In Which Searle Guesses the Remedy

December 8, 1179

Raia was not in attendance as the baby had a slight fever, and of course Viridis was still in Carvallon, but the rest of Searle's siblings were all accounted for. The children, of course, were off playing elsewhere, poor Roddie among their exasperated babysitters; the adults were already dancing the night away, though the evening sun still sparkled in the stain-glass windows and dinner had yet to be served. Vera and Lonriad had already danced so long and so hard that they had retired to the benches with their respective partners, but Jadin and Riona were still going strong, now dancing a closer and slower dance, guided by innate rhythm and the path of their spouses' eyes.

Searle had never danced like that. Not with that kind of focus, at least.

He glanced over at his wife, seated to the side by the heart-wrenchingly adorable Vera and Lucien. She looked tired and ill, and again he regretted begging her to accompany him. Lettie was seven months if Arydath hadn't lost her uncanny touch, but the bump was so small and so low Searle couldn't even be sure that everyone here was aware of her condition. The slouch and the deceptive gown she'd chosen didn't help. Poor girl. Still missing Prior, still suffering in silence as his broken heart kept silently beating for another, and probably still stressed from the whole plan too. How she'd managed to let him back in bed long enough to get pregnant again, he couldn't guess, but she was a much more patient woman than he ever could have hoped for.

He wished he could dance with her like that. He really did.

Sparron hadn't shown up, not that Searle had expected he would. Didn't mean it hurt any less. Attending functions where Sparron was present was torture--all the looking without looking, all the wondering if anyone was looking back, wanting nothing more than just a minute with him and knowing that was never going to happen--but it was nothing compared to the hard fact that Sparron had gone out of his way to avoid him. It had been like that before, but at least he'd known Sparron's patterns, known that he'd come around eventually, that there would come a day they'd be together again.

It wasn't like that this time. If Sparron hadn't come, then he was still angry with him. He still hated him.

And that made the sight of all his smiling, laughing, happily-in-love siblings all the more unbearable.

Perhaps he wasn't trying hard enough with his wife. Maybe Sparron's rejection was some cosmic force telling him to give up and get over the man, some means of clearing the path to marital bliss with Lettie. But what if Sparron came back to him? No matter how long it took, no matter how over Sparron he thought he was, he doubted he could ever resist. And he didn't want to harm the small, dying hope he still harbored.

"Not quite the dancer your brothers are?"

It was Casimiro. Searle wasn't sure how he'd missed him; the soft green tunic was a bold departure from his usual drab brown. "Not really in a dancing mood."

"I know what you mean. Of course, it doesn't help that my date is my sister." Catalina glowered from her chair by the dancers. Casimiro returned the glare with a good-natured smirk. "Do you think 'Nardo might let me borrow Hilla? He dances like his toenails are lead, but she almost makes that unnoticeable."

Searle glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Bernardo loose his lips on Hilla's shoulder. He'd kissed Sparron there a few times, but Sparron had always shrugged him aside. "He doesn't look like he wants to share."

"Guess not--but can you blame him, really?" Fond smile swelling, Casimiro sighed as he took in the sight of his brother and sister-in-law. "All those empty flings with tavern girls and knight's daughters alike, then he finally meets the one woman who can keep him satisfied all by her lonesome. You don't let something like that get away."

"No," Searle agreed. He hadn't guessed that one word could make him feel like such a hypocrite. "I had someone once."

"I did too. At least, I thought I did." It was the first hint of sadness Searle had seen on that face since he'd known Casimiro, but he didn't press. They weren't lovers. He'd feared Casimiro had wanted that of him, but a good long conversation like he'd never had with Sparron proved otherwise. They were friends who scratched each other's backs because it worked for them, but nothing more.

They weren't close enough for Searle to delve into Casimiro's private sorrows, nor for Casimiro to feel obliged to tell on his own accord. "All in the past, though. My more pressing concern right now is dinner and how long until it's served."

Was that a joke? Searle forced out a chuckle. "Are you that hungry?"

"No, but I am that bored."

"And food is your remedy for that particular ailment?"

"One of them, yes. But I have a few others."

Searle thought he could guess what one of them might be. He wasn't sure how he felt about the idea--sneaking off from a party with someone who wasn't Sparron--but maybe it would prove a fitting distraction. It couldn't have been worse than just standing here, drowning in all the happy. "Pray tell?"

As he thought he might, Casimiro winked. "Walk with me?"

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Ellona Takes Her Turn

September 12, 1179

Raia's baby was due in couple weeks and she'd asked Ellona to attend the birth.

Not having seen one since her mother had shoved out Landus, and not having any other pregnant friends or really any other friends at all, Ellona had figured it was about time she took another turn and it would probably be a while before the next opportunity came around. So, she'd agreed to spend a few days at Raia's, wait around for the kid to get a move on it, suffer through the sight of that barbaric mess of a process and wonder how the hell she'd managed it twice herself.

Of course, that left the problem of what to do with her own children for those few days. On the almost non-existent occasion of her being away from home for the night, the kids stayed at Raia's. She supposed she could get away with bringing Kaldar--Sev could use a playmate to distract him while his mother spent a couple solid hours screaming obscenities and threatening the state of his father's manhood--but Ella was too young to be of much interest to Alina. If Riona or Lettie were attending, Shahira or Rennie might be brought along, but Rennie had too much energy for Ella and Shahira, too little. And it wasn't as if Ellona would be around to occupy Ella herself. She did have nannies at home, but the one who paid their wages was Ietrin; since their falling out, Ellona could not make the mistake of trusting the help.

That left only one option: her brothers. Neilor didn't care for children in general, but he had a soft spot for hers and could deny her nothing besides. And for all she still felt uncomfortable around Landus, she had to give him credit for his unfailing indulgence of Ella's whims. So, here she was, asking for the sheer formality of it but knowing there was little chance of refusal.

She shut the door behind her and locked eyes with the room's other occupant, a young man who greeted her with a small smile from the bench. As always, the desk was noticeably empty. "Where is that idiot steward?"

The man shrugged. "I've yet to see any indication of Sir Neilor actually having a steward."

"He might fare better if he hadn't." She tried to remember the last time she'd seen Neilor's steward. Probably when she'd called a couple weeks ago, and then she'd seen a little too much of him. Perhaps she would mention to her brother that most knights fired stewards who thought the front room was a perfectly good place for some mid-morning fellatio. "Is Neilor even home?"

"Yes. He's exploring marriage prospects. That's why I'm here." Ellona raised an eyebrow. The young man took a second to realize what she'd heard, then laughed. "Oh, no, he's not my type. It's my sister. I'm just the chaperone."

Wouldn't have been her first guess, given the absence of both her brother and the young lady. "Nice job you're doing of it, then."

"Oh, the job's doing itself. They each seem to be thoroughly disinterested." Of course they were. There were only a handful of people capable of keeping Neilor's interest. It seemed a stretch to assume that this woman would be one of them. "I'm Casimiro, by the way. Casimiro de Cervantes."

Oh yes--the one Neilor had beaten in the semifinal of that tournament. But she supposed he wasn't vexing enough to merit the mention of that. "Ellona del Marinos."

"Should've guessed. You have your brother's eyes."

"And I should hope little else." Casimiro chuckled. Of course he understood, having two brothers of his own. "I thought your sister was married."

"Widowed," he corrected. "Five years ago now. My mother thought she'd have better prospects out here. That and I think she's hinting that I need a woman around the house."

He smirked, but it seemed little like flirting. Good. She did not care to deal with flirtation so soon. "I imagine marriage is overrated. Works for some people, but not for everyone."

"Kind of like strong-smelling cheeses."

Ellona gagged. "Strong-smelling cheeses work for no one."

"Eh. I don't mind them if they're used properly. But I'm pretty easy-going." He flipped back a lock of hair and grinned. I'll say. "You... maybe not so much, if you don't mind me saying."

"No. I'm really not." Another laugh. It seemed to be catching, as she found she had to smile. "And in that vein, how long do you think my brother will be?"

"Not long. Actually, they're probably looking for an excuse to call it a day." That did sound like most of Neilor's attempts at courtships. "Shall we indulge them there?"

He offered her an arm. Not recalling a time any man had ever done that for her, she awkwardly took it. "It would be a mercy."

One last snicker breaking from Casimiro's mouth, the pair of them stepped forward and pushed through the door to Neilor's sitting room. If the first glance meant anything, then he hadn't exaggerated. A dark-haired woman sat with her back to them, head turned not toward Neilor but the window nearby; Neilor himself was on the other couch, a cushion away from the shared end-table, bored to the point of near agony. As he noticed her and Casimiro, his strained politeness melted to relief. "Casimiro. Sister."

"Brother."

Casimiro's sister turned her head and acknowledged them with a nod. She wasn't ugly, but she was plain; hers was the sort of face that inspired no expectation of intrigue, though to her credit she dressed well and her hair was immaculate. But an empty box wrapped in silk and pretty ribbons was still an empty box, and Neilor was not a man who cared much about packaging.

Her next words to him must have been the kindest he'd heard all day. "It seems we've kept my brother waiting."

Ellona exchanged a quick glance with Casimiro. His star-like eyes sparked as if to ask who had kept who.

"So we have." That roll of his eyes, she was sure of it, was meant for her alone. "My apologies. I see you've met my sister."

"I have. And I find her utter lack of charm utterly charming." Ellona stiffened. It seemed the sort of remark a person made about an old friend, not someone they'd known for all of five minutes. Nonetheless, she would allow it. Five minutes or not, an old friend was not the worst one could be. "Ellona, this is my sister Catalina. Catalina, this is Ellona del Marinos."

"Charmed." But as she stood, her smile was reserved for her brother. He was, after all, her escape. "I suppose we ought to get going before night falls."

"That we should. Take care, Neilor." Casimiro sent her brother a good-natured wave, then took Ellona's hand and endowed it with a brief, chaste kiss. "Ellona."

She gave a parting nod and he turned away, his sister close behind. A minute or so dragged on from the time he shut the door to the time her brother stood. "Thank God that's over."

Every time she'd ever seen a prospect of his off, he'd always said that exact thing. "Painful?"

"Excruciating." He pecked her on the cheek, then stepped back and sighed. "I'm about ready to give up on this whole wife-finding business. Far more trouble than it's worth." He allowed himself one strained chuckle before looking her over--intent on changing the subject, no doubt. "New dress?"

"Old." And not a candle to the things she'd grown used to wearing. But purple was Ietrin's family color, and it seemed it was all she owned except for this dress. And that was perfect. It was brown and basic and about as far from Ietrin as she could get without insulting his wife's family by donning their green. It would have to do. "But never mind that. Raia's asked me to attend the birth. Would you be able to take Ella and maybe Kaldar when the time comes?"

"Of course." He took her by the hand and squeezed it. It was the sort of sentimentality they both despised, but neither cringed. Deep down, she thought, they both knew that there were times when they were all each other had. "Actually, now that you're done with Ietrin, I was wondering if maybe you and the kids wanted to live here instead. I know it's not as nice as your place, but--"

"--but it's not his." He nodded. A strange calm about her, she leaned into him and let him embrace her. It was her turn to be relieved. "I'll move in the second I leave Raia's."

NEXT CHAPTER: