Chapter Text
“It’s a respectable match, Nahri. You should be grateful,” Manizeh said, helping her niece with her veil.
Nahri stared at her reflection in the long oval mirror, her expression was unreadable. “We’ve never even spoken.”
Her aunt’s lips were pursed. “He came recommended from your own blood, Nahri. The Nahids would not doom you to a cruel groom, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
“Our own blood whom you are barely acquainted with…” muttered Nahri, tucking an unruly curl back into her bun. “Before you asked them if they had a husband for me, when was the last time you had spoken?”
If her aunt seemed only slightly irritated before, she certainly was now. She sighed, walking away from Nahri to sit at the vanity and fix her own hair. Nahri did not turn away from the mirror, her eyes combing her ivory dress and the deep red ribbon tied just at her ribs.
Finally, her aunt answered: “When I wed your uncle. We also married in this temple.”
Ah, nearly thirty years ago when Manizeh e-Nahid had become Manizeh e-Pramukh.
“Nahri, have I ever been anything but accommodating to you?”
Accommodating.
Nahri nearly snorted, her eyes flicking to the inn window that provided a somewhat obscured view of the town Nahri would soon belong to. Yes, what more could she want from her aunt than to be “accommodating.” Affection? Love?
Thankfully, Jamshid had filled those needs since Nahri had been orphaned at eighteen and forced to move into her aunt and uncle’s home. The home they were so eager to get her out of. So eager that just after her twenty-first birthday they’d endeavored to arrange a marriage for her. A task they had accomplished in no less than two years.
Perhaps twenty-three was considered too old to marry, but it was 1910. If Nahri, a woman, could practice midwifery alongside her aunt in this day and age, then surely it wasn’t unheard of for her to marry nearly in her mid-twenties.
“You’ve kept your groom waiting long enough,” Manizeh exhaled, standing from her stool before the vanity.
She held herself with an almost business-like posture, her gaze falling over her niece from head to toe. If Nahri didn’t know better, she could've sworn there was just a hint of fondness in her dark eyes.
It was apparent that despite the estranged status of Manizeh and Nahri’s father, the woman sometimes missed her brother. Nahri could occasionally see that Manizeh hoped for more from their relationship; unfortunately the old grudges she clung to seemed to get in the way.
But despite Manizeh’s feeble desires to feel a connection to her niece, her love for her son eclipsed everyone else. Nahri couldn’t blame her. Her unmarried cousin was kind hearted and compassionate.
There was a knock at the door.
“May I enter? Is everyone decent?” Jamshid’s voice called from just outside.
Manizeh opened the door to their room allowing Jamshid entrance. He placed a kiss on his mother’s cheek then looked at Nahri. A warm smile spread on his face and for the first time today Nahri felt her dread subside.
He crossed the room to stand before her, removing his bowler hat and holding it over his chest. “You’re a vision, cousin.” He leaned in, offering Nahri a kiss on the cheek as well.
His well groomed mustache scratched her cheek and she nearly laughed.
When he pulled away, his warm smile had become sympathetic. “The car is just outside,” he said in a gentle voice. “And I’m eager to walk you down the aisle and present you to your groom.”
Resignedly, Nahri nodded, and the Pramukh family, plus Nahri e-Nahid - soon to be e-Afshin - exited.
The short drive to the Nahid’s temple suited Nahri’s mood. The sky was gloomy and grey and bid the omen of impending rain. Her uncle drove slowly, but the nerve stricken bride felt as though he were speeding down the brick paved road of Vashon Island.
Nahri wondered how often she would visit this town. How often she would depart her groom’s home in Quartermaster Harbor to take the ferry to this island. She didn’t exactly qualify herself as a socialite, but the lonely life as the mistress of a manor was equally as unappealing.
When they arrived at the temple, Nahri’s brows furrowed. The building which she’d gazed upon just yesterday suddenly seemed much more ominous. It stood proud and white and marbled with pock-marked columns, a small dome, and large, wooden double-doors.
Jamshid opened the door of the car, extending a hand to assist Nahri out of the car. She accepted, placing her silk glove in his palm. Stepping out, Nahri could feel the eyes of the wandering locals fall upon her. Her cheeks heated, but a little attention had never bothered her. Nahri wasn’t exactly demure.
The moment they entered the temple, they were greeted by the High Priest, Syed e-Nahid. She’d met the man only yesterday but he had greeted her as though she were an old friend.
“Welcome back,” he said with a warmth that made Nahri slightly uncomfortable. There was something almost predatory in his dark eyes. He bowed his head. “Manizeh, Kaveh, Jamshid, I’m certain you are all eager for the ceremony to begin.”
Kaveh opened his mouth to speak, but in her typical fashion, Manizeh cut in.
“The groom has managed to memorize his vows and acquaint himself with the temple?”
Syed nodded, “Yes. Though he was absent yesterday, he is a former member of the temple. He knows this place well.”
“Former?” Manizeh pried.
Had her aunt truly learned nothing of this man Nahri was to wed? Other than that he was wealthy and would take her niece off of her hands?
“Yes, it is not my place to divulge the details of his faith but I assure you that he is a respectable man.”
Manizeh merely raised her chin, “hm”-ing to herself.
“Shama,” Syed called over his shoulder.
A woman with a long braid, donning sky blue robes similar to Syed’s appeared.
“Would you please show Manizeh and Kaveh to their seats. I need to prepare Jamshid to give away his cousin.”
The woman lowered her head obediently and started for the main area of the temple. Both Kaveh and Manizeh cast wary glances at Nahri before departing.
As Syed had yesterday, he brought Nahri and Jamshid to the back of the temple, prompting them to link arms and explaining the importance and symbolism of this action. Jamshid was entrusting his cousin to another family, a new life. Nahri was a willing participant, glad to begin this journey into adulthood, womanhood, wife-hood.
Finally, he left them to ready the groom.
Jamshid’s hand squeezed her forearm. “Nahri, should the man reveal himself to be anything less than a gentleman, write to me. I will find a way to ensure your happiness. I swear it.”
Nahri exhaled a shaky breath, her vision hazy beneath the sheer fabric of her veil. “You fret for nothing, cousin. All I fear from this man is a life of boredom.”
Jamshid snorted. “You cannot fool me. And you are too smart not to realize the uncertainty of your situation.”
“Well, it is a good thing I am so courageous,” she said, squaring her shoulders. Nahri patted his forearm. “Fear not, cousin. Even if my groom proves himself to be an impeccable match I shall always have need of you… or at least your company.”
Jamshid chuckled.
Encouraged by his good nature she continued. “And whatever will I do without the daily sight of your mustache.”
His laughter was slightly louder. “And I will miss your good humor. My mother and father have not a humorous bone in their bodies.”
As Nahri snickered she felt a lump form in her throat, realizing just how much she would miss her cousin’s company. Her eyes suddenly stung. She shut them tight.
Despite the cover of her veil, Jamshid made out her desperate expression. She felt his grip tighten on her forearm.
“I will write to you as often as I can,” he said softly. “And I will visit you. This is not the end, Nahri.”
Nahri swallowed hard, banishing the thickness in her throat. “I will hold you to your word.”
“Oh, I am aware,” Jamshid replied. “And who knows? Perhaps this man will form an unexpected bond with you. Perhaps you will grow very fond of him and forget all about your hopeless bachelor of a cousin.”
She forced herself to look at him, her eyes fierce. “Never.”
Jamshid escorted his cousin down the aisle. The temple was vacant aside from her aunt, uncle, the Nahids and… her groom.
He stood at the altar, before High Priest Syed. She had seen a simple photo of the man, but even through her veil she could make out that the picture had not done him justice.
Arriving at the altar, Nahri felt her heart pound as the groom’s eyes flicked to Jamshid. They both bowed their heads and then slowly, Jamshid met Nahri’s gaze and smiled with furrowed brows. He delicately placed her hand in the groom’s, but she did not look away from her cousin’s pitying gaze until he turned to take his seat with her aunt and uncle.
With the assistance of her soon-to-be husband, she took the step up to the altar, then both her hands were in his.
When she finally brought herself to look at him through the fabric of her veil, she found that he was staring at his feet. Nahri quickly turned her eyes to High Priest Syed.
He spoke the vows with eloquence and reverence, though Nahri could swear she saw that predator-like glimmer in his eyes from before yet again.
The words were muffled as Nahri heard the thrumming of her heart in her ears. For a moment, she felt as though she was outside of her body, observing as a sympathetic guest.
It will be a comfortable life. You’ll likely be able to continue your midwife practice.
Nahri drew in a deep and steadying breath through her nose as she fell back into her body.
High Priest Syed had stopped speaking and Nahri was suddenly aware that her fiancé had released his hold on her hands. Instead his fingers were delicately lifting the hem of her veil.
As he pulled it over her head with the utmost care, Nahri’s breath was stolen at the sight of him.
If she had been startled by his appearance through her veil, it was nothing compared to looking upon him now.
The plains of his face were sharp, and though he stood only slightly taller than herself, his presence was imposing - challenging even.
His dark hair was coiffed away from his face and dark brows were set above his breathtakingly green eyes. Eyes that seemed haunted and guilt-ridden. The erect slope of his nose matched the chiseled line of his jaw, and Nahri found her gaze drawn to his lips - full and waiting for her own.
Hesitantly, with heavy lidded eyes, he leaned in and pressed his mouth against her’s for the briefest of seconds.
When he pulled away, she found he once again was avoiding meeting her stare.
So this is how it would be between Nahri and her new husband, Darayavahoush e-Afshin.
Distant and aloof. A man made of stone within reach that she could not touch.