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December 27, 1198
"Bar's closed for th' night," the lone remaining drunk--an older man, late sixties or early seventies by the iron hair and wrinkled hands--slurred from the corner table. "Landlord cleaned up in here, just cleanin' up the kitchen now."
Adwyn frowned. Judging by the number of discarded tankards by the man's feet, he was in no small part why the landlord had chosen to close the bar early--and yet, he was still here. "Can you find your way home?"
"I'm stayin' here. Meant to head to Naroni for th' New Year."
"Interesting. I'm heading there myself." For the sake of discretion, he didn't mention that he was accompanying the Carvalli Royal Family. It may have been his free night, but he was still a professional--on the surface, at any rate. "Can't say I'd fancy traveling with the hangover you'll have tomorrow, though."
"Not goin' now. Sit."
Shrugging, Adwyn obliged. He supposed he could keep the man from falling off his chair for a few minutes while the landlord tidied up in the kitchen. He'd find a more happening place soon enough, as always. "Why the change of mind?"
"Chickened out--like las' year, and the year b'fore that."
"And what's so terrifying about Naroni that keeps you out?" Adwyn smirked. "You don't believe all that bullshit about the creatures in the forests, do you?"
The man sighed and pushed himself upright--or, as close to upright as he could manage in his condition. "My son."
Guilt, then. Adwyn got that. "Ah... my daughter's in Naroni too. I haven't always done right by her, but she's been more forgiving than I deserve. Something about that place, maybe."
"Dunno." The man sighed. Another side of the table wasn't far enough away to avoid his breath. "My son never liked me--an' I never liked him, really. But, I'm old an' disgraced an' alone. He's all I have left in the world."
"Huh." Adwyn leaned forward, not entirely sure of what to say to that. He supposed he'd have to wing it. "You know... I don't think children always owe their parents anything, at least as far as emotion is concerned. A kid doesn't choose to be born, and sure as hell doesn't choose a shitty father like you or me. But, we're why they're here, and we have to live with that; it's only fair for the parents to shoulder the load for bridge-building and whatnot."
"You did that with your daughter?"
"Like I said, my daughter's more than I deserve--and if nothing else, nothing I put her through was out of malice. She understood that, even if my selfishness and recklessness left her more than a little inconvenienced."
"Hmph. Tha's you, then. I meant to hurt my son. Thought it would toughen 'im up, maybe." The man kicked over one of the tankards by his feet. "Or maybe I jus' couldn't stand the sight of 'im. Couldn't stand his mother. Never would've married her if we hadn't made 'im."
"Well, good luck reconciling, in that case." Adwyn cracked his knuckles beneath the table. His own father, at least, had had the decency to run like hell and leave his mother to her own more impressive devices. "Kids know when they're not loved properly. They don't recover from that."
The drunk sighed again. "Wouldn' be here if I didn' know it."
NEXT CHAPTER:
February 28, 1183
Not for the first time since he'd joined the navy, Adwyn had made port in Dania's village. And, not for the first time since he'd joined the navy, she'd scarcely opened the door for him when he'd swooped in with a kiss--and a good one, at that, firm and wet and with a dynamic tongue, but not lacking in tenderness. And every time before, given the former pirate's excellent sense of timing, had resulted in him fiddling with her laces as she'd undone his belt, bare backs hitting the floorboards in turn as they switched positions mid-coitus, their love-making reaching climax just in time for them to dress before one of her siblings or children returned.
Today, though...
"Adwyn!" Dania panted as her lover's grasp broke, embarrassed but not failing to smile entirely. "We can't right now."
"Oh?" Adwyn wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow. He must have had a view of the space behind her, but somehow he didn't seem to see. "Did the pub switch your sister to the later shift?"
"No."
"What about your brother? Has the apothecary finally had enough of having him coming into work every day in that ridiculous purple doublet?"
Dania laughed. Oh, her poor, stylish mother, having to look down from heaven and watch her son traipse around in that monstrosity of a garment! Then again, knowing Gregor, perhaps it was just a blessing that he didn't go about stark naked. "Somehow, no."
"And the children? Last I recall, Stephen runs deliveries for the bakery while Maura takes a lunch to her uncle? And while I'm sure Elene has grown since I've last seen her, I don't think she's quite outgrown her afternoon nap, am I right?"
"Yes, Stephen and Maura are out, and Elene is asleep." Rolling her eyes, she gestured behind her, only to watch him blink at the sight of a perfectly obvious person seated in the chair by the window. How had he missed him? Well, good to know that after a marriage, three kids and a widowing, she still had it. "I don't believe you've met my other brother?"
"Er... no. No, I haven't." Adwyn smirked himself back to composure, with mixed results. "Good day, sir. Captain Ladell's what they call me, but I'll let you get away with Adwyn."
"And they call me Fred." Actually, most didn't. But there was no need for Adwyn to know that. "You can call me Fred."
"I hope you can remember that," Dania teased as she escorted her fellow to the couch. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure if she recalled the last time he'd sat there with his pants on. "So, how are the high seas nowadays? I take it the protection bestowed upon you by King Moron hasn't been revoked by King Arse-Rag just yet?" She threw in a wink Fred's way, if only because he got a little wistful every time Queen Deserves-Better-Than-That-Arse-Rag came up.
"If that happens, it will be because he axes the navy entirely. He's not nearly as interested as his father was, but as long as the fleet still exists, it continues to benefit me." In terms of career, and no doubt as a cover-up for a few little 'hobbies' on the side. Adwyn reclined into a slouch with his usual brand of regal laziness. "Right now, I suspect he's thoroughly occupied with his new little son."
"Son?" Fred's brows sloped and his mouth fell open, leaving a mingled picture of alarm and worry and maybe a little relief. Dania had heard that the king and queen had only two daughters, rather spaced apart in age--and she'd also heard that one of the first things Ietrin had done after being crowned was to send his stepmother and half-siblings back to Dovia. He would have been in need of a son, and if he was like most men, he believed his penis infallible. "Is J--the queen all right?"
"So far as I'm aware. Probably someone would have mentioned if she died."
"Is she well?"
Adwyn shrugged. Dania sighed. If the news was a new prince, she doubted many gossipers had bothered to ask after the queen. "Sorry, little brother. Maybe no news is good news?"
"I hope you're right." But if she knew Fred, that wasn't enough for him to believe it.
"You seem to have quite an interest in the Queen of Naroni," Adwyn mused, prompting a visible swallow in Fred's throat. "Are you a friend of hers?"
"No. I just... find myself invested in her story." Fred laid a fingertip to the chair's arm and ran it along the grain. Dania followed its movement with her eye. Invested in her story. Tell me about it, brother. "A young girl, forced to marry a prince who isn't known for being pleasant, takes eleven long years to bear him the desired heir...
"And all the while, he never once considers that it might not be her who has the problem."
Adwyn frowned, likely unconvinced. It was Fred's luck, really--his most high-profile job to date, and he'd made the fatal mistake of forming a connection. Dania grimaced. She had to help him out. "He's done this before. He tends to take what he knows of notable figures and fill in the blanks in the most tragic way imaginable."
"I do recall you saying he was an artist--not unlike yourself." Adwyn took her by the shoulder and pulled her a little nearer. Now she could relax. If he'd gone back to teasing her--to teasing Fred like he teased her other siblings--then he'd probably lost interest. Hopefully. "The world may not sleep so much these days, but it's a lucky thing we still have dreamers, isn't it?"
NEXT CHAPTER:
September 3, 1180
"So, you broke out of prison."
"Sure did."
"And commandeered one of the navy's ships."
"That too."
"And then lived off village after village of chumps by selling bogus aphrodisiacs."
Evaleith's father smirked. "Brilliant, wasn't it?"
Ceidrid's mouth wormed its way into some mockery of a smile while Evaleith fought back a biting comment. Not that she wasn't glad to see her father after all these years... but she'd sort of hoped that, if he did show up, it would be while her husband was out of the house. Much as she loved them both, the chances of them ever getting along were somewhere along the lines of discovering she was actually a long-lost princess.
That was to say, practically none.
"Seems like a method of... dubious legality."
Kind of what you'd expect from a pirate, really, she wanted to say. But there was enough semi-subtle contention in the room without a third party getting involved, so she compromised with a whisper to little Honora. "Grandpa's probably going to want to stay at the inn."
Her daughter just shrugged. It might have been cute if she'd reacted, but it hardly could have been expected. She'd known Grandpa for all of five minutes--and since Ceidrid's father had been dead long before he'd ever met Evaleith, the girl probably had little concept of grandfathers at all.
"So, what do you do, kid? Just farm? You wouldn't happen to grow any of the good stuff, if you know what I--"
Evaleith let out a sigh of relief. Thank God for knocks on the door. "It's open."
It was Nora. So much for hoping to at least keep her father separate from Ceidrid's side of the family. "Sorry. I didn't realize you had company."
"Company? Nah, I'm just her father." Nora's brows arched. She knew perfectly well who and what Evaleith's father was, but any comments were decidedly withheld and for that, Evaleith was grateful. "As for you, I do hope you're not the reeve."
Ceidrid shook his head. "Adwyn, this is my sister, Nora. And she's not the reeve, but she is the lady of this shire."
"I'm thinking she's too pretty to be your sister. Could've guessed lady, though," Evaleith's father added with a wink. "I take it you've heard nothing of me."
"Oh, I've heard that you're a pirate and a fugitive and a swindler. But that probably means you'll fit in just fine around these parts." Nora pulled up the chair opposite him and wasted no time sweeping him up and down, going straight for the eye contact. Evaleith thought she saw her father fidget. Her father never fidgeted. "Relax. I'm not here to arrest you, though I daresay it would be fun to try."
"Well, you'd be the prettiest face to ever put this body behind bars. Not that the competition was much, mind, unless scraggly beards bring the little colonel to attention." Her daughter glanced at him, puzzled. With any luck, she'd just drop it and forget about it like Evaleith wished kids would do more often. "But if you're not here to lock me up, might I ask why you've come?"
"Hmm. It's not as if I'm family or anything." Ceidrid snorted. But Nora, apparently not in the business of snickering at her own jokes, turned her eyes on Evaleith. "Evaleith, please take a seat. You've probably been on your feet all day."
"Eh. I'm used to it." But regardless, she placed Honora on the floor and took the seat beside her father. She watched her daughter toddle off toward the stairs, no doubt bored with all the adult chatter. It must have been nice, being at the age when one could just walk away from unappealing situations and not think anything of it.
But alas, for Evaleith herself, that age was long gone. "Perhaps you might be interested in the ship he stole. One of the ones Devidra had marked for King Roderick's 'navy', apparently."
"Yes, and a shitty little thing it was." Her father sighed. "Oh well. Served its purpose. And it's not like this kingdom needs a navy anyway. You're landlocked, for God's sake."
"That's what we've all been trying to tell the king," agreed Nora with a roll of her eyes. "Not that he has the listening capacity of an average three-year-old. He currently has my husband working on a crew for the first vessel. Most of the people who answered the announcement only showed up to laugh in his face."
"Can you blame them?" Of course, the chorus of smiles about the table said nobody did. "The whole thing is pretty funny."
Nora flashed a thoughtful twinkle of the eye. "Care to make it even moreso, Captain Ladell?"
NEXT CHAPTER:
September 3, 1180
"Papa, why does Mama need mushrooms?" Hal took a few cautious steps toward the basket and studied them with an unconvincing grimace. "She's not going to make us eat them, is she? Mushrooms are gross."
Had cringed. Leave it to a seven-year-old boy to say the most unintentionally rude things in public; Had's little brothers ought to have taught him that much. "Hal! Apologize to Mistress Aerina!"
Hal opened his mouth to do just that, but ever the even-tempered saleswoman, Aerina just picked her little daughter up from the ground and shook her head. It was still a shock and a shame that old Laveria's shop had had to change hands at all, but even old Laveria couldn't have birthed a more capable daughter. "It's fine, Had; I'm not wild about mushrooms myself, really. And don't worry, Hal, your mother won't make you eat these. They're just for her. These particular mushrooms can help with aches and pains while women are expecting."
"Hear that, squirt?" Had shot a wink to Aerina before staring down his son. If Hal could embarrass him in public, then the boy was fair game for teasing. "None of you kids are going to have to eat the mushrooms--except your new baby sister, of course."
"Brother!" Hal corrected, indignant and insistent, just as expected. "One sister's bad enough!"
Little Laveria took to answering that, sticking out her tongue despite not even being Hal's sister. She probably didn't get such comments from her own mild-mannered brother. Had chuckled. "You tell him, sweetheart."
"Be nice," Aerina scolded the little girl. "Anyway, I hope Lyraina hasn't been too uncomfortable."
Had shook his head. "Not really. It's just that she's not the sort to take it easy, you know? Always has to be busy. I offered to hire someone to take care of the place for a few months, and your brother said she could have some time off, but it figures that she'd refuse us both. Just wait, she'll give birth in the castle kitchens."
The herbalist laughed. "Well, it's not like they aren't used to births over there."
"If anything, they're missing a new baby a year--well, everyone but his lordship and her ladyship, I wager."
"You'd wager right. Her ladyship had a scare just last week--came here in a panic, asking if there was any chance she'd taken the herbs incorrectly. Lucky for her, her courses resumed a couple days ago."
"Well!" laughed a booming voice from behind. Nearly jumping, Had whipped around to find a stranger some odd feet back, a man of about his father's age, hair sloppily tied back, dressed simply but finely. There was something familiar about that smile, but if he could have placed it, he would have made note. "Commoners freely discussing the nobility's bodily functions in a public place? This is my kind of kingdom!"
A hot surge pulsed through Had's face. So much for needing his son to embarrass him in public. "Oh no, we don't make a habit--"
"That's a shame. Nothing like bold-faced honesty, I find--at least when it comes to spoken word." And why, pray tell, had the man winked at that addendum? "And there's no sense covering up our natural workings, not when they happen to everyone else as well. I say, the best way to fart is to fart for all the world to hear!"
"And smell!" Hal added with a snicker. Had supposed he could only be grateful that the man had chosen an example that wasn't a swearword.
Delighted, the stranger clapped. "Ah, what a clever youngster you have here, good sir!"
"Well, his mother and I like him."
"Good! All parents ought to like their children, fathers and sons especially. My own father didn't give a warthog's backside for me, and look how I turned out!" And yet, he sounded almost proud. "I take it your own father likes you fine?"
Had nodded. "So far as I'm aware."
"Of course he does," the man agreed, despite the fact that he'd probably never met Had's father in his life. "Anyway, I'm sorry to bother you fine people like this... well, actually, I'm not, but it's the polite thing to say." He chuckled to himself again, in some private joke. Had suspected he knew what was so funny. "Truth is, I'm looking for someone, and it turns out she lives somewhere around here. Tell me, does the name Evaleith Ladell mean anything to you?"
"Yes, actually." For all he couldn't see her getting tangled up with this sort. "She's my big sister."
"Really?" The strangers eyes went wide, both excited and amused, rather like a puppy when the master stepped in the door. "Well, what a small world we live in!"
Apparently so. But it would have been nice to know just how small. "So, how do you know her?"
"Oh, funny story." The man tossed back a lock of hair and indulged himself in another laugh. "You see, I'm her father."
NEXT CHAPTER:
June 11, 1164
Scanning the room for any lingering candlelight she may have missed, Honora bade her children goodnight, then descended the stairs. Good Lord, they grew up so fast; she could hardly believe it had been nine whole years since she'd first discovered she was pregnant with Had! Before she knew it, they would be off having babies of their own.
"Adonis? Are you there?" she called over the railing. She had been at the castle that morning, and had returned to find that Adonis had busied himself with the rotting floorboards in the barn's hayloft; while she appreciated his initiative, it did mean that she hadn't seen him all day.
He didn't answer, but a quick glance told her that he was, in fact, inside, seated in his favorite chair and staring off into space. Honora frowned; Adonis was too practical a man to be expected to brood. "Adonis? Is something wrong?"
Her husband grunted, only unnerving her further; he was not a man who used wordless sounds for replies. This would not do--something was troubling him, and she'd be damned if she didn't get to the bottom of it!
"Adonis!" she addressed him once more, twirling about the chair and stopping in front of him. "Adonis, talk to me. What's going on?"
For a moment or so, he only stared at her, his ordinarily dazzling eyes blank and lifeless as a pair of rocks. Then--
"Had told me he today that he heard you and Evaleith talking back when she first came."
It was truly astounding how one could be so unconscious of a beating heart, yet fully aware of the precise second during which its pulses ceased. "...sorry?"
Adonis shook his head; never before had Honora seen her resilient husband so defeated. "Please don't make me feel stupid, Honora. That's the last thing I need right now."
Gnawing on her lower lip, Honora fiddled with a lock of her hair. "Adonis, please..."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Did he really expect her to answer that? Somehow, it just didn't seem like a fair question. "I... I just... didn't want to talk about it."
"The 'it' you're referring to is your daughter, Honora."
His words were as frigid as the winter breeze. Her flesh was numb, and there was ice on her lashes. She was caught in a snowstorm; she searched desperately for any sign of shelter, but she saw neither house nor cave. There wasn't even a lousy tree.
"I'm going to go feed the animals," Adonis muttered, heaving himself out of the chair and making his way toward the door. "Don't bother waiting up for me. Sleep well, Honora."
Sleep well. The command seemed almost a curse. She might have found it less painfully if he had shouted it, or allowed it to seethe spitefully out of his mouth; his resignation was perhaps the most arduous torture of all.
She cringed as the door swung shut behind him. He would be back... wouldn't he? He couldn't just leave her... could he? Even if he no longer loved her, would he not stay for the children?
Not necessarily, she had to admit. Some men didn't stay. Some women didn't stay. Once upon a time, she herself hadn't stayed.
March 23, 1151
"Oh, don't!" Honora urged as Evaleith contentedly munched on her own fingers. "You were just playing on the floor--your hands are dirty."
The baby squealed and did as she was told. As usual, Honora was never sure whether the kid was obeying her or taunting her. God, what had she been thinking when she had turned around halfway down the path to the wise woman's house? She didn't know how to be a mother; she still needed one herself.
She did love the girl. She had carried her for nine months, birthed her, cradled her, nursed her... and yet, somehow, Honora still didn't feel as though Evaleith was truly hers. She might as well have been some other girl's baby. Of course, this sentiment was especially true when Adwyn was off on one of his voyages; it was also especially true when he wasn't. Perhaps she was simply not mature enough to be anyone's mother.
Sighing, Honora eased herself onto the bed next to Evaleith, who pointed at a spider on the opposite wall. Honora responded with a flick of her eyes. "Yes, we live in a hole right now. Get used to it--the way your father is, we're never going to have a permanent home, and probably never a nice one either."
It didn't seem right to speak ill of the man to his daughter, especially when said man could very well have been the difference between life and death for Honora herself, but over time, her opinion of Adwyn had become much like her opinion of a pagan god--handsome, exciting, and just devious enough, but with such frequent and total absences that she often doubted whether or not he even existed. This time, he'd been gone for a good three months; she found herself wondering if he would even bother coming back.
The familiar sound of the barmaid's fat fist against the door pulled her from her thoughts. "Come in."
Immediately, the woman entered, sweeping the room with her eyes as she always did; Honora could only hope that one of these days, she'd sweep it with a broom instead. "Beggin' yer pardon, missy, but Master Ladell be back fer yeh."
Honora rolled her eyes. "Speak of the devil. I trust he'll come whether I tell you to send him in or not?"
"Sounds a fair wager, missy."
Honora slipped off the bed and lit the only candle in the room; she liked the dark, but Adwyn did not. "All right, then."
A fair wager indeed--not a second after the barmaid had left, another familiar set of knuckles pounded on the door, these ones with such startling force that she very nearly toppled back into the baby. "Adwyn? Is that you?"
"No, it's God Almighty," he teased from the corridor, "or at least, that's what you'll be calling me tonight, angelface."
She rolled her eyes as he entered the room; as usual, plundering ships for weeks on end hadn't changed him at all. "Not tonight; I've been rather ill."
Adwyn closed the door behind him, then made his way toward her and locked her in a tight embrace--she resisted the urge to struggle. "Sorry to hear that, honeycake. You're on the mend, right?"
"I've been getting better," she assured him.
"The baby didn't catch it?"
"No, she's fine."
"Good."
He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then proceeded to Evaleith. Honora knew that a mother shouldn't feel envious of her child, but she could not deny that pang of jealousy as Adwyn approached the center of his universe; try as she might, she could not accept her demotion to merely the second most important person in his life.
What sort of woman was she? Resenting her lover for being a father to their daughter? Truly, she was nothing more than a spoiled little girl.
And yet, she couldn't help it; after all, who got to choose their own heart?
"Papa!" Evaleith squealed as Adwyn lifted her off the bed. "Papa home from sea!"
Adwyn beamed at her, his eyes adoring as ever. "Yes! And one day, when you're bigger, I'm going to take you and Mama with me! Doesn't that sound fun?"
Evaleith smiled, showcasing her small number of teeth. "Sea!"
Honora groaned inwardly. She had sailed with Adwyn once or twice, before Evaleith was born, and she had spent most of those trips leaning over the railing, vomiting more than she could have possibly have eaten on a pirate's rations; she could not say she cared to set foot on a ship again.
But she could not tell him this. He loved the sea. He loved ships and sailing and piracy. It was more than a livelihood to Adwyn--it was his life, his very soul.
And Evaleith! The one he loved most! How he had longed to take her along with him since before she was born, to show her the waves and sunset sparkling on the water and all the leaping dolphins. Oh, and it was obvious to anyone with eyes that the girl wanted to go too, with the way her face came alight at any mention of the prospect. One day, he would take her to the sea, and one day, she would go willingly with him.
And all the while, Honora would be sulking along behind, as invisible and inaudible as ever.
NEXT CHAPTER:
