In Which Octavius Doesn't Hear the First Thing

June 5, 1181

"Renata."

Octavius rarely took visitors after Florian had gone home for the day, simply because that by the time Florian went home, most would have called the hour too late for visiting and postponed any business they had with him until the next day. Now that Florian had been gone for the better part of the evening--now that the midnight hour was approaching more quickly than Octavius would have preferred--he would have turned away more visitors than not, no doubt after having been rudely awoken by one of the guards and mumbling a quick command of 'get the hell out' before burrowing back under the covers.

But tonight, he hadn't yet retired--God only knew why--and Renata was his cousin, a cousin he hadn't seen in a while and with whom he had always gotten along rather well. If he couldn't sleep for whatever reason, catching up with Renata was preferable to counting the ceiling tiles a hundred times over.

"Octavius." She smiled. He shut the study door and stepped toward her as she pulled herself to her feet, the candlelight on her velvet skirts falling floor-ward in a shimmery cascade. He took her hand and kissed it, the softness surprising given that she was only a year younger than himself. Then again, the last time he recalled her aging had been during that awkward wave of adolescence he didn't care to think about, when scrawny cousins sprouted hips and breasts overnight and all the males of his generation spent more time than not fighting poorly-timed erections. All these years later and not a damn wrinkle in that silky skin.

Even Holladrin--eternally youthful in spirit, fresh in face, ten years Renata's junior at the time of her death--had aged somewhat. And Octavius had loved that. An aging Holladrin was a still-living Holladrin, still touchable and kissable and there. And illness aside, she'd aged well. With Renata, it was more as if God had tapped her on the head at eighteen and thus condemned her to remain as she was forever. He wondered if she was lonely, this last rose in bloom, while all the others on the bush withered away and crumbled to petals.

But if that were the case, surely she hadn't come for his company? She was staying with one of her sons, wasn't she? And didn't she have two other sons and a daughter in the country, not to mention her nieces and nephews and sister and in-laws?

"I must say, when I heard you would only be in the country a short while, I didn't think I'd be fortunate enough to have a minute of your time."

"Well, I couldn't have seen you yesterday, of course; I'd only just arrived, and it was Lettie and Conant's birthday, so dinner at Searle's took up most of my evening. But I suppose you ought to know that you're the main reason I came here in the first place."

Octavius blinked. Aside from the occasional pleasant letter between friends, they'd had no dealings with each other in years. The only urgent issue concerning both of them that came to mind was... no, it couldn't have been that. Could it have? Lettie was a clever girl, surely clever enough not to put in writing--writing that could have been intercepted at any point--that Prior was her son? And surely she wasn't cruel enough to put her mother through that anguish?

But what else was there?

"I... suppose the Great Mud War of 1138 did end on an inconclusive note."

Oh, God. Was that it? Was that the only thing that came to mind?

But if nothing else, she did laugh. "It did indeed! On cold days, I can still feel my mother dragging me away by the ear."

"Ah, yes. You and Alina had ruined your best dresses." At the time, of course, both he and Renata had considered that an improvement. Possibly still. She'd never been one for frills and bows. "I don't think I've ever seen Aunt Riona angrier."

"And of course your mother just laughed the whole thing off."

"Yes, but my father's belt wasn't so easily amused." He'd earned another laugh. At least his scattered mind had been good for that much. "So, why are you here, exactly?"

Renata's hand took her other arm by the elbow and she leaned back somewhat, almost shrinking away. Odd. She'd never been one to shy away from pressing matters, nor was she the sort to tell someone they needed to talk and then make them guess as to the what about. "Word does travel quickly here. Surely you've heard of my daughter's predicament with a certain Lord Frandred?"

Oh. Well, there was indeed no way to comfortably discuss that.

"The gist of it, yes. My son and your son-in-law are... friends, I suppose. At present." Renata raised an eyebrow. He pressed on before she could pry. "But yes, Sparron told me. Renata, if you need money..."

"Oh, no. Frandred won't take the money if he can have Alina instead. That's why I need your help." Her bottom lip caught between her pearly front teeth. "You see, under Carvalli law, Abrich is only Alina's temporary male guardian, and he can't refuse Frandred because Frandred outranks him. But if Alina had..." She met his eye. Given that they were more or less the same height, it was odd that she seemed to be trying. "...a stepfather..."

Oh. "Renata--"

"Oh, no, I'm not expecting romance or anything! You needn't ever love me as more than a cousin." Was that really the first thing she wanted to say? "We don't even need to tell anyone who doesn't have to know. And I'll still be going back to Dovia, so we'll only need to see each other once a year to avoid divorce--and only until Alina is married to someone reasonable so Frandred can't try to take her again."

"Renata--"

"And I know I can't offer you anything. Arkon had my dowry, and our houses are already joined, and at my age, I'm not likely to give you any children--"

"Renata, I have children. I don't need any more." He reached for her hands and squeezed. The disappearance and reappearance of startling teal eyes beneath their lids caught him off-guard. How the color remained so vibrant in the dim light, he couldn't fathom. "You don't need to apologize or try to convince me. Do you really think I could live with myself if I stood by and let some depraved lord violate an innocent child?"

She didn't answer. She just stared in utter disbelief, as if common decency was some impossible stroke of good luck. "Thank you."

"No need. It's the right thing to do." He let go of her hands and tried to calm her with a smile. It half-worked. "So... when do you want to do this, exactly?"

"Um... I was hoping tonight?" She grimaced in apology. "Or I suppose very early tomorrow morning, given the hour. Severin and Nora are waiting in the reception; they said they'd witness if you agreed."

Octavius nodded. "All right. Since we're both still awake, there's not much sense delaying it. I'll probably have to fetch the priest from the brothel, though."

"Naturally." She draped her arms over his shoulders and kissed him. Her lips were as soft as her hands; it was not Holladrin's softness, the softness he'd loved and grown used to, but nor was it hostile territory. He just hoped that Holladrin understood.

"Huh. It's been over two years now since I last kissed a woman."

"And over eight since I last kissed a man. I needed that." She let him go and reached behind her neck, fiddling with both hands.

By the time it occurred to him what she was doing, her dress was in a heap at her heels. "Um..."

"I know, I know. When you think about women standing naked in your study, they're probably not fifty-year-old mothers of nine." That had not even come close to what he'd been thinking. "I don't want my son and his family to panic if they wake and find me gone, so I thought it might be better to get the consummation out of the way before the wedding. Is that all right with you? I mean, we've both done this before."

"Yes, well..." He tried not to look her over, but his eyes went over his head and did so anyway. If that was what fifty-year-old mothers of nine looked like, there was no longer any sense in fantasizing about maids of twenty. If she did really want it, he wasn't about to refuse. "I don't think we have to, if you don't want, not when there's no way of proving whether we did either way. Are you sure that will be necessary?"

"Eight years, Octavius." Her hand returned to its perch on his shoulder, pulling the rest of her along with it. "Eight years. Trust me--it's necessary."

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