two #3
Somewhere, hundreds of miles away, her prideful place still kissed the late afternoon and refused to greet the oncoming evening. Not like Tamira, who had to—”
The door clicked open. Sulim almost dropped the paperback book on her face.
“Thought you were in here.” Sonall stopped in front of the sink. It wasn’t until Sulim glared at him that he remembered to close the door again. “Couldn’t wait to get away from that show, huh?”
He must have referred to Cera and Meri’s visit, which continued in the den, where Jacelah liked to entertain after dinner.
“This is the second time you’ve interrupted my reading today,” she said while her husband washed his face in the sink.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a problem with literacy.”
Sonall came up for air, shutting off the sink and grabbing a gray towel left on the counter.
“I’d read more if I could. These days, I consider it a great accomplishment if I can stay awake long enough to watch a broadcast. Which reminds me.”
He turned to his wife, who existed between trying to get back to her reading and paying attention to him, “The new Earth broadcast is tonight. Do you want to watch? Starts in twenty minutes.”
“Sounds like you want to watch it.”
She knew that look. The one that said, “I asked you what you wanted.” Sulim truly didn’t mean to flip things back on him like that. It just… happens. With a sigh, she set her book on the small basket beside the bath and submerged both arms in the water. She might as well wash up.
“All right.”
“Or I can leave you in here to read while you prune.”
“Just promise me we won’t be interrupted by any guests or your mother. Oh, and that you’ll hop in here on my way out. You smell like horse shit.”
“As my father would say, I smell like money.”
Do you even know what it’s like to be without money?
Sulim knew. She may have been raised by nobles, but she had seen what poverty did to people.
She had scraped by with whatever scraps she and her aunt could scrounge up in lean winters after a bad harvest that left them relying on depleting savings and what few investments some ancestors had made in the Federation banks.
Meanwhile, the Gardiahs had been the costliest exporter of equines across the Federation for several generations.
The whole reason they even got that far is because of the Lordship.
Unfortunately for Sulim, she had to know the whole history just to fit in.
As much as she could, anyway.
She was out in five minutes. Since she barely got to enjoy her bath, she didn’t drain it, leaving the hot water for her husband, who was already undressed by the time she toweled off and wandered into the bedroom to put on her evening loungewear.
She yawned as she donned a loose shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms that were decent enough in case she had to run downstairs for something.
She couldn’t complain. After all, her aunt would have flayed her ass for wandering around the house like this.
Although their bedroom was nowhere near as glamorous as the Lord and Lady’s chambers on the far side of the second floor, it was still impressive compared to what Sulim grew up with.
Our own little living area, kitchenette, and bathroom.
Technically, this suite was for whoever held the second place of honor in the family.
It could’ve been an older sibling. Or a depreciating matriarch who solely existed for socializing and being fawned over.
Not even a family member, if Marco suddenly needed a place to stay.
In Sulim’s case, she got it because she was married to the heir, who was not only his father’s journeyman but was starting his own family. Or so the Gardiahs assumed.
Sulim put some herbal tea on the corner burner and turned on the Terra III broadcasts from half a universe away.
Already, the ad spots psyched the viewer up for the first new Earth-based broadcast in two months.
While Sulim never paid much attention to the Earth shows while growing up on the farm, it was Sonall and Graella’s favorite show, and she had been admittedly sucked into it since moving to Arrah.
Definitely worse shows to watch. For Sulim may have enjoyed fictional books, but she preferred to watch documentaries.
Especially those that presented real-time footage of what happened on a developing planet that knew not of the Federation or even anything beyond their world.
The tea was ready by the time Sonall emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but his lounge pants and a towel around his shoulders.
Sulim was already on the small couch in front of their TV, her feet up on the table and a hot cup of tea in her lap.
She wrapped a quilt she brought from Qahrain around her and offered some to spare for her husband when he wandered over.
“How cold do you think it is?” he quipped.
Did he really need this explained to him? It’s affection, idiot.
Sonall accepted the cup of tea and joined his wife beneath the blanket.
With four feet up on the table, they watched as the most famous documentarian team in the Federation brought live, commentated footage from Earth, a planet hosting a myriad of cultures that made the rest of the universe look quaint.
That week’s broadcast focused on a place in the desert called Iran, and its current transition between two types of religions.
Or are they the same religion? As a woman who had only ever known the Temple of the Void her whole life, Sulim didn’t know what “Islam” was, nor could she parse the nuance between terms like “Shia” and “Sunni.”
So she focused on the breathtaking footage of the deserts, oases, and cultural centers that featured some equines that Sonall could never help but comment on.
“I finally got Father to admit that it would be amazing if we could get our hands on any Earth horse and crossbreed with one of ours,” he said, tone already lamenting that it would never happen. “Who knows? Could be my legacy one day.”
“Yup. Nobody knows what’s going to happen with Earth.”
“Exactly. It could fall out of space one day.”
Sulim knew better than to poke holes in his idle fantasies.
You will never be allowed to cross-breed with an Earth-based horse.
And Sulim knew as well as her husband did that there were so many breeds of Earth horses that it would take years just to know where to begin, if even given a choice.
The Gardiah estate only bred, raised, and sold one breed that they had perfected over countless generations until the Association of Federated Equine Breeders announced that the “Gardiah” was a breed of its own.
Jacelah let me marry him because of three things…
The first was Sulim’s history of being willing to get her hands dirty around horses.
The second was the fact that she was technically raised by a noble couple.
And third? Her son was in love with me. Despite how Lady Jacelah acted around others, she deeply cared about her children and their lives beyond her influence.
But there was no point in making sure Sonall knew his dream of cross-breeding with Earthling horses was futile.
Everything they talked about on their couch while watching broadcasts was hypothetical, for in that room, they were the masters of their own adult destinies—both as individuals and as a married couple.
Fatigue caught up to Sulim as the broadcast progressed.
She was sucked into the geographical narratives the producers cooked up with whatever footage and reports they caught from their Federation plants on Earth, but her heavy-lidded eyes sent her into the sideways embrace of her husband, who had a chest perfect for dozing on.
She was quite intent on staying there until he tossed her into bed for the night when his communicator buzzed on the table where his feet were still propped.
“It’s my father.” Sonall unentwined himself from his wife and picked up his device. “He wants to talk to me about something regarding tomorrow. Be right back.”
He left without further explanation. Sulim thought about sleeping on the couch until he returned, but ended up turning off the broadcast and taking their empty mugs to the kitchenette.
She pulled back the covers on their bed and climbed in, intent on resuming her reading but unable to keep her eyes open for another ten minutes.
Sonall returned long after the lights were out, and she lay turned away from him as he climbed into bed. A hand reached for her as she drifted off to sleep.
She was about to rebuff his advances, but before she could mutter a single no, he was snoring louder than Sulim’s uncle during harvest season. Such were the glamours of married life.