In Which Adonis Is Given the Preferred Verb

January 15, 1176

"Oh, swell," Severin muttered as Adonis closed the study door. "Now I have two of you to deal with."

Adonis raised an eyebrow. The phrase 'dealing with' did tend to carry a connotation of reluctance, which he doubted was the case with the baby--even if it might be the case with a tenant. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"This little squirt here." Fondly, Severin gave the baby a pat on the back. "This is my son, Donny. Three guesses as to what that's short for and the first two don't count."

"Well, I'll be damned." The stinging souvenir of the winter's wind melted away as Severin held out the boy for him to see. Of all the pleasant surprises he'd never thought he'd get; hell, even having his stepdaughter's son named for him had been a surprise, never mind his lord's.

"Figured I owed you, unless you named your youngest son after some beloved childhood pet of my same praenomen." He soothed the bewildered infant with a gentle bounce and smirked. "That and by this point, I'm pretty much out of names."

Heh. Even at Severin's rate, not quite--but sometimes, even lords liked to be teased back. "Oh, so I'm the last resort, am I? I was wondering why Falidor had beaten me."

"Falidor is both my brother-in-law and my son-in-law. I had to squeeze his name in there."

The baby cooed; if Adonis hadn't known better, he might have thought the boy amused. "Fair enough, but that doesn't explain Roderick."

"My grandfather of that name, perhaps?" Severin raised little Donny back to his shoulder and rolled his eyes. "Not that anyone seems to believe that. But oh well--what do you need?"

Back when he'd been living in Dovia, Adonis had had few interactions with the local lord--local knight, actually--but those rare occasions hadn't escaped his memory. The grizzled old bear had always used a different verb: What do you want? 'Need' was still a welcome relief; Adonis didn't like to think of himself as a man who bothered his rulers over trivial matters, and to him this certainly was not so. "It's my daughter?"

Severin frowned. "Asalaye?"

"Nanalie." What he would have given not to be here. He'd spent all morning rehearsing his request in front of Avine and Lyraina, but the words must have slipped off the horse on the ride over. He felt pathetic and unprepared, but he didn't have a choice. This was his little girl they were talking about. "Look, Severin... I know the duke occasionally does this, uh... service for his tenants where he'll maybe talk to an available woman and then look around for a suitable man who might be in need of a--"

"Yes, I'm aware of this folly of Lorn's." Severin needn't have spoken; the annoyed glint in his eye had been sharp enough to cut the tongue. "My God, what is it with all of you people? First everyone wants me to find spouses for my own children, and now you want me to find some for yours? Don't you think she could catch a man on her own if she cared to? They're not exactly the brightest of quarry."

Those accusing eyes were relentless. Adonis bit his lip. Perhaps it had been folly of him to expect Severin to understand--Severin with his hoard of bold, beautiful children who could have their pick of nobles and commoners and the Greek Pantheon alike. He might have been better suited asking around himself--but he was only a rancher, a lone man on the outskirts who knew most of his neighbors by sight alone. How could he be sure to pick the right man for his daughter? He was no lord; he was not necessarily respected enough to be owed a glimpse of true character. "She almost never leaves the house and the only men she knows are either married or courting one of her sisters. I love having her around, of course, but... well, I'm not going to be here forever. I just want to make sure she's provided for."

Severin sniffed "Women are not incapable of providing for themselves. You might recall that Nora was doing quite well for herself and her children before she made the silly mistake of marrying me--and my mother's fared well all her life except when she had a husband. Who's to say Nanalie needs to get married--or wants to?"

The emphasis on the verb--that old preferred word of a thegn of another lifetime--told him they were done talking. He must have seemed an ingrate to Severin, marching in the day after a little lordling had been named for him and demanding that Severin turn his back on everything he stood for. But for all Adonis respected his lord, Severin just didn't understand. Not every girl was a Raia or a Riona or even a Viridis; he couldn't comprehend the plight of the Nanalies of the world. "Sorry if I've upset you."

"Don't be. I know you have your daughter's best interests at heart." Severin gave his son a playful tap on the nose, then took him in both hands and locked eyes with the boy, making a ridiculous face that should have been incapable of a man who'd just spent the past few minutes watching wads of spit rain down on his principles. "I'll tell you what: if Nanalie comes to me and asks the same of her own accord, then I'll consider it."

Then it was a lost cause. Adonis shook his head. "She's too proud."

As the baby's giggles wound down, Severin looked up. If expressions were language, his was not one Adonis could read. "Then I'd advise against telling her that you were here."

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