A Husband for Deva

Strong Magic

"You may leave now," Brialach said, with his princely half-bow.

Deva blinked at him. She'd been staring at the enormous bed in their new chamber – three times the size of her old one – and had apparently missed something.

He tilted his head toward Jenia and the gentleman who'd been assigned to attend him, who were now looking stiff and pokerfaced. "They don't need to stay, do they?" he asked her in an undertone. "I can help you with your clothes and hair, if you need. I am not accustomed to being watched while I undress."

Oh. "You could go behind the screen. But no, they don't have to stay." She smiled at their attendants. "I bid you goodnight, Jenia, Terwand. I think you heard Brialach dismiss you, did you not?"

She thought she heard Jenia mutter, "Foreigner," as the lady-in-waiting slipped from the room with the barest dip of a curtsey. Terwand at least bowed fully before leaving, but his silence troubled Deva. Would they not take commands from Brialach, then? Would they not give him the usual courteous wishes for good sleep or happy dreams? She couldn't be sure whether it was because of the circumstances under which she'd wed him, or the fact that he was from the Isles. Had Ashlen faced this sort of thing when she'd arrived?

"These are nice rooms," Brialach said to her, breaking the silence.

"Yes." Awkward. She took off her cap and untied the kerchief from her hair. Keep talking. "They're new to me too. Before today, I still slept upstairs in the rooms I used to share with my sisters. This bed is much bigger." That slipped out before Deva could censor it. And now he knows where my thoughts have been. Her cheeks flamed.

He laughed, a warm, husky sound. "I remember." The narrow bed had barely held the two of them.

But she'd been slim and innocent then; perhaps he wouldn't find her so appealing now. Supporting the heavy curve of her belly with one hand, she leaned over the clothing press to find a nightrobe. Without looking at him, she said, "You know you needn't... do that until after the baby comes, if you'd rather not. I'll understand."

"Do you hate being sygnáid  so much, then? You are even more beautiful than before, and I'm proud that you carry my child." He paused, then shrugged with resignation. "But I will not trouble you if you don't wish to be touched."

To her horror, Deva burst into a spate of ugly choking sobs. She tried to hide her face with her arms, but hunching over her belly made it hard to breathe. "It's not that I don't... want to, I just... I feel like a whale... and the stretch marks... You can't possibly want—"

Brialach stroked her shoulder cautiously. "Claireidhi, Deva! I am sorry. I should have been more careful. I did not mean to do this to you."

She let him lead her over to sit on the edge of the bed, and after a bit she wiped her eyes on the hem of her smock. "I cry so easily, these days," she said, furious with herself for being so weak and foolish.

"Maybe you need to feel strong," he said.

"What do you mean?"

He looked uncertain, took a few pacing steps. "I have a gift for you, Deva. I don't know if this is the time. I don't know if it will... make you fear. Perhaps you will be angry."

"What kind of a gift would make me afraid or angry?"

"I meant to save it for another day. Not our wedding night."

He crossed the room to where his belongings were piled, a couple of small chests and several bags, not yet unpacked. Looking in one and then another, he drew out a small leather case, and brought it over to her.

The moment she saw it, Deva felt drawn toward the case, and she had the oddest sense that there was something bright  inside it. She held out her hands.

"Wait." Brialach seemed tense. "Let me tell you, first."

"Okay."

"When I first came to you, Ilujavit girl, I was surprised. Do you remember that?"

"Yes. I thought you were a daydream, but yes. You were surprised."

He moved his fingers over the case, and shifted his feet. "I did not think a proháinte  could reach so far. I had learned how to go from mirror to mirror, but I never thought to travel beyond Caermatháro." That was the great city of the Western Isles, Deva remembered from her schoolbooks. The home and royal seat of the Keireidhe family. Brialach's home, that he'd given up to come to her.

"Do you miss it terribly, your home?"

He shrugged, but she thought from his face that he did.

"Perhaps someday I will visit there with you," she suggested, with a small smile.

His answering smile lit up his face. "I would like that. It is far, though." His expression grew sober again as he spoke. "Far enough that a proháinte  should not have been able to reach. And no one thought it possible to father a child in that way. So... the great majkeidhi  consulted about the strangeness of it." With a wry smile, he placed the case in her hands and wrapped his fingers about hers to tighten her grip, as though he were afraid she might drop it, or fling it away. "They concluded... they concluded that strong majka had drawn me here, and the power of my proháinte was... deepened by it."

Deva shook her head. "No. What are you saying? We don't have magic here. No."

"Open the case."

"No." But she couldn't stop herself. Her fingers unbuckled the binding strap, and flipped open the lid.

There, nestled in folds of soft velvet, lay a shining band of gold studded with amethysts and sapphires – a collar, like the one he wore. Like the one Ashlen had. Wearing a torcha is the sign of a majkeidhe.

And as she looked at it, something inside her lit up in recognition.

"Holy-One-Lord-of-Light-ward-me-from-evil," she murmured.

It's so beautiful.

___________

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