In Which Holladrin Notes the Gravity

February 13, 1168

Holladrin warmed her hands by the fire's last fading embers. There were few greater delights than a roaring fireplace, and now that the better part of winter had passed, she figured she might as well take advantage of the cold while it remained. She would have a fire in every room she visited; in the absence of servants, she would light one herself. Oh, how wonderful it was to be able to perform simple tasks again! Only five days prior, she'd hardly been well enough to stand for more than a few minutes.

It might have been nice to have someone to share the fire with, though. Her husband had been called away about a half hour prior--something about some butcher refusing to pay his taxes or whatnot. The twins were at Roderick's castle, and her girls were in the nursery, playing with Riona and Vera.

It had been kind of the pair of them to drop by, really. They were a little older than Pandora and Athalia, enough that they might have found the younger girls something of a bother, but for whatever reason, Severin's two youngest daughters had always been more than willing to spend time with Holladrin's children. These days--though Holladrin hated to admit it--they probably saw Pandora and Athalia as a welcome escape from the gloomy structure their home had become.

Vera, Holladrin had noticed, had seemed a little quieter than usual. Riona was her usual boisterous self, of course, but Vera had scarcely said three words so far as she'd heard. Then again, Holladrin hadn't seen much of the little girl since Alina's death--she hadn't seen much of anyone, really, as she'd been through rapid cycles of illness and recovery for most of that time--so it was feasible that Vera had become more withdrawn following her mother's passing. Still, perhaps she ought to go talk to the girl; after all, she did know what it was to find oneself the youngest of a group of motherless siblings.

Someone knocked on the door. Holladrin straightened to her full height. She certainly wasn't expecting Octavius or the twins to return so soon, nor did she imagine Severin would be here to collect his daughters so early in the day. "Who is it?"

"It's just me."

Odd. Normally, Florian would have announced himself with something along the lines of 'Medusa here, wondering if you've seen my head--who do you think?'; something was amiss. "You seem a little... serious."

Florian cracked his knuckles as he waited for Holladrin to turn around. "You likewise."

"Well, with you coming in here like that, what can you expect?"

Shaking his head, Florian took a few tentative steps toward her and looked her in the eye. In all her years, Holladrin had seen sorrow on the faces of many, and none wore it better than Florian. At the same time, none wore it worse.

Behind her, the fire crackled a final time before the last of the flames flickered out. "My lady, I've just spoken with a messenger from Dovia. He had to rush off to your brother's castle, but... well, needless to say, it's bad news."

NEXT CHAPTER: