In Which Danthia Inspires a Baffling Response

September 16, 1168

It might not have made sense to be sad. It might have even been a little selfish to be sad. Danthia's mother had spent the last months of her life in such incredible discomfort that her soul must have leapt from her agonizing prison of a bed at the sight of Death and embraced him like an old friend. Wherever she was now, at least there would no longer be such a thing as pain. At least she would be able to sleep without waking up to cough blood onto her pillow.

And yet, it was only human to be sad. She would miss her mother; she missed her already. She wondered if they'd had enough time together and if there was even such a thing as too much. She would have liked her own daughter to get to know her, and her brother's new baby girl had scarcely had a month with which to do so. She was sad--how could she not be? But not all of her emotions were directed at her mother; she was also angry.

She felt her sister-in-law wrap a warm hand around her own and squeeze. "I'm so sorry." Danthia knew that her mother wasn't the only reason Lileina was saying that. "I still can't believe he isn't here."

She had to have been lying; Searle's absence couldn't have come as a surprise to anyone. Danthia shook her head. "I figured it would have been stupid to expect him to show up."

It took a moment for Lileina to respond. She pursed her lips and bowed her head before a defeated sigh broke her facade of naivety. "Really, I'm sorry about everything my brother's put you through. He should be here."

"He probably doesn't even know. I can barely even remember the last time I saw him." How long had it been? Lileina had told her that he'd shown up for King Farilon's funeral, but had kept his distance from the crowd; Danthia herself hadn't caught a glimpse of him, nor had anyone else, it seemed. That had been five months ago now, and she did not think he had been home since eight or nine months before then. All her widowhood lacked was its official status.

Bitter, she nudged the dirt beneath her boot and sunk back against the crypt wall. "It's just as well that he didn't come, really. My mother lost her liking for him years ago."

"And I can't imagine that your father sees him any differently," Lileina added, her voice so neutral that it must have been forced. It had to hurt to admit such a thing of one's own brother.

Sisterly as she might have been to Searle, she pulled Danthia inward and offered a small bit of comfort in the guise of a hug. Danthia cringed as Lileina's growing stomach pressed against her own. Was it mad to be jealous of a pregnant woman? Particularly since she herself had suffered the pregnancy from Hell only a few short years prior?

People were talking, she was well aware. She wished they could understand that there was really nothing to talk about. She and Searle hadn't had any trouble conceiving Tivalia once they'd bothered trying; there was nothing wrong with her fertility. The problem was that on the rare occasion Searle was home, he did not care to bed her--and even if he did, she did not care to let him. She didn't miss the sex. She supposed it might have been pleasurable with a man who actually seemed to give a damn, but all she'd ever had was Searle. A suit of armor might have been a more emotionally-invested lover if only it possessed the required anatomy.

"Do you think he'll ever come back?" She asked simply because it seemed proper to do so; she was past the point where she actually cared.

"Of course," Lileina answered automatically. It was an interesting way to say 'no'.

The brief following silence was broken by the creaking of the hinges as the heavy door was pushed open, the figure of a man emerging from behind it. "Danthia?"

It was her cousin, Nythran, his mustache still visible despite the dim light and its blond color. Searle had only ever managed stubble. "Good, you're still here. Your brother was worried that you might have left already."

Danthia sniffed. "Of course he would be. Marsden can't even keep track of chairs at the dinner table, let alone this whole extended family; he should count himself lucky that his balls are attached."

Nythran's booming laughter echoed throughout the otherwise dismal room. Surely there was nothing like four years of frigid Riona to make a man appreciate every instance of a woman saying the word 'balls'. Surely there was nothing like six years of woebegone Searle to make a woman appreciate masculine laughter. "Amen to that. Anyway, your father was looking for you--wondering if you and Tivalia wanted to stay a few days longer."

"Of course we will," she told him. "It isn't as if we have anyone waiting for us back home."

Her cousin's limp hand clenched into a sudden, tight fist. "If your husband lacked the decency to show his face here, then he should just keep making himself scarce if he knows what's good for him."

"Oh, I would kill him if I found him there," Danthia assured him with a grimace. "I don't think we have to worry about that, though; we all know that home isn't one of his usual haunts."

"Hasn't been around for a few months again, then?"

Rolling her eyes, Danthia nodded. "I haven't seen him since..." She paused, forcing herself to remember when she'd last seen Searle. It took her a couple of seconds to find an approximate date. "Some time in July of last year, at the latest."

An odd sort of light sparked in Nythran's hazel eyes. Danthia frowned; she hadn't known what sort of reaction to expect, but the quiet thoughtfulness it seemed to have inspired in him was rather baffling. "You mean... you haven't seen your husband in over a year?"

NEXT CHAPTER: