In Which Camaline Allots Her Capacity

April 2, 1181

"Why didn't I tell you?" It was only because Searle was a contributing factor in the existence of Prior that Camaline would indulge such a stupid question. If he hadn't figured it out on his own--and she wouldn't have guessed even he was so empty-headed--he could have at least picked a better time to ask her. When she was in her sitting room, perhaps, doing nothing as she usually did, not when Sparron was ill and the baron was occupied and there was no one else to deal with any business that wandered into the study.

Not that anything interesting had managed to occur, but still.

"You know why I didn't tell you. Sparron didn't want you to know, for about a hundred reasons, and you could no doubt tell me every one of them if I cared to talk for that long."

Searle's shoulders slumped. It wasn't the sort of thing Camaline usually made a point to notice, but she couldn't help it. Odd how such an inconsequential shift could make him look so much sadder, so much younger. So much like the same sad puppy who used to mope around Sparron's bedroom in the early days of Camaline's marriage. She decided she did pity him. "I know."

"I'm sorry." What an odd thing to say; she'd never quite understood why everyone defaulted to that meaningless phrase when any fool with a shred of economy ought to find silence more fitting. Why should she be sorry? She hadn't done a damn thing. Not about this, anyway. All she'd done was respect her best friend's wishes. If that hurt Searle, so be it. She had nothing against him, but he was not where her loyalties lay.

"You're not."

"No." She expected him to cringe like she'd cuffed him, but he didn't even blink. Maybe he was tougher than she gave him credit for. "But it's the thing to say."

Searle's mouth cracked open, but shut again as his eyes fell to Camaline's son and niece, playing on the floor, pretending not to hear what the adults were talking about as children got used to doing. Poor little Prior, waiting around for Daddy to get better under the guise of entertaining his cousin. She hoped this would be all he heard for a while.

"Who else knows?"

"Besides our household?" He nodded. "Jadin, as you've seen. Possibly your father and Lorn, if Octavius told them, and Sparron told Lettie before..."

She glanced down at the kids. He knew what that meant. "Just so she knew."

"Just so she knew." He let the words hang as if on a balance, weighing each against another in search of some fabled equivalence of the said and the unsaid. It was a nuance lost on her literal, to-the-point mind. "So Sparron got it from his mother, then?"

"Yes."

"Do you think... they'll be all right?"

He looked at Prior again; she guessed that to mean Alina. She didn't want to lie to him. "I hope so."

Searle sniffed, turning his head just as Camaline caught sight of a moist bead in the corner of his eye. "I see. Good day, Camaline."

"Good day, Searle."

Had she been the sort who was inclined to comfort, she might have hugged him before he left, but to her great relief he was gone before she could see him crying. With any luck, Lettie or Jadin would be more sympathetic. Or Lord Severin. Anyone. What little emotional capacity she had was presently occupied by Sparron; she didn't have the room for anyone else.

"Mama?"

Or maybe just one small someone else. "You're all right, Prior." You'd better be.

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