In Which Rifden Is Not Immune to the Flames

December 9, 1173

In their younger days, Rifden and Searle had been friends--best friends, even. They were the same age, both neat and finicky and neurotic as far as young boys went, and Rifden's older siblings had been employed at the castle where Searle had been a page, so it had been a convenient arrangement. They got along--better than either of them did with most other boys their age, certainly--had similar interests and lived in close enough proximity to visit whenever they pleased.

But life had a funny way of tearing people apart. Jothein had been killed and Rifden had assumed full responsibility of the shop; not too long after, Searle had been knighted and married and off having babies. They'd tried to keep in touch, but there were cabinets to build and lands to manage and there just weren't enough hours in a day or a week or a month to keep up with old friends of a different class. They'd grown apart. That was that.

But suddenly, they were back in each other's lives. Figured that it would happen under such tragic circumstances. "I thought I'd come by to thank you for making that coffin on such short notice."

What could he say? It didn't take long to make such a small coffin. "Least I could do."

Poor man. In comparison to the rest of the continent, child mortality in Naroni was most fortunately low, but the occasional young death was inevitable and Searle's youngest had drawn the short straw. From what Rifden could gather, the little girl had come down with a sudden, brutal sickness and had expired in a matter of days. This was some weeks ago now and the coffin was far back on his mental list of most recent projects, but it was the first time he'd seen Searle since the incident. This was probably the first time the poor man had left his castle since the funeral; the time they'd found that dead kitten seemed such a small matter now.

"Well... I should be going." Searle turned around without so much as an obliging wave. "I'd rather not leave Valira and the girls alone for too long."

"I understand."

"No--you don't." Already halfway out the door, his former friend looked back it him for a couple seconds, his somber aqua eyes weighed down by lids too heavy to lift. "But thanks for the sentiment."

He was quick to leave, but the remnants of the December draft lingered. Rifden grabbed a nearby flint and sparked the fire, holding his hands so close he thought they might melt. Or maybe they couldn't. There was something sinister about hands that made caskets for year-old children; perhaps they were immune to the flames.

Someone else knocked on the door. Rifden shivered; irrational as it was, he couldn't shake the feeling that every customer who walked through that door was in need of a baby grave. He was a good man, or so he made a point to remind himself. He did not display coffins. He didn't care to sell coffins, make coffins. Certainly such small coffins had no fair reason for existing. "Yes?"

"Rifden?"

His spine snapped to an upright position as Laveria's pretty young daughter stepped inside. Aerina was only fifteen, but she'd recently proven old enough to catch his eye as she strode past his shop on her morning walk. He knew her fairly well--she was his next-door neighbor, after all--and he'd always found her pleasant, and rather interesting even if she'd only just achieved such status in the physical sense. He'd considered courting her, but he'd made a point to restrain himself since Searle's daughter had died. Young women of Aerina's caliber deserved better than a man who fashioned coffins for babies.

And yet, he couldn't help but look at her. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

She closed the door and approached him, a grimace on her face but something else entirely in her eyes. She was a lady--she was trying to be cordial--but there was a reason she was here and it was no laughing matter. "I could say the same of you, actually."

Rifden's brow raised as Aerina's mouth fell. What did she mean by that? For all he admired her, he doubted she'd given him a second thought in that regard. "Sorry?"

"I just locked up my mother's shop." Her trembling hands interlocked if only to steady themselves; the attempt was in vain. "She had to leave on a call."

Odd. Laveria was as competent as ever, but she was getting up in years and wasn't widely trusted in any case. She was the last resort. If someone had sent for her, then it was urgent. "What sort of call?"

"I'm not allowed to say." Her arms folded and her shoulders hunched, her entire frame collapsing inward, shaky and unsteady all the while. She wasn't a small and helpless girl, or at least she never had been until that moment and maybe she never would be again. Whatever this was, it disturbed her; whoever it was, she was frightened. "I hate to ask this, but... can I stay here until she gets back? I don't want to be alone today."

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