Duty-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book II ]

43

In the end, the coronation gown Madam Gella and Mhera had made served as the wedding gown it had been intended to replace. Mhera studied her reflection as her old governess adorned her hair with jeweled clips, wondering how to feel about marrying Matei. It was difficult to see past the paralyzing fear of what lay ahead, difficult to feel anything past the guilt and sorrow of having exiled her own parents.

"There," said Gella, looking over Mhera's shoulder. "You look lovely, Your Grace."

"Please...will you not call me Mhera?" Mhera met Gella's gaze in the mirror. "Please. This morning, of all mornings, at least."

With a twitch of her lips, Gella smoothed the gown over Mhera's shoulders. "In private, perhaps. You look lovely, Mhera."

Turning her attention back to her reflection, Mhera murmured, "Thank you. I suppose I'll do."

"How do you feel?" Gella began to clear away Mhera's hairbrush and other grooming tools.

That was a question too immense to answer honestly. Mhera struggled for a moment with what to say before choosing the simplest of the possible answers. "Like a fool. I told you and many others I would not be marrying Matei."

The old woman gave Mhera a hint of a smile. "Is it not perfect though?" she asked. "To have ascended to the throne together, and then to have fallen in love? I should think you would be happy at how things have turned out; the goddess has blessed you, child."

Mhera turned away from the mirror. She had to remember their goal; to the rest of the world, she and Matei must appear as if they were man and wife. Although love was not a requirement for a royal marriage, it would not hurt to seem tender toward him as best she could. They'd become friends, after all.

"You look as if your cares weigh heavily upon you," said Gella. "Try to forget them, just for today, Mhera. This should be a joyful day."

Mhera offered Gella a smile, trying to feel it. "I'm afraid my troubles are never far away, no matter how happy I may be," she said. "Thank you, Gella. You have made of me a fine lady today. I think I shall take just a moment alone before I go down." She strode over to the window seat where Esaria had often rested and sewed, and there she sat, glancing out the window at the clear morning.

"You have time. Have some tea." Without waiting for Mhera's consent, Gella bustled to pour her a steaming cup from a pot that stood waiting. Tea was a remedy for all sicknesses and cares in the Holy City. She passed the cup into Mhera's hands and smiled at her. As Mhera took the cup, she looked up at the woman's face, and for a second, she was overcome.

"I do not deserve you," she said.

Gella's eyes were misty. She reached out and gently touched Mhera's face. "My girl, I think it is the other way around." She hesitated, and Mhera thought she wanted to say something, something it was not in her nature to say. At last, she whispered, "I love you."

Mhera set her tea cup aside on the window still and stood up. She slid her arms around Gella's waist and let her cheek come to rest on her shoulder. "Gella."

The two women embraced for a moment; Mhera's eyes swam with tears of gratitude, of relief. Perhaps part of her fear of facing her own wedding day was the fact that she had no family to stand with her—none except for Kaori. But she'd been wrong, hadn't she?

At last, Gella gently withdrew from the embrace. She kissed Mhera's forehead. "Now. Take a moment alone, Mhera, with your thoughts and with your prayers, and I shall come again to see you to the temple, where you shall make the world's loveliest bride."

Gella turned and went out of the room—rather quickly, Mhera thought—leaving her standing near the window seat, yet feeling less alone.

Mhera sat down again and reached for her tea. She lifted the cup to her lips and sipped the hot brew. As she lowered it again, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the auburn surface of the tea, a reflection that wavered with the ripples as she rested the cup against her knee. She lifted her eyes and looked out over the gardens.

It had been a long time since Mhera had sought a vision. It had been since that night in Hanpe, when she had desperately tried to See a path forward for herself. Now, she felt as she had felt that day: lost, as if she were drifting along the river of life on a boat whose captain she could not see.

The bells in the Imperial Temple tolled, a cheerful sound. It was the first strike. In half an hour's time, the bells would toll again, and at the third toll, another half an hour later, the wedding would commence. Mhera wished that, if she had to marry Matei, she at least could have a ceremony in private, attended—ideally—by none but the two of them and a priest. But if they were to make this all seem as official and as real as they had to, the traditions and celebrations had to be observed.

The last time Mhera had sought a vision, it had given her great wisdom, warning her—and thereby warning Matei and his people—that the empire was coming to overtake Hanpe. Perhaps a vision would give her some needful truth today.

Mhera set her cup of tea aside and gathered up her skirt. She rose and crossed toward the mirror standing on the other side of the room, and there she knelt, spreading her gown around her so that she might not wrinkle the delicate fabric and thereby break Gella's heart. She observed her reflection coolly for a moment, and then, laying her palms open on her knees, she unfocused her gaze and allowed her attention to move past the mirror, past the present moment, and into the realm of the Sight.

The vision did not come to her at once; the mirror was not an ideal scrying surface, being upright as it was, and reflecting back so much of the room. But then, the surface of the mirror grew clouded and dark, and the world around Mhera darkened, too, as if it were retreating back from her, leaving her on a shadowed island, all alone.

She watched and she waited. For some time, she sat in the darkness, and no visions came. And then, gradually, a reflection of her own face emerged from the gloom.

At first, Mhera was disappointed. Perhaps she had lost her command of the Sight. But she quickly schooled her emotions back to calm and observed the reflection of her own face, trying to reserve her judgment, lest there be some wisdom to be had. She gazed into her own gray eyes, observing the expression of her face. It was a tense look, as if the Mhera in the mirror were stunned—as if she had not yet felt what there was to feel. Then, her brows drew together, her lips quivered, and her mouth opened into a scream. Glassy-eyed, she silently screamed as tears welled up and spilled over her lashes, leaving sparkling tracks down her pale cheeks.

A desperate fear and sadness swept over Mhera, causing her breath to hitch in her throat. It was a feeling of unbearable despair, a feeling that she had lost something dear to her, something dearer than life itself.

A soft sound from behind her brought her abruptly out of the vision. Mhera gasped, closing her eyes and drawing deep, unsteady breaths.

"Your Grace?" It was Gella. "Are you quite well?"

"Just a little anxious," Mhera said. "I was—ah—fixing this clip in my hair. I'm afraid I was fussing, and I think I moved it." She reached up and lightly touched one of the jeweled clips Madam Gella had placed for her earlier in the hour, which of course had not moved in the slightest.

"It looks just right," Gella said. With a rustle of dark skirts, she crossed the room, and she offered a hand to Mhera, who accepted it in order to stand. "That was the second bell—did you hear?"

"Yes. Yes," Mhera said. She hadn't heard a thing. "I supposed it's time for us to go down."

Hmm...It doesn't seem like Mhera is looking forward to her wedding as a bride might. And now, we have this unsettling vision with which to contend.

Any guesses as to what it might mean?

Don't worry: all will be revealed in time. For now, a wedding!

Your next chapter comes on 10/30!