Dreaming Death
Page 43
Oriana’s eyes met Isabel’s in the mirror. “I’m certain he’ll like it, shocking or not.”
“Good.” Isabel smiled contentedly at her reflection, but turned back to Oriana, her face going serious. “I know you don’t approve. I’m grateful you’re coming with me anyway.”
Oriana opened her mouth to apologize for her earlier arguments with Isabel over Mr. Efisio’s fate, but paused. She still didn’t approve. She nodded instead.
“I do love him,” Isabel said then, the first time she’d told Oriana so. “Have you never been in love?”
Oriana gazed down at her folded hands, her throat inexplicably tight. She was only a few years older than Isabel, but her situation in life had never been amenable to courtship. How many times had her aunts pointed that out? Unlike women within human society, among her people a female often remained alone; there simply weren’t enough males. Those females not meant for a mate were destined to serve their people instead, as Oriana did.
That thread of Destiny that bound her soul to some other’s? Oriana didn’t think it existed. She had resigned herself to that years ago . . . or she’d thought she had. Seeing Isabel so excited about her upcoming nuptials made Oriana wish she’d been one of the others—those for whom Destiny had chosen a mate. “No,” she admitted when she found her voice. “I’ve never been in love, so I suppose I can’t understand.”
Isabel’s brows drew together. “Do your people believe in love? Or are your marriages all arranged, like Pia’s?”
Oriana mulled that over. “We believe we are destined for one in particular, or—”
“Then perhaps you just haven’t met him yet,” Isabel interrupted with a blithe wave of her hand.
Apparently Isabel believed that if she were to have a husband, then everyone must. At least Isabel’s interruption had saved her from admitting aloud she was destined to be forever alone. Oriana nodded again, as if she agreed. She was realizing she did that quite often.
Isabel surveyed the mess on the bed with narrowed eyes, plotting how to subdue it, no doubt. “Now, why don’t you go pack your own bag, Oriana? I’ll finish up in here.”
Oriana cast a glance back at that chaos and suppressed a shudder. Isabel would simply cram her clothes into that trunk. As she wasn’t taking a maid along, Oriana would end up ironing everything later. She hated exposing her delicate hands to all that heat, but she would do so to help Isabel start off in her new life properly. One last thing she could do to repay Isabel for her kindness.
She tugged on her black silk mitts to hide the webbing between her fingers. “I’ll be back shortly, then.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. KATHLEEN CHENEY is a former mathematics teacher who has taught classes ranging from seventh grade to calculus, with a brief stint as a gifted-and-talented specialist. She is the author of the Novels of the Golden City, including The Shores of Spain, The Seat of Magic, and The Golden City. Her short fiction has been published in such venues as Fantasy Magazine and Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and her novella Iron Shoes was a Nebula Finalist in 2010.
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