As my body grew big around the middle, and I had to pee all the time, and sitting or standing or lying down all began to feel equally uncomfortable, everything seemed to turn us against each other. Dominic had been proud of me at Aranyi, always wanting to show me off, rounded and full, ripe with his child: a primitive, masculine assertion of his power, which could persuade a gifted woman into the ultimate surrender. Here in the city we were surrounded by other ‘Graven and their women, all thin, exquisitely dressed, charming and witty and not so modest or shy as I had been told they should be. None of them wore burqas or even a light veil, and most of them were poorly guarded, if at all. However Dominic felt, I was intimidated by the contrast. They weren’t wives. They were mistresses, “companions,” the natural-born daughters of ‘Graven as I had once been thought to be. Legitimate daughters with strong gifts worked in a seminary; those with lesser gifts married and stayed home, bore children and kept house.
