In Which Nearina Isn't Enough

November 17, 1188

It was a dreadful thing for a mother to think, but Nearina's daughter-in-law had deserved a much longer widowhood.

Her firstborn had been dead for a year and month now. She'd never figured out where she and Tertius had gone wrong with that boy, or whether he'd simply been born horrid, but--again, dreadful--it had been such a relief when she'd woken up one morning and learned he was dead. In her darkest moments, she recalled when she'd been a neurotic, borderline disturbed young mother and Felron had been a spiteful, screaming demon of an infant, and how it had crossed her mind more than once to smother the damn thing and fake a crib death. Perhaps that did make her a terrible person for considering such a thing, but maybe it would have been for the best.

Poor Xetrica had always been meek and passive and fragile--an easy victim for the Felrons of the world.

Nearina ought to have done more. She and Tertius should have disinherited Felron when he'd skinned Valira's cat alive, named Garrett the heir. Sent the boy off somewhere relatively secluded. Xetrica may still have had a short life, but she would have certainly had a better husband. At least none of the children seemed to have inherited Felron's worst, so far as she could tell.

Too young. Far too young, far too little good in her life.

Xetrica's mother had made it in time to say her goodbyes, as had her two older children. They'd sit with her again when they'd rested up from their journey, but Nearina was all Xetrica had for the moment. That about summed up life since Tertius had passed, with Arkon and Rina away and the other children too young and terrified to stand up to their father.

She hadn't been enough.

"I'm so sorry, dear."

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