In Which Ren Clings to the Thought

April 30, 1174

After a good minute of awkward starting, Ren still didn't know what to make of her mother-in-law's strange guest. His eyes were alarming and the markings on his face were bizarre and she had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't wearing anything under that cloak. But it didn't matter. If he could help Searle, he could have been a reanimated spider corpse for all she cared.

"You is the wife, then?" His voice was an elemental overload upon her ears. It rang with the warm caress of a summer breeze and refreshing cool of dewy grass on bare feet, and yet there was an edge to it not unlike the foreboding glow of a distant wildfire. But if she looked him over one more time--sized him up, dove into his eyes--she had a hopeful feeling that there was no hostility to be found. He wanted to help. He wouldn't have come if he hadn't.

"Yes." She let her hands fall to her sides, the hard cool of her wedding band tangible even through the silk of her gown. "Can you save him?"

Behind her, Searle's uncle heaved a skeptical sigh. The heavy fabric of Elhina's cloak rustled and Ietrin moaned. Ren was only relieved that her son wasn't here, exposed to this toxic mix of cynical resignation and her own foolish shred of hope. Thank God her father had been willing to play with him in the other room. This was no place for a three-year-old boy--or anyone, for that matter.

Tavrin's ethereal eyes flickered to the bed, where Searle lay in a cold sweat, his mother hovering over him. Laralita had barely acknowledged Ren or Koradril upon her arrival; she'd just marched up to the bedside and cemented herself to the spot. Was it her right to act the doting mother after all these years of neglect? Ren wasn't sure whether to feel touched or enraged. Searle would probably be furious to learn that Ietrin had even considered bringing her here.

But if Tavrin could actually do something... did it even matter? Maybe it would to Searle, maybe in the short term. He was a proud man and he wouldn't break down in his resolute hatred of his mother, not even if she had indirectly saved his life. But he would get over it. This way, he might see Karlspan grow up. They might have a few more children, Lord willing. He might even bounce their grandchildren on his knee. Surely that--even the thought of that--was more important than his undying grudge? "Please... can you help him?"

The visitor turned back to her, his fists clenched and his brows flat. His mouth was motionless for a moment longer, but his lips opened as Searle began to toss beneath the covers. "I try, yes?"

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