In Which Severin Hears What He Will Not Allow

January 31, 1173

Arydath's wise eyes were a juxtaposition with a baby's innocent face; nevertheless, Severin's new niece seemed to make the contrast work. "Now, how did an ugly old oaf like your father manage to have a pretty little girl like you?"

"Funny--I could say the same of you four times over." Tarien bent down and planted a kiss on his daughter's tiny forehead, then looked back up at Severin and smirked. "You know, she's been quite fussy around most of the new people she's met, but you seem to have a way with babies."

Severin reached forward and tickled one of the baby's feet. Her toes curled in a charming fashion as the most elementary of laughs gurgled out of her. "Try having nine of your own and not having a way with them."

"Nine!" His brother-in-law wore the look of one lost long in bewilderment--not that Severin felt all that differently. "Funny how the world works, isn't it? If someone had told me, when you just were a little snot-nosed brat tagging along with me and your brother, that you would have nine children before I even had one--my God! I would have been laughing for weeks!"

"And don't forget the four stepchildren and the two grandchildren," Severin reminded him with a wink.

"And a third on the way!" Chuckling to himself, Tarien raised the baby to his face and rubbed his nose against her own. "And to think, your wife is only thirty-one."

"And speaking of youngsters," Severin steered the conversation as Tarien stepped toward the crib, "you never did tell me what this little girl's name is."

Tarien sniffed. "Guess."

The word was an answer in itself. A string of blonds and redheads danced in front of his eyes, the most prevalent of which wore a devious grin and a scattering of freckles. Severin frowned. "You didn't."

"You think my mother would have ever forgiven me if I hadn't?" Shaking his head, Tarien anointed the baby with one last kiss before placing her in her crib. "Finally having a daughter and not naming her Riona?"

The logic of the Sadiel siblings had always been lacking in this regard. Then again--with all the Nythrans and Celinas and even the recent hoard of Severins that seemed to be emerging--were the rest of them any better? Severin's lashes cast a shadow over the room as they met at his pupils; if the child Xeta was carrying ended up being a boy, he would have to campaign for the name Dalston. "I take it you'll be naming your first son Searle, then?"

Searle... Severin hadn't seen his own son of that name since the night before. He'd slept late, and Nora had informed him that Searle had left before he'd woken. The boy was probably at Tetran Keep again. Perhaps he'd stop by there and meet him for the ride home? Or would that be embarrassing for the poor kid?

Before he could make up his mind, however, Tarien interrupted his thoughts with a snicker. "Oh, that'll be some time yet, I'm sure. I can't imagine that going into labor while in the process of walking down the aisle makes a woman anxious to get pregnant again."

"Fair enough--but at least it made for an interesting wedding."

"And a painful wedding!" Tarien's hand flew to the back of his neck, his face strained as he massaged the apparent ache. "Of all the ways I ever pictured myself getting married, being practically in a headlock while my bride labored never came to mind. Talk about a surreal blur, though--hell, I'm not even sure if the words out of her mouth were 'I do' or 'Fuck you'."

Severin shrugged. "I suppose they're both fitting marriage vows."

"Yes, that's what I figure." Looking rather more winsome than usual, Tarien glanced down at the day-old band on his finger. "Is it normal to be so conscious of the ring?"

"It's a little strange the first few days, but you'll get used to it." Indeed, he now felt rather naked without the thing. He'd worn Alina's band long after her death, partially out of habit but mostly out of devotion, until he'd married Nora. The new ring had taken some getting used to, but it seemed like another part of his hand now; oddly enough, though, if he ever switched them in a moment of curiosity, the old one still felt familiar.

Funny, though, how a little thing like a wedding ring could make one a new person, bring about changes. Raia seemed more grown-up than ever upon receiving hers, and Jadin--if possible--even more like a child. He wondered what might sort of changes might be in store for Searle if he ever stood at that alter... but would he? These days it seemed more likely that at least Viridis would beat him down the aisle, if not the others as well. Even moreso than most boys his age, Searle just wasn't interested--and really, when it got down to it, Severin could understand that.

"But speaking of marriage," Tarien began, pulling him from his thoughts once more, "do you have anyone in mind for Roddie or little Falidor? Because if not..." A fond smile on his face, he nodded toward the crib.

In all fairness, Severin supposed he should have seen it coming. "What is it with you people and trying to marry off my children?"

It wasn't an absurd question, but Tarien's sigh seemed to indicate that he thought otherwise. For the most part, Severin thought Tarien and himself rather like-minded, but that was beside the point. Forty years on this earth had taught him that between any two people--no matter how many similar ideas they shared--would lie one vast difference of opinion. "Look, it's not to say I have nothing against love--hell, I married for love just yesterday--but as a man who got to be my age fearing that I'd die alone, I'd like to give my children some certainty."

"Yes, but--"

"Yes, I know; your first marriage was to a woman betrothed to your brother, and your second was a drunken elopement with a servant, and you don't want to be a hypocrite." That hadn't been what he was about to say, but Tarien didn't look like he was about to give him a chance to protest. He seemed to be mid-way through a short rant. "My God, Severin, you spend so much time trying not to be a hypocrite that it makes me wonder if you're really the biggest hypocrite of them all. Besides--" Tarien counted on his fingers, as if trying to get Severin's children sorted out; in any other situation, it might have been funny. "--you might have to arrange something for your next few anyway. Viridis is a sweet girl, but she's shy and delicate and might not meet all the men who might have been smitten with her otherwise. Lonriad spends all his time pulling that farm girl's pigtails, and Searle doesn't even seem to care either way.

"I hate to say it--they're my nieces and nephews, and Lord knows I love them--but unless you start giving them a hand in that regard, you might have no choice but to send some of them to--"

"Don't say it." It was a fate worse than an arranged marriage, possibly worse than death if he remembered anything of his own agonizing years locked up at that dusty old crypt of a place. What sort of a life was that, sent against one's will to serve a church that believed more in sin than it believed in love? Forced to confess every secret, every hidden pleasure and desire, only to be told the gates of hell lay waiting ahead unless one renounced their so-called evil ways?

No... he couldn't bear the thought. His Lonriad, his Roddie, his Falidor, hunched over a table, copying Augustine and Alcuin again and again until their little hands were crooked and brittle as vultures' claws? His Viridis, his Riona, his Vera, their pretty hair hidden by drab wimples, their rosaries weighing them down to a stoop and their dazzling eyes like those of bitter spinsters? His Searle--his sweet, darling little Searle--the kindest, sunniest boy who ever lived--his Searle...

No. No, he would not allow it. Never.

"My regards to your family," he muttered as he turned on his heel and stormed off toward the door, "but I can't stay any longer."

NEXT CHAPTER: