The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 3
John and Cynthia watched Darrick’s car squeal off out of the driveway and onto the road outside. For a few moments, silence reigned between them.
“That went well,” John said eventually, sardonic tone only tightening the tension. Cynthia turned from the window to glare at her husband.
“Oh, I’m sure that went exactly as you wanted,” she spat. “You scare him by telling him how strange things will be, and then you undermine everything I say. Well, you got exactly what you wanted; a son who has no conception of the wonders of his background or the gift that I have given him in this betrothal.”
“Gift?” John replied. “You’ve practically sold him to that girl’s family, tied him to outrageous and outmoded traditions that he wants no part of. You’ve made certain that he cannot be happy outside of your plans, but I find it hard to believe that he could be happy inside of them either!”
“I have assured our son’s happiness!” Cynthia said, taking a step towards John and gesturing forcefully with her hands. “I am marrying him into a family wealthy beyond our wildest imaginations. He’ll never have to work another day in his life; he can do whatever he fancies, with no worries about money or the future. Tell me how many parents can promise their children that?”
“Money’s not everything, Cynthia,” John said, shaking his head. “You’re giving him to strangers, to a girl you know nothing about. You’ve said that he can’t be happy without her, but are you certain he can be happy with her?”
“All Atlantean marriages are happy,” Cynthia said, her voice choking up, and her head tilted downwards as her thoughts turned inward. “I’m giving Darrick what I never had – a true Atlantean union. A truly joyful marriage.” She turned away and looked out the window once more, wrapping her arms around herself. John started to step towards her, then thought better of it.
“We were happy once,” he said, “before your brother died. Before you told me any of this. When you thought you were permanently cast out of being Atlantean. I really think you loved me then.”
“I settled for you,” Cynthia replied, without turning around. “An Atlantean marriage was denied me, so I wanted just to get someone as quickly as I could. You seemed like the best choice at the time.”
“I don’t believe that,” John said. “I don’t think you could fool me that well for that long. You were happy on our wedding day, and deliriously so when Darrick was born, and that was when you thought he was going to be just another child, not heir to some noble Atlantean house. No, it was only after Robert died that you started to resent me for not being Atlantean. Resented me because, now, the heir to your House was a half-breed son.” This finally made Cynthia turn to face him; she whirled around, her face ablaze, her breathing rapid.
“Don’t you ever call him that!” she exclaimed. “You will never call my son such a foul name. And you claim to love him!”
“I do love him,” John said firmly. “And I can call him ‘half-breed’ because I do not care if he is one or not. He is my son; that’s all that matters to me. It is your people who are so concerned with the purity of their blood. Hell, you were the one who told me that, had your House not been the descendants of nobility, that you might not have been able to find a willing match for him. This girl’s family doesn’t care for Darrick; all they want is his name. And all you want is to get the stigma of being married to an outsider lifted from you and your family.”
“Abigail will love him, and he will love her. That’s all that matters.”
“Plenty of women could have loved him, and he could have loved plenty of them.” John sat down, the fight draining him. He leaned his head on his hands. “But he’ll never have the chance to find out.”
“Does that matter,” Cynthia said, incredulous. “Where does it matter where love comes from, so long as it is there?”
“This isn’t love, it’s magic.” Cynthia winced at John’s word. “Yes, I know you hate that word, but I’ll use what seems appropriate. It’s magic by any other name, and black magic if you ask me.”
“Fortunately, what you think doesn’t matter,” Cynthia replied. “Magic, or power, or whatever you want to call it, it’s being used for good here.”
“Without any choice on Darrick’s part.”
“Choice?” Cynthia exploded. “Who gives a damn about choice?! He will have a happy Atlantean marriage, a happy Atlantean life! That’s all that matters! Choice is an illusion most of the time anyway. How many people go into marriage, or college, or children knowing enough to really make an informed choice anyway? God knows we didn’t, and look at how that turned out. No, things work out better this way.” She paused for a second, then shrugged. “But since it seems to be so important to the both of you, I will give him the choice. If once he meets Abigail he wants to cancel the betrothal and take his chances with his own ‘choice’, then I will ask the priest to break the bond – assuming that’s even possible – and Darrick can go his own way. Will this satisfy you?”
John studied his wife’s exasperated expression, trying to find out the trick, the hidden catch, but could not think of any. Finally, he nodded.
“If Darrick agrees to that, I will never bring it up again. I’ll respect the choice he makes.”
“Agreed.” Cynthia said. “The choice will belong to Darrick alone.” Or at least he will believe so.
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 3
John and Cynthia watched Darrick’s car squeal off out of the driveway and onto the road outside. For a few moments, silence reigned between them.
“That went well,” John said eventually, sardonic tone only tightening the tension. Cynthia turned from the window to glare at her husband.
“Oh, I’m sure that went exactly as you wanted,” she spat. “You scare him by telling him how strange things will be, and then you undermine everything I say. Well, you got exactly what you wanted; a son who has no conception of the wonders of his background or the gift that I have given him in this betrothal.”
“Gift?” John replied. “You’ve practically sold him to that girl’s family, tied him to outrageous and outmoded traditions that he wants no part of. You’ve made certain that he cannot be happy outside of your plans, but I find it hard to believe that he could be happy inside of them either!”
“I have assured our son’s happiness!” Cynthia said, taking a step towards John and gesturing forcefully with her hands. “I am marrying him into a family wealthy beyond our wildest imaginations. He’ll never have to work another day in his life; he can do whatever he fancies, with no worries about money or the future. Tell me how many parents can promise their children that?”
“Money’s not everything, Cynthia,” John said, shaking his head. “You’re giving him to strangers, to a girl you know nothing about. You’ve said that he can’t be happy without her, but are you certain he can be happy with her?”
“All Atlantean marriages are happy,” Cynthia said, her voice choking up, and her head tilted downwards as her thoughts turned inward. “I’m giving Darrick what I never had – a true Atlantean union. A truly joyful marriage.” She turned away and looked out the window once more, wrapping her arms around herself. John started to step towards her, then thought better of it.
“We were happy once,” he said, “before your brother died. Before you told me any of this. When you thought you were permanently cast out of being Atlantean. I really think you loved me then.”
“I settled for you,” Cynthia replied, without turning around. “An Atlantean marriage was denied me, so I wanted just to get someone as quickly as I could. You seemed like the best choice at the time.”
“I don’t believe that,” John said. “I don’t think you could fool me that well for that long. You were happy on our wedding day, and deliriously so when Darrick was born, and that was when you thought he was going to be just another child, not heir to some noble Atlantean house. No, it was only after Robert died that you started to resent me for not being Atlantean. Resented me because, now, the heir to your House was a half-breed son.” This finally made Cynthia turn to face him; she whirled around, her face ablaze, her breathing rapid.
“Don’t you ever call him that!” she exclaimed. “You will never call my son such a foul name. And you claim to love him!”
“I do love him,” John said firmly. “And I can call him ‘half-breed’ because I do not care if he is one or not. He is my son; that’s all that matters to me. It is your people who are so concerned with the purity of their blood. Hell, you were the one who told me that, had your House not been the descendants of nobility, that you might not have been able to find a willing match for him. This girl’s family doesn’t care for Darrick; all they want is his name. And all you want is to get the stigma of being married to an outsider lifted from you and your family.”
“Abigail will love him, and he will love her. That’s all that matters.”
“Plenty of women could have loved him, and he could have loved plenty of them.” John sat down, the fight draining him. He leaned his head on his hands. “But he’ll never have the chance to find out.”
“Does that matter,” Cynthia said, incredulous. “Where does it matter where love comes from, so long as it is there?”
“This isn’t love, it’s magic.” Cynthia winced at John’s word. “Yes, I know you hate that word, but I’ll use what seems appropriate. It’s magic by any other name, and black magic if you ask me.”
“Fortunately, what you think doesn’t matter,” Cynthia replied. “Magic, or power, or whatever you want to call it, it’s being used for good here.”
“Without any choice on Darrick’s part.”
“Choice?” Cynthia exploded. “Who gives a damn about choice?! He will have a happy Atlantean marriage, a happy Atlantean life! That’s all that matters! Choice is an illusion most of the time anyway. How many people go into marriage, or college, or children knowing enough to really make an informed choice anyway? God knows we didn’t, and look at how that turned out. No, things work out better this way.” She paused for a second, then shrugged. “But since it seems to be so important to the both of you, I will give him the choice. If once he meets Abigail he wants to cancel the betrothal and take his chances with his own ‘choice’, then I will ask the priest to break the bond – assuming that’s even possible – and Darrick can go his own way. Will this satisfy you?”
John studied his wife’s exasperated expression, trying to find out the trick, the hidden catch, but could not think of any. Finally, he nodded.
“If Darrick agrees to that, I will never bring it up again. I’ll respect the choice he makes.”
“Agreed.” Cynthia said. “The choice will belong to Darrick alone.” Or at least he will believe so.
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