In Which Arydath Needs No Words

January 10, 1160

It was not the first time Arydath had ventured within the walls of the duke's castle--and given the duchess's pregnancy, it would not be the last--but never before had she come of her own volition, without having been summoned first. Back in Dovia, she never would have dreamed of boldly marching through her lord's gates... but then again, she wasn't back in Dovia anymore, was she?

But it wasn't as if she was here to trouble the duke and duchess themselves, of course; that would be far too presumptuous of a woman of Arydath's standing, even if she had twice tended to the duchess in childbirth. She was here for the steward, or perhaps a secretary or something of the like--someone who was not doing anything at the time, and who could read.

As luck would have it, she found Aldhein in the front room, his young daughter in his arms, but otherwise unoccupied.

"Good morning, Master Denvus," she greeted him with stiff politeness, then turned to the little girl. "Eilyssa."

The child turned away shyly, but her father chuckled. "Same to you, Goodwife Diarn. How are you?"

She shrugged; she did not particularly like Aldhein, but he did suit her purposes at the moment. "Well enough, I suppose, although I'm here to ask a favor of you."

"Ask away," he told her, gently lowering Eilyssa to the floor with a quick kiss on the head.

"All right. You're a steward; you can read, right?"

As he pulled himself to his feet, he frowned; perhaps he could sense her unease. If that was the case, she did pity him, but she could not bring herself to fully trust a man who had once been a lover of the former queen. "Of course. Might I ask why?"

"I recieved a letter today," she explained, showing him the folded piece of paper she grasped in her left hand, "and I should very much like to know what it says."

Arydath didn't know how she should have expected him to react, but his suddenly raised eyebrow caught her off-guard. "I would've thought a lady as intelligent as yourself would have been able to read."

She sighed--that hadn't been necessary. "What can I say? I'm a farmer's daughter and another farmer's wife. I never had the opportunity, and really, I can get by for the most part. If I stare hard enough, I can see my name, and my mother's, and I can tell that it's the old village reeve's writing, but that's it."

"Can your husband read?" he inquired further.

Arydath resisted the urge to tell him to mind his own damn business. "Do you think?"

"No?"

"Not a word."

"Thought so."

"Lovely!" she exclaimed, not sure if he would catch her note of sarcasm. "Now that we've established that my husband is not particularly bright, can you read this letter and tell me what it says?"

Nodding, he offered her an outstretched hand, into which she hastily shoved the letter. "And don't you be telling anyone else what's written there, you hear?" she added as a warning, momentarily forgetting that he was a steward and she was a mere peasant.

"Please, Goodwife Diarn," he slurred, rolling his eyes. "What sort of man do you take me for?"

I don't know, the sort of man who sleeps with his married queen, maybe? she thought bitterly to herself. Sure, Arydath herself was no angel--Lord knew Halford probably wouldn't have worked up the courage to ask for her hand if she hadn't seduced him first--but at least she'd had the decency to stay away from anyone taken. She'd personally delivered both princesses, and she knew that they and their brother were now short a mother thanks to this man--she could not forgive him that.

But at least they had a new queen now, even if she was rather insufferable. Really, though, Arydath wasn't sure whether or not she preferred this Laralita to Geneva just yet--she supposed time would tell.

He turned away from her as he read the letter, so she could not see his expression, but she noticed a slight slouch in his shoulders increasing steadily. Arydath had been prepared for some sort of ill tidings--as far as her mother was concerned, no news was good news--but she had not expected that it would be something grave enough to cause such body language from the ordinarily straight-backed, controlled steward.

"Well?" she pried impatiently as he folded the letter along its creases once more. "What does it say?"

Sighting, Aldhein turned around slowly--Arydath had not pegged him as one to do either. "Uh, Goodwife Diarn... it's your brother."

Arydath frowned. "My brother?"

"Yes. Well... it seems there was some sort of accident on your family's farm, and... well..." he paused, as if looking for the right words--not that she really needed any words, a tear in her eye told her. "I'm sorry."

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