In Which Searle Gets What He Never Wanted

July 12, 1178

"That's the root cause of this? Roderick wouldn't get off of Camaline's back? How the hell is that justification for this twisted arrangement? You should have just come to me and I would have told him to back off--you know it!"

Sparron swallowed, struggling to keep his eyes locked with his father's but ashamed enough without looking away. If not for the guilt, Searle would have been impressed that Sparron hadn't just collapsed into a ball of tears. Not that he knew what it was like. He doubted Sparron had much more experience, but he himself had never been on the receiving end of such wrath.

Or had he? Hadn't Sparron used to berate him like that? No. Sparron's own wrath, no matter how it was deflected, always fell upon Sparron himself. Sparron had more experience than he'd guessed.

"I didn't know it," Camaline hissed under her breath, more to herself than to anyone else.

Searle gave her a sympathetic look, but it was rendered null by her father-in-law's glare. "Rest assured I'll get to you later. And you--" His marshfire eyes shot to Searle, the hairs on the back of the neck standing in reverence and ready to run in fear. "--don't think for a second that I won't be telling your father about this! Let me guess: you're the genius who dreamt up this whole scheme, aren't you?"

He gulped. The whole plan did reek of him, didn't it? Camaline was too proud to demand anyone's help and Sparron was too wrapped up in himself to consider the baby problem a priority. And as if Lettie would have offered on her own. Hell, his own lack of anger over being cuckolded was evidence in itself, wasn't it? "Sir--"

"Father?"

Among the three conspirators, it was the surest word spoken that night. Sparron looked so impossibly stoic that Searle had to turn away. Whatever was about to be said, he didn't think he could watch.

"Father, it's not Searle's fault. It was my idea."

The room's heat of loud rage froze to a chilling silence. The world stood so still that Searle worried he'd forgotten how to breathe. Camaline's violet eyes flickered between Sparron and her father-in-law, the flutter of her lashes made audible by the eerie quiet. Sparron's father stared forward while Sparron held his ground and the universe didn't resume until he spoke again.

"I know it was stupid. They know it too. They wouldn't have gone along with it if I'd had the presence of mind to drop it. I'm sorry."

Searle choked. It was the most romantic thing--the only romantic thing--that Sparron had ever done for him and it was killing him. For all he used to daydream of being rescued by knights in green tunics, he'd never wanted anything like this. "Sparron--"

"Shut up, Searle." The words were as hard and firm as those he'd given his father. All that was missing was the courtesy of a glance. "Damn good of you to try to cover for me, but I have to take responsibility for my own mistakes. Father, don't listen to a word he says; it's all my fault."

His father gaped, disbelieving as Searle but in a dozen different ways, no doubt unsure of what shocked him most. A couple tense seconds ticked by before he straightened his back, brows unfolding but one remaining arched, more intent on finding closure than he was on casting blame. "Now that I know, are you still planning on keeping it if it's a boy?"

Camaline sent a pleading look Sparron's way, a look Searle had cast a thousand times over. His had always been met with a turned head, but she was not so unlucky. "Yes."

"And you if you pass him off as your legitimate son, you know that your only way to avoid suspicion is to name him your heir?"

Sparron nodded. "I know."

"And if your brothers ever find out about his maternity while I live, you'll know better than to ask me to pick a side?"

Another nod. "I understand."

"Then it's settled." The baron's fist relaxed somewhat, but his eyes remained wary and livid. "But I'm not happy about this. And I'm very disappointed in you."

Sparron's gaze fell to the floor. There was little Searle wanted more than to pick it up again, even if it was a wish that was doomed to go unfulfilled.

"Um... my lord?"

The over-long door scraped against the hardwood. Searle looked up to see Nanalie standing on the other side, fiddling with her sleeve. "Now that you're done yelling, you ought to know that Arydath's just getting everyone cleaned up. Actually, given how long I've been waiting to tell you that, she must be done by now."

Searle shared a quick, confused look with Camaline. Nanalie's face was far too neutral to say much.

Sparron stiffened. "Is Lettie all right?"

"She's fine."

"And the baby?"

Nanalie closed her eyes. "Both fine."

Uh... Searle squinted. What had she just said? "Both?"

"Well, the father's a twin and the mother's a triplet, and that seems to up the odds." She shrugged, as if it were no big deal. Then again, perhaps it wasn't. "A boy and a girl, in case you're wondering."

Well... that was...

Sparron's father finished the thought. "Convenient."

"I'll say." And with that, Nanalie turned around and headed back in the direction of the bedroom. Searle figured he was the only one to notice her leave.

"Well." The baron gave a defeated sigh and gestured toward the door. "There's a lot more I should say to you all, but there are more pressing concerns at hand. You--" He nodded sharply toward Searle. "--go to your wife. And you..." He turned to his son again, softer than before and somehow even more of a presence. "...go to your children."

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