twenty-eight
The biggest nitrous storm of the year hit their part of Arrah with only a week’s warning, which proved fortuitous for those who wanted to make the most of a good time.
Sonall had plenty to do to ensure the equines’ safety during the two-day storm, and Sulim wasted no time keeping the house in order since most of the staff would need those days off.
Nothing gets done during nitrous storms.
The first time Sulim experienced one, she quickly found out why…
“He just…” Mira, who had never been through a proper nitrous storm in her five hundred years, couldn’t maintain her composure at the dinner table that night.
“He just died! Can you believe…” She snorted halfway through her tale, clearly high on whatever supply filtered through the room.
“Can you believe it? Oh, sweet Void, it was the worst day of my li—”
She was interrupted by her own laughter, doubling over in her chair and clutching her stomach while her mother rubbed her back and admonished her in Julah.
Sulim, who was doing her damnedest to also not crack up laughing over someone’s death, at least had experience on her side.
She had taken a handful of medication that day that would subdue the worst of the effects.
Mira had not heeded her warning, however.
“I’m gonna lose it,” Sonall said in his wife’s direction, using the back of his hand as a shield. “I have no idea what she’s talking about, but it’s somehow funny as fuck.”
“A cousin she grew up with died in a teleportation incident. He was cut in half.”
“Fuck, that’s funny.”
“Is it?”
Sonall hid behind that same hand, fingers clasped over his face as it turned redder, redder, red. “The image in my head…”
Sulim was surrounded by amateurs.
There were upsides, of course. It was an Arrahite custom to watch comedies or “bad” horror films during a nitrous storm to maximize enjoyment.
Most of the family and the guests gathered in the den, where the house’s largest television was already set up for a marathon of the Arrahite comedy classics A Fool & His Horse and Sex in a Small Town.
The former was loosely based on the Gardiah family fifty years ago, and the latter was a raunchy comedy of errors set in a town not too different from Harksplit.
It even featured a nitrous storm that had half of the town going into mass hysteria over the unfortunate death of their mayor.
Sounds familiar. Even Sulim cracked at the funeral scene, with the Temple priest bowling over laughing as the coffin was lowered into the dirt—all because a fly had landed on the mayor’s mangled face.
“This is where the capital investigators come,” Sulim explained to Mira and Kema, both of whom sat with the married couple on the couch. “He’s played by one of the biggest local actors. He won a bunch of Federation Film awards, but this is one of his most well-known roles.”
“Why?” Mira asked.
“Because, although he’s human, obviously, nitrous storms do not affect him at all. He’s the ultimate straight man. It takes the comedy to levels I can’t even laugh at right now because I can’t comprehend how he keeps such a stoic face in the absurdity.”
They kept their hands to themselves, although Sulim desired to cuddle with her companion—and was almost brave enough to, thanks to the damn storm.
But when Sulim glanced out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Kema had pushed herself up from the floor and sat on the far end, next to Sonall.
They exchanged words that implied they were comfortable in each other’s presence.
She didn’t think much about it as the storm came and went, and everyone calmed down again.
Kema was more conversational at the dinner table, and even Hannu began appearing a few more times than usual, but by that point, the woman had mostly moved into town to continue her penance at the Temple.
She mostly came to the occasional dinner at Joiya’s insistence.
Photos arrived on Sulim and Sonall’s respective communicators, showcasing Graella’s second wedding preparations on Qahrain. Jacelah checked in on how everyone handled the storm. Beyond that, the contingent on Qahrain was blessedly quiet.
As for there on Arrah…
Sulim was now done with her chores by lunch, and she often didn’t waste time riding out to her loft, where she more often than not met up with Mira.
Many times, they made love. Other times, they merely kept each other company.
Other people picked up that they met up there, and Sulim admirably played it off as Mira being a fellow reader and the two of them having a book club of sorts.
Yes, she reads me julah erotica, then we fool around.
Worked like a charm. People did not ask questions.
Or they already knew. Well, as long as the wrong people didn’t know…
She sat up in her loft one sunny day, reading through an old favorite with tea steeping during her wait for Mira’s arrival. Her lover was running late due to helping with something regarding her mother’s research, but promised to be there before they had to return for dinner.
Sulim was in the middle of reading a particularly heated scene between a maid and her abusive employer when she heard movement down below. She eagerly closed her book and looked over the railing, calling, “Already here! Come on—”
She stopped. That was not Mira looking back up at her, and it certainly wasn’t a woman.
“Sorry for interrupting your daily respite,” Marco said. “I was in the area and recalled there was some extra tack stored here. In the back?”
Sulim remembered her manners. “Yes. I think my husband keeps some around.”
Marco’s gaze lingered on her as he walked toward the back of the old bar.
Beneath the protective embrace of old, dry hay, Sonall kept crates of emergency supplies for when out in the fields.
Why would Marco need it? By emergency, Sonall meant emergency—as in someone was stranded during a winter storm or there was a loose, injured, or sick horse in the vicinity.
I don’t get it. Especially since Marco took his sweet time gathering supplies to load onto his horse, currently tied up next to Emi outside.
“Everything all right?” Sulim called down.
“Yes, I will be out of your hair shortly.”
Sulim put away her book and began the descent down the ladder. She quickly realized that Marco wasn’t really… doing anything.
“Ah…” He realized she was watching him and gave up the act. “I was actually hoping that Lady Mira would be around. I know that you and she have a liaison every afternoon.”
Sulim’s arms tightened around her torso. “Liaison? That’s certainly a word.”
“Well, I’m not sure what other word I’m supposed to use. ‘Assignation’ is very cold for two people in love.”
Sulim knew she had paled and could not control it.
“Because you two are having an affair, right? There was something I wanted to ask Lady Mira, but I realized upon approaching that I might catch you two… in a compromising position.”
“What do you want?”
She was accusatory—cutting right to the chase because Marco was up to something, and she was the center of his thoughts. Every one of Mira’s dry warnings echoed in her head.
Machinations. Desires. This man had both.
“Want? Oh, nothing.” His hair swished around his head as he turned.
Usually, he wore it up in a bun or back in a ponytail while working.
Today, he must have fancied himself on break.
Funny. There’s lots of work to be done, I hear.
“I don’t consider your affair any of my business. Although the happiness of the young lordling is my business, considering I must work with him. And Vern would be upset to know that you were making a fool of yourself with your guests…”
“I did not ask for your opinion.”
“No, no, of course not. But… may I ask… does he know?”
Sulim furrowed her brows. “Get out.”
Gone was the charming man who pretended to be her friend, much to her chagrin. “I have every right to be on a piece of property that is mine as well. You’d do well to remember that.”
“What are you talking about?” While he was certainly welcome to supply caches, he was not allowed to talk this way to a member of the family. Unless, of course, he thought her an interloper. He wouldn’t be the first.
“I know that Vern does not share my role here, but I’ll let you in on a secret, Sulim…” He approached, a sneer on his thin lips. “I own a sizable share of the family business. Nearly half. That’s true today, and will be true tomorrow. In a way, I own this barn. I let you use it.”
She could not take his bait, as hard as it was. “Let me… please. I’m a member of this family. My business is my own. My husband’s business is his own.”
“Is he really your husband, if you’re more like his sister?”
“You mean the one you tried to marry?”
Oh, Sulim should not have said that, yet it blurted out of her mouth before she could stop it. And, oh, Marco was surprised by that revelation. But was he worried? No. Was he taken aback? Absolutely not. If anything, he was curious about her knowledge of the situation.
“Sonall and I found your contract with Vern. Where he promised you Graella’s hand by her twentieth birthday… when she was sixteen.”
“Are you surprised? I was doing him a favor. Don’t take me for a cradle robber, Sulim. My interest in Graella was not sexual. If anything, my interest was in keeping the family business in the family name. I offered your father-in-law an out, which he graciously took. See, my family, the Flares,
are set to buy more shares of the Gardiah name. If I wanted, I could push out Vern and your ‘husband.’ Vern is very aware of this, and we concluded that I should marry Graella to keep things in the blood.”
“How could you agree to such a thing? She was too young! Did…” Sulim sucked in her breath. “Did Jacelah ever know?”
“Hardly! She would have had a stroke. You know how she is. Which was why we weren’t telling anyone until it was a done deal. Look, my family may not be nobility, but money doesn’t equate being ‘high-bred.’”
“But I bet it would be nice for you to be Lord Marco by now.” Something about the implications stank in Sulim’s nostrils, but she dared not voice them. “Marco Gardiah. Is that how you would fancy yourself?”