In Which Lonriad Is Family

January 16, 1202

"Well, here's where Imran said they'd be: with our father's more personal texts." Isidro's aunt gestured to the shelves in the corner of the room. How many years had it been, now, since the last time Lonriad had accompanied his brother-in-law here? Back when Isidro's grandfather had been on his deathbed? Lord... it must have been twenty. He and Asalaye had conceived Alina shortly after that trip.

This time, though, it wasn't so much that he was accompanying Isidro as it was that Isidro was accompanying him. Or that Isidro had relented and written his aunt, and she'd had what he was looking for.

Familiar. Deian and Imran had used the same word.

"Thanks for your help, Aunt Amani."

"Don't mention it. Imran thought you might have more questions, as did my father; I won't stand in the way of their answers."

"Well..." Lonriad tugged at his sleeve. God, he hoped he wasn't intruding. Amani had said that some of Imran's personal journals would hold some of what he sought, but Imran was a dead man he'd barely know. He'd already insisted that Isidro be the one to read them, and the relay only the relevant information. It just seemed like the right way to go about it--if there was a right way.

"It's my question, really. This time."

"That doesn't matter." Amani, tired as her eyes were, indulged him with what he read for a true smile. She was the last of Zaahir's children now; perhaps she thought she owed her father's memory the knowledge that guests in his home found what they sought. "You're Isidro's family, and Isidro is mine. That makes you my family as well.

"Imran would have been even more sure of that than I am."

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