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The Matchmaker Meets Her Match
It’s a different world where love’s an after-thought.
Astrid knew the rules long before she ever reached her Gleaning ceremony.
Marriage was a necessity to survive in her world.
“You are worth so much more than just another mouth to feed,” her mother said, tipping Astrid’s chin this way and that to inspect the younger woman’s make-up. “Do us proud, my little lotus.”
Astrid’s plum-shaded lips tried to smile, but it felt like a hollowed-out gesture more for her mother’s assurance than anything to do with herself. Instead of answering, she bowed her head for her mother to place the silver coronet upon her hair.
As was the way of things, however, Astrid’s Gleaning was a disaster. The temple room erupted in blue-black flames as the god of curses proclaimed that he would be her benefactor, and all thoughts of a match — to anyone, any man who would have her — died as scorched flowers in her mind.
Most people likely wouldn’t have been surprised if she had taken her own life. It was a great disgrace to go into the temple and summon a god known for all manner of misdeeds and blasphemy. Why couldn’t she have summoned Lyria, mistress of song, or Tartara, lord of shadows, rather than the Nameless One?
