Then she caught sight of her face in the mirror, and the clock, and the anger roared in her like a brushfire. Esmay had no right! Esmay was not a proper Landbride—no one who really understood, who really cared, could have considered that for an instant . . .
Luci dashed into the bathroom, nearly trampling two of the younger children.
“Luci, what happened to your—”
“Be quiet!” she snarled at them, and scrubbed the makeup off her face, leaving streaks on the facecloth. Stupid Esmay. Ridiculous Esmay. It was a good thing she’d left, and a good thing she wanted to resign as Landbride, and Luci would pluck her hair herself if she had a chance.
When she got back to her room and looked out the window to see if the Vicarios vehicle was coming yet, the alternating blue and gold of shadow and late sun streaking the grass of the polo fields stabbed her heart. It was so beautiful, so beautiful it hurt. How could Esmay not want this? How could she care so little, that she would think of violating the land for a bunch of outlanders?
She rested her forearms on the windowsill and drank in the cool air scented with early roses and apple blossom. Somewhere in the distance, horses whinnied; the grooms would be mixing evening feeds. This was what she wanted, what she had always wanted—well, this and Philip to share it with. Land to cherish and nourish and protect, beauty to nurture, the ancient cycles of the land.
Light reflected from something moving on the road, then flashed straight in her eyes when the vehicle turned into their drive. The Vicarios, no doubt, unless it was her father returning late from the city. No time now for cosmetics, though she touched her chapped lips with color again. The blue—and-white overtunic and white skirt of the courted maiden. After tonight, she would wear the blue skirt of the bride-to-be.
Esmay, you fool! was her last thought as she closed her door and ran down the upper passage to the stairs.
The Vicarios family had gone back to their city house by midnight. At this third of the formal meetings (alternating from one family’s home to the other’s), the parents had been pleasantly relaxed. The exchange of gifts, the ritual speeches, the contrived—but still effective—“unexpected” visit of the priest who put her hand in Philip’s, and tied a silk scarf around the pair of them—all had gone without a hitch. Luci and Philip had a few minutes alone in the rose garden as their elders watched from the lighted doorway; he kissed her respectfully on the brow, and murmured her name.
Philip went with his parents when they left, of course. From now on, no more stolen moments, let alone hours, in which to discover each other . . . from now on, they were formally betrothed, and that betrothal had its own rules. Maddening, perhaps intentionally so. Luci filched another stuffed date from the tray a sleepy maidservant was carrying back to the kitchen, and followed her father into the library. Her uncle and grandfather, already relaxed in chairs by the fireplace, looked up as she came in.
“Luci, you should be in bed.”
“Papa, I’m not sleepy.” He raised his eyebrows at her, but she didn’t move. “Papa, I had a message cube from Esmay today.”
Her uncle Casimir sighed. “Esmay . . . now there’s another problem. Berthold, did you get anywhere in the Landsmen’s Guild?”
“Nowhere. Oh, Vicarios won’t oppose us, but that’s because of Luci, and his support is half-hearted. It would be different if she hadn’t left so young, I think. They don’t really remember her, and even though they awarded her the Starmount, and consider her a hero, they do not want a Landbride—any Landbride but especially our Landbride—connected to an outlander family. Cosca told me frankly that even if she moved here, and also her husband, he would oppose it. Nothing good ever came from the stars, he insisted.”
“And the votes?”
“Enough for a challenge, Casi, I’m sure of it. No, the only way out of this is for Esmaya to come and talk to them herself.”
“Or resign.”
“Or resign, but—will she?”
Luci spoke up. “She mentioned that in her cube.”
“What—resigning? Why?”
“Her precious Fleet seems to think about us the way the Landsmen’s Guild thinks about them. She says they have some kind of regulation forbidding officers to marry Landbrides.”
Her father snorted. “Do they have one forbidding officers to be Landbrides? How ridiculous!”
“Are you serious?” Casimir asked. “They have something specific about Landbrides? How would they know?”
“I don’t know,” Luci said. “That’s just what she said. And she said why didn’t we take in all those women brought back from Our Texas—she was sure they’d fit in.”
A stunned silence, satisfying by its depth and length.
“She what?” Casimir said finally. “Aren’t those women—”
“Free-birthers and religious cultists,” Luci said, with satisfaction. “Exactly.”
“But—but the priests will object,” Berthold said.
“Not as badly as the Landsmen’s Guild, if they hear of it. Dear God, I thought she had more sense than that!”
“She is in love,” Luci pointed out, willing now to be magnanimous. “Apparently Fleet is taking Barin’s salary to pay for their upkeep—at least some of it—and Esmay’s trying to help him out. Nineteen of them, after all, and all those children.”
“At our expense.” Casimir shook his head. “Well, that settles it. She’ll have to resign, as soon as I can get word to her. The Trustees will certainly not approve this, if I were willing to let it be known.” He gave Luci a hard look. “You didn’t tell Philip, I hope.”
“Of course not.” Luci glared at her uncle. Esmay might not have any sense, but she knew what the family honor required.
“I hope she does name you Landbride, Luci,” Casimir said. “You’ll be a good one.”
Luci had a sudden spasm of doubt. Was she being fair to Esmay, who after all had had so many bad things happen to her? But underneath the doubt, the same exultation she had felt when Esmay gave her the brown mare . . . mine, it’s mine, I can take care of it, nobody can hurt it . . .
“I wonder if we could place an ansible call,” Casimir said.
“Surely it’s not that urgent,” Berthold said.
“What if she just packs them up and ships them to us? Better safe than sorry.”
“She won’t,” Luci said. “I’m sure she won’t.” She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew—probably by now Esmay had figured out for herself why it was a bad idea, and the next mail would bring apologies.
“I hope not,” her father said. He yawned. “Oh, do go to bed, Luci! I’m exhausted.”
Luci gave him a kiss and went up to bed, sure she would not sleep for the warring emotions inside her. She undressed quickly, hung her clothes up, and slipped naked between the sheets, taking great lungfuls of the fragrant night air. She hoped Esmay felt this way about her Barin . . . if her poor cousin couldn’t be Landbride, she at least deserved a great love.
Esmay came onto the bridge to find Captain Solis scowling. Now what had she done or left undone?
“I was afraid I’d lose you,” the captain said.
“Lose me?”
“New orders. They’re sending me a new exec, and you over to line ships again. I knew they would eventually. Even though we can always use someone with your talents in SAR, they consider it a waste.”
He handed over the message cube. “It’s all in there; we’ll be dropping you off at Topaz.”