Page 37 of Summer

An intimacy that will end in a short few weeks when she leaves Hothin.

“Best get to dancing with your fiancé then,” I hiss, my mood souring. Aaoric casts me a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow.

“Jealous, sister?” he asks.

A wave of nausea and dizziness hits me at the implication of his words. Did he know? Did Summer tell him? I never swore her to secrecy, but it was implied. Wasn’t it? Is her closeness to Aaoric such that she could confide in him about our…our…

What is it?

“Nell, are you okay?” Aaoric’s hand rests on my elbow, and I jerk it away. “I only meant to tease, nothing more! I know you’ve no desire to be married, to be paraded around like this, to have Mother and Father dictate every detail of your nuptials.”

“What makes you think I don’t wish to be married?” I counter, trying to catch my bearings. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know – no one knows. I tell myself this over and over as my breathing slows to normal, as my normal mask of indifference replaces whatever bewitched my face at his words.

Or he’s covering his tracks.

“Do you?” he asks, tilting his head at me.

“How long do you think you can delay the inevitable?” I hiss instead of answering him. “How long can you play mourning, stringing along another would-be wife, until our parents do something drastic again?”

Aaoric jerks away as if he’s been struck. I regret my words the moment they leave my mouth, but the undercurrent of rage I feel has yet to settle. What soured my mood so quickly? What is wrong with me?

“I’m not your enemy, Nell,” he says softly. “I’m your brother. If I were duke, I would let you do as you please.”

“Like marry a servant?” I shoot.

His gaze darkens immediately, his jaw set. “Don’t be cruel,” he whispers, before turning to stalk through the crowd to Summer. She looks up at him with adoration, as though he is her everything. It’s very convincing.

My fingernails dig into the palms of my hands, which are suddenly slick with sweat. I wipe them hurriedly on my dress and head to the drink stand to grab something refreshing – the ballroom is suddenly much too warm.

“Ah, Gennelle,” my mother says, catching me after I’ve downed two drinks. I glance around her for her normal group of concerned mamas, but she’s alone.

“Mother,” I greet.

“Let me see your dance card.” She frames it as a request, but she doesn’t say it until she’s already grabbed it and tugged it from my wrist. Her face twists as she reads it over – empty. As it always is at these functions. It’s my – what? Sixth season? The dances dried up at least two seasons ago, and now it’s only the widowers who bother to approach me.

“Come,” she says quietly, nodding for me to follow. I try to keep my distance from her, but she grabs my arm, linking it as though she isn’t dragging me. She stops only when we’re far from the party, the noise of the band little more than a murmur.

“Have you any prospects this season?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“The season has just begun,” I reply.

“What about last season? Or the season before?” she presses.

“There was Lord Quillen,” I offer, though I can’t remember how long ago that was. Mother does and she scoffs.

“Lord Quillen remarried 18 months ago. Has that been the last one?” I try to think of anything, anyone – but I’d never turn my mother’s wrath on a poor unknowing soul. I don’t know what’s worse – being made to look desperate or my mother’s anger.

“I’m sure there’s been others, but I am always cautious of our station,” I reply. This is an answer that would satisfy Father, but Mother barks a laugh.

“Your station sinks the older you get. Do you wish to be older than your husband?” she presses.

I don’t wish for a husband, I never have. The words are glued to the back of my throat, threatening to spill out. They are the truth, but they’re not a truth my mother will understand. Unmarried is all she’ll hear; she won’t understand it’s deeper than that.

“I wish only to do what is best for our family,” I say. Another answer that would please Father but enrages Mother.

“If that were true, you’d be matched. It’s becoming…embarrassing,” she says, and it suddenly makes sense. Mother gloating about Aaoric being married to a human woman while her daughter remains single, dangerously close to a spinster. The jealous mamas that wish to put her in her place will have no doubt brought this up.

“Perhaps this season,” I offer with a smile I hope isn’t as pained as I feel. Marrying a male alien has that wave of nausea passing over me again. Mother splits into two, then rejoins to one. If she notices my sudden illness, she does nothing to help.