The Bastard King

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lanius gave the moncats the chamber next to his bedroom. He’d named the male Iron and the reddish female Bronze. Then, two weeks later, he’d had to find another chamber for the male. When Bronze had her kittens—twins— Iron wanted to kill them, just as Yaropolk had warned he might.

The kittens each clung to Bronze’s fur with all four hands, and wrapped their tiny tails as far around her as they would go, too. For their first couple of weeks of life, clinging and sucking were about all they could do. Bronze was almost as suspicious of Lanius as she had been of Iron before the king gave him a new home. Little by little, feeding her bits of pork and poultry, Lanius won her trust.

When the kittens’ eyes opened, they came to take Lanius as much for granted as they did their mother. One was a male, the other a female. He wondered whether that was happenstance or the way moncats always did things. By then, though, Yaropolk had left the city of Avornis, and none of the Chernagors in the capital admitted to knowing the answer.

He called the male kitten Spider and the female Snitch—she had a way of reaching for anything she could get her tiny hands on and popping it into her mouth. With Grus running the kingdom, Lanius did enjoy having time to spend on the moncats.

He made sure he kept visiting Iron, too, to keep him tame. After sending him away from Bronze and the kittens, Lanius thought about renaming him the Banished One. He thought about it, but then put the idea aside. In Avornis, that was not a name of good omen, even in whimsy.

He was picking fleas off Spider when someone knocked on the door to the moncats’ room. “Who’s there?” he asked. With a little moncat purring on his lap, he didn’t want merely human company just then.

But the answer was, “Grus.”

Grus didn’t throw the title he’d stolen in Lanius’ face. He was doing what he could to get along with Lanius and work with him wherever he could. Lanius couldn’t decide whether that made him dislike his fellow king more or less. Whichever the answer was, he couldn’t ignore Grus. “Come in,” he said.

When Grus did, his gaze traveled from Spider to Snitch to Bronze. He quickly closed the door behind him so the moncats couldn’t get out. Yaropolk had been right about that, too—once loose, they were very hard to recapture. “Fascinating creatures, Your Majesty,” Grus remarked. “Really fascinating. I see why you’re so taken with them.”

“Yes, they are,” Lanius agreed. “Your Majesty,” he added, a bit slower than he should have. He didn’t like yielding Grus the title, but saw no way around it. “Did you come here just to tell me that?”

Grus shook his head. “Not at all. I came to ask you a question.”

“Go on,” Lanius said. Spider squirmed. He let the moncat go. It scrambled over to its mother. Bronze scooped up the kitten and held it in an amazingly humanlike embrace.

“You’ve met my daughter, Sosia,” Grus said. Lanius nodded, puzzled—that wasn’t a question. When Lanius did no more than nod, Grus did ask a question. “What do you think of her?”

In truth, Lanius hadn’t thought much of Sosia, for good or ill. He’d noticed she wasn’t far from his own age, and that was about all. He didn’t much care for her brother, but he got the notion Grus didn’t much care for Ortalis, either. “What do I think of your daughter?” he echoed now. “She’s… very nice.” That seemed as safe an answer as he could give.

But it turned out not to be safe enough. Grus beamed at him.

“I’m glad to hear you say so, Your Majesty. By the gods, I’m very glad. I’ll announce the betrothal tomorrow.”

“Betrothal?” Lanius squeaked. He hadn’t even seen the trap till it flipped him up into the air and left him dangling upside down.

Grus nodded vigorously. “Certainly, a betrothal. What better way to tie our two houses together than a wedding between them?”

“King Dagipert wanted to marry me to his daughter, too,” Lanius said.

Had Grus wanted to take that the wrong way, he could have made Lanius sorry—very sorry—he’d ever said it. As things were, the other king answered mildly, saying, “Dagipert is a foreigner, a barbarian, an enemy to Avornis. I hope you’ll agree I’m none of those things.”

You’d better agree I’m none of those things, his tone warned. And he was an Avornan, no doubt of that. Still… “I’m not sure I want to marry at all,” Lanius said, trying to escape the snare.

“Oh, of course you do,” Grus said. “You’ve found out about women, haven’t you?” He was gentle. He was genial. He was also implacable. Lanius hadn’t imagined how formidable he could be.

I can’t even lie. He knows better. “Yes,” he said unhappily.

“Well, then.” Grus smiled a wide, cheerful smile. Lanius supposed it was a father-in-lawish kind of smile. He didn’t have standards of comparison there, though. He’d never seen Dagipert smile, although he supposed Arch-Hallow Bucco had. Grus went on, “Don’t you think it would be better to get yourself a wife and not have to worry about chasing after serving girls when you’re in the mood?”

“I don’t know,” Lanius answered honestly. Then he asked a question of his own. “Didn’t you do some chasing of your own even after you got yourself a wife?”

By the look Grus gave him, the other King of Avornis hadn’t expected that. But Grus soon steadied himself. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. As you’ll probably have heard—you seem to have heard all sorts of things—I have a bastard boy in the south. He’s not far from your age, as a matter of fact. I spent a lot of time away from home, you know.”

Lanius didn’t know. Except for his one brief campaigning foray, he’d never spent any time away from home. “What’s his name?” he asked. That wasn’t just his usual curiosity. Grus’ illegitimate son might soon become a sort of relative by marriage.

“He’s called Anser,” Grus replied. “He seems a likely lad, or reasonably so. I’ve been giving his mother money to raise him for years. Now that I’ve… come up in the world a bit, I’ll have to do more than that.”

Lanius didn’t say anything. If this Anser was a likely lad, he could fill one of any number of posts, and perhaps fill it well. If he turned out not to be so likely, would that stop Grus from appointing him to a position where what he did mattered? Lanius filed that away. He’d have to see what Grus did, and what Anser did after Grus decided where to put him.

Meanwhile, Grus wasn’t about to ease the pressure on Lanius himself. “What do you say?” he asked. “I want to announce the betrothal as soon as I can.”

I’m sure you do, Lanius thought. The more tightly Grus grafted his family to the longtime reigning dynasty, the harder he’d be to pry loose. Lanius considered simply telling him no. Then he looked at Grus’ face. On second thought, that didn’t seem so wise. What kind of accident or illness would you arrange for me? he wondered. Bucco had tried it. Lanius had managed to foil him. He didn’t think he could foil Grus, who seemed alarmingly capable. Maybe I’d better become his son-in-law. He might not want to arrange any misfortune for me if I’m married to his daughter.

But despite that thought, Lanius asked, “What does Sosia think about marrying me?”

“She thinks you’re very nice,” Grus answered, which might have meant his daughter thought Lanius was very nice, or might have meant Grus hadn’t bothered getting his daughter’s opinion. But then Grus added, “And I believe she also thinks joining our two houses would be a good idea.”

That, if true, interested Lanius. Unlike the other, it wasn’t something Grus had had to say. “Does she?” Lanius asked.

His fellow king nodded. “Yes. Sosia’s a clever girl. She’ll do what needs doing.”

Had he said she was beautiful, Lanius would have known he was lying. He’d seen her himself. She was pleasant, but far from gorgeous. Cleverness, though… Cleverness did pique Lanius’ curiosity. He didn’t know much about what he wanted in a wife, but he didn’t think he could put up with a stupid woman. “Well,” he said, “let’s see what happens.”

“Do we really have to do this?” Estrilda asked.

Grus stared at his wife. “Where do you think we’ll get a better match for Sosia? How can you get a higher match than the King of Avornis?”

“I don’t say you can get a higher match. Of course you can’t. But better?” Estrilda shrugged. “How can you know? I wouldn’t have wanted to marry anybody like Lanius when I was a girl. He thinks too much.”

“Well, you never said I did anything like that,” Grus answered, trying to tease a smile from Estrilda. It didn’t work. Frowning himself, Grus went on, “It’s the best thing we can do for the family.”

“How often do men ‘help’ the family by making their women miserable?” his wife returned. “You didn’t even ask Sosia if this was what she wanted to do. You just went and told Lanius he’d wed her. That’s no way to do things.”

“All right, then—we’ll ask her,” Grus said. “If she tells us yes, we’ll go ahead. If she says no…” His voice trailed away. He didn’t know what he’d do if Sosia said she didn’t want to marry Lanius. Probably see if he could talk her into changing her mind. He’d have to do that when Estrilda wasn’t listening.

When he and Estrilda walked into Sosia’s chamber, he found his daughter embroidering a unicorn on a square of linen. He thought unicorns were imaginary beasts, but wasn’t quite sure. After the Chernagors had brought those moncats to the city of Avornis, he wasn’t so positive what could be real and what couldn’t.

He wasted no time on preliminaries, but asked Sosia, “What do you think of being betrothed to Lanius?”

Sosia only shrugged; she seemed less worried about it than her mother. That’s something, anyhow, Grus thought. Then his daughter answered, “I think it will be all right. He’s not ugly, and I don’t think he’s mean.”

She looked around after she said that. So, automatically, did Grus and Estrilda. But Ortalis, wherever he was, wasn’t in earshot. Grus said, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk more with you about the match before I went and made it.” He was willing to throw Estrilda a sop if he could. Why not? Sosia seemed willing to marry Lanius, if not bursting with enthusiasm at the prospect.

And then she answered, “It really is all right, Father. I expected you to do something like this. How else are we going to make sure Lanius stays loyal to us?”

Grus’ mouth fell open. What he’d told Lanius proved true after all. He didn’t bother looking over at his wife. Estrilda couldn’t have been more surprised than he was. “Are you sure, dear?” she asked.

“I’m pretty sure, Mother,” Sosia said. “I’m going to marry someone, and better Lanius than some count three times my age who gets drunk all the time and sings songs about sheep when he’s feeling jolly.”

Now Grus did catch Estrilda’s eye. She wouldn’t meet his, not for long. Throwing her hands in the air, she said, “All right. I give up. Let the match go forward. I only wanted what was best for you, sweetheart, and to be sure you knew your own mind.”

“I usually do,” Sosia said.

“Well.” Even Grus sounded a little dazed. He tried to make the best of it. “As long as that’s settled.”

“Yes, Father. Yes, Mother. Is there anything else?” Sosia waited while Grus and Estrilda both shook their heads. Estrilda looked as dazed as Grus felt. Not Sosia. Sosia knew her own mind perfectly well. Grus wondered if she’d decided she was going to marry Lanius before Grus came to the same conclusion. As he retreated in what he hoped was well-concealed disorder, he decided he wouldn’t have been a bit surprised.

Lanius found himself looking forward to his wedding day. That surprised him. No matter what Grus said, Lanius remained convinced he could have more fun with a string of compliant, pretty serving girls than with a single, solitary wife. A wife—especially a wife who was also the daughter of the man who’d usurped his power, if not all of his throne—seemed more likely to prove an encumbrance than an advantage.

And yet… However much Lanius resented Grus, he had trouble resenting Sosia. Whenever he saw her in the palace, she was unfailingly polite and pleasant. She never had a great deal to say, but what she did say proved she had a head on her shoulders. Things could, he decided, have been worse.

And wedding Sosia would settle his life. Up till then, he’d known nothing but disruption since his father died. King Scolopax had despised him. Arch-Hallow Bucco had reckoned him—still did reckon him—a bastard. His own mother had coddled and patronized him. And then Queen Certhia, too, was whisked from the palace, and Grus took her place. Lanius didn’t know exactly what Grus thought of him. He suspected Grus wanted to think of him as little as possible.

He minded less than he’d thought he would. At fifteen, he was content—even eager—to be left alone. He had his books. Now he had the moncats. If he had a wife, too, he wouldn’t need to worry about chasing the maidservants—not that some of them required much chasing.

Besides, he couldn’t do anything about getting married. However little Grus had to do with him, the former commodore who’d promoted himself to king made that very clear. Lanius decided to make the best of it.

His wedding day—appointed by King Lanius—dawned cool and rainy. Servants decked him in the snow-white shirt and midnight breeches bridegrooms wore. He being king, his wedding shirt was of silk, and shot through with silver threads. His breeches were spun from the finest, softest wool in Avornis. A grinning young man fastened to them a codpiece whose extravagance was likelier to frighten a new bride than intrigue her.

“Too much,” Lanius said. “Take out some of the padding.”

But the servant shook his head. In some matters, not even kings were masters of their fate. The man said, “Not today, Your Majesty. Today you’ve got to show yourself off.”

“That’s not me,” Lanius said. “By the gods, the stallions who go out to stud would have trouble matching what you’ve put in there.”

“It’s custom,” the servant declared. Against custom, the gods themselves protested in vain.

Sosia was dressed all in red, to symbolize the loss of her maidenhead that would follow the wedding ceremony—would, in fact, for all practical purposes be a part of it. Lanius got a glimpse of her as she climbed into one carriage and he into another for the short journey to the cathedral.

One of Lanius’ earliest memories was of priests lined up shoulder to shoulder behind Arch-Hallow Bucco to keep his father and mother and him from worshiping at the cathedral. Now soldiers—or were they Grus’ marines?—surrounded the place to make sure nothing happened to him. Lanius would have been happier about that had the men been there to obey his orders and not his fellow king’s.

He couldn’t do anything about it, though. He got out of the carriage in the square in front of the cathedral. The square was the second largest in the city of Avornis, smaller only than the one in front of the royal palace. He’d come through it more times than he could count, once Bucco finally condescended to let him pay his respects to the gods. It seemed different now. He needed a moment to figure out why—no ordinary worshipers streaming into the cathedral. The wedding party would have the place to itself.

Even so, royal bodyguards formed up around Lanius. At their head marched Lepturus. “Congratulations, Your Majesty,” he said in tones likelier to be used for condolences.

“It won’t be so bad,” Lanius said. They walked on for a few paces before he added, “And it could be a lot worse.” He laid a hand on the back of his neck to show what he meant. To Lepturus, if to no one else left in the palace these days, he could say what he meant.

“Yes, Your Majesty, that’s so,” Lepturus allowed. “You could have gone to the block. For that matter, so could I. I’m still a little surprised I haven’t.”

“If you suggest it to Grus, I’m sure he could make the necessary arrangements,” Lanius murmured.

“Heh,” Lepturus said. But Lanius noticed that he didn’t disagree.

When they came to the entrance into the cathedral, one of Grus’ henchmen—a river-galley captain named Nicator—strode up with enough marines to outnumber Lanius’ bodyguards about two to one. He nodded to Grus and said, “We’ll take care of him from here on out.”

Lepturus bristled. “Who says? Nobody told me about that.”

“Not my worry,” Nicator replied with a shrug. “Your boys can clear out now.” The warning behind his words was, If they don’t clear out, we’ll clear them.

No less than Lepturus himself, the bodyguards looked furious. More than a few of them had served not just Lanius but his father, King Mergus. By their expressions, they feared Nicator’s men were getting them out of the way as a first step toward putting Lanius out of the way. Lanius didn’t believe that. Grus had too many other simpler, less public ways of disposing of him; he didn’t need to do it in a setting like this. “It’s all right, boys,” Lanius said.

Lepturus’ scowl said he didn’t think it was all right. He glared at Nicator and said, “I’m coming with His Majesty.” And you’ll have to kill me to stop me, the forward thrust of his body warned.

“I want Lepturus with me,” Lanius said.

He waited for Nicator to argue. But the naval officer only nodded and said, “That’s fine, Your Majesty. He’s on my list. Even if he wasn’t, we’d fix things. I know he’s been guarding you since you were tiny.” Nicator nodded again, this time to Lepturus. “Come right ahead, Marshal.”

Anticlimax. Maybe Lepturus really had been worrying over nothing. Maybe. Any which way, he and Lanius went forward, escorted by Grus’ marines and by this fellow who’d been at Grus’ side longer than Lanius had been alive.

Incense filled the inside of the cathedral. The sweet smoke made Lanius’ eyes water even as it tickled his nose. Olor, king of the gods, peered down from the dome at the King of Avornis. Quelea, Olor’s Queen, stood behind her husband in the vast fresco that must have taken years to paint.

Neither the divine king nor his queen looked directly at their puny human worshipers in the cedarwood seats below. Instead, their gaze was on the Banished One, whom the painters had shown at the edge of the dome, tumbling endlessly down from the heavens after the other gods cast him out. By the satisfied, almost smug look on Olor’s face, he was pleased with himself at solving a problem.

Olor had solved his own problem. The Banished One would trouble him and his domain no more. But the king of the gods had given mortal men an altogether different problem. Maybe Olor had thought the Banished One would smash to pieces when he struck the surface of the material world. If he had, he’d been wrong. More likely, he simply hadn’t cared one way or the other. Ever since that fateful day, the Banished One had been mankind’s worry, not the gods‘.

Lanius, at the moment, had more immediate worries than the Banished One. King Grus came up the aisle toward him. Grus bowed. “Welcome, Your Majesty,” he said. “You do my family great honor.”

Returning the bow, Lanius answered, “I am glad we join our families together.” He wasn’t sure he was glad of any such thing, but those words had to be spoken. His father couldn’t say them—King Mergus was dead. His mother couldn’t say them, either—Queen Certhia was exiled to the Maze. With no one else to speak the required words, Lanius had to say them himself.

Grus held out his hand. Lanius clasped it. That too needed doing. “Come with me, then, Your Majesty,” Grus said. “Your bride awaits.”

Sure enough, Sosia stood in front of Olor’s golden altar, between Arch-Hallow Bucco and Queen Estrilda. Lanius gathered himself, almost as though he were going into combat. Licking his lips, he said, “Thank you, my father-in-law to be. I go to her with all my heart.”

What a liar I am.

Sosia’s brother, Ortalis, sat in the very first row of seats. He was part of the bride’s family, yes, but had no role to play in the ceremony, as her father and mother did. He’s been shoved into the background, Lanius thought, just like me. That gave him a sudden burst of sympathy for Sosia’s brother.

Ortalis promptly made him regret it. As though by accident, he stuck his leg out into the aisle just as Lanius went by. If Lanius hadn’t seen it, he would have tripped and fallen on his face. As things were, he sidestepped. Ortalis sent him a horrible look.

Grus sent Ortalis a horrible look. Nobody said a word. And so I join my new family, Lanius thought.

But he hadn’t joined it yet, not officially. There stood Arch-Hallow Bucco, robed in a shade of red different from Sosia’s, waiting to bind Lanius to Grus’ daughter and, through her, to Grus himself. And to Ortalis. Lanius wished that hadn’t crossed his mind.

Sosia smiled at Lanius as he approached. Bucco bowed as low as his old bones would let him. “Your Majesty,” he murmured.

Lanius dipped his head to the arch-hallow, thinking, You miserable hypocrite. You never thought I should be King of Avornis, and you’re tying me to Sosia to make sure I don’t get the chance to do anything on my own.

Bucco raised his hands in a gesture of benediction. The nobles and courtiers in the cedarwood seats fell silent… more or less. “A wedding is always a new hope,” Bucco said. His voice was twenty, maybe thirty, years younger than the rest of him, a subtle, supple instrument that remained his greatest tool—and his greatest weapon. He went on, “That being so, a wedding between king and princess is a new hope not just for the groom and bride but also for the Kingdom of Avornis.”

He was a man who thought of himself first, Avornis distinctly afterward, and King Lanius last of all, but that didn’t make him wrong. Up till then, Lanius hadn’t been nervous. Now the magnitude of what he was doing pressed down on his shoulders like a great weight.

“To the great and ancient dynasty of which King Lanius is the scion, we add now the vigor and courage that come from King Grus’ line,” Bucco intoned. Does that mean I’ve got no vigor or courage of my own? Lanius wondered. Bucco probably thought it did. Well, a pestilence on Bucco and what he thinks. But then the arch-hallow said, “Your Majesty, be so kind as to take Her Highness’ hand.”

Lanius had been king since he was a little boy. Sosia had been a princess for only a few weeks. She needed a moment to remember that “Her Highness” meant her. Then she held out her hand. Lanius took it. It was the first time he’d ever touched her.

Her flesh was warm and smooth. He suspected fear made his own grip cold and clammy.

“Before the eyes of the gods, Your Majesty, do you take Princess Sosia for your wife, to have her bear your legitimate children?” Bucco said. “Do you pledge not to exceed great Olor’s example?”

The arch-hallow looked pointedly at him. He himself sprang from his father’s exceeding of Olor’s example and taking his mother as seventh wife rather than concubine. But all he could say was, “I do.” The marriage oath, as his work in the archives had proved, was as old as Avornis.

“Do you reject, now and forever, all blandishments of the Banished One? Do you swear to do all you can to return the Scepter of Mercy to the city of Avornis, its one true and proper home?”

“I do,” Lanius repeated. The last question was reserved for Kings of Avornis alone, and had been added to the oath after the Menteshe carried the Scepter into captivity. Lanius made the pledge, but wondered how much all he could do would be. The Scepter of Mercy, after all, had lain captive in Yozgat for four hundred years. Every one of his predecessors had sworn he’d do all he could to redeem it. Every one of them hadn’t done enough.

If I fail, too, I won’t be disgraced, he thought. Nor will Grus, if he also fails. Lanius didn’t like that second thought so well, but he couldn’t do anything about it.

Arch-Hallow Bucco turned to Sosia. “Before the eyes of the gods, Your Highness, do you take King Lanius for your husband, to bear his legitimate children? Do you pledge not to allow him to exceed great Olor’s example?”

“I do,” Sosia answered, so quietly that Lanius didn’t think anyone but he or Bucco could hear her. Maybe she was nervous, too.

“Do you reject, now and forever, all blandishments of the Banished One?” the arch-hallow asked. He didn’t say anything to her about recovering the Scepter of Mercy.

“I do,” Sosia repeated, a little louder this time.

Bucco bowed creakily, first to Lanius, then to Sosia. “I say to the two of you, then, that you are married. Treat each other kindly. Be patient with each other. If you do, you will be happy together. The gods grant it be so.”

“The gods grant it be so,” Lanius and Sosia said together. Greatly daring, he squeezed her hand a little. She jerked in surprise, ever so slightly, then smiled at him and squeezed back.

“It is accomplished.” Bucco nodded to Lanius. “You may kiss your bride.”

Till then, that had hardly occurred to Lanius. He leaned toward Sosia. The kiss he gave her was a sedate peck on the lips. Even that was plenty to set off cheers and shouts of bawdy advice from the assembled courtiers and nobles. Lanius’ ears got hot. Sosia turned pink.

“Now we feast! Now we drink!” Grus called in a great voice he might have used on the foredeck of a river galley. “And then…” He paused. More shouts rose. So did whistles and cheers. Sosia turned pink again.

Lanius leaned toward her once more and whispered, “It will be all right.” He was glad he’d had lessons from some of the serving maids. He wouldn’t have wanted to go into a marriage where neither he nor his bride had any notion of what they were supposed to do when they were alone together.

They went back to the palace for the feast. Meat and drink were magnificent. And why not? Lanius thought. Grus can spend whatever he likes. If Grus spent this way very often, of course, he’d bankrupt the kingdom. But, to be fair, he probably didn’t plan to marry off his only daughter again anytime soon. He’d better not plan to marry her off again soon, went through Lanius’ mind.

Somewhat elevated from fine red wine, Grus came over and put a hand on Lanius’ shoulder. “Take good care of her,” he said, as though it were a wedding of artisans rather than that of a king to another king’s daughter.

“I will,” Lanius said.

“Take good care of her,” his fellow sovereign and new father-in-law repeated, “and she’ll take good care of you.”

“I’m sure of it,” Lanius answered, sure of nothing of the sort. Wasn’t Sosia likely to be her father’s creature first, last, and always? But then Lanius looked over at her. She smiled back and fluttered her fingers. She wants to like me, I think. I have to give her reason to like me, then. She’s always going to be Grus’ daughter, but she is my wife, too.

As the feast went on, more and more people started looking expectantly from Lanius to Sosia and back again. Lanius knew what that meant. He wondered whether Sosia did. He also wondered how much she knew of what went on between men and women. Whatever she didn’t know, he would have to teach her. What a strange burden to lay on a bridegroom’s shoulders, and what a heavy one.

Sosia went over and started talking with her mother. Lanius wondered what Queen Estrilda was saying. That could make a difference, too. Sosia didn’t look appalled or terrified, so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Lanius dared hope.

Then Grus came up to him. “Are you ready?” he asked. Lanius took a deep breath and nodded. “Good, good,” Grus said. “Best to have the whole business over and done with, eh?” Lanius nodded again. Grus clapped him on the back. “Besides, you’ll enjoy it.”

“Er—yes,” Lanius said.

Grus wasn’t looking for anything but agreement. By then, he’d taken on quite a lot of wine himself. But, sober or drunk, he got things done. Before long, Lanius and Sosia went through the corridors of the palace to the chamber where they’d pass their first wedded night. Everyone followed them—nobles, courtiers, bodyguards, palace servants. Everyone yelled advice, too. By the time Lanius closed the bedroom door and barred it after himself and his new bride, his ears were burning. He wondered what she thought.

She managed a smile, even though the lewd chorus went right on and pierced the door as though it weren’t there. “My mother told me it would hurt the first time, but that it would get better once things stopped being sore,” she said.

“From what I’ve heard, that’s right,” Lanius answered. “I don’t know for sure. The only virginity I’ve ever taken is my own, I’m afraid.”

“I’m glad you know something about it, anyhow,” she said. “We’d probably make a real mess of it if we both had to find out at the same time.”

“I was thinking the very same thing not long ago,” Lanius said. “If we think alike, maybe that’s a sign we’ll get along. I hope so, anyhow.”

“Me, too,” Sosia said. “We’re stuck with each other regardless of whether we do or not. We ought to try our best. My father and mother seem to manage pretty well.”

“Yes, I’ve seen that,” Lanius agreed. “I hope we can, too. You will have seen more about that side of things than I have, though, because my father died while I was still little.”

He wondered if she’d say anything about his coming from a seventh marriage. He’d heard too much about that, all through his life. It wasn’t his fault. But Sosia said not a word. Her silence made him like her better.

Whoever had set up the room had obligingly turned back the covers on the bed. Lanius nodded to it. “Shall we… ?”

“We’d better, hadn’t we?” Sosia said. “We should get it over with.”

That sounded more businesslike than wanton, but if she was frightened she didn’t show it. Lanius took off his shirt and breeches—and that miserable codpiece—and stood there waiting in his drawers. He was suddenly shy about stripping himself naked before her.

She reached over her head. Her mouth twisted in annoyance. “This gown has clasps in the back, and I can’t undo them without seeing what I’m up to. Can you help me?”

“I hope so.” Lanius came over and stood behind her. He had no trouble undoing the clasps. Then he leaned forward to kiss her on the back of the neck. She flinched. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s all right. You startled me, that’s all.” Sosia managed a shaky smile. “I’d better get used to things like that, hadn’t I?”

“Well, I hope so.” Lanius hoped he would still want to kiss her on the back of her neck after they’d been married for a while.

She pulled the gown off over her head. Under it, she wore a thin shift and her own drawers. Something like reckless defiance on her face, she took off everything. After that, Lanius could only do the same.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Sosia looked embarrassed. “How do I know you’re not just saying that?”

“It would be easy for me to lie. Not for him, though.” Part of him was unmistakably enthusiastic. He hadn’t been around unclothed girls so often as to keep from rising to the occasion whenever he was. If Sosia in fact wasn’t quite beautiful, she came close enough to let him be gallant with no trouble at all.

“Him?” she echoed as she examined the evidence. “You talk as though there were two of you, not just one.”

It sometimes seemed that way to Lanius, too. He himself was fussier about who interested him than was his sometimes unruly part. He didn’t try to explain that to Sosia; he wasn’t sure he understood it himself. He only shrugged and nodded and answered, “Sometimes, that’s how it feels.”

“That must be… strange.” Sosia sounded as though she was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

He took a step toward her. She didn’t draw back. After a moment, she took a step toward him. More than a little cautiously, he took her in his arms. Again, she hesitated a moment before her arms went around him. She started to pull back when he pressed against her, but she didn’t. He kissed her. She responded clumsily. He was, no doubt, pretty clumsy himself, but that didn’t occur to him till years later.

He led her over to the bed. They lay down together. He kissed her again, and caressed her. When his mouth went to the tip of one breast, she let out a small surprised sound. “That’s… nice,” she said. He kept at it. A little later, his hand strayed to the joining of her legs. She made as though to twist away, but she didn’t. After a bit, she made that small surprised noise again. Then his kisses strayed down from her breasts.

“What are you doing?” Sosia said, and then, “Oh,” and then, “Oh!”

“Do you like that?” he asked a couple of minutes later. She didn’t answer, not with words, but he thought he knew anyhow. “This is the part that may hurt,” he warned as he poised himself between her legs and thrust home. His journey briefly stopped halfway. He pushed on. Sosia’s face twisted, and then he was sheathed to the hilt.

“It’s done,” she said.

“Not quite,” he answered. Before very long, though, it was. “All right?” he asked; he was always one to worry.

“All right,” she said, “except you’re heavy.”

“Sorry.” He took more of his weight on his elbows and knees. He hadn’t known what to expect about marriage. So far, it didn’t seem bad at all.