In Which Holladrin Is Not Doubted

March 14, 1204

"Holladrin! I, uh... I wasn't expecting to see you today." In truth, Farilon had good reason not to have expected her, so she'd take his surprise without question. She'd also take that undeniable smile, and hope to soon see it swell. "I thought we were still... laying low."

"I know, and we probably should for a little longer--but I just had to come and tell you something."

"A good something?"

Of course it's a good something, silly. He wasn't the only one grinning like an idiot.

"A wonderful something!" Holladrin indulged herself with a quick peck to his lips, then eased back, her hands on his shoulders. "My mother approves--of us, I mean. I didn't even know that she knew, but she approves."

"You're serious?" Not words of suspicion, but of hopeful disbelief. If he didn't trust her, those teal eyes wouldn't have hid it well. Those eyes never lied--and for her, at least, they never doubted. "I would have thought... I mean, your mother was the only one who cared at all for Danthia..."

"I think her care for Danthia became..." What had it become? Holladrin sighed. She did not want to think about her late aunt. Danthia would not ruin today for her, or for Farilon. No longer would she ruin anything for Farilon, or for Laralita and Roderick. "I don't know. When it happened, I think she was just relieved that Danthia was... out of her misery. I don't think she ever learned how to not be miserable.

"But that doesn't matter now. Wherever Danthia is--hopefully a place where she can learn to be better--she's not here. And we'll wait some time out of respect, sure, but we can be together now."

"And if your mother supports us, then what reason will anyone else have not to?"

"None that would matter, at any rate." Though, Holladrin supposed the twins might think it strange, at first--the age difference, at the very least, and her friendship with the two of them, and the fact that she was their cousin on their mother's side. But she'd worry for them later. "My mother suggested waiting until well into the summer, at least. To marry, I mean. Er, that is, if you want--"

"If I want?" A soft refrain, as if she'd told a playful joke. "Holladrin, my love: there is nothing I want more."

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