In Which Isidro Makes Use of the Given Right

May 3, 1177

Falidor's head tilted as he stepped around the table, brows arched in confusion, mouth twitching in annoyance. "I can't say I was expecting you."

I can't say I'm glad to see you, more like. Isidro wasn't exactly sure what he'd done to offend the man, but he got the sense that Falidor had nursed a private dislike for him since the day they'd met. Not that he'd ever been less than civil, but... well, some people weren't made for lying.

But that was fine. Lying had nothing to do with it. Hidden grudges had nothing to do with it. If he could have gone to Jadin or Searle or Lonriad, he would have. "As befits the unexpected, I'll be brief: I need your help."

"Oh?" Another spasm tugged at Falidor's lips. "With what, exactly?"

"Our father-in-law."

That did it. As if speared by some divine prod, Falidor snapped out of his reluctant slouch, rapt as the most devoted of patrols. Maybe Jadin's jokes about some secret struggle for the title of 'Best Son-in-Law' weren't so far from the mark. "What about him?"

"He's meeting with Lorn as we speak. They're having Renolt draw up a warrant for Brother Remiel's arrest." And not a moment too soon, he added to himself. Riona still had her moments of relapse. She still wouldn't go near their castle chapel. She still froze every time his hand brushed her breast. Even the name made her shudder. Even the name made his blood boil. "When they go to bring him in, we're going with them."

"We are?"

Isidro nodded, his tense palms under the heavy assault of his own nails. The attack gained a new fervor when his brother-in-law frowned. "Why would they need us? That's three of them right there; there shouldn't be a problem."

Shouldn't. Didn't change the fact that there was. "Falidor, tell me that Lorn and Renolt are the two men you'd want with you when confronting a dangerous criminal and try to keep a straight face when you say it."

Falidor blinked, smiling slightly. Isidro wondered how he'd managed it. "Point taken. Still, Lord Severin has three grown sons, all of whom are more useful with a sword than I am."

"Yes, but they're vulnerable to Remiel's touch." Why did he have to explain this? It was a miracle his hand wasn't bleeding yet. "We're not. And don't tell me that Lord Severin would ask if he needed the help, because that man never asks a damn thing of either of us and you know it. We're going whether he likes it or not."

"Because you say so."

"Remiel gave me the right to say so when he attacked my wife."

His brother-in-law's eyes dropped to the toes of his boots. There was nothing Falidor could say to that, but it was a hollow victory. In his ideal world, such a statement would have never been needed. It would have never even been the truth. "I should warn you that I'm no soldier."

Some people just weren't made for lying. And some people wouldn't know a lie if it slipped forth from their own lips. "You're a man with a family. That's the same thing."

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