In Which Raia Proposes a Test

April 5, 1171

Raia watched as a couple of tiny snowflakes hit the surface of the window and melted on impact. Snow was unusual in Naroni, especially past February or so, and she had always been rather fond of the unique beauty of each flake, even though in such a climate they rarely survived the fall to the ground. Or perhaps that was partly why.

Not that there was much sense worrying over snowflakes. They melted and were reabsorbed by the air, falling again somewhere in some form over and over again--just as they had before she had ever been, just as they would long after she ceased to be. She would be best served directing her attention elsewhere.

"Raia?" She turned around to see Falidor return to the room, all nervous gait and goofy smiles as always. "Are you getting hungry? I made you some breakfast."

"You didn't have to do that." Silly man. He should have known by now that she was not the sort who needed to be pampered--not that she minded it, but it wasn't as if she insisted on it. Hell, from what she knew of love--from what she could learn from her sister's secret archive of their mother's diaries--she could tell that petty demands had no part in it. It was compromise. It was cooperation and it was equality. No ridiculous expectations or screaming orders such as those an ill-tempered master gave to a difficult servant; that was not love. That was not even like.

It was a little troublesome, really, just how much of her time was spent thinking about love these days. She hoped she hadn't left her brain at the door.

"I know I didn't have to." He took her by the hand and smiled, the light in his eyes putting the dancing snowflakes to shame. "I wanted to; it's a gesture."

A gesture. She could live with that--a man who made gestures. She wondered how many gestures he might have made to Ailede in some vain attempt to win her love. Several, probably--all scorned and none returned. Raia resolved to surprise him with a gesture of her own some time soon; meanwhile, the least she could do was appreciate this one. "Well, thank you; I'm a little hungry, I suppose."

Falidor smirked. "All right, but I should warn you that I'm a terrible cook."

"Well, that's certainly inconvenient, because I've never had to boil water in my life!" It was the truth; her family had always had a cook in the kitchen, and she'd never been the sort of girl who figured food preparation might have been fun, so she'd never tried and really had no desire to start now. "Maybe you could hire a housekeeper? If it's a matter of money, I could ask my father--"

"Oh, it's not that I can't afford one," he insisted--as if he thought she cared about money! "I can't hire a housekeeper just yet, missy, because you are always spending the night and word would spread like wildfire if someone else was around while you were."

"Well, if you'd like a good meal once in a while, we could find somewhere else to meet."

Falidor shook his head. "No thanks--who needs a good meal when they have you?"

A little weak around the knees, she stood on her toes and kissed him; she thought she tasted honey on his lips. "I just wish I could just live here openly; I don't really care if people start calling me a home-wrecking slut, you know. I'd rather be a home-wrecking slut than a woman who's forcing you to live off your own cooking."

"I'm not sure your father would agree."

Again with her father? She had to laugh. "Falidor, have you not met my father?"

He shrugged. "You'd be surprised what sort of hypocrites men can be when it comes to their own daughters."

"Well, just give him a little test." She pouted as she batted her lashes; she knew she was too lanky and boyish to be truly pretty, but when one spent early adolescence wanting to sneak past guards and weasel her way out of trouble, one learned how to use her only startling features to their full advantage. "My father always says that you should make your own decisions, because people who care don't matter and people who matter don't care. Perhaps you ought to see if he cares or matters."

Sighing, Falidor leaned back and pushed his hand through his hair; she was relieved to see that his hairline showed no hint of recession. "Raia, he's your father--and our lord, at that. Of course he matters."

"Then he won't care."

He didn't look convinced--poor, silly man. Raia inclined her head, resorting to the full effect of her eyes once more. "Falidor, I've told you a hundred times that I'll marry you in January whether my father likes it or not; we might as well ask if we can have a bit of a head-start, or at least give him time to get used to the idea."

A fond-yet-exasperated grin on his face, Falidor's eyes flickered to the ceiling. "I don't know..."

"He could help us, you know."

"Yes, but I can't imagine he would." He took a lock of her hair in his hand and and wove it through his fingers. "But since I can see that you're in a brave mood, we might as well stop postponing the inevitable and go down for breakfast already; I can assure you that my cooking requires almost as much courage as talking to your father."

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