In Which Alina Puts Forth Her Choice

January 17, 1184

Alina found her father downstairs, seated at his usual place at the table. Lea and Thetis were amusing themselves by doing each other's hair, a pastime Alina had sometimes regretted not being able to enjoy with them. Rahileine was down for her nap, and Congren was helping Had with a laboring cow. Her timing could not have been better.

But if only she could have had this conversation with her mother first!

"Father?"

Her father looked up, smiling. She hoped he could keep that grin up once this was over. He would be reasonable, sure... but he wouldn't understand. "Hello, Alina."

"Can we talk?"

"Of course." He nodded toward the seat beside him. Alina trudged down the rest of the steps and took it, all the while grasping for any words that might have made this easier.

They were few and far between. "Father, I'd like to talk about... my future."

"Oh." Her father blinked. She supposed she couldn't blame him for not expecting this. She'd only just turned fourteen, after all. "You're not in trouble, are you?"

"No, of course not." Was it strange if, as he sighed with relief, she wondered if that might have been easier? Most girls her age had at least thought about it--not getting into trouble, but the act that might have gotten her into trouble. Alina hadn't the slightest shred of interest. After she'd first bled, she'd expected to feel some sort of urge toward some boy or another, but it hadn't happened. Not once.

She'd wondered briefly if she might have been that other sort of woman, but no urges of that variety had ever come about either. It got to the point where she'd snuck out one night to Aerina Frey's place for a check-up, just in case there was something wrong with her. One painful examination later and she'd been declared fine. Some people just don't need or want sex, the healer had assured her. You're still young, so it may happen yet, but if it doesn't... well, that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you.

She hoped her father thought along similar lines. "Well, that's a relief. But what is this about, then? If you're worried that I'm going to make you study Economics like your brother, I'll tell you right now that I fully intend to let you choose your own major."

"It's not my major. It's just..." Alina swallowed. Her father had probably expected something else for her, something he perceived as better. Maybe it was better for some, maybe even most. But not for her. "...I'm thinking of taking the veil."

"Oh." Her father slumped back, brow raised, mouth fighting against a frown. She supposed she couldn't blame him. Most stories he knew of young people joining the church were not exactly happy ones--men born with one older brother too many, women who couldn't find husbands and whose families wouldn't take the extra burden, mortally ill youths sent to the cloister to die in relative peace and comfort. She hoped he'd at least recognize that unlike those poor unfortunates, Alina had a choice. "Alina... have you thought this through?"

"I have, Father--and for your comfort, I've decided not to start my novitiate until I'm sixteen, just in case I change my mind." That part was for his benefit. She didn't think she would. "The truth is, I have no interest in marrying or bearing children or--" Could she say 'sex' to her father? If only her mother were still alive! "--anything of the like. If I become a nun, I can help people through various charities, and maybe even start a few of my own. I'd also have ample time to study and meditate, and perhaps make some contributions that way."

"I could fund your research if you'd prefer that to a husband."

"I couldn't ask you to do that--not when the church has resources that even most lords couldn't buy." Her father's eyes met the table. She had him there. "Father, I wouldn't be one of those heavily-cloistered nuns who never leave their convents. We'd still see each other."

"Yes, of course." He bit his lip. No, he didn't understand. She hadn't expected he would. But at least he wasn't angry? "Well... it's your life, and your decision. And you know I'll stand by whatever choice you make. However, as you said, I would prefer that you wait until you're sixteen to begin, and not just because I haven't had my fill of you here. Not many leave a nunnery with their reputation intact, and I want you to know for sure that that's what you want before you reach the point of no return."

Alina nodded. Her father was nothing if not practical. "I understand."

"And whatever happens, I hope you know that you'll always have a home here."

"I know." And if that was the last of what he had to say, then this could have gone much worse. "Thank you."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Adonis Is Shown How He Loves

January 15, 1170

"Well," Adonis muttered to the infant as he glanced through the window and watched Ceidrid and Evaleith and young Adwyn set off toward their house, "I suppose it's just you and me now."

The baby's hand balled into a tiny fist. Adonis shook his head; an hour old and already his little girl had a sense of humor. Maybe that would help somewhat.

Then again, maybe not. Sev wouldn't even be three for another month, but it seemed as though an eternity had passed since Adonis had last had to take care of a baby. He had nothing against babies--hell, he'd had five before this one--but he did feel a bit awkward around them. It seemed to Adonis that babies were akin to felines; they were constantly staring, constantly sleeping, and you could never tell what they were thinking. At least they were cute.

This one was no exception. She was a little small, but according to Arydath, not to the point where they should be worried. A soft brown fuzz covered her tiny head and she was staring up at him with Avine's doe-like eyes--or were they his own eyes? They were close enough in hue that it was difficult to tell.

The baby sneezed. Adonis raised lifted her to his shoulder and gently rubbed her back. "You all right, pretty girl? Want to go see Mama?"

The brown eyes widened; Adonis laughed, then kissed the baby on the cheek. "I know it's a scary sight, but you're just going to have to get used to Papa's nose. Most of your siblings weren't lucky enough to avoid it, so you'll probably have it yourself one day."

The little girl began to wail. A little insulted, he took to lightly bouncing her up and down, hoping that the motion would calm her; it only half-worked. Was his nose really that ugly? "Aw, sweetheart, I was just joking; maybe you'll get your mama's nose."

The cries continued, but they seemed a little softer--and most fortunately so, seeing as Avine was probably asleep in the next room. He still wasn't quite sure whether he loved his second wife or not, or if he would at some point; he was comfortable around her and fond of her as a friend, but he had yet to sense any trace of that elusive spark. Certainly it was not what he'd felt for Honora, though he didn't think it right to compare the two. He's spent Avine's pregnancy in mingled anticipation and dread; he'd wanted to think that he would love Avine's children just as much as he loved Honora's, but what if--somehow, for some horrible reason--he couldn't?

Looking at his daughter now, however, he realized it had been needless to worry. He'd only known her for an hour, but he already loved her just as much as his other children, and in the same way he loved his other children--not for their mothers, but for their own dear little selves.

He continued to massage her back until her cries subsided. "There's a good baby," he breathed as she coughed up a bit of spit onto his shoulder. "You must be hungry. Maybe we should go see if Mama's awake."

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