In Which Severin Denies the Phrase

June 2, 1174

"How does she fare?" There was something in those eyes that was welcome and discomforting at the same time. It eased Severin a little to see someone else so concerned about his daughter. Too bad it had to be Searle.

Ah, but maybe he was being harsh. It was a difficult time.

"Well... better," he replied, moreso to himself than to his nephew. She was awake and alert and responsive, but her improved condition inspired only short-term relief. Every time Viridis got better, it was never long before she got even worse. "For now."

Still frowning, Searle pressed on with a lift of his brow. He was aware of the problem--Severin was sure of it--but he must have felt the need to hear it aloud. Severin could understand that; he just wasn't sure he could say it.

"The problem is that she never stays well for long." Severin glanced toward the coat of arms on the far wall--the bookshelf--the half-finished letter on his desk--anything but Searle. He'd caught a glimpse of a tear in the young man's eye, and those were contagious. But maybe it was useless to worry about that. Maybe he was out of tears. "Her health was never good to begin with, but as she gets older..."

"She gets worse."

The inner edge of his lip met the edge of his teeth as he nodded. "Exactly. Who knows? Maybe a change of climate is all she needs, but I don't think I can find the time to--"

"I have a house in Carvallon."

...What?

"Just on the coast. It's only a short walk from one of the larger villages, but if you look out the bedroom window, you swear to God the only two things in the world are you and the sea." He looked almost wistful. Why did that inspire the urge to punch him? "It's beautiful. She'd love it."

Maybe she would. But...

"You can't possibly be thinking of taking my daughter to Carvallon." Or could he? He was. He dared.

Searle squinted, as if the statement had been said in some foreign tongue. "What's wrong with Carvallon?"

...Really? "It's not Carvallon that's the problem. How do I know you won't get some wild itch to chase your demons all around the continent and leave her like you did Danthia?"

It was a valid question. Why the hell did Searle look so offended? "Uncle, with all due respect, it's completely different. Danthia is a wonderful woman, and she was more of a friend than I deserved, but that was the most I ever felt about her. But Viridis--"

"Don't say it." He knew what was coming. It was a phrase that always made it difficult to put his foot down, a tricky little thing that he'd always wished for all of his children but never like this. He did not want to hear those words coming from Searle's mouth. Not now. "Don't even think it."

Searle rocked back and forth in place somewhat, his mouth a flat line and his eyes round and sad as ever. He looked like a puppy that had been kicked too many times and maybe some part of Severin felt a little guilty. But what else could he have said? Yes?

"I wouldn't leave her. I'd even marry her if she found that agreeable. Please, Uncle, just... think about it? The air there would be good for her. She might not live long if she stays here for the rest of her life, and I don't know how either of us could live with ourselves if she died and we never even tried to help."

Well, that made two of them. Severin crossed his arms and stared the boy over. It wasn't hard to look at Falidor. It wasn't hard to look at Xeta or Lettie. Hell, it wasn't even hard to look at Sparron. But Searle...

Then again, maybe it wasn't Searle himself. Maybe it was what Searle and the sea and that little house in Carvallon meant. At least the others were here. "Come back in a few days, when Viridis is feeling a little better. Ask her what she thinks. Then, if she doesn't object, come and talk to me. See if I change my mind."

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