In Which Medea's Song Is Muted

November 18, 1159

Oh, why wouldn't that man stop with his damn singing? If he wanted those babies to sleep, perhaps it would have been a better idea to just shut up? Surely he was keeping them awake--he was definitely keeping her awake. Blasted eighth son of a barely-noble family! Her father must have been out of his mind when he arranged for their betrothal, may the old earl burn in hell!

Angrily, Medea sprung from the bed and stormed toward the doorway, into the dark, narrow corridor that led to Octavius's bedchamber. She'd silence that man if she had to strangle him to do it!

Since when had the corridor been so long? Her strides were quick and lengthy, and yet, the hallway stretched on in front of her, the opposite wall always retreating just out of her reach. Finally, after what seemed like a tortured eternity--with that blasted singing growing ever louder, no less!--she reached his chamber door and barged into the room.

As she could have expected, his bed was empty, clearly and neatly made since the crack of dawn. Throughout the room, the candles remained lit, each flame flickering as though required by their master even in his absence. The dresser was untouched, the mirror tucked away in its little alcove. The only sign of life the room held was the half-finished letter on the desk, the chair in front of it slightly askew; the fool must have been writing to the princess again.

He was in the nursery, the singing announced from the door by the bed--as she had originally suspected. That man could not get his fill of those children. It was no wonder that he had chosen the bedroom that led into their nursery, really; it was fortunate for him that they did not share quarters, for she would have never settled for this dismal excuse for a bedroom!

Medea pushed through the door and stepped into the nursery. Sure enough, Octavius was there, gazing fondly at their daughter's sleeping form; though his lips were unmoving, the singing persisted.

"Oh, hello, Medea," he greeted her absent-mindedly. Then, he took one look at her and hastily added, "I'm sorry I wasn't home to bid you goodnight before you retired. You see, I was over at Veldora, to finally see Alina's new baby. He's still a little on the sickly side, but Laveria and Arydath both think he'll make it now, thank God. Still... poor little boy's future was looking bleak for a while, wasn't it? We were all pretty scared for those first few months."

Christ! Did he ever stop talking? And could he at least talk about something she actually cared about?

"They thought he would die right then and there, when he was born. He was so small, and so sick, and he wouldn't eat... they christened him in that very room, which is probably the only reason he ended up being named for his grandfather. If Severin had been there, I'm sure he would have argued it, but Alina insisted on calling the boy Lonriad, and at the time, it looked as though it wouldn't have even mattered."

Apparently not.

"But he's getting to be a plucky little thing now," Octavius continued, clearly oblivious to her disinterest. "A little on the small side for a four-month-old, but he should pull through. And would you believe it? Alina's having another baby next June! My God, those two can't keep their hands off each other, can they? And guess who else is expecting? Celina!"

Medea rolled her eyes. "If you're trying to convince me to bear you another child, Octavius, it's not going to work."

Abruptly, Octavius planted one last kiss on Jeda's forehead and placed himself firmly in front of her, hands on his hips, an unfathomable expression on his face. "Please, Medea. You may say what you like about me, but we both know that I am not that sort of man. If I was, I do believe we would have a much larger brood than we do now. Now, what is it that you want?"

"Nothing unreasonable," she insisted--she didn't appreciate the raised eyebrow. "I just want you to stop singing. I'm tired, and you're keeping me awake."

"Singing?"

"Yes. Stop singing."

Octavius frowned, blinking several times as he studied her intently. "Medea... I wasn't singing."

"Bullshit," she declared. "You were most definitely singing. I could hear you from my room."

Stubbornly, he shook his head. "Medea, I think I'd remember if I was singing..."

"I know. Maybe you're even more of an idiot than I thought you were."

For some reason or another, he laughed. "Well, if that isn't the solution to absolutely everything that goes on around here, then what is? You might as well have just come in here, called me an idiot straightaway, and we would have been done with this. Now, it's probably just the wind; I assure you, I was not singing. We both know my horrible voice would frighten the babies anyway."

That was true--there must have been another culprit.

Actually... two other culprits.

"Medea?" he addressed her suddenly. "Medea, why are you staring at that crib like that?"

"She's the one singing," whispered Medea breathlessly. "Not you--Jeda. And Sparron is singing too."

"Medea, no one is s--"

"Don't make excuses for them!" she snapped, thrusting out her hands and shoving him backwards. He stumbled to avoid falling; she had caught him off-guard.

"Medea, what are you talking--?"

"Have you even half a brain? They're keeping me awake!" spat Medea as Octavius regained his footing. "My God, do I need to find even smaller words in order to get through to you?"

He scowled--it occured to her that this was the first time she had ever seen him angry. "Medea! Do not make me repeat myself again! No one in this damned castle is singing! You're mad--now please, go back to bed before you wake the children!"

Had he not even heard her?

"You tit-fondling bastard!" she screamed, lunging toward him--startled, he jumped backward slightly. "They're already awake! How can they be singing in their sleep?"

"They're not singing!"

This was getting to be quite annoying.

"My God, Octavius! I can't decide what bothers me more--their singing, or your redundant insistence that they are not!"

"But they--Medea! What are you doing? Get away from that crib!"

"No!" she refused, breaking his grasp and leaning down toward the waking girl, staring into those same hazel eyes she had escaped mere seconds ago. "She has to stop singing--they both do! I need to sleep!"

Once more, he tried to pull her away, but she would not have it; they had invoked her full wrath, all three of them. She would make sure that Jeda would stop her infernal singing, and then she would proceed to Sparron.

And then to Octavius himself.

"Florian!" he called. "Lacira! Anybody! I need some help in here!"

Enraged, Medea turned around and grabbed him by the collar. "Shut up, Octavius! Just shut--up!"

And with that, she pushed him to the ground, more forcefully this time. His mouth wide in terror, his head hit the floor, prompting a stony freeze to his features. She had knocked him out--with any luck, she had killed him.

The door swung open.

"What in the hell is going on in here?"

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