In Which Riona Finds Another Lost Soul

August 21, 1181

If Isidro's uncle planned on giving a tour of the family home, he'd chosen to save it. On a logical level, Riona could understand it--his father was dying and bedridden, perhaps it was one of his bad days, why not introduce the grandson he'd never known straight away?--but it was a morbid thought and her head spun in somersaults trying to ignore it, even though her own father was still relatively young and in excellent health besides. Had it been her in Imran's place, she would have given the tour, if only for the sake of hope and the spurring of such.

Then again, she tried to tell herself, perhaps Imran was the sort of man who was all about efficiency. He had left Naroni the day after speaking to Isidro, after all. Perhaps he thought the tour frivolous and unnecessary, at least while the pressing task was still at hand.

"Father?"

A raspy breath rattled from the bed. Riona peeled her eyes away just long enough to see that Isidro hadn't managed the same. A quick look back and she caught Lonriad and Ashe exchanging a glance; good to know that they cared enough to be worried, she supposed.

"Father, Isidro is here."

"Is he?" The voice from the bed wavered and waned, yet it was stronger than Riona had expected, like the echos in the seashells Viridis had sent her, mere ghosts of the physical but the wisdom remaining. "You at least offered him a cup of wine?"

"I... thought I'd introduce you first." Sheepish, Imran turned back to Riona and the men, rubbing at the back of his neck. "My father prides himself on being a gracious host. I'll have some wine brought up from the cellar, if you like."

Isidro just kept staring at the bed. Riona shook her head, not in the mood for wine and not sure if she could keep down anything she was offered anyway. It was Lonriad who finally spoke. "I think we'd all choose water over wine right now."

"Of course. I'll send a servant for water shortly." But it seemed he'd locked his priorities in order, as he first started toward his father's bed and gestured for Isidro to follow. In turn, Isidro looked back at Riona, eyes briefly wide and pleading, not so much his own in that second as Shahira's the first time Riona had held her, overwhelmed by so much big new world at once. Imran hadn't beckoned for her, but she followed.

She had to.

"Father." Imran continued on to the outer edge of the bedside table, leaving Isidro to fill the space nearest the old man. Riona supposed Zaahir already knew what Imran looked like. "Here he is. He has his mother's eyes, doesn't he?"

The old man turned himself about and peered through a narrow slit of a weary eye, the day's worth of crust cracking from his lashes. "You did not lie. Welcome, son."

Isidro winced. With a neglectful mother and an abusive father, he'd never grown used to that address. Riona's father called him 'son' on occasion and he never seemed to grasp it; his grandfather yielded no different reaction. Isidro didn't speak until Riona looped her hand in his and squeezed. "Thank you... sir."

"I still have your letter." Riona heard no anger, but the hand she held twinged. "I'm sorry I never replied, but I hope you will forgive an old man a past blindness--though truth be told, I would be surprised if you did."

"Father--" Imran started to protest, but Zaahir cut him off with a shake of his pillow-bound head.

"Regardless, I'm glad you humored me and came." The other eye eased open, this one fixed on Riona. It was also like Isidro's, her Shahira's, the ill-fated first Shahira's. Whatever ill effect it had on Isidro was lost on her, as she saw only what she saw most other times when she looked into those eyes: a lost little soul, just trying to find a place in the world. "You, my dear, must be Riona?"

Riona nodded, though some part of her had filled where she hadn't realized she was empty, the glory of a second of her own in someone else's minute no matter how little it meant to anyone outside of herself. She did not know if she could trust Zaahir, not yet, but she knew that--now, at least--he saw people for themselves, not for anyone else. Most men would not have asked her if she was Riona. Most men would have asked Isidro if Riona was his wife.

And most men would have commented on her looks, for all she had little in that regard, but Zaahir smiled and told her, "I don't doubt that my grandson has many complex feelings about this trip, and it takes both strength and spirit to keep a loved one grounded in such times. He is lucky to have you."

Isidro squeezed her hand again, but not on nervous reflex--more to remind himself that she was there, and to thank her for being so. Or so she preferred to guess. "I'm glad we can begin with an agreement."

"There is no better way to begin." Zaahir's eyes fell shut again. Riona wondered how many more times those lids had left to blink. "Now, forgive an old man his rudeness, my dear. You and your companions will sup here with me tonight, but it has long been a last wish of mine for a word with my grandson alone."

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