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April 8, 1194
Haldred's two surviving sons sat on the benches by the fireplace, just as they had in turn when Cladelia had been in his place. They'd had eight children together, and four had remained when Cladelia's time had come. Since then, he'd lost Searle. Jadin and Tarien remained, along with their sister Celina.
None of their boys had been lucky enough to inherit much of their mother's strength. Jadin had the most of it, perhaps. So long as he could see a reason to go on, he would, and he was young enough that many remained ahead of him. But, he was still recovering from the death of his eldest daughter less than a year ago. That was not enough time between losses.
Tarien... well, it had been apparent since the boy's first wife had died. Tarien was incapable of being alone. After his first wife had died, he'd married his sister-in-law. After his second wife had died, he'd searched long and hard, four failed betrothals before he found his third. His third wife had been gone a few years now, and Tarien had been dropping hints about perhaps searching for a fourth. He'd taken to writing his cousin Lettie in Dovia rather frequently, though Haldred suspected she only replied to humor him. That would not end well.
"Comfortable, Father?"
His daughter--his only remaining daughter--sat down on the empty side of the bed and reclined, practically daring him to send her off. He chose not to. "Yes, thank you. Where is Sidwein?"
"He went to fetch his mother. She'll want to see you." Viridis. His sister--his only sister, only sibling at all. She was nine years older than he, and probably hadn't expected to outlive him. Frankly, Haldred had outlived himself.
"Poor Viridis. As if she didn't have enough mourning this year already, what with her grandson." Perhaps she and Jadin could commiserate. Jadin, at least, had his wife. Viridis... well, her son and daughter-in-law and granddaughter-in-law would be hurting in different ways. "I don't envy you and Sidwein. No doubt you'll have to lend support to both households."
"One more than another; we both know Aunt Viridis is tougher than Tarien."
"And you're tougher than both of them. I'm sorry we never noticed. We never noticed much about you."
She shrugged. She likely had a lot to say to that, but found no phrase appropriate for a dying man. He would have deserved it, but he appreciated the restraint.
"I'm sorry."
His daughter sighed. "Sidwein and Viridis should be here soon."
NEXT CHAPTER:
October 24, 1187
"Can I help you?"
If ever Morgan had a surprise weekend visitor, it was typically Cherry. And if not Cherry... it was at least someone she'd met before. The woman in front of her was a stranger. Her red hair was not unlike Cherry's shade, but she was a few years older with none of Cherry's humor about her. She wasn't cruel-looking, but she was cold, grim... perhaps a little lost. And, in that, a little familiar.
"You're Morgan?"
She nodded. "Might I have your name?"
"Of course. I'm Celina Andronei." Familiar indeed--though red hair aside, moreso in temperament than looks. "Searle's sister."
"Oh, yes. Vera mentioned you. She said you were married to her uncle."
"Half-uncle. But yes."
Uncle. Half-uncle. So many of these nobles had these so-called half-relatives, and so many of them insisted on the distinctions. Perhaps they were just fond of precision, but Morgan didn't care for the terms. She was an adopted child who now had an adopted child. Family was the heart, and not the blood it pumped.
Then again, maybe that was why Celina was here. But to be sure--or to keep her hopes down--Morgan started with the safer option. "Vera's not here, actually. She's visiting her sister."
"I'm not actually looking for Vera."
"Oh?" She tried not to smile too obviously.
"You see, my husband was asked to deliver some news here. I didn't have any pressing engagements in Dovia, so I thought I'd maybe call on--"
"Hello!"
A couple stairs cleared in a leap, Viridis skidded to a halt, blond braids bouncing. "Who are you?"
Celina stared, mouth agape. If she'd met the girl's mother even once, then she saw the resemblance. The woman her brother had loved, their only child together. Proof that, in some form, they and their love lived on.
Morgan would help her out. "This is your aunt, sweetie. Your father's sister."
"My father has a sister?" Viridis's eyes widened. Poor thing didn't remember her father, looks or anything else. "You're really pretty."
"Oh. Uh--"
"Can you tell me about him?" The little girl rushed up to them, beaming up at her new-found aunt. "Please?"
NEXT CHAPTER:
October 17, 1182
"Should you be tending fires in your condition?"
It was not so much a question as a means of dispelling silence. Catalina was with the children, and Tarien was in conference with Sidwein and a couple other knights about some issue at the border--once Tarien had said he'd take care of it, Haldred had taken that as license to stop listening. But that left him and Celina, and Celina had never liked being alone with either of her parents, but since he'd just returned from burying Searle, she must have figured that leaving him alone was not negotiable. Too bad that Jadin was now married and out of the house, or else they'd both have been spared the tension.
"Father, I'm pregnant--not an invalid." To prove the point, she pushed one log from near the bottom over the others and to the other side of the base. Haldred leaned to the side and peered at her stomach. There was a bit of a bump now, but he supposed she was right; if she still felt up to basic tasks, there was nothing in her way.
"Your mother never much cared for being pampered either."
His daughter sniffed. It might not have been the best idea, comparing her to her mother. "She did love you, you know. We loved all of you." Even if we did a shitty job of it. "I know your brother loved you."
"I know he did." That was one for three.
"I gave him that bracelet, like you said. I tucked it into his belt."
"Thank you." She gave the hearth one more nudge, then set the poker aside. "Will you be retiring soon?"
If he told her yes, she would have left. She would have gone down to the nursery and kissed her children good night, then returned to the guest chamber (she never set foot in her childhood bedroom) and curled up with a book until Sidwein joined her. She would have had a pleasant enough rest-of-the-evening.
Haldred had told her enough lies. "No."
Celina bit her lip and sat down--on the other bench, not next to him. He wasn't sure she'd ever sat next to him. His little girl had never been a cuddler, and that had suited him just fine. At least, before he'd considered that she hadn't been so little after all, and that maybe she hadn't been so much averse to cuddling as she was to him.
"Celina?"
She looked up. She had his eyes, down to the seething, barely constrained anger. "Yes?"
"Can you ever forgive me?"
The corners of her mouth fell. Her eyes may have been his, but the ice on her lips was all Cladelia. "No."
"I see."
But the next morning, when his family and hers were seated at the breakfast table, no one speaking but babbling children, he would break the ice to tell her that he was sorry. He would tell Tarien that he was sorry, and he would ride over to Jadin's later that day and tell him the same. Haldred had fathered eight children, and only three still lived. There were already five apologies he would never give.
NEXT CHAPTER:
September 12, 1182
With the body in Naroni and the family in Dovia, Searle of Hoprine had not been given a proper funeral. Haldred had arranged a memorial service shortly after receiving word from Sidwein's brother Severin, and that memorial service had been half a day prior. Afterwards, Sidwein and Celina and their children had returned to Sidwein's childhood home with his parents, and the hour had grown late enough that heading home was no longer practical. They would be spending the night.
Knowing that, Sidwein had indulged his father with a long night of raunchy jokes and rambling anecdotes, though he'd scarcely paid attention. His thoughts had been with his wife, supposedly nestled in his boyhood bed, a few soft tears for her brother before she drifted off to sleep. He wasn't sure if he loved her, but he did care, and he'd always found her relationship with her brother to be a bit... odd. Not especially close, yet oddly intimate, more like spy and mark than brother and sister. He sometimes wondered if Celina had thought herself Searle's guardian angel. If so, then she thought his death her failing.
Perhaps that was why, when he returned, he found her still awake, still dressed in her black mourning gown, twiddling her thumbs in her chair by the hearth instead of burrowing beneath the covers of the bed.
"You all right?"
"No." She shivered. It wasn't her predominant concern, but he could help with that.
"Do you want a fire?"
Celina nodded. Sidwein shuffled to the hearth and sparked the logs with the flint. The newborn flames glowed the color of the his wife's hair. Her brother's hair. He swapped the flint for the poker and turned one log over another. "Do you want to talk?"
"About my brother?" He didn't need to nod. Celina sighed. "He saved my life."
"I don't remember you almost dying."
"I didn't almost die. I almost killed myself." Sidwein's arm jerked. The top log slipped, a splash of sparks spattering. "Some part of me never forgave him for stopping me. I saw that he was miserable, so I tried to pay him back. Tried to keep him alive when he didn't want to be. Then by the time he wasn't miserable any more, it was just a habit."
Sidwein swallowed. It was a bare-bones explanation and it was wrong to dismiss the dead, but he didn't care about Searle any more. "Why did you try to kill yourself?"
"Because I wanted to die. Is that not enough for you?" Would it have been insensitive of him to shake his head? "How old was I when we married?"
He couldn't guess what that had to do with anything. He answered anyway. "You were seventeen. You wore a red dress, and lilies in your hair." And I saw every emotion in your eyes, each flitting to the next too quickly for me to register. "We were betrothed a week before the wedding."
"I was seventeen. Lileina was thirteen. Riona was fourteen. Learianna was fifteen, and only because her man was younger." What did that have to do with anything? Celina had never seemed the type who was desperate to be married. Certainly not to the point where she would have wished herself dead. "The day our fathers arranged our betrothal was the day after I first bled."
First? "You were seventeen."
"And not one of my sisters was over twelve. You have no idea what that means for a girl, do you?" That she ruined fewer gowns in her lifetime? "At least, a girl with parents like mine? Surely you've heard that phrase before. 'Your little girl is a woman now'. Because apparently bleeding out of your vagina is the only thing that makes you an adult."
But Celina had been an adult long before seventeen. If he remembered much about their childhoods at all, Celina had been born an adult. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that it wasn't the fact that I wasn't married. It was the fact that my parents treated me like a child and refused to stop even when I proved otherwise. When my sisters started their courses, my mother help them dress their dolls and put them away for their own daughters. Guess what I got for my sixteenth birthday?" She let out a dry laugh even though it wasn't funny. Sidwein wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Celina playing with a doll. "My little sister got her talk about the facts of life before I did, while I had to go behind my parents' backs to Aunt Renata for mine. Even after, Learianna would always look at me when someone made some naughty joke, that embarrassed 'You'll know when you're older' look, even though I was older than her and nine times out of ten I caught it before she did.
"But Learianna was a good girl. She only did as our parents wished. They would have sat me at the children's table at feasts if they hadn't thought it would cause a scandal." She tore a loose scrap of lace from the trim of her dress and flicked it into the flames. "How's this for scandal? I've fucked over a hundred men. And four or five women."
Not one lash around her violet eyes twitched as she stared him down, almost daring him to answer. He was supposed to be offended.
For whatever reason, he wasn't. "That's not very childish."
"That was the point. I was fourteen. Some of the girls were having a slumber party. My little sister was allowed to go, but my mother told me I couldn't, because slumber parties were for young ladies, and I was a little girl. But a little girl wouldn't have tracked down that stable boy who'd always had eyes for her and made wild girl-on-top love to him in the loft. A little girl wouldn't have pulled her brother's valet into the wine cellar and let him press her against the wall as he took her from behind. A little girl wouldn't have hid beneath the servants' dinner table and wound her tongue around the steward's cock as he ate.
"Sometimes I enjoyed it, lived it. Others, I just lay there like a stone, looking at the door. It was never locked. It was sometimes wide open. I wanted to be caught, and I never was. They were never any good at paying attention.
"My little sister's wedding day arrived. She asked if I would be one of her ladies, but my mother forbade it, because I wasn't a lady. This when she'd allowed poor Claddie to tend to Riona, because Claddie was a woman flowered even if she always screamed and cried when she saw the blood on her sheets. That was the last straw. I couldn't take it any more. I let my sister have her wedding night. I planned my suicide for the next. I would be in bed, legs spread, naked. My dress would be torn on the floor. There would be roses and candles and a blade lodged in my breast. I told a guard of rumored illicit passions about my plan in hopes that he'd come along as the rigor set and my parents would find him with his cock in my cold dead cunt.
"But Searle walked in, just minutes before it would have been over, even though he was supposed to have left hours earlier. He took one look at me and pried the dagger out of my hand. He snuffed the candles and stole my flint and left. And I abandoned my pursuit of death for one of revenge."
She slumped forward, the barely-there bulge of their third child collapsing to her thighs. Celina had always seemed a force of nature to Sidwein, he who'd always drifted through life like a limp leaf on a river, to the point where he may have always been a little frightened of her. He'd never expected to be frightened for her. "Celina..."
"And now he's gone. And so is my mother, and all of my sisters. And here I am, pregnant again when they'd intended to keep me in the nursery forever. And you're staring at me like I might throw myself into the fire any minute now."
Was he? "I'm sorry they made you go through that."
"Why?" She straightened up again, that curve once again besting the velvet dress for full view. "You never did that."
No. And though he didn't say a word, he promised her--and their daughter, and their son, and their baby of yet undetermined sex--in his heart that he never would. If his daughters carried on intelligent conversations and showed complex thought and good judgment at fourteen, they would be women, even if they never bled until thirty. If his sons knew right from wrong and when to fight and when to hold back, they would be men, even if their chins remained hairless and their voices high. When his children grew up--truly grew up--he would not deny it.
But at the same time, he hoped nothing forced them to grow up too quickly.
NEXT CHAPTER:
June 18, 1180
"...and that should about do it." Cladelia's stepmother finished with the front laces of the overdress, then stepped back to examine her as a whole. "You look lovely."
"Thank you, Danthia." Cladelia smoothed out her skirt, for all there wasn't a wrinkle to be found in the first place. She supposed she was nervous, but she'd been nervous before and it had never felt quite like this. Then again, perhaps that was fitting. This was, in theory, the most important day of her life.
Her stepmother, of course, was understanding. "There's no need to be anxious, dear. It doesn't take a genius to notice that man's mad about you. And if you're unhappy with him, you know you always have a home with your father and me."
She nodded, though her face had fallen stony in its lock-jawed grimace. Her home in Dovia certainly wasn't near, but it was by no means an impossible journey--or at least she could tell herself if need be. And there likely wouldn't be a need, as her betrothed was indeed a kind-hearted, honorable sort of man. As for feeling lonely... well, her little half-sister Meraleene would be married come September, also to a man of Naroni, the brother of the duke. She was off speaking with him now, in fact, with her twin sister and Abrich's mother for chaperones. And her stepsister... well, she and that Sir Neilor seemed rather fond of each other, so perhaps something might happen on that front?
And it wasn't as if there were any shortage of friendly young women here either. She wouldn't be lonely for long, she didn't think. Still. It was a change. Most of the major changes in Cladelia's life, for all she'd dreaded them as they'd approached, had been for the better: her father marrying Danthia, gaining Tivie as a stepsister, the birth of each of her little siblings.
Of course, the first change that always came to mind was her mother's suicide. Perhaps it wasn't such a mystery, her consistent assumption that every change could only bring misery.
"I agree," piped up Tivie from the couch, their mutual Aunt Celina nodding beside her. "I especially like the gold trim; it makes the dress more interesting. Most white dresses are so dull."
Danthia shot her daughter a sharp glare. "Tivie!"
"They are, though." Tivie shrugged, flippant and unfiltered as always. Her mother continued to frown and Aunt Celina struggled to look accordingly disapproving, but Cladelia knew better; Aunt Celina, she recalled, hadn't worn white at her wedding. "And it's impractical--you can't get the stains out and there's no use for the dress afterwards other than to cut it up for rags. If I ever get married, have them make me something in a nice dark green."
Cladelia followed her aunt to the other couch, contemplating Tivie's chosen garb as she took her seat. It did take her mind off the wedding, which was more than welcome; she found she had to ask. "Why dark green?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Her stepsister flashed a wicked grin. "For rolling in the grass afterwards."
Aunt Celina snorted. Smiling politely herself, Cladelia looked back over at Danthia. Her stepmother could be as strict and prudent as anyone else's mother at times, but at others...
"And why," Danthia questioned, "would you still be wearing the dress for that?"
Cladelia choked out a giggle. That, exactly.
Someone knocked at the door--a man, from the sounds of it, and for all most knocks sounded alike Cladelia did know her father's. The warmth of a blush spread from her cheeks and she couldn't guess at how to fight it. "He's not supposed to see me before the ceremony!"
"Oh, it might not be him, honey." Her stepmother reached across the couch and took her face in her hands, her fingers a calming cool against Cladelia's burning skin. "Most men have the good sense to not pester their brides before the wedding, lest the bride's stepmother unleash her wrath upon him. Probably just your grandfather--or perhaps Sir Neilor calling on Tivie," Danthia added with a wink her daughter's way.
Tivie laughed. "If you're not the bridegroom, come on in!"
The door opened. It definitely wasn't the bridegroom. Or her grandfather. Or Sir Neilor.
Cladelia hadn't seen her Uncle Searle since her grandmother's funeral, and only a handful of times before that. She didn't know much about him, except that he was Danthia's first husband and Tivie's father and Cladelia's mother's twin, and that he now lived in Carvallon with a sickly second wife who wasn't much older than Cladelia herself was. Oh, and that Tivie had ran off in search of him only months before, and that Danthia and Aunt Celina had ended up chasing after her. Not exactly the kind of awkwardness she wanted to be dealing with less than an hour before her wedding.
"Ladies."
"Father," Tivie muttered while Aunt Celina nodded and Danthia gnawed at her lip.
Cladelia swallowed. "Uncle Searle."
He stiffened, as he always seemed to do when she addressed him as such. But she supposed it wasn't too surprising; from what she knew, he'd always been a bit... off. "It, uh... it's not a problem for me to be here, is it? I just want to pay my respects to the bride."
He was looking at Danthia, which was fitting as it was she he had wronged the most, she and Tivie. But instead of snapping herself upright and demanding that he get out, she sniffed and shrugged him off coolly. "It's Cladelia's day. She can decide whether she wants you here or not."
Her uncle's eyes flickered her way. Something welling in her throat, Cladelia glanced to the other couch. Tivie didn't offer much help, mainly making a point to keep herself composed; Aunt Celina just turned her nose toward her brother and gave a non-committal hand gesture, probably something along the lines of 'your choice'. She supposed the best way to go about this was to avoid any further tension. "It's all right."
She stood, trying to smile as her uncle approached. He landed a kiss to her brow, then stepped back and looked her in the eye. "You look beautiful."
"Thank you, Uncle." His grin twitched, but she decided to ignore it. "I'm glad you could make it."
Her uncle beamed, not unlike her own father had just last night before she'd retired. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world."
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 17, 1180
"So... standing around in the rain is preferable to a visit with your ex-wife and your sister?"
Celina had meant it as a joke, but Searle just crossed his arms and continued to stare oceanward without so much of a twitch of his head to acknowledge her. She could admit to herself that it had been foolish to expect much more. She'd never been one for telling jokes, and he'd never been one for hearing them.
"Fine. Ignore me."
From what she could see, her brother was intent on doing just that--at least, until a minute or so breezed by and she hadn't so much as rustled to hint at her exit.
"Why are you here, Celina?"
His back remained to her, so she indulged herself with a smirk. "Out here with you right this second, or here in Carvallon?" Searle shrugged. Helpfulness had never been his strong suit. "Just looking out for your best interests. I'm the only sister you have left, you know; Mother made me promise I'd keep an eye on all my idiot brothers.
"That and the whole thing is sort of my fault."
Her brother sniffled. The weather in part, no doubt, but he rarely came closer to laughter. "You mentioned my whereabouts to Danthia. It's hardly your fault if Tivie happened to overhear."
"I meant for her to overhear." At last, he turned to look at her. Meddlesome as he seemed to think her--meddlesome as she was, though she wasn't about to say it aloud--she wasn't sure why it came as a surprise. Surely the odds of Tivie having been in the next room and Celina having been aware of this weren't exactly mind-blowing? "I told you I'd take care of it, didn't I?"
"Yes, because sending a sixteen-year-old girl off alone on a cross-continental journey is the solution to all of life's problems, isn't it?"
"If you doubt her capabilities, then clearly you haven't taken any chance to get to know her." She shook out her rain-weighted hair despite the fact that it wasn't going to get any dryer. Her husband would have scolded her for leaving the house without her hat, but she would have only shrugged him off like she always did. "Besides, what are Neilor and Landus? Her saddlebags?"
He grunted. Maybe Celina hadn't be the only one to catch that quick brush of hands before Neilor had gone to wake his brother. At least Searle had managed the tact to refrain from comment. "Well, I suppose there's no point worrying now. We all know she's safe."
"That we do." If only to annoy him, she flashed him the widest little sister smile she could manage. She didn't think she'd tried so hard since she'd told Tarien she wanted a pony. "Now, what do you say we head back inside? I can't be the only one who's damn sick of all this rain."
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 17, 1180
Viridis was still asleep, or at least she had been when Searle had dressed. He'd yet to see any signs of his children or Neilor this morning either. He supposed he envied them that. If he'd managed a wink of sleep all night, he might have still been in bed, nestled beneath a soft blanket, arms around his wife's warm body.
But here he was, out on the cold beach as the sea claimed any raindrop that dared approach, a certain calm-before-the-storm quiet lurking about in spite of the tide and the rain and the playful yapping of the dogs.
It wasn't that he disliked seeing his children--far from it. If he had, why would he have bothered speaking to Landus at the tournament? Why would he have sought out Tivalia at his mother's funeral? But perhaps he had grown too used to not getting what he wanted. It was how he'd been raised, he supposed; he'd never wanted for any material good, of course, but in terms of deeper, more desperate desires he'd been granted precious few. He supposed there had come a point when he'd started denying himself these things out of habit.
Now that two of his children had actually sought him out--at least one of them on her own accord--he did not know what to do with that.
Prince barked, seemingly at nothing, but that happened from time to time; he was growing more than a little senile in his old age. It wasn't until Luna dashed around Searle's back and tugged at his coat that he sensed the calm had cleared and the storm had come at last.
"What is it, girl?" he muttered as he let the rabbit-eared dog turn him about. Prince growled in the direction of the house; Searle took that for a clue and looked, watching as two figures emerged from along the side.
Female, both of them--he could tell as much from their builds, even if the air was still cold enough to require the added warmth of a bulky cloak--and not of any insignificant standing if the vibrancy of their garb and the crispinettes on their heads had anything to say about it. The one in back wore blue, her bound hair a dull orange-red like Searle's own. The green-clad woman in front also had red hair, but it was richer, darker, not unlike...
...shit.
So much for thinking he'd had enough ghosts to confront in a twenty-four hour period.
"Hello, Searle."
NEXT CHAPTER:
February 5, 1179
It had been a long enough day. Mass, wake, awkward small talk with estranged relatives, trying to get a word with his daughter but failing to get past her mother--Searle had never been so relieved to return to his own castle. Viridis was already in bed and he'd been about to join her, but so much for that now.
"What do you want, Celina?"
Why was she here? His sister and her family were staying with their father and it wasn't much of a ride, but it was late and cold and she'd come alone. He and Viridis wouldn't be leaving for a few days yet; surely whatever it was could have waited until morning?
Celina sniffed. She'd styled her hair not unlike the way Viridis wore hers, but for all it was his own garish orange and not that rich red, he was reminded more strikingly of Riona. She must have meant to taunt him. He wasn't sure how, but she must have. "You left a bit suddenly. Tivalia wanted a word."
"She could have mentioned that to Danthia."
"Or you could have. Look, I still think she's justified in her eternal hatred of you, but if there's one time she might cut you a break, your mother's funeral doesn't seem like the least likely occasion." And this was why they had never gotten along. Celina saw, at the root of everything, logic. She expected everyone else to see it too.
Logic for Searle had always been secondary. "Yes, well--she didn't. And I wasn't about to ask, because I wasn't about to raise a scene at a wake. And why do you care anyway?"
"Just looking out for my niece's interests." Hmph. If that was true, why hadn't she been distracting Danthia for him instead of standing cross-armed in the corner like some glowering statue? "Speaking of which, I noticed you did get a chance to speak with Cladelia. Just a pity that Nythran was never far, was it? But I suppose he could use a break. Poor fool's going to go to the grave unaware of his own horns, isn't he?"
Well. Shit. "How the hell--?"
She shrugged. "I heard Mother and Father talking about not talking about it and filled in the blanks for myself. Honestly, it's the only aspect of you I ever found halfway interesting."
Oh God. Tarien knew--he'd known that--but now Celina? Did Jadin know? What about their late sisters? "If you ever tell anyone--"
"What are you going to do? Fuck me?" She swatted aside his pointing finger and took a half step backward. "But what reason have I to tell? Cladelia's happy. Nythran's happy. What sort of horrible aunt would I be if I ruined all that?"
So she had come to taunt him. How dare she. "Celina--"
"Relax. I'm here to help you." ...eh? "Let me handle Danthia. I can't promise anything immediate, but let me handle her."
Of all the offers he'd ever expected to receive, and from all the people he'd ever expected to offer. Maybe he was in bed after all. It was just as easily a dream. "This isn't like you."
"Brother, you've hardly been around since I was a child. You don't know me well enough to make that call." You don't say. "But I know Danthia, and I know Tivalia. Let me handle this."
NEXT CHAPTER:
