In Which Celina Passes the Luck Along

July 25, 1177

"There!" Celina brushed a hair off her daughter's shoulder and stepped back to admire the result. People often told her how much Rona resembled her, but she'd never seen it; Rona was far prettier than Celina had ever been, even if she had resolved not to smile until hell froze over. "You look beautiful, darling. I only wish your father could see you now."

"My father wouldn't have to." Rona pouted as she wound a curl around her finger and released, only to bat it to the side as it tried to bounce back into place. "I doubt my father would have seen fit to offer me as a trophy wife in the most literal sense in the term."

Celina swallowed. In all honesty, Rona was likely right, as Dalston probably would have jumped at King Oswald's prior offer and whisked Rona off to Dovia for young Prince Cambrin. All in all, however, he'd been a good man and Rona had been very young when he'd died, so she chose to let her daughter keep her illusions; it wasn't as if Dalston could defend himself from six feet beneath the surface. "Yes, well... maybe don't think of it that way. Think of it as a screening process; any man worthy of a glance from you must prove himself first."

"Yes, and since I clearly don't inspire the usual courtship rituals, my brother has made me part of a prize package alongside a knighthood and a castle and a purse that could probably feed the whole kingdom."

Not once could Celina recall any of her children being so snippy with her, but Rona sounded so hopeless that it was difficult to take offense. Poor thing. She had yet to learn that not everyone was a bold champion and assumed herself undesirable based on sheer lack of grand gesture; in later years, she might look back and consider that careful discretion and frequent little niceties were the admiration of the shy and hopelessly lovestruck. That was a lesson of the sort that just snuck up on you one day, a few years and a couple babies later--or so it had been for Celina herself.

"Can't we just doll up Electra and offer her instead? Then at least I could find a halfway competent maid to help me die alone."

Celina shook her head. She could recall something like that from one of Rona's old bedtime stories; it might have been a cute idea if not for the bitterness in her voice. "You can't ask that of Electra, dear. I doubt she'd go along with such a scheme."

Rona sniffed. "Aspen would have."

Oh dear. Celina untied the old key and chain from her belt and balled her fist around it, the rusty teeth gnawing at the flesh of her palm. When the Good Lord had created adolescents, He ought to have written an instruction manual. "Oh honey, you're not still punishing your brother for that, are you?"

Scowling, Rona tugged at her sleeve so hard that Celina feared it would rip. "I will never stop punishing him for that."

And how did one respond to such a claim? Celina had never had such close friends at Rona's age, but by sixteen, most did find their families tiresome. It was another stance of youthful passion for which there was no answer and all Celina could do was flounder in the finality. "I have something for you."

She gestured for her Rona to hold out her hand and passed along the key. Her daughter only stared at it, somewhat less than impressed. "What's it for?"

"Technically? I believe an old storage cupboard at the castle in Dovia." She finished the joke with a smile, but Rona was unamused. "But that's irrelevant. You see, my mother found that somewhere when she was a girl, and later that day she met my father. Some years later, he was riding in some tournament and she gave it to him as a good luck charm." She had to pause and glance upward, just in case one of them was listening. All these years later and the story still left her wistful. "My Uncle Farilon said he never saw a man joust so well."

"Oh." Rona took to fiddling with the chain, expression bitter and unmoved. So much for her spirits could be lifted with mere sentiment. "Well, I doubt all the luck in the world would serve me well at this point, but thank you anyway."

It was perhaps the least heartfelt bit of gratitude Celina had ever received, but she took it anyway. Given recent days and weeks and months, it was a relief to be told 'thank you' at all. "You could wear it around your neck, but I don't think it will go with that dress."

Her daughter shrugged. "It's fine. I can just hold onto it."

"I'd be honored if you did." Mindful of Rona's meticulous hair, Celina leaned forward for a quick kiss on the brow. People were probably taking their seats right about now and they'd have to hurry down as well, but she did have one last bit of private reassurance that might have been worth the shot. "And remember: no matter who wins, your brother knows better than to marry you off to anyone objectionable."

Rona sighed. "It's not becoming of a duke to break his word."

"Perhaps, but it's also not becoming of a son to disregard his mother." A sly grin tugging at her lips, Celina silenced her daughter with a quick tap on the nose. "And while I hope it can't be guessed by looking at me, Lorn's been a son twice as long as he's been a duke."

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