Indenuel dropped to his knees as Emilia and Isla ran to him, hugging him tightly. He hugged them back, not letting go until they did, and even then, he was reluctant. He smiled, listening to them chatter. He wasn’t focused so much on the words they said but more that they were here. He honestly thought he’d never see them again. They were so innocent. So untouched by the evils of the world. He made sure they would grow up in a world without war, and he hoped they would remain innocent as long as possible.
They wouldn’t remain small, though. Already they were growing taller. Isla had cut her hair short. It was beautiful. He was pretty sure he said that to her. That, on top of listening to them talk. He touched their shoulders, touched their faces, listened to their chatter, took in the innocence of their absolute joy at the war being over and seeing him again.
“Why couldn’t we see you for months?” Emilia asked.
“I was working on ending the war,” Indenuel said.
“And it’s over now, right?” Isla asked.
“It is.” It was hard to speak, but he forced the words out. “You can come visit every Sabbath again.”
“You look tired,” Emilia said.
“The war was hard, but it’s done now. I’ll get more rest.”
He didn’t want them to stop talking, but they spotted Tolomon and ran over to him, giving him a hug. Tolomon smiled, wrapping his arms around them and spinning them. They shrieked with laughter.
Indenuel got to his feet as Matteo came forward. Indenuel tried to smile, and Matteo studied him. There was no fooling the boy. The girls may not have seen the shift, but he did. Quiet, observant Matteo.
“I’m sorry I missed your celebration of your birth,” Indenuel said. Tears began to fall down his cheeks. He always cried at odd times lately.
“It’s alright. I know you were busy ending the war,” Matteo said.
“We should celebrate tonight. I’ll see if Baleeah can come, and we’ll have a party,” Indenuel said.
“It’s really not necessary. My teachers already gave me one last month,” Matteo said. “The war is done. That’s all that matters.”
Indenuel nodded, then hugged Matteo. “Ten years old. Look at you.”
Matteo said nothing as Indenuel hugged him, trying desperately to wipe his tears dry while Matteo couldn’t see, but they kept coming. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Matteo said.
Indenuel clung to Matteo, trying to keep the boy from noticing how close he was to sobbing. “I’m sorry,” Indenuel said, his voice in danger of cracking. “I should have been there to help you celebrate. God has given you another year.”
“I understand why you weren’t,” Matteo said. “Really, I do. It’s done now. I’m ten.”
Indenuel nodded again, trying to get the tears under control, trying to force himself to stop crying. He covered his mouth with his fist, closing his eyes, trying not to break down. “You’re right.” Indenuel tried to sound like he wasn’t on the verge of a sob. “There will be plenty more celebrations I’ll be there for.”
“Yes, there will.” Matteo let go, and just like with the girls, he felt himself reluctant to follow, but he did. He dried his eyes.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to cry,” Indenuel said.
“I missed you too,” Matteo said. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”
Indenuel tried to smile, but he found he couldn’t. Instead, he looked at the ground, drying the last of his tears.
“Congratulations on your betrothal,” Matteo said.
Indenuel wiped the remaining tears from his cheeks. “Thank you. Two more weeks. The earliest they could get us in.”
Matteo nodded. “Our first celebration together after the war.”
Indenuel smiled, placing his hand around his shoulder as they headed toward the house. Matteo seemed to have grown far too much, but he seemed to take it well. It was the hardest part of it all. Matteo grew up because he had to, and it was sad. He realized Empress Minai was right. Sometimes feelings were too complicated to describe, but Matteo being a child born of war was a good way to describe it.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
***
Inessa tried not to think too hard as she got into the carriage and rode to the Cathedral. She would be meeting with the High Elders to discuss the color of her wedding dress. Usually, it was the father’s responsibility to do this, but she never knew her father. Jina forgot him. She tried, once, to narrow it down, but she just shrugged and told Inessa it didn’t matter anyway. He was far more likely to come home drunk and beat her, so it was better he wasn’t in their lives.
Either way, she was meeting with the High Elders. They knew better than anyone what her status of purity was before God. Inessa didn’t care about the color of her wedding dress. She doubted pure white was going to be her color. Not after being a concubine and sleeping with Indenuel once before. No, maybe they wouldn’t bring that up. Martin did after all forgive her for that, even if the other High Elders didn’t.
Inessa started walking up the steps when her hands started to shake. She touched her hair, her breathing turning irregular. She couldn’t forget the time she had stood in front of the High Elders before in a trial setting. Not just the time when she slept with Indenuel, but the other time. After she had been kidnapped. When they…
Inessa touched the bodice of her dress, closing her eyes. They wouldn’t dare do that again. Not now that she was with Indenuel. She never told him what happened, because she didn’t want to remember it herself. But now she was returning to these same four men alone, and she couldn’t deny that the nerves in her stomach were of something far more sinister than simple nerves of a meeting to discover the color of her dress. She would stand before them, all the High Elders she had slept with as they decided on what color would be a fitting one to reflect her purity.
Inessa walked inside the Cathedral, a guard motioning her toward the meeting room. “They are waiting for you,” he said.
Inessa nodded as she headed toward the room. The door was open, so she walked in.
“Inessa, come sit down,” Navir said.
She nodded, giving a curtsey before she walked over and sat in the small chair. She stared at her knees, her habit of four years far too ingrained in her mind, playing the part of the penitent woman who waited for her elders to speak.
Fadrique gave the prayer this time, asking God to help them receive the inspiration to understand Inessa’s purity. Inessa muttered her, “God be with us,” with the rest of the High Elders.
Dalius began writing the notes of the meeting.
“This meeting is to discuss Inessa’s purity, as she is to be wed to Indenuel the Warrior on the twentieth day of the fourth month of the year, three hundred and seventy-seven years since the Great Flood of our God,” Navir said. Dalius kept his head down as his quill pen hastily scratched against the book. Inessa said nothing, waiting for her to be called upon. “As you have no father, you are here on your own accord, ready to answer any questions we have.”
“Yes, High Elders,” Inessa said.
“There isn’t much to discuss,” Navir said, straightening. “As a member of High Society, we have gotten to know you, and there is nothing of which we find out of the ordinary with your behaviors of the more personal matter.”
Inessa looked up from the floor, a frown on her face. “Pardon?”
“We will ask, just to be certain. You have not slept with a man, correct?” Navir asked.
“I…” Inessa tried not to, but she looked at them, all in the eye, surprised. “You… you all. I have slept with… all of you.”
“Yes, well, besides that,” Navir said.
Inessa blinked, looking down at the floor again. “And Ind-”
“That matter was forgiven, and is as though it never happened,” Martin said from the other side of Navir.
“Then, um… no. No other… no other man,” Inessa said.
“It is as we thought. Therefore, as nothing new has come up, we are all in agreement your purity is of the highest sort,” Navir said.
Inessa looked up from the ground again. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are pure,” Navir said, motioning something to Dalius. Dalius quickly finished the notes before grabbing a paper and scrawling something there.
“Pure?” Inessa asked.
“Yes. The highest sort,” Navir said as Dalius got out of his seat, walking over to Navir. Navir took the quill and signed his name. Dalius walked back to his desk, patting the ink dry before placing a wax seal on it.
“But…” Inessa started to say. The men were organizing their things as though the end of the meeting was already upon them. “But I’m not.”
Fadrique ignored her. Dalius kept working on the paper. It was only Navir and Martin who seemed to care that she said anything.
“Yes, you are,” Navir said, a firmness to his voice.
Dalius handed her the paper. Inessa looked at it, recognizing the letters on the page but not the words. It felt silly to remind them that she was their concubines once. She slept with every single one of them. There were fathers who had gone into purity councils for their daughters and were forced to give them an off-white color of dress because the woman was seen brushing hands with a different man than her betrothed.
Navir continued to stare at her, almost daring her to fight back. Martin kept an eye on Navir, worried. No doubt Martin hadn’t forgotten the trial, either.
Inessa forced her shaking knees to get off her chair and bend into a curtsey. “Thank you, High Elders. It is an honor.” She gripped the paper in her hands as she left, her brow furrowed in confusion.
She walked out of the Cathedral, paper in hand. She should of course be thankful for this opportunity to wear pure white, but it wasn’t right. Pure white was reserved for not only the virgins of the world, but those who went to church every week. Those who were in the right social class. Who gave service and charities. The Adosina’s, Rosa’s, and Ana’s of the world. It was not for a concubine who had grown up in a secret brothel, attending church only when her mother insisted on it to make them look good for the visiting dignitaries and the uncorruptible law enforcement officers who were getting too close.
Inessa stared again at the paper, unsettled. She turned around and walked back inside before she could talk herself out of it.