In Which Adonis Hosts a Pointless Visit

January 5, 1169

"Papa!" Congren squealed as his brother swiped one of Noah's sons from the arc's lower story. "He keeps stealing people!"

Sheepish, Sev stretched his little arm and held out the figure, as if offering a trade. "Amnimal?"

"Congren, maybe give Sev one of the horses," advised Adonis. "He'll probably have more fun with those anyway."

Congren snatched the doll out of Sev's grasp and batted one of the horses his way in an irate fashion. Adonis sighed; his middle son had never been happy to share his toys, particularly with his little brother. Maybe it was just because Congren felt that he actually had the right to pick on this one--that had to be it. Sev was an easy target, and nothing more.

At least, Adonis hoped that was the case. He didn't want his son to grow up blaming his little brother for the death of their mama.

To his great relief, there came a knock at the door, a knock he recognized as belonging to his youngest's namesake. Being the only adult in the house often left him lonely, even when his older children were around; over the course of the past year, unexpected company had progressed from an annoyance to a refreshing change of pace. "The door's open."

Severin stepped inside and promptly removed his cloak; he meant to stay a while. The woman behind him followed suit, taking off her shawl and handing it to him. Adonis didn't know who she was, but he thought he might have seen her in the village once or twice, perhaps. He wondered why Severin had brought her. He doubted they were sleeping together; after Alina, Severin had a strict self-imposed rule of never appearing in public with women he was bedding. Adonis wasn't sure exactly why. Guilt, perhaps. Trying not to cause a scandal, maybe--or trying not to get anyone's hopes up. The people of Veldorashire were starting to miss having a lady in the castle.

"Adonis," Severin greeted him, stepping around his companion and placing their outerwear in the closet. "Children."

Adonis nodded. "Severin."

The other man closed the cupboard door, then took the woman by the arm and led her toward the couch. "This is my stepsister. Avine, meet Adonis and his two youngest children, Congren and Sev." He then collapsed into Honora's old chair, leaving Avine to take a seat next to Adonis.

"Nice to meet you," she acknowledged as she cast a quick glance around the room. "You have a lovely home."

"Thank you." Avine seemed pleasant, but even now that he had a name to put to her face, he was unsure as to why Severin had brought her here. From what he understood, the two of them weren't any closer than casual acquaintances.

"We were both visiting at Avine's father's house," Severin explained, as if reading Adonis's mind. "I was escorting her back to her home near Riso Village, but since I haven't seen you in a couple of weeks, I figured I might as well drop by."

Adonis raised an eyebrow; he knew that Severin hadn't been all there since Alina had died, but why was it that each of his answers was only raising more questions? "Isn't my house a little out of the way if you're heading to the king's shire?"

Severin dismissed the notion with a wave. "I know a shortcut. Anyway, how have you been?"

"Rather the same as always," replied Adonis with a shrug. "Yourself?"

"Likewise." He shot a quick look toward the window. "You haven't seen any of my children today, have you?"

Adonis shook his head. "No..."

"Are Had and the girls around?"

"No, but I fail to see what that has to do with anything."

Leery, Severin glanced out the window again. "Just curious."

Frowning, Adonis locked eyes with an equally-confused Avine, who then turned to face her stepbrother. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, you're acting a little strange," Adonis agreed, "even for you."

Severin laughed, though his gaze took to flitting between Adonis and the door. "Oh, I'm fine. Just... feels a little odd having both of you in the same room. Mixing social circles and all, you know? I'm sorry. You're both probably feeling a little awkward."

"I'm not." Adonis sent Avine a quick half-smile. "Are you?"

"Of course not," she insisted. "Really, Severin, what's going on? Why did you even want to come here in the first place?"

Severin shrugged. "Since when do I need a reason to visit an old fr--?"

"Aha! Thought you could avoid us for the rest of the day, did you?"

Startled, Adonis looked to the doorway to see Severin's two eldest children standing there, both looking so composed and controlled that he couldn't help but thinking they were about to explode. What were they doing here? As if this whole situation wasn't ridiculous enough. "And to think, we were even going to head all the way down to the village to look for you," Raia scolded, crossing her arms, her cool gaze unblinking. "Thank you for not bothering to hide your horse, Father."

Sighing, Severin pressed his hand to the side of his head. "Ah, the horse..."

Unable to take it anymore, Adonis clasped his hands together and stared past Avine to the pair of aggravated youngsters. "Excuse me, but would you mind explaining what this is about?"

Avine nodded in accord. Scowling, Jadin raised his thumb to his mouth and bit off a chunk of skin. "Well, it's the servants' payday, but someone must have forgotten. Then, I'm guessing he remembered while he was out, and then decided that instead of coming home to take care of business, he'd keep a low profile for the rest of the day and let us deal with it."

Resigned, Severin pulled himself to his feet and stepped toward his children. "I hope the servants weren't too annoyed."

Raia shook her head. "We paid them. Searle's working on the accounts right now, but they'll need your initials--and you might want to check his arithmetic. But really, what the hell do we have to do to get you to do anything? Leave notes all around the castle? Wait outside your door so we can catch you as soon as you wake up?"

Adonis could only see Severin's back, but his stance seemed to tense. "Can this wait until we get home? You're making Master Indruion and Mistress Lowan uncomfortable."

"No, they're not," Adonis and Avine argued in unison. What a bizarre, pointless visit this had been. At least he'd gotten a new acquaintance out of it, he supposed.

Jadin stuck his tongue out at his father, then stormed out the door, forgetting that the other two would follow and slamming it shut. Raia watched as Severin retrieved his cloak from the closet, her glare fixated upon him until he too had left the house. "Good day, Master Indruion, Mistress Lowan," she bade curtly before following her father outside.

She closed the door behind her with a firm click!, leaving Adonis alone with Avine in a strained, inconclusive sort of silence. Not wanting to make things too awkward, he decided to break it. "That was... odd."

"Indeed." She dropped her gaze and fiddled with her wedding band; if he recalled correctly, she was a widow. "I'm sorry about that. You should have seen his mother earlier--I'm pretty sure she thinks he's going mad."

"I don't know; I think madness would be a lot less painful for him." He moved his foot back as Congren attempted to make a zebra prance its way up his leg. "Easier on the kids, too; I know I'd rather pick up someone's slack if he was incapable of doing his own work than if he simply refused to do it."

Avine sighed. "I suppose."

More silence. Strange; he didn't usually have such trouble talking to people. He felt a little nervous. Maybe he just had to say something.

"So," he ventured, a grin coming to his face more easily than he might have expected, "since you're here, do you, uh... maybe want to stay for supper?"

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin Is the Wicked Stepbrother

March 2, 1164

In all honesty, Severin could not say he felt comfortable around Avine. He had no qualms about his mother's relationship with Willott--Lord knew that regardless of whether or not they were actually married, he was the only decent man she'd ever had--but the fact that the pair of them had a child together who was younger than some of his own offspring was somewhat unsettling. As Willott's daughter by his late wife, Avine shared a similar sentiment there--and, additionally, she had always seemed uneasy with the idea of Willott and Laveria together in the first place. Severin found Avine pleasant enough, but there was always this awkwardness between them, all these unspoken emotions and the painful awareness of their very presence. Around each other, they were polite, but stiff; there were too many reasons for each of them to not want to be near each other.

And now, there would be one more. He felt like a monster; the moment he knocked on the door would be the moment her world shattered forever, and yet, there was no sense in postponing the inevitable. He wiped his fevered brow with his sleeve, then softly rapped his knuckles against the door.

It was answered by a girl who looked to be about the same age as his son Searle. Severin didn't quite know what to make of this. On one hand, he now had a few more precious seconds to think about what to say to Avine; on the other, that young face was a living symbol of everything he was about to destroy.

"Uh... hello," he greeted her. His assumed familiarity confused her, he could tell by the confused look in her eyes, but in this instance, the more formal acknowledgment of "Good day" seemed horrifically inappropriate. "Is your mother here?"

The girl peered back over her shoulder. "Mama, there's a man here."

"Well, let him in, Melria," replied Avine's voice from the back of the room. "It's getting cold in here with that door open."

Nodding, Melria turned around and led him into the kitchen. Severin closed the door behind him; Avine had already complained, and he figured the room was about to get a hell of a lot colder without the additional draft. How could he do this? How could something so cruel be something so necessary? Were there even any words suitable for telling a woman that she was now a widow? For telling her children that they were now orphans?

The woman in question stood at the back of the room, washing vegetables in her basin, her black hair bound in a long braid, a tunic-like apron atop her dress. She was preparing supper, as she did every day--and here he was, about to tell her she toiled for one too many.

For all intents and purposes, Avine was his stepsister. As the father of four girls, Severin was more than familiar with all of the old stories, tales of selfless, virtuous--albeit, often rather dim--young women made martyrs under the tyranny of their wicked step-families. Avine herself had an origin not unlike such maidens, having been raised by her loving father following the early death of her mother, but her story deviated from theirs in the fact that she had begun her own family before her father had reforged his, and that her step-family had never done her any particular ill.

Until now.

Avine turned away from the basin, only to freeze at the sight of him. He didn't blame her; it wasn't as if they made a habit of purposely interacting. "Oh... my lord."

Severin ground the lining of his cheek between his teeth. As much as he hated being addressed so formally--and as bizarre as it was to be referred to as 'my lord' by one's own stepsister--he could never bring himself to tell Avine to call him by name. To do so would be an expression of comfort and familiarity, something he doubted they would ever share, especially considering what he was about to do her. "Mistress Lowan."

She sent him a half-hearted smile; he felt a tenth of the man who had just been standing in his place seconds before. "What can I do for you, my lord?"

As little as he wished to tell Avine of her husband's murder, Severin had to admit that he would rather do so himself than have Dalston bring her the news; however, he did not think it his place to inform any of her children that their father would never again tuck them into bed, or hold them in his arms, or present them with little toys and trinkets he had found in town. They deserved to hear such grim tidings from their mother herself, though it grieved him to believe so when he pictured the day Alina told their own children of his passing--or, God forbid, the day he told them of hers.

"Melria," he addressed the girl with a seriousness she appeared to have never known, "I hate to be rude, but would you mind stepping out of the room for a moment?"

A shudder from Avine told him that she knew something was amiss. "Run along, girl--go and play with your brothers."

Melria's eyes widened. "Mama..."

"Melria, go," her mother pressed; uneasy, the child scurried off, her pace quickening with each step. Soon enough, she had retreated through one of the doors lining the nearby corridor, allowing it to swing shut behind her.

Severin took a few weary strides toward his stepsister and locked his gaze with hers. The usual sparkle in her brown eyes was fast fading; he may as well have been plucking stars from the sky. "What's going on, my lord?"

He could stall for no longer. As horrible as he was, she needed to know the truth; he could not have her think that the husband who had loved her and their children so was absent for any reason other than the most final reason of all.

"Avine," he began, cringing at the gravity of his own voice, "perhaps you should take a seat..."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Avine Invokes a Demon's Wrath

May 25, 1158

During her childhood years back in Dovia, Avine had always been the fastest little girl in the village, the only one who could consistently challenge boys to races and come out on top. Her running prowess had not faded with womanhood, marriage, and motherhood--but today, no matter how fast she ran, she felt lacked the speed of a mere babe toddling along after the lanky young men.

Not for the first time in her lengthy sprint, she prayed against all logic that Thetis was home. Thetis, she knew, always came to get Byrn before returning home, but today had to be exception. It just had to be.

Gasping for breath, Avine through herself against the door, continually pounding. "Thetis!" she screamed. "Thetis!"

It was no use; no one answered.

Frustrated, she began to pound, biting her lip so hard her teeth might have pierced through her skin. "Thetis! Oh, God, Thetis! Please be home, please! God dammit!"

Suddenly, the door flung open--however, the person it revealed was not Thetis.

Avine had never met Norwan, nor had ever had any care to, but here he was, just as Thetis had described him. He was not a large man--in fact, he was rather short--but his angry scowl, cruel eyes, and very aura made him a fierce, intimidating presence. He wreaked of a vile mix of sweat and ale, and altogether gave Avine the distinct impression of being rather troll-like. She could not fear him, however; there were far fouler things at work today.

"Who the hell are you?" he spat sourly, his voice invoking the sudden mental image of a rotting fence board with jagged, rusty nails sticking out of it from all angles.

"I--I live in the village," panted Avine, struggling to catch her breath. "I--Thetis--she leaves Byrn with me--sometimes."

Norwan barred his teeth, his foul breath seeping into the air; had Avine been in a state to be any more aware, she would have recoiled out of sheer reflex. "Can't be bothered to take care of her own son, can she? Little whore! She's in for it when she gets back, that's for sure! Now, if she shows up with Byrn again, you just tell her to get her scrawny ass back here, you hear me?"

Avine trembled uncontrollably. "I... don't think..."

"You don't what?" demanded Norwan, shoving her backward, causing her to very nearly fall into the fence. "God dammit, woman! You filthy whores have a code or what? Vile wench! Now, why the hell are you here?"

"I came to tell Thetis--"

He gave her no chance to finish. "Well, Thetis ain't here, is she? Now, you tell me whatever the hell you wanted to tell her, or I'll rip those whore braids right off your head!"

She didn't know how to begin, especially under this pressure. What should she say? Why hadn't she thought this through? Was it possible to think something like this through? "The horse... he's usually calm, I swear! Something must've startled him, it was the damnedest thing..."

"I don't give a rat's ass about any damn horse!" Norwan snarled dangerously.

Once again, Avine panicked--why hadn't she sent Bernver instead? "But if I would've thought... I wouldn't have let him... never was a tamer horse, I swear it, and..."

"To hell with the fucking horse! You start talking sense now, or God help me, I'll tear you to shreds!"

Avine couldn't hold it in any longer; as she slowly walked away, she raised her hands to her face and began to cry. "It's... it's Byrn," she wailed, her voice barely even audible to Avine herself. "He's dead."

NEXT CHAPTER: