Marriage is for the consolidation of wealth and property. Romance is for diversion. And love—” Deira do Morbegon’s tone was derisive. “Love is for poets.” “Mamma, I know better than to speak of love and marriage in the same breath. But this—even if I liked it, what good would it bring? There can be no children—” “When our families are joined, one of you will get a child from somewhere.” Madam do Morbegon shrugged as if children might be bought at the Actenar bazaar. “You may take lovers now and then. Discreetly.” For a moment Madam do Morbegon appeared to soften; she sat on the unmade bed beside her daughter and her daughter’s hand in her own. “If your brother had not died he would have married her. Evida do Caudon and I have schemed since we were girls to unite our families, even before she married the Cindon. Your father meets with the bishop today to get a Writ of Exception; such marriages are uncommon, I grant you, but—I was at court when Prince Ebuen wed Prince Beqis and Meviel annexed his principality.
