Page 2 of His Bride

This is the most beautiful she has ever been.

“Go and get ready, Mila!” My mother immediately begins fussing at me. “Maraline needs to depart shortly, and look at you!”

I have brushed my rusty-golden hair back into a ponytail, put on a dark beige dress, and I am wearing sensible boots. I am well-presented enough, and I’d rather be accused of looking too plain than commit the cardinal sin of being perceived as pulling focus from Maraline. I usually wear eyeliner and a little lip color, but I’ve avoided both today.

“Yes, whenareyou getting changed?” Maraline glances over at me. “Not that it matters much what you wear when I am handed over. You may as well wear what you have on right now.”

“Oh, no, she can’t possibly! She’ll look like a servant!” My mother trills with laughter, rather liking the idea, I think.

“We’re going to be late,” Maraline says. “She’ll have to go as she is. Just tuck her out of the way in the photo.”

This has all been planned down to the last detail. We will drive Maraline to the Temple of the Artifice, which of course stands in the town square. There, the officers of the Artifice will take custody of her and deliver her safely to her new husband. There is a flight, we’ve been told, one that goes up and over the ocean.

Once again, that sounds terrifying to me, but Maraline insists it will be fun. She is so positive about this experience it is almost sickening. If it were me about to be taken away from all I have ever known and loved, I’d be losing my mind. I’d be rushing down to the stables and saying tearful goodbyes to all the ponies—and I’d be asking if I couldn’t marry someone nice and close to my age.

I know we don’t actually get a choice in that matter, but it feels like we should. The Artifice assigns us to our husbands as if we are pawns on a chessboard, or pieces of cake. We get handed out and I’m not sure what happens after that. Maraline has told me many times it’s happily ever after, but I don’t think that theory holds up to much thought.

“It’s time to go!” my father booms. “I’m getting the old beauty out, and anybody who isn’t in it in five minutes won’t be going to meet her new husband today!”

Maraline laughs. She is in high spirits as we all rush downstairs and tumble into the old car that has been in the family for generations. The mood is infectious, and we all laugh and sing as we drive into the little town that used to house the people who served our family in the distant past.

The Temple of the Artifice is the largest building in town by a factor of seven. This has always been an underdeveloped old farming area. But the Artifice requires a great deal of space in which to function. The old marketplace, stockyards, and auction house were commandeered, and more was added on. Most of the buildings in town are very old, but the temple has large shining windows and a big red A in the middle of a golden circle.

We all know the story of how the temple came to be constructed, because we have to. The Artifice is the center of our society. At one stage there was a government, but we don’t have one of those anymore. Instead, we have the Artifice. An all-knowing authority that makes the decisions we proved we could not be trusted to make for ourselves.

As we step out of the vehicle, there is a brief moment in which she looks nervous. There are lots of stairs going up to the doors, because the temple is significantly elevated above street level.

I look at my sister with no small amount of admiration. She looks every inch the noble bride. She might be petty to me sometimes, but I love her, and in moments like these, I admire her. She is living proof that there are still bloodlines of power. Ours is one such family. But the family Darken is one of the most powerful. That is why Maraline’s new husband can forego the formality of coming here for a wedding—which is what a gentleman would do—and why we have to drop Maraline at the temple, as if she is a package being posted.

Maraline doesn’t care. We could wrap her up in brown paper and she would be just as happy. She just wants to be married. All she cares about is having a position in society. That is what will give her value for the rest of her life.

I don’t think I’ll be this excited when it’s my turn. I hope I don’t have to go far, and I hope whoever I am matched with is closer to my age. I don’t even want to think about it. I like our home. I can’t imagine leaving the big old house with the horses and the open fields. Everything is blue and green and perfect. It’s where we come from and where we belong.

I think we’re all starting to realize all the ramifications of the fact that the Darken family lives on another continent entirely, and on the far side of it. Visiting will be practically impossible. This is likely the last time we will see Maraline until she is pregnant, and she does not seem to be a bit bothered by it.

Is getting matched and married really this important? She doesn’t know the man. All she knows is that heisa man, and a rich and powerful one. I would need more than that. I would need to want to be in love.

“I hope I don’t ever match,” I tell my mother.

“Oh, hush,” she says, as she always does.

My father is escorting Maraline up the stairs, ensuring she does not trip on her dress. The train flows down the stairs behind her, very dramatic and elegant. My mother takes a picture, and then another. I swear she has taken over a hundred pictures of Maraline in the last hour alone. I know why she is doing it. It is because she is going to have to say goodbye to her daughter very, very soon.

My father and Maraline are met at the doors of the temple. The rest of us won’t be permitted to go inside. They are tall men and women, wearing fancy red coats edged in gold. A whole contingent is here to greet us. At their head there are two officers. One has gray hair, and the other is younger. They looksimilar because they share a family resemblance. Those who serve the Artifice do so in family lineages unless the Artifice decides to deploy them elsewhere.

“We have come to present our daughter,” my father says. I can see Maraline shaking a little, steadying herself on his arm. I wonder if she is starting to get scared, or if it is just her natural excitement.

“Mila Seraphine?” The Artifice officer intones a name. The wrong name.

My blood runs cold, and suddenly there is a ringing in my ears.

That is my name.

“No, we are presenting Maraline Seraphine,” my father says, blithely unaware of the terrible thing that Maraline, my mother, and I have already completely understood. The plaque that was sent to us just said M Seraphine. We all assumed it was for Maraline. It wasn’t for Maraline.

“Mila Seraphine has been chosen,” the officer says.

At that point, my mother rushes up the stairs, putting herself between me and the officers, who are ignoring Maraline entirely and staring at me.

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