5. Uncertainty

Issa's wedding to Markus brings on several unforeseen events; could it be her husband is not what he seemed? And what about Tryx all alone?

ISSA

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Like little pebbles in a row, like birds on a branch. 

The next procession of days pass me by like a dream, like someone pulling a silk scarf lightly across my face. I am on what City-dwellers call a “honeymoon”, which means Markus has spent an exorbitant amount of money in order to spirit me away for a month to an island owned by the British Republic but located in the middle of the ocean that lies to the West. 

The island natives are friendly copper-skinned people with almond eyes and strange accents, and the air is so warm and balmy that the moment I step off the hoverplane I am lulled into comfort despite myself. 

I smell sweet blossoms and am secretly thrilled to be so near to the salty water, eating juicy slices of fruit I had only been told existed. 

I suppose the best part of the trip has been finding things that aren’t so horrible about my husband. Like the way he sings in the morning when he cuts up pineapple for my breakfast in a voice velvety-smooth and rich, or the way he has become more gentle with his touches in and out of the bedroom. Like how he took me to the market on our second day on the island and let me take in all the booths and people with childlike wonder, buying me anything he saw made me smile. 

I am learning that he once was young and full of dreams, that he wasn’t always buttoned, pressed, and tied. 

He tells me stories from when he was a boy, from when he was my age even. He used to play tricks on his revered father, used to question things, used to let things other than diplomacy and strategy occupy his mind. When Markus talks about his past, I catch a glimpse of the young man he must have been once; handsome and a little unruly with a face born for televised ad campaigns. 

His touch...it no longer sickens me the way it did initially, though he does come to bed stinking of the sickly sweet rice liquor favored by the islanders. I ignore it because he is my husband, and because the more I learn about him, the more I understand his need for an escape. 

The world as the citizens of his empire know it rests constantly on his shoulders. Markus must be all things to all people, all while making sure foreign relations are on the up. 

It sounds exhausting. 

Tonight we lie in bed with the wide glass door open, the sun setting gorgeously over the gently rolling water, a delicious breeze coming in from the beach. Markus is reading aloud to me from a book he said his father had liked as a kid, set in London, UK (part of what is now called the British Republic). He has already read me the first book, and now delves into the second. The series is about a mistreated orphan boy who finds that he can do magic, and though things don’t become perfect for him, his life becomes bearable. Enjoyable. 

I can’t help but relate to the boy; my situation is for all intents and purposes, Hell, but there are glimmers of happiness for me here. 

An evil wizard killed his parents, the event which spawned the chain of misfortune to befall the boy. I was kidnapped and taken from my family, studied, sold, forced. Still the boy, Harry, makes friends. Real friends. People who care about him and stand by him. 

I have a friend in Cityland. My husband has surprised me with kindness. I am denied nothing, except my absolute freedom.

I try not to think of Tryxtan, back in Cityland probably driving himself crazy wondering what Markus and I are doing on the other side of the world. I dread telling him that I cannot hate Markus the way I had before. My cheek is on Markus’s shoulder and my body fits in the crook of his arm, and I wonder if he is happy. 

His demeanor and his actions tell me that he is, and if my intuition is right, who am I to take that happiness away? Why does he deserve it any less than I?

I realize I care about the man who made me his wife against my will. I am in love with his closest friend. 

I feel like I might cry. 

Instead, I reach up to stroke Markus’s stubbled cheek and turn his face to mine for a kiss. It is the first kiss we’ve shared that I initiated, a fact which is not lost on him. His lips are smooth and taste of mint tooth-polish and his stubble scratches me, but the kiss is achingly sweet and makes me want another.

When we part, I keep my hand on his cheek while I notice for the first time that his eyes are the loveliest shade of grey-green, so light and striking against the tan he’s acquired through our various outdoor activities here. 

His hair, black as coal, is graying at the temples, but only just. I run my fingers through it without thinking, and the smile surprised smile on his lips is startlingly handsome.

How can I be so untrue to Tryxtan?

I am betrayed by my own body, by my own mind. 

“You’re troubled,” says Markus with slightly furrowed brow. I shake my head no.

“I’m just thinking,” I reply honestly. Thinking about what troubles me...

“Issa, I want...I want to apologize for my treatment of you in the time before our wedding. It was...” he searches for the right word “...it was despicable. It was unbecoming for a man of my position, and my behavior was wildly inappropriate.” He seems to know not to ask for my forgiveness, a fact which serves him well. The apology is eloquent and seemingly sincere. 

The threads within me holding onto my hatred for Markus are quickly snapping. 

“You admit your fault, and it’s in the past. It was unbecoming for a man of any position, but you really are sorry, aren’t you?” The question in my voice sounds more like mild disbelief. He covers my hand with his, brings it to his lips. 

“I truly am sorry, love.” 

“I believe you. And...I forgive you, Markus.” His name sounds foreign on my tongue. We’ve never spoken this way before, as equals. I begin to comprehend the power I could potentially wield over this man. 

He moves to sit up so that we’re facing each other in the middle of this giant bed in paradise, takes my hands in his. We’re both wearing the loose-fitting thin sleep attire that the suite has provided, and I’m still uncomfortable with my body so vulnerable around my husband. 

“Issa, I know that this...that I’m not what you wanted. You’re young and used to an entirely different way of life.” Markus looks younger and more handsome than ever now, clear-eyed and determined. The line and set of his jaw remind me of...

“But,” he continues “I’ll do everything and anything to make sure that you’re happy. Comfortable. You don’t have to fall in love with me, I don’t expect you to. I hope someday you can grow to love me, but I’m aware that may never be. All I ask is that you be honest, be my companion, my friend. Can you promise me you’ll try to do that?”

I am speechless at this outpouring of emotion. I see in the fading light of the sunset the slope of his eyebrows and realize that the idea of someday loving him is not so farfetched as I once believed. Not impossible. I squeeze his hands and kiss his cheek softly. 

“I once told you that I would be the best wife; I didn’t lie. I promise, Markus.” 

And when he pulls me into his arms, I don’t resist even a little. It feels like an embrace rather than a trap. 

Author's Note

mini chapter