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December 8, 1188
"You know, when I asked you to attend the birth, I didn't say you had to come and stay at my house as soon as my due date approached." But teasing aside, Cherry was glad that Morgan had opted to do so anyway. She still had as much fun with Nythran and Haldred as ever, but Haldred had school five days a week, and Morgan's fixed hours made for more reliable company than Nythran's long and open days.
"Oh, it was no trouble." And that was partly why Morgan had been her first choice for the birth. She always knew when she was joking and when she was serious. "It will be nice for Vera and Lucien to have the house to the family for a few days. And I think Viridis has a bit of a crush on Haldred, so she's happy to be here."
"Ah, kids and their crushes." Haldred, alas, had a betrothed, as most noble adolescents tended to have. While Nythran had grown up in a world where that was the norm, he and Cherry had agreed to leave their mutual children to their own devices in that department. Not that Cherry was itching to pluralize 'child' any time soon. "I wish this kid would hurry up and come out. My bladder wasn't built for kickboxing."
"I definitely don't miss that part," Morgan agreed as she settled on Nythran's side of the bed.
Cherry didn't know what she could say to that. Morgan's baby, after all, had died.
Luckily, Morgan herself chose to change the subject. "I'm glad the year is almost done. I won't miss 1188 much."
With the whole pregnancy ordeal, Cherry wouldn't either. But Morgan, so far as she knew, was not in any similar condition. "Too many of your intuitions?"
"A few, yes. I mean, I'd much rather help the people I can than not, but... I don't know. Sometimes, I feel that my life just isn't about me."
"That's got to be frustrating." It was, after all, Morgan's life. "Here's hoping next year's better that way. 1189: the Year of Morgan."
Morgan snickered. "What would that entail, I wonder?"
"Whatever you want it to. Several good books, ample writing time, picnics with your daughter... maybe a couple handsome men with their tunics off..."
Another laugh--this one more of a snort. "It's been quite a while since I last saw a handsome man with his tunic off."
"Don't tell Raia, but there's a hole in the wall of the changing room at the training grounds." Cherry winked. "And while we're at it, don't tell Nythran either."
"I won't--but that's not really my style." As if the eye roll hadn't said it. "If I were to see a man in that position, I'd rather it not be just any man."
"Fair enough." Cherry clasped her hands, wedding ring warm against the side of her finger. "And whether you find your 'not just any man' or not--on behalf of all your friends, I personally guarantee that this next year will be a good one. Promise."
NEXT CHAPTER:
May 24, 1187
"You know, it occurs to me that I haven't been at my house for a few days."
And it was not the first time in recent months Nythran could have said it. Since he'd finally worked up the nerve to court Cherry, he and Haldred had spent more nights than not at her house. Haldred had more or less taken over one of the spare rooms, and Nythran... was also sleeping in a spare room. As far as anyone else knew, anyway. Though it had been going on long enough that Farilon next door might have been suspicious had this been the sort of thing he paid attention to.
But really? Nythran couldn't pretend to care what Farilon or anyone else might have thought, at least of him personally. For the first time, in a long time, someone other than his son had managed to make him happy.
He was in love.
It wasn't a thing he'd thought he'd feel again.
"Of course you haven't. You still haven't even unpacked since you moved there. Hell, more of your stuff is here than there." Cherry squeeze his hand and turned her head for a quick peck to his stubble. He wasn't sure how her lips could stand it, but she'd stopped him shaving the one time he'd tried. Probably a good thing, given the shape of his chin. "You might as well just give Raia the house back and move in here."
"Tempting, but I'd prefer not to tarnish your reputation." The poor woman got enough questions, being twenty-six and never married. But having been married himself at fourteen--married to a girl only six months older than he, who'd died birthing a baby she may not have been big enough for--twenty-six did not seem too old in the slightest.
"What reputation?" Cherry smirked, a sunfire lock of hair flicking at his hand. "Nythran, it makes no sense, a perfectly good house just sitting there. Raia could give it to someone else."
"I suppose. Still, I'm reluctant to do that to you."
"Sweet of you, but I really don't mind." She didn't--he was sure of it. Still. "What if we got married? Would you move in then?"
Nythran's heart twitched. That wasn't an idea he'd thought he'd hear again. "What are you asking?"
"You heard." Cherry slung her legs across Nythran's thighs and bounced herself into his lap. "Don't embarrass me by saying you've never thought about it."
"I have thought about it." More than anything! But-- "Isn't it a little soon, though? A little impulsive?"
"Not for me, it isn't. I'm almost twenty-seven; if I'd wanted to marry impulsively, I could have done so ten times over by now. I was lucky enough to be raised knowing I didn't need a man, so I held out for one I actually wanted--knew I wanted." She leaned into him, nuzzling the tip of her nose against his own beak. "That's you, silly. I've known I wanted you for a while now."
Huh. He could have lived to be a thousand and not once would he have thought a woman would feel that way about him. Learianna had loved him, and he her, but it had been a different love--a cultivated love, grown from years of childhood friendship and the knowledge that they'd one day be man and wife. Not inherently worse, but different.
Nythran didn't mind different. "I've known I wanted you for a while now too."
"Then let's not wait any longer." The nuzzle slipped down to a kiss, and then she pulled back, beaming. "You and Haldred go home and get on your good tunics. I'll put on my best dress, then grab Farilon to witness, and we'll meet the two of you at the chapel."
He nearly laughed--but there wasn't a joke in her eye. Not that he minded, but hadn't she just said...? "Right now? I thought you didn't want to do this impulsively."
"I said I didn't want an impulsive marriage." She drew herself up from his lap and took him by the hand, pulling him to his feet. "I didn't say anything about an impulsive wedding."
NEXT CHAPTER:
February 15, 1186
"A butter-churn? Really?" Cherry leaned back, unsure of whether or not Nythran was joking. The man did have a sense of humor--even if it required some digging--but so far as she'd seen, exaggeration didn't play much of a part in it. Pulling stuff straight from his ass? Even less. "There is no way anyone at the training grounds ever went up against one of the dummies with a butter-churn."
"Believe me, it happened." She squinted for a better read of his eyes. He was amused, sure--but not in that deceitful, practical joker sort of way. She thought, at least. She hadn't known him all that long, so maybe... "He couldn't have been taking himself seriously, but he did a good job of hiding it. Had some skill with that thing, too; twirling it about, striking from a distance, even minding it during dodge rolls. He said that next time, he'd try an oar."
"Really."
"All right, I made up the part about the oar. He actually left without a word." Much to the dismay of everyone else there, if this had in fact happened. "But the rest is all true, I swear it."
"Uh-huh."
"Really." His smile widened. Whenever she saw that grin, she was reminded quite thoroughly of a crack in a rock--a cute crack in a cute rock, but a crack in a rock nonetheless. "You know, I like that we've been able to meet for these talks. Pity that we both work so much, though."
Whether he'd been kidding or not before, there was nothing less than honesty in his eyes now. How on earth did a color like that exist in nature? All the pigment in the world and she couldn't have made a paint so blue. "I've been enjoying your company too."
"Maybe if you have a break in your day, you could swing by the training grounds. There's always a chance I'll be unoccupied."
"Or that I'll get to see someone kicking the crap out of a dummy with a butter-churn." She'd meant to be sarcastic, but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to see that. "It's a definite possibility."
"Great." That smile again. Was there something wrong with her if she wanted to take that smile home with her?
Then again, perhaps she could. "Would you be interested in sitting for a portrait?"
"One of your paintings?" No, just a doodle in the dust on my mantle. But she'd grant that the question may have caught him off-guard. "That's... huh. Not something I ever thought I'd be asked, to be honest. I'm not exactly handsome."
"Maybe not conventionally so, but I've made uglier people than you look beautiful--not that I think you're ugly." She reached across the table, giving him a reasonable chance to recoil but he never took it. So, she rested her hand on his. His face may have been rocky, but his skin was indisputably organic. "I just want to help the rest of the world see what I see."
Nythran chuckled, though he felt some need shift his gaze to some point over her shoulder. She didn't mind, though; that meant she caught a sight of a blush. "Then I hope what you see is mostly favorable."
NEXT CHAPTER:
October 26, 1185
"Sorry about the state of the place. I've been working and Haldred has school, so we haven't bothered to do much with it yet."
"It looks fine," Cherry insisted. Sure, Nythran's place may have been sparse--furnished only with what the university had provided--but it could have been messy, or even gross. It was by no means unfit for company. Hell, it was probably a better hosting space than her own house, where art supplies reigned supreme. "Perfectly liveable. I don't see why it shouldn't suffice for a cup of tea."
"I suppose." His mouth twitched, an odd kind of grimace with some real smile underneath. It was the same smile he gave her every time their eyes met through their kitchen windows. He may have been a combat expert, but he had no less capacity for nervousness than any other man--perhaps more, having grown up with a monster like Felron for a brother. "I'm sorry I didn't invited you sooner."
"Stop apologizing. I haven't been exactly neighborly in that regard myself. Just ask Farilon if your observations aren't enough." Though, now that she thought about it, she hoped he wouldn't. Farilon probably had the tact not to mention her one good neighbor moment--Lord knew he at least had the consideration for young CeeCee--but he didn't always have the best grasp on what was or wasn't socially appropriate. "We're all lone wolves here. Our jobs are our lives."
"I find that hard to believe of a pretty young woman like yourself." He blushed. Well, that explained his nerves. "Er, if you don't mind my saying."
"I don't. And I suppose I do have friends." She wouldn't say any more--not until she got a better read of him. He wasn't the first man to show an interest, but Cherry had never been the sort who wanted someone just to have someone. She had the skills and smarts to provide for herself, like every woman did--and unlike an unfortunate many of them, no one had ever convinced her otherwise. She didn't think it impractical to be selective husband-wise; a lousy husband was a far worse fate than no husband at all. "And you have your son."
"I do have my son, thank God. The women feared he'd follow his dear mother, but he rallied back and has been going strong ever since. I like to think my Anna had something to do with that."
"She must have been a wonderful woman."
"That she was." A cloudy haze cast over his eyes, but he wore not a frown but a fond grin. Given Haldred's age, Nythran's wife had been gone a long time--long enough for mourning to have melted to loving remembrance. Not for the first time, she wished someone would invent some instant picture device. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to capture that look, to take it home with her and put it to canvas.
Perhaps she might ask him to model for her at some point. He had an interesting face--rocky and angular and with a chin like an anvil. He wasn't handsome, but that made him beautiful.
"But enough about my sorrows. Tell me: why do they call you Cherry?"
"Oh, that's a long, complicated story involving a faulty aphrodisiac, a line of novelty hats, and a swallow that thought it was a falcon. Afternoon tea just won't be enough time to cover it all."
"Then perhaps we'll make time when we can."
"I won't rule out the possibility." Not yet, at least.
"The tea should be ready soon. Care to sit down?" He gestured to the benches behind him. They weren't unlike the ones she herself had, and many others. A popular style in Naroni.
"All right."
He sat himself down on the nearer bench, on the end closer to the other--probably wanting to leave her the choice of whether to sit next to him, or to sit on the other bench without feeling rude. Just to be on the safe side, Cherry picked the other bench.
He kept on smiling. She was relieved to see he didn't take offense. "You know, I'm glad you were free this afternoon. It's been quite a long time since I had a social conversation with an adult who wasn't family."
A pity, that. It didn't have to be a sorrow to be alone, but it always was to be lonely.
She met his eye and returned the grin. "If it helps, I trust it won't be long before your next."
NEXT CHAPTER:
October 26, 1185
"Cherry!" After answering the door, Haldred had retreated just far enough into the house that his next-door neighbor would feel obliged to follow. Maybe that was a little over-eager, and Cherry was a smart lady, so probably transparent too. But the only times she'd ever popped in, his father hadn't been home.
Until now.
"You seem pretty excitable today. Don't tell me some kid at school gave you any funny herbs."
"Oh, no. It's just a good day." It wasn't a lie. How many times had he caught his father smiling nervously whenever he met Cherry's eye through their respective windows? Still glancing well after her back was turned, only to jump back to reality whenever Haldred prodded? That was probably why his father had nailed shut the curtains in the upstairs bathroom--it looked right into Cherry's upstairs bathroom--though Haldred liked to think his father was better than that anyway.
He was, definitely, more awkward than that. For that, he needed Haldred's help.
"Anyway, what brings you to my humble abode?"
"'Humble abode'? Well, I guess it makes sense that the best poetry can't be taught in schools." A laugh rolled in the undertones of her voice, as it often did. Whatever she'd meant, at least she thought it was funny. "But I actually just need to borrow some salt."
"Oh." Then she was probably cooking. That meant she'd have to leave right away. Perhaps he could call his father down now? No, that would have been too obvious. Whether he'd thank him later or not, his father would find subtlety embarrassing enough. "Uh... sure. Are you making dinner?"
"A little early for that, don't you think?" Cherry smirked. Haldred wasn't sure what that meant either, but he'd content himself with the knowledge that she had nothing on the stove at home. "I actually use it in some of my paintings."
Heh? That hadn't come up in art class. "Salt? Paintings?"
"Yes, it has some interesting effects with certain kinds of pigments, or if you use a lot of water. Does wonders for texture too."
"Huh. I wonder if my father's heard that. He used to paint a little, though never as well as you." It may have been wishful thinking, but he thought he caught a spark of interest in her grin. Imagined or not, he'd go with it. Haldred would be eleven in December, and his mother had been dead all his life. For all he knew, Cherry would have no interest in his father as more than a friend, but that was fine. Maybe the outcome here was almost a detail. He often wondered if his father had refrained from remarrying for his own sake; if that was the case, then he owed his father some sort of blessing. He wanted his father to move on.
And crazy as it was since he'd never known her, he was damn sure his mother wanted the same thing.
"Really? There aren't many masters of arms who paint. Your father is a rare breed of man."
"The rarest," Haldred agreed. "Actually, I was just going to put on a pot of tea for me and him. Would you like to join us?"
"I suppose it couldn't hurt." Hopefully his father would see things the same way. "Just give me a minute to run home for some biscuits. I hope you and your father like cinnamon."
NEXT CHAPTER:
May 20, 1185
The official meeting wouldn't be until the end of the school day, but while Morgan and Sister Paulina had classes to get them through the morning, Cherry had nothing until the afternoon. She'd tried sleeping in, but the anticipation hadn't agreed to that. So... why not break her fast and dress early, nod through the window to Sir Nythran in the next house as she never got the chance to on Mondays? Why not head over the now stage-free administrative tower, see if Raia had a moment, and confirm just a little earlier what she already knew?
Because there was no possible way that masque could have been considered a failure.
The audience space had been filled to capacity. The students manning the fenced perimeter had reported no attempts at unpaid entries--and since she and Morgan and Paulina all hammered in the importance of the masque's success to their education, covering for anyone was an arrow to the foot. And the idea that a cast of noted nobles and knights would raise the limit on what people were willing to pay? Stupid and gimmicky, sure--but according to an Economics major with several Literature electives who'd done some initial surveys, it had worked!
And then the performance itself had gone out without a hitch. No missed cues so far as Cherry noticed, no malfunctioning props or effects, nor any stumbling over lines or small, stiff movements. A line or two may have been changed unwittingly, but not to the point of compromising the meaning. Cherry hadn't had a script on her for reference, but the only obviously unscripted bit had been...
...well, kind of enough to merit more laughs and cheers than any other moment. "I still can't believe Florian's timing."
"It was quite... fitting," Raia managed, not quite so amused. But Cherry guessed she couldn't blame her, since she'd had one of the closer views of certain... things. "We find the defendant..."
"SIR BORS!" Of course, Florian had been much more vocal. And wearing far fewer articles of clothing. "You know, he spends the whole rehearsal period trying to derail the story with his interruptions, but what does he go with in the end? A non-sequitur naked dance routine."
"Kind of a miracle we got through the rest of the scene after that. And a good thing Morgan thought to send Vera and Sparron out before my death scene." Morgan, so she'd told Cherry after, had felt that a light reprieve would be needed to better bridge Florian's interruption with Morgause's emotional last minutes, so the task of improvising a fluffy little love scene had fallen to Vera and Sparron.They'd done quite a nice job with it too, all things considered--even if it hadn't quite passed for a scripted scene to those who knew Morgan's writing style. "But that's not what you're here to talk about."
"You know me so well." She was one of the four people in Naroni to have sat through the entire 'why they call me Cherry' story, after all. "The revenue--"
"Yes, the masque made a profit."
"So we get the profit."
"Yes."
"And the budgeting procedures will be revised."
"Yes."
Success! She'd thought so. "Excellent."
"I thought you'd say that." Raia pushed back her chair and stepped around the desk. Up close, the bags beneath her eyes weren't quite so subtle. It must have been a tough job, balancing so many conflicting interests--not that that gave Cherry any less of a right to fight for her own. "Though, I should warn you that future projects may be required."
"Oh?"
"You proved that your department deserves increased funding. The other departments are going to want chances to prove themselves too. It'll be a competition from here on out."
That... could have been expected, Cherry supposed. There was only so much money to go around, and someone had to draw the short end of the stick. That said-- "But it'll be a fair competition, correct?"
Raia nodded. "I'll do my best to make it so."
NEXT CHAPTER:
January 25, 1185
"Sorry about that." Raia took her seat at the head of the table, not entirely sure why she was apologizing. This wasn't a regular meeting. It was the end of the day and she'd left the administrative tower to collect Viridia from the staff nursery, only for one of the assistants to run after her with the news that three of the department heads were in her office, in search of a word. She'd sent the assistant on to the nursery with the news that she wouldn't be long; regardless, she didn't much care to keep her youngest waiting at the end of the day.
"It's fine. We probably should scheduled something in advance, but..." Morgan grimaced. She wouldn't have been here without a grievance, but she'd always struck Raia as the sort who tried to be tactful. "Patience is a virtue, I guess."
"Which makes the three of us less than virtuous--my apologies, Sister Paulina," added Cherry with a wink. "Anyway, guess we might as well get the point. I had Farilon over for tea yesterday, and somehow the topic of departmental funding came up, and... well, you know where this is going."
Damn right she did. "You discovered that his department received more funding than yours did."
And then she'd talked to the others, to find that Morgan and Sister Paulina, at least, were similarly dissatisfied. "Yes."
Raia sighed. She and Ellona had written down their logic that day they'd met at her house, and that scrap of parchment lay half-forgotten in Falidor's sock drawer. Probably should have filed that properly. "My apologies. That said, you must understand that a lot of our mathematics and physics texts have to be translated and imported, and certain other disciplines have to be up to date--anything to do with anatomy, for example, for the sake of aspiring doctors. Given that your disciplines have more room for imaginative components, Ellona and I figured they were some of the safer areas to cut."
Did that sound fair? Hardly. Damn. She tried to be a fair boss. For the most part, she thought she was a fair boss. For this, though... ugh. She didn't regret the budget, but how could she explain that without being insensitive? "You know... there's no price for creativity."
"Fair enough for my composition and rhetoric classes, but I have the analytical classes as well." Still seated, Morgan pulled her chair in toward the table. "I can't always count on the local shops or General Zaahir's collection to have every text my students are supposed to analyze, much less multiple copies. They're on a rotation right now--and not everyone can be counted on to finish promptly."
"And I have my students painting over old work," chimed in Cherry. "I hate to do it, but new canvases are expensive."
"And my masquing students are starting to learn about set design, but there's only so much they can learn from diagrams."
Valid, valid, and valid. Being in charge did not come without its downsides. "Look, there are no rules prohibiting you from seeking independent funding--"
"But when do we have the time to do that? On our budgets, we can't hire people to fundraise for us, and the students are busy enough without having to help."
"If it was a curricular project, sure, but simply asking--"
"Oh." It was Sister Paulina, with that quiet-yet-authoritative voice that had to have been exclusive domain of drama teachers. "But what if it was a curricular project?"
Cherry and Morgan shared a glance. Intrigued, Raia leaned forward. "Oh?"
"A masque, perhaps?"
"A masque?" Cherry grinned; Raia wasn't sure whether to take that for amusement or genuine interest.
"Yes. Morgan can write it, I can direct it, you can costume it, and we can collaborate on the set. I probably don't have enough acting students to cast a whole production, but--"
"--but you could cast some of the patrons and other notable figures in the kingdom." And there they were, the eyes on Raia again. Maybe this hadn't been her place to butt in--though, she was their boss. "A production would require funding, after all; maybe they'd be more likely to contribute if they're involved directly."
"Quite possibly. Featuring notable people would also increase ticket sales, would it not?"
"It would." Actually... depending on the price of tickets...
"And our departments would be entitled to the entirety those profits, correct?" asked Cherry.
"Yes."
"And if the masque is successful, could we expect greater funding in future years if any subsequent masques fund the university as a whole?"
"I wouldn't discount it." The eyes didn't seem too impressed. "Fine. If the masque turns a profit, you'll get more funding. And yes, I'll talk to the patrons about a little extra for the production, so you don't have to. Any other questions?"
"Just one." Morgan turned her way, a tug of mischief at the side of her mouth. "Would you star in it?"
NEXT CHAPTER:
September 18, 1184
Cherry had not been expecting company--and if she had, it would have been someone she knew, or at least knew of. Or, failing that, someone who had tangible reason for calling on her. It would not have been someone random teenage boy she'd never met in her life, a boy whose name she only recognized because she'd once witnessed his father being thrown out of a tavern.
That said, she'd let Severin in and led him upstairs to the sitting room, then seated herself once he looked to be comfortable. She drew the line at food, though. If he expected food, he ought to have given her notice. Or at least found some opening to introduce himself in a public space before inviting himself to her house.
"I don't want to be rude, but isn't it a school day?"
He shrugged. "If I wanted a lecture about skipping, I would have dropped in on my mother."
"More of an ends fellow than a means one, I see." As she could have guessed, he didn't dignify that with more than a blink. "All right. What do you want?"
"I heard you're from Tagrien. Is that true?"
...what. Maybe she had mentioned Tagrien to Florian in the tavern. Didn't make his question any less of a shock. "Well, I was actually born in Rexus, but I did live in Tagrien for most of my life, yes."
"You weren't acquainted with Count Felron, were you?"
Oh, God. "What, you think all people from Tagrien know each other? I'll admit it's not exactly London, but you need to check your population figures before you assume things."
"So you didn't know him." Direct enough--she'd give him that. "Any chance you knew someone who did?"
"Naturally. It's not exactly London, after all." She winked; he didn't seem to appreciate it. "A friend of mine had a sister who was a maid at the castle."
"A servant. Interesting." Severin shuffled up against the arm of the bench and leaned over while Cherry did her best to maintain a polite distance. "They usually have the dirt on their masters, don't they?"
"They do. Alas, I don't think it was ever a big secret that Felron is an asshole." Hell, even his own mother had admitted it, or so Cherry had heard said. She recalled more than one rumor that said Felron might be passed over for Sir Garrett on that basis; pity it hadn't turned out to be true. "That other thing might be, though."
Her guest raised an eyebrow. He know doubt wanted her to say it, but she kind of wanted him to ask. He'd shown up uninvited, after all; there was no reason for him to stop taking initiative now. "What other thing?"
"Well... see, a lot of noblemen feel entitled to take their female servants to bed, and Felron has a habit of doing just that. My friend's poor sister had that misfortune more than once, and, well..." How to put it? As far as the world ought to have been concerned, she'd already said the worst of it. But some people had no priorities when it came to shame. "...apparently he's, er... not particularly well-endowed."
"Well-endowed?" Severin repeated, eyes wide and mouth twisting. Poor stupid kid.
Cherry sighed. "He has a tiny penis."
"I know what you meant!" And yet, his indignation wasted no time swapping itself for curiosity. "How small?"
"Small enough that there were rumors among the staff that his wife had to have her maidenhead surgically ruptured. Nothing anyone with any knowledge of the female anatomy would believe, but that seems to be more people than not." Though really... if a maidenhead covered everything, then why were such heavy periods possible? That stuff was more gunk than liquid sometimes. If a maidenhead wasn't fully permeable--which surely it wouldn't have been--then why didn't women go through their youths with only light bleeding and then lose years' worth of backlog after first penetration?
"Huh." Severin sunk back in his seat and looked to the ceiling. Fighting to get the image of a naked Felron out of his mind, no doubt. Lord knew how long that had taken Cherry when she'd first heard the size of the thing. "That's... got to be pretty small."
"Embarrassingly so."
"How embarrassing?"
Was there a scale of embarrassment where cocks were concerned? Cherry shrugged. "Well, not having one myself, you'd know better than I would. But based on what I know of men's egos and the length between Atasha's finger and thumb when she told me, I'd say there are some Greek statues out there who stand to be feeling pretty good about themselves if they ever wind up in Felron's bedroom."
NEXT CHAPTER:
