In Which Florian Tries Something New

March 2, 1177

The baron's daughters were not quiet, solemn girls. They were nothing on Florian's Alyssin, of course--when it came to being loud and obnoxious, who was?--but they'd always been friendly and talkative enough. But now, all Pandora could offer was a mumbled greeting of "Florian" and Thallie paid him only a glance. How were these the same girls who'd been joking with him mere days ago?

But whatever. It wasn't as if he showed up at work just to chat with the baron's daughters--not while they still had some filling out to do, at any rate. "Is your father in?"

Thallie squirmed in her seat; Pandora gestured toward the door. "If you need something, Sparron's in the study."

Sparron? But that meant... "Where's your father, then?"

Thallie took to picking at the embroidery on her sleeve. "Sitting with Mother."

Her sister shot her a glare, but Florian nearly missed it. Was Holladrin that sick? He knew she hadn't been well lately, but ill enough for her husband to drop everything? And during the quarterly taxes, no less? "Is she all right?"

"Well, she's been a lot worse, but..." Pandora trailed off, sharing a quick glance with her sister before looking back up at him. The blue eyes he'd always teased her parents about had never looked more like her father's hazel. "I suppose you'll find out eventually anyway. Mother is with child. Arydath just confirmed it."

Well... that was troubling. "I thought they weren't going to try for any more on account of her health."

"They weren't," Thallie confirmed, her full lips forming a grim line. "But you know how it is."

Amen to that. God, she looked so much like her mother--the heart-shaped face, those soft blue eyes, that silky golden hair. He hoped Holladrin had been so healthy in her youth. He hoped Thallie would not be so unwell in her womanhood. "I see."

Thallie nodded and took to staring blankly in front of her. Beside her, Pandora shook her head, pleading eyes like desperate prayers that had fallen on deaf ears. Poor girl was getting close to fourteen and by the standards of some nobles, she could have been a mother herself. But Florian had been born a peasant; fourteen was not so much an age to be a mother as it was an age to need one.

"Father is furious with himself. He was already worried sick about Mother, plus Sparron and Jeda, and now this happens. I don't know if he'll be able to live with himself if she dies."

Her younger sister squirmed. The feeling shared, Florian bowed his head and sighed. Poor Holladrin. Poor, sweet Holladrin who'd never done anything to deserve the unlucky hand she'd been dealt by her own blood. And to think--she was probably laughing just then, making small talk, trying to distract her beloved from this and everything else. What an unfortunate family they were if the loving mistress couldn't find the time to worry about her own ailing self.

And Florian cared more than he thought he did if he couldn't even think of a well-timed remark.

Maybe it was time to try something new. They were only little girls, after all, of an age with a couple of his own children. Perhaps he could be reassuring. No... he'd never been good at reassuring, not without resorting to cliches at any rate. Still...

"Well... she survived four of you, right?" That didn't sound quite right, Florian had to note as Thallie cringed. There had to be a better way to say this. "Maybe it won't be a problem. At least it gives her an excuse to take it easy, right?"

Pandora indulged him with a weak attempt at a smile. It wasn't convincing, but he supposed he'd give it to her. She was very young, after all. "I hope you're right."

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