He’d figured a meal with his beloved wife was sure to be delicious, yet midway through, he found he could barely taste the delicacies. This was presumably the kind of dinner she’d once been served every day, save for the lack of servers, the food getting cold, and having to clean up afterward. She was not made for cotton but for shiny silk dresses; she was not meant to become acquainted with the chill of this drafty old tower, nor to see her own hands roughened by housework—in short, she was supposed to live a much happier life.
Yet here she sat, smiling, as though she saw through his insecurities with her enchanting red eyes. “Carlo, I shall absolutely never forget this day. You bring me so much joy.”
As Teresa’s soups became worthier of praise, Carlo continued developing magical tools at a quick pace. His voice caster had already elevated him to candidacy for a barony, and one more achievement to his name within a few years would likely confer the title upon him; so said his college friend Leone—hence Carlo’s hard work. Once he became a nobleman himself, he would be able to announce to the world his marriage to Teresa. There was no signed contract, but he had been obliquely promised as much in a letter.
It was then that Teresa became pregnant. They were overjoyed; the gap in magic between the couple had made it no easy feat. Never had a response arrived quicker than after she had informed her father about this news. “We wish to visit your family with the promising toolmaker,” it simply read; Carlo could but laugh. “Though our home is but a very humble one, we invite you to come visit once things settle down,” she wrote back, which elicited laughter from the couple.
The next month came, and terrible morning sickness began to beset Teresa; she kept vomiting, failed to stomach any food, and barely held down water. When the physician could do little to help, Carlo did not waste time in reaching out to the Lambertis. They suggested that she stay with them until childbirth so that they might emplace physicians and nurses by her side around the clock. Carlo might have refused adoption or financial support, but this was an offer he could not; the what-ifs terrified him so. Teresa was loaded onto a carriage where she could lie supine, watched over by a physician and a priest, then taken to the Lambertis’ manor.
Though the change of scenery did not stop what was plaguing her, the effects had apparently lessened. She regularly sent letters, albeit short ones.
Just before their child was to be born, a black carriage arrived at the Green Tower to take Carlo to see his wife. Earldom Lamberti spanned a large area and was one of the breadbaskets of Ordine. He’d already heard as much, but the sight of field after field outside the carriage window really drove home the point. He arrived at the estate and saw Teresa, and after a few days, the labor pains began. Carlo waited in the room next door, skittering around like a rat.
Their child arrived in their world the next day. It would turn spring any day now; the skies were as blue as could be. “Thank you...” was all he could manage to say to his wife. With the sleeping infant lying beside her, Teresa’s smile was that of a goddess, despite her lack of color. He smiled back at her and their daughter. Should their baby be a girl, the name they had chosen together was Dahlia. It was plural in Ehrlichian, like a garden of her namesake flowers, so that she would be blessed with loved ones ever surrounding her and bringing joy to her life. That mother and child were fine after the birth was already blessing enough, though.
Thus a new member joined their family, and they would live happily ever after—or so he thought.
Teresa was not in peril, but her health was far from great after the ordeal of childbirth. Both mother and child stayed behind in the Lamberti household, and Carlo returned to the capital. Magical tools to be crafted had piled up, and for some time, he burned the midnight oil nightly.
When he was finally able to deliver the goods to his old friend’s company, he received a mountain of supplies for his newborn. They were piled up in one of the rooms, awaiting the day mother and child returned. But Teresa’s recovery reversed. For a period, the letters stopped coming, and he worried; when the next one finally arrived, it said that birthing Dahlia had taken a lot out of Teresa, who was then suffering headaches. The ones after that contained short updates on their situation, all penned by a maid.
When mother and child would return was still up in the air, and after two months had passed, Carlo’s worrying only increased. Despite understanding that it was improper, he wrote his next letter not to Teresa but to Earl Lamberti. The response was simple: come. There were no explanations. Yet another black carriage arrived at the Green Tower for Carlo.
Teresa’s father, now rather gaunt, received him in the Lambertis’ parlor. “I’m very sorry to have to ask this of you, Sir Carlo, but I hope you can separate with Teresa.” No pleasantries, no segue; he didn’t even wait for a response before continuing. “After childbirth, Teresa said that her head ached, and then she collapsed. She managed to escape death with the help of the physician and priest, but she’s lost memories of what has happened in these past two years, and the priest has asserted that she will not recover them.”
“What are you—” Carlo couldn’t understand—didn’t want to understand—what was being said.
But the earl continued. “As Teresa married into your family, it was planned for her sister Milana to succeed ours. However, Milana was approached by an aristocrat for her hand in marriage. We were told to adopt the aristocrat’s son as our successor instead. The Lambertis are now stripped of our control, and, very likely, they will increase our taxes on grain.”
The suddenness of all the noble talk had Carlo’s head spinning. “But that would make them usurpers. Is it not possible to seek help from the kingdom or the law?”
“We have tried to no avail. They have the law in their pockets. Senior families of our faction are being forced to raise the tax rates too. Our harvest is meager in comparison to the size of our domain—we lose too much to wildlife and monsters. So that we can protect our subjects, we must turn to another faction for help and offer Teresa for marriage to cement our ties.”
“Teresa is my wife, damn it!”
“I’m afraid that this is Teresa’s desire.”
“What?”
“She lost her memories. She’s reverted back to her old self, handling my official duties, and she read the letter. Since her sister was being married to another family, Teresa said that she will offer herself. I beg you to respect her wishes.” This made no sense to Carlo. Teresa would never wish to leave him like this. But given her amnesia, perhaps this was the obvious choice for her. “She will tell you the same should you meet her, but, please, do not cause her to suffer.”
“‘Cause her to suffer’?” Because she would not remember her past with him? Because it would make her new life harder? Even if she knew everything, would she not make the same choice? Carlo seethed, yet his mind was empty of the words to express his emotions. He gnashed his teeth and tightened his fist—then Sofia yanked him backward by the arm.