. And inside herself she felt a fluttering movement, a ripple of bubbles, a tiny quake. A kick?

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♥ Brialach is coming. But is he only coming because of the baby, or because his brother is forcing him into it?

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