In Which Falidor Figures It Out

March 25, 1157

Falidor had been a married man for all of three months, two weeks, and one day--not that he was counting, of course--and yet, he still could not claim to know his wife in anything other than the biblical sense. As he stared into the dying embers of the fire, he tried to list all of the things he knew about her, and found himself struggling considerably.

She was the second of five surviving children, and the fourth of ten altogether. Her birthday was the twenty-seventh of May, but he only remembered it because it was exactly a week after Thetis's; he wondered whether or not Ailede knew when his birthday was. She hated the smell of flowers, the songs of birds, the touch of spring grass on her bare feet...

"So are you planning on making yourself at all useful today, or aren't you?" Ailede suddenly demanded of him from the bed.

Sighing, he pulled himself to his feet, one eyelid suddenly rather heavy; either he was more annoyed with her than he thought he was, or he was regaining his childhood lazy eye. A part of him wanted to point out to her that she wasn't doing anything at that moment either--and really, hadn't done anything since they'd moved into their own house--but he didn't want to upset her. When Ailede was upset, she screamed like a banshee, and, quite frankly, Falidor could do without the resulting headache.

"Ailede, it's my day off," he insisted.

Ailede rolled her eyes. "It's always your day off. Maybe you should work more and make us some more money."

"I make more money than your father does," Falidor reminded her, "if you couldn't tell by the fact that this house is so much nicer than his."

She scowled at him; he'd never found her to be particularly pretty, but the occasional, sincere smile would have certainly helped. "Maybe I would have taken that into consideration if the house hadn't been a wedding gift from his lordship--and if he hadn't only given it to you because your sister asked him to."

"True, but I still make more than your father does."

"You could make even more if you worked more," she pressed once more.

He was tempted to tell her that he could get away from her if he worked more, but he then decided against that; he didn't want any trouble.

"So... is that a new dress?" asked Falidor, making an attempt at a pleasant conversation as he set himself down on the bed beside her.

"Yes," Ailede replied. "I bought it in the village last week. I hate it."

He compensated for his drooping eyelid by raising his brow. "Then why did you buy it?"

"Because it was the most expensive one in the shop, of course!" she sighed, as if it were the most obvious answer to any question ever asked. "If you can afford the most expensive thing in a shop, you buy it, regardless of whether or not you like it."

Falidor frowned; she didn't seem to understand that he was the one who had to work for that money. "Or you could save the money and buy something even more expensive in the future."

This seemed to spark her interest.

"Oh?" she cooed, a rare enthusiasm in her voice. "What sort of thing are you thinking of?"

Falidor groaned inwardly. "I don't know, something. Ailede, I can deal with the fact that you tricked me into marrying you, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't throw my money away by buying things you don't even want."

"All the more incentive for you to make more, don't you think?"

He'd tried to like her--he really had--but she was just so damn unlikeable. Oh well; he was stuck with her now, and all he could do was chastise himself for being an idiot. Maybe he would get lucky; maybe God would pity him and strike him with a bolt of lightning or something.

"We also could have had more money if you'd gotten yourself over to see Lady Alina about that maid's job before Nora did," he pointed out to her.

Ailede frowned. "She needs it more. Besides, it won't be long before I can't work anyway."

What in the hell was she talking about? She was young, healthy, and perfectly capable of holding a job. Well... she'd been a little sick, maybe, but it was only the occasional bout of nausea. And she'd put on a little weight, but surely by actually forcing herself to go out and help him earn some money, she could easily lose it. And the odd eating habits of late... well, that was probably just her trying to annoy him.

Either way, she was still certainly an employable young woman.

Clearly exasperated, she stood. "Figure it out, genius; figure it out."

And so she strolled out the door and left him to his own devices. For this, he was grateful; it was much easier to think when she was out of the room, and...

Oh dear good God.

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