Big hands picked Allara up and carried her a little distance from the crowd, then set her back down on the ground on her feet. Then the growling voice spoke.
“Hold still, girl, while I untie you.”
Allara stood there, shivering and trembling, as the rough rope around her wrists was quickly untied. Shortly after that, the black blindfold was stripped from around her eyes.
Blinking in the dull gray light of the hazy afternoon she looked up…and up and up at her new husband.
Gods of All Creation, he’s even bigger than Brand was! was Allara’s first, terrified thought. Her new husband was massive—well over seven feet tall. He was dressed all in black with a mirrored helmet that covered his entire face, rendering his visage menacingly blank. In it, she could see her own cowering figure, wearing nothing but the blood-stained nightdress and a look of terror on her face.
“Well, girl?” the growling voice asked. “Why were you being sold at the Space Port Bride Auction? I know it’s a punishment for your kind.”
“I…” Allara licked her lips uncertainly. What should she say?
“Don’t lie to me,” her new husband warned threateningly. “Always tell me the absolute truth and we’ll get along a lot better.”
“I…I failed to complete a mission,” Allara said softly. “A mission I was born and raised to complete. And so my aunt brought me here. At least, I hope I failed it,” she added.
“Why would you hope that you failed?” her new husband asked, sounding as though he was frowning.
“Because the mission…” Should she tell him? Why not? whispered a little voice in her head. You’ve got nothing left to lose—you already lost it all when you stabbed Brand in the heart.
“Well?” her new husband growled.
“I hope I failed because…” Allara lifted her chin and stared at his mirrored helmet fearlessly. “Because my mission was to kill my husband. I didn’t want to, but that was my mission.”
“I would have paid more if I’d known I was buying a trained assassin,” her new husband growled.
“I wasn’t trained—not really,” Allara protested. “I was put under oath. That’s all.”
“Seems to have been enough,” her new husband remarked. “Is that his blood I see on your nightdress, wife?”
“It…it is…” Suddenly her spurt of courage left her and Allara felt as though her heart was going to break. “I stabbed him,” she whispered, as tears filled her eyes. “I didn’t want to, but the voice in my head told me I had to. And…and I couldn’t stop myself. And now he’s probably dead and I’ll never see him again!”
She put her hands over her eyes, willing herself not to cry, not to give in to the sobs that choked her. The Song Mistress was still watching them from the corner of her eye, even as she conducted the next auction. Who knew what she might do to Allara if she caught her crying in public—which was against the rules of Q’ess decorum?
“Come, girl,” her new husband said abruptly. “I wish to leave this benighted planet and never come back here again. But I think we must first go to the Song House before I’m allowed to take you with me.”
“Yes.” Allara nodded, swallowing back her sobs. “Th-that way,” she said, pointing towards the corner where the Song House was located.
“Come.” he took her by the hand, his enormous black-gloved hand swallowing up her much smaller one.
Just as Brand’s used to do, Allara thought and had to choke back another sob.
Her new husband pulled her along to the Song House, where they were greeted in the doorway by a bored-looking Song Leader in a black, hooded robe.
“Halt,” he said, holding up a hand to them. “You must first sing your songs to each other before you may be considered married and leave the planet. You…” He looked at Allara. “Must sing your Song of Submission.”
“Yes, Song Leader.” Allara bowed her head.
“And then you…” He looked up at her very tall husband. “Must sing your Song of Dominance.”
“What song is this?” Allara’s new husband growled. “I have no time for nonsense.”
“Look, between the two of us, just sing any song you like,” the Song Leader told him. “It doesn’t really matter what it’s about—but you must sing a song in order to declare your Dominance over this woman and take her away.”
“I can do that,” Allara’s new husband nodded.
“Good. Then go get in line behind the others from the auction,” the Song Leader pointed to a group of alien males and their new Q’ess brides. They were standing to one side of the long, hard pews, waiting their turn to ascend to the altar and sing their Songs.
Allara’s new husband walked over to the back of the line without further comment and Allara followed, having to trot to keep up with his long strides.
Waiting didn’t take long. All of the Q’ess brides sang the same, traditional Song of Submission and the grooms, without exception, grunted a few words of half-hearted song in return and then they left.
None of their notes were true, which caused Allara to wince with pain. She wondered what her new husband’s Song would be like and hoped he was not a Voiceless one. It was difficult to tell, since his voice seemed to be somewhat distorted by the shiny black helmet which made him look so menacing.
At last it was their turn to ascend to the altar. It gave Allara a feeling of hopelessness, knowing that she was walking up the wooden steps to marry a man she didn’t even know—and would never love as she had loved Brand.
Maybe he will kill me on our wedding night, she thought hopelessly. Then at least I would be out of my misery!
Standing by the altar—which was no more than a rough wooden railing in the center of the stage—she placed her hand upon it and began to sing.
“From this day forward, to you I belong
Husband, husband, please hear my Song
To you I belong—to you I belong.
“From this day forward, I am not my own
Take me to your home
I am not my own.
Husband I beg you, do as you please
I plead on my knees,
Do as you please, with me.”
She sank to her knees as she sang, as was the tradition, and looked up at him as she finished her Song of Submission.
“From this day forward, to you I belong
Husband, husband, please hear my Song
To you I belong…
Forever.
It was, of course, impossible to tell what her new husband thought of her Song of Submission since his shiny black helmet was completely blank of emotion. He simply looked down at her for a long time—so long, in fact, that the Song Leader at the door noticed something amiss and snapped at them.
“Come now, move the line along! You must sing your Song of Dominance before you can take your new wife home.”
“Very well,” her new husband growled. He pushed something on the side of his helmet and the shiny black visor lifted, but only far enough to bare his mouth. Allara wondered if now she would be able to hear his true voice—his true Song?
Submissively, she looked down at his booted feet, waiting to hear his Song of Dominance, as was the proper way for a new bride.