March 24, 2015

In Which Renata Is Understood

June 11, 1190

Renata rubbed her brow as she waited for Octavius to finish reading the letter. They rarely read each other's correspondence, instead extending the courtesy of filling each other in by mouth, but she'd found she wasn't up to recounting. She and Octavius were among the oldest surviving of their generation now, strange as it was. Neither was any stranger to the prospect of losing a sibling, sad as it was.

It didn't get any easier. Rather the opposite.

The desk chair dragged against the floor and the paper fell to the desk. Octavius's footsteps approached the couch. "I'm so sorry."

"She's my last sister," Renata muttered as he sat down beside her. "We were never that close, but... with all the others gone, we did make more of an effort."

"And she seemed to be doing so well, once she got back on her feet."

"She was. She finally seemed like a real person to me." Seems, she corrected herself. Laralita wasn't dead yet.

Just dying.

"Would you mind if I headed out for Dovia a little early? I mean, we'll be there in July for Alina's wedding anyway. What if I went a few weeks early and the rest of you met me there?"

"Of course." Octavius sighed. He'd had seven brothers once, and only two remained now. He understood. "Savor the time she has left."

She nodded. Tomorrow, she'd call on Ovrean and Tarien, see if they wanted to come with her. Whether they did or not, she'd leave within the week. "Yes."