14. Sale

Sale

Rose

A quiet knock rings through our domus, and my heart stops. Pater should be passed out for hours still and it’s early enough that even Daisy snores softly. I throw an extra shawl over my shoulders and slip out the front door.

Tristan’s hand finds mine, as if they were never meant to be apart, and he kisses it the way he has every time he’s done it. All three times that is. Gentle but insistent. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Rose.”

I smile, the feeling permeating every inch of my skin, sinking into my bones. “And you, Tristan.”

He leads me through the sleepy streets, the twin suns cresting over the Maero. He’s leading me into the suns-shine, and I’m quiet until we’re descending the narrow stone steps that lead to the walkway along the water. It floods late in planting season, the Maero swallowing the walkways and splashing against the stairways. It’s why the city is built on the hill, but this time of year she’s mild, rushing by with neither malice nor grief.

Tristan points to troops across the way, swimming. “My brother will be there next year, training.”

“He’s officially joining, then?” I ask, my heart clenching for Augustus.

“When did you talk to him?” Tristan asks, hand tightening around mine.

I suck in a breath as the bones in my fingers grind together, protesting the loss of the caress they were in. “The day we met in the square.”

He loosens his grip, but still holds tightly to me. “Oh, right. Well, he hasn’t decided yet, but Pater has.”

I nod, trying not to flex my fingers. There’s no need to complain when it was clearly an accident.

“I asked you here for a reason,” Tristan says. I had hoped so. After the festival, Tristan had been secretive, saying he’d meet me in exactly one clipse.

Today.

“Everything is prepared, you can tell your pater today.” Tristan beams, turning to me. The suns behind him blind me and I squint to see his eyes, searching.

“Tell him what?” My heart sinks. I thought he would negotiate with my pater, not ask me to do it. How could I talk my pater out of the Sabines without a proposal? I don’t say any of this. The desperation in my belly is too ugly to show Tristan. It’s bad enough I told him and Augustus about my problems; I can’t complain about his solution, too.

Tristan draws me into his embrace, chest to chest. I gasp as his hand slides into my hair, and he tugs the strands so that I’m forced to look up into his golden face. The world stops when he speaks.

“Tell him that you’re to be my wife.”

I’ve always known I was made for love. Softness. I’ve always known I wasn't made for my pater’s version of life.

I just never thought I’d have it.

“Who is he?” Pater asks, his eyebrows furrowing in a look I know as well as the pattern of the freckles on Daisy’s cheeks. It usually appears after one too many at the tavern, but I’d approached him early in the day. After his favorite breakfast, but before he’d had more than four drinks.

The sweetest spot for a man like him.

I’d even asked Daisy to help me clean the domus last night. It nearly sparkled in here, and that always put him in a better mood, when he felt proud of where we lived.

“His name is Tristan, Pater,” I say, eyes downcast.

“Hmm. What does he do?”

I know what he's actually asking, molding my responses to each expression that flits across his face, reading the pages of his reactions. “He’s a son of Tiberius.” I wait for the name to sink in, the familia so far above our own that nothing I say will matter after this. “Tristan is set to inherit his pater’s domus and position. And he’s offered to waive a dowry.” I don’t use titles, because to Pater that would be boastful, which is unbecoming of a woman. Everyone knows what it means to be the son of Tiberius, anyways. Pater is silent, so I add the real reason he can’t refuse, something that has nothing to do with station and everything to do with Paters’ situation. “He also offered coemptio .”

Tristan had been sure that Pater was only interested in The Sabines because he needed denarii, hence his offer of a reverse dowry. Coemptio would symbolize that my pater had been caring for me in his absence. I wasn’t a burden he needed to be compensated for, but a gift worth purchasing. I extend the small scroll I’d held in the folds of my skirt. “Here is the offer.”

At once thoughtful and effective. The butterflies that had been beating their wings in my chest since Tristan and I met yesterday reach a crescendo as I wait. I haven’t seen the amount. I just have to hope it’s enough.

“ Coemptio ?” he questions. “You didn’t offer him the milk, did you girl?” His face starts to darken and I shake my head vehemently.

“The opposite, Pater. I said I wouldn’t dishonor myself before marriage…” I trail off, leaving enough for Pater to understand. I’d used myself to earn him more. Used Tristan’s desire to line Pater’s pockets. He would appreciate that, understand it. And on some level, he’d expect it from me, just as he would from any woman.

It wasn’t true, of course. Tristan cared about me, but Pater wouldn’t understand that .

“Hmm. Coemptio ?” he says again. Then, finally, he reaches out to take the scroll. He breaks the small purple wax seal.

I fold my hands in front of me and stare at the familiar brick floor, hoping I’ll never meet it again. The butterflies continue to swarm, their wings beating in my heart, my lungs, my ears. It’s so loud inside me that I almost don’t hear the rustle of the paper as his calloused hands unfurl it. I almost miss it when Pater says the words that will set me free.

“I accept.”