In Which Florian Practices the Art of Truth-Telling

June 9, 1166

Evera had always been great with babies, even when she'd been scarcely more than one herself. She'd been content to occupy Setran with silly faces before he could sit up by himself, and she'd fretted over Alyssin and Hamrick and little Dragon almost as much as Thetis and Goodwife Noth had. Now that the girl was all of ten, Thetis was quite comfortable to leave Evera to tend the younger children whenever she wanted to lie down for a moment, and in truth, she was more than up to the task.

It seemed to Florian, however, that most girls of that age would protest, or at least feel somewhat resentful of their mothers for pawning off boring little siblings onto them when there were far more interesting things to be done. The baron's daughter never complained, but Jeda was the sort of girl who spent her days dreaming of impossible things in order to escape harsh realities, impossible things which Florian doubted included watching her little sisters as her stepmother napped. Lyraina Diarn, Halford had told him, grumbled when her mother and grandmother left her siblings to her, and he figured Raia would be even more opposed to the idea.

But Evera didn't mind at all--in fact, she sometimes even asked if her mother was tired, as though searching for a reason to occupy herself. She'd always been a kind girl, and willing to help around the house; lately, however, this behavior had been frequent even for Evera. There was something on her mind, Florian was sure of it.

But what? Were some of the other children teasing her? Or perhaps she was fond of a boy? Whatever the reason, he didn't like to see her troubled. "Evera? Can we talk for a minute?"

Nodding, Evera lowered her baby sister down into the very crib in which Florian had once lain her and turned to face him. "All right..."

The corners of his mouth twitching into a slight smile, Florian nodded toward the couch by the door. He sat down and drummed his fingers against his knee as he waited for her to join him. Perhaps he should have left this to Thetis--it wasn't like he was one for heart-to-heart conversations--but there was a baby in the house. There was also a small child, and two older children in their wildest of semi-independent years. If Thetis wanted an hour to herself, then he supposed she deserved the rest.

Besides, if she got the chance to get off her feet for a while during the day, then Florian would be rewarded for his troubles that night.

Inhaling sharply, Florian faced his daughter and frowned. "Evera... is something wrong? You've been kind of strange lately."

Awkward, she let eyes sink to her lap. "I'm all right," she mumbled. Florian wasn't convinced; not only did she have her mother's selfless soul, but also her crippling honesty.

"There's an art to lying, you know," he sighed; when she was in better spirits, he would have to teach her. "For God's sake, Evera, don't tell me you're going to fall into that damned habit of pretending you're all right when you really aren't."

She tilted her head and looked him in the eye; he couldn't put his finger on it, but something in her face told him that this wasn't about some boy. Good. That would have been the last thing he wanted to talk to her about. He'd leave that one for Thetis; he didn't think he'd ever be ready. "Evera, if you don't want to talk about..."

"Papa, what was my real father like?"

Suddenly, boys would have been a far preferable topic.

It had been a matter of time. It had always been a matter of time, since the day Electra had first placed her in his arms. It was human instinct, he supposed, to want to know one's own origins, and Evera was sensitive enough to not breech the subject with her mother.

But what could he tell her? She was ten years old, savoring the last of her childhood; he didn't think she was ready to know the truth. All the same, he couldn't lie to her. It was useful to teach children to lie, yes, but actually lying to one's children? That was a parental failure.

"Papa?"

What could he say? He knew exactly how he'd describe Norwan to anyone else--in fact, he had several ways of describing Norwan to anyone else--but this was her father they were talking about. He couldn't tell his stepdaughter that the devil himself trembled before the oversized bonacon that had expelled the girl's father, even if she did hate him. And why should he assume she hated him? Had anyone ever even mentioned him to her?

Florian swallowed; perhaps the words would come to him one by one? "Your father... he, uh..."

Nothing. Never before had he been at such a loss for words; even the image of Seoth's smug face inspired no sudden verbal brilliance.

Visibly uncomfortable, Evera shifted, her dangling ankles tapping the frame of the couch. "He never did a good thing for anyone, did he?"

He watched as a small tear welled in her eye. He hated seeing her like this; he had to say something to reassure her. If there was an art to lying... then surely there was an art to truth-telling as well?

He reached across the couch and took her hands in his own. "That's not true, baby; everyone does a good thing for someone at some point."

She didn't look convinced. He wasn't surprised; there had to be more to it than that. "What about my father?"

The tear rolled from its duct to her cheek. Trying to smile, Florian lifted one hand to wipe it away. "Well... he gave me you."

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