In Which Celina Receives the Message

January 23, 1157

Many children of Lorn's age were almost incapable of entertaining themselves, but Celina was pleased to see that it was not so with Lorn himself. She had sent a message to Roderick, inviting him to bring Ietrin and Leara to play--and little Camaline for her to fawn over--but had recieved a curt reply stating that a king had no time for such things. She had then requested that Laveria bring Raia and Jadin, but they hadn't been home. Sparron and Jeda, of course, were staying with Celina and Lorn, but they were a few months too young to make proper playmates.

But he seemed to be having enough fun on his own. Perhaps it was even better this way; Prince Ietrin could be something of a bully, and Lorn was enough of a gentleman to sit back and let the girls play on their own, so this way, at least he had the opportunity to make use of his own toys.

And while the twins weren't quite old enough to play with Celina's own one-year-old, they certainly did look cute, lying there on their little mats.

A knock on the door signaled to Celina that her guest had arrived. Wanting someone to keep her company this afternoon, and seeing that neither Roderick nor Laveria would come, she had invited Alina's new maid to come and sit with her, and told the steward to allow her entrance.

"Come in, Nora," she beckoned.

The girl stepped inside, sending quick smiles to Lorn and the babies, then to Celina. "Good day, your grace."

Celina returned the grin. "Call me Celina, dear. Please, sit down."

"Yes, your gr--Celina."

"So," she began as Nora sat down on the couch beside her, "how are you enjoying working for Alina?"

"It's a great job. Lady Alina is a lovely person, her children are very sweet, and her husband has the body of a pagan god."

The duchess laughed; it had been quite some time since she had last encountered a fifteen-year-old girl who would so shamelessly say that about her own lord, if she ever had. "Well, that is an undeniable truth."

"Yes, but I do feel guilty about leaving my mother home alone with my younger siblings," admitted Nora. "They care for her the best they can, but it's quite difficult for them, and even moreso now that my older borther doesn't live with us anymore and I'm always working."

"Is your mother any better?" asked Celina, hoping that she wasn't prying.

"No, but she isn't any worse either," Nora replied somberly. "Either way, though, it is looking rather hopeless; I'll be surprised if she lasts another year. I'm hoping Falidor gets his act together and gets Ailede pregnant pretty soon, so Mother will be able to see at least one of her grandchildren before she goes."

Celina's eyes widened; she shouldn't have brought it up. "Oh. I'm sorry."

Nora shook her head. "Please, don't apologize; it couldn't possibly be your fault. Anyway--"

"Your grace?"

The speaker was a tall young man that Celina did not recognize--why hadn't the steward come to announce him?

"I'm sorry for barging in on you like this," he apologized. "I looked around for your steward, and I found him... in a nook with a maid. I didn't think it was my place to interupt, so I just asked the cook where you might be and came up here--sorry if I've at all overstepped my boundaries."

"Oh, no," she assured him, "but please... who are you?"

"Forgive me. Lord Severin sent me from Dovia. I have a message for you."

"All right," she acknowledged. "Do tell."

The messenger sent a quick glance Nora's way. "It's a message of a rather personal nature. I don't imagine the babies will understand, but perhaps the young lady might want to give us some privacy--not to be rude or anything, miss," he added apologetically to Nora.

"I understand," Nora muttered as she made her way to the door. "I think I'll go give your steward a good talking-to, Celina."

Celina laughed; she was grateful for the young lady's initiative, as she herself would have never been able to bring herself to do just that. "Thank you, dear. Come back when you're done."

"Will do."

As the door closed, the messenger sighed. "Please remain seated, your grace. From my experience, this is not the sort of news that one prefers to receive while standing."

"What happened?" she begged, now worried. "Is it my husband? Is he hurt?"

"He's fine, your grace," insisted the messenger, "at least... physically? Oh, perhaps that's not the appropriate term in this case..."

Celina raised an eyebrow. "Physically?"

"Yes, well... you see..."

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