In Which Clia Is Verbose

July 31, 1202

"Thanks for taking those notes for me. Figures, the one time that anything interesting gets discussed in that class, and--" Clia cut herself off just as she remembered who she was talking to. Aside from their shared hatred for their Classical History elective, she and Dani had never had much to bond over, even if they didn't have any explicit distaste for each other. Where would the bonding even start? Clia had no idea what, if anything, Dani found interesting.

But she somehow doubted that her own family problems would have been one such thing. "Sorry. Long story short, my sister-in-law, Nearina--you know, my brother's widow--she took a fall down the stairs, which she probably would have just shrugged off under normal circumstances, but she's with child, and--"

"Sorry?"

"Oh!" And without fail... she'd gone on about her family problems anyway. If only the rest of her could have run like her tongue did, Clia's mother had often teased, she could have gone to Egypt and back every day of her life. And of course her tongue wouldn't consider that someone like Dani wouldn't much care for that manic chatter! Good Lord--did Dani ever say a word without weighing its worth six times in her head? "My apologies. I mean, you know how I just go on and on when I start talking, and I know you've gotten a kick out of it when we're struggling to survive that ridiculously dull class, but now you've gone through all the trouble of doing me a favor and here I am, just talking your ear off about all this--"

"No, no. You're... verbose. I get that." But her brows remained knotted and eyes kept to a squint. "I didn't know that Nearina was pregnant."

"Oh, right. Yes, she hasn't been getting out all that much. She's still mourning Oswald, and now that she's carrying the last child he's ever going to have, she doesn't want to risk anything happening to it, which is why it was important that we were all there--just to be sure that everything was all right after her fall."

"Yes, of course." Dani bit her lip. "She can't be that all far along yet if not many people know, right?"

Clia shook her head. Poor Nearina. It was tragedy enough, a posthumous child, but one whose poor father hadn't even lived long enough to know of its existence... "She had no idea until after he died. Her mother's a midwife, and her guess is that the baby would have been conceived mere days before."

"That's... terrible timing."

"Isn't it?" Clia sighed. As if merely missing her brother wasn't enough as it was! "I mean, even if it had been a month or so earlier, Oswald could have at least known about it."

"Him and Nearina both." Dani pinched a lock of red hair between her fingers and twisted it--an odd burst of fidgeting from someone typically so collected. "I'm sorry. I've been prying into your family's personal business, and I ought to have known better. I should really go and get some work done."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Florian Is Plagued by the Vicious Falsehoods

April 11, 1182

"Not like that! Like this!" Florian swung one leg about, turning in the process, body pulsing with the imaginary--yet catchy--beat. The chicken just kept pecking at the ground. They did say that talent couldn't be taught, but this particular pupil wasn't even trying. "You're not even listening, are you?"

The chicken clucked, head bobbing out-of-time as it strutted away on its two left three-toed feet. In hindsight, Florian ought to have known that the donkey would have been a better bet. "Good riddance. You're a terrible dancer anyway."

And--figured--the bird zigged and zagged somewhat, the best moves it had managed all afternoon.

Eh. He could take or leave the chicken. The fact remained that it was a perfect day for dancing. The sun was out and the snow was gone, but the April air was still crisp enough that overheating was no issue. Tetran Keep itself was a sleepy sort of quiet, with Sparron up and about and going over the accounts, Camaline having taken the kids to a play-date at Veldora, the baron still away on his out-of-the-blue mystery mad dash to Dovia. Florian was alone, but not lonely. And no one was watching.

"Florian?"

...or maybe he wasn't alone. Well, not like he'd ever really cared about people watching.

The baron unlocked the inner stable gate and pushed through, an attractive woman trailing with an infant in hand. Odd. Doorstep baby season wasn't due to start for a few weeks yet. "Florian, what are you doing?"

"Well, I was trying to teach that chicken a new dance I made up." It clucked again; he glowered, though a pause in his moves was not in order. "But it's a useless piece of meat. You should have it for supper tonight. How was your trip? And hello, pretty lady!" he added for the woman's benefit. Damn. If only he could have showed her a couple moves instead of the chicken.

"Good to see you again, Florian," she replied, stiff but cordial.

And not entirely honest. "'Again'? I think I would have remembered you."

She frowned, bottom lip sinking to a beautiful pout. The baron was a less attractive brand of unamused. "Well, you must not have. You met Renata when she was here last June, remember?"

Last June? Nope, he'd been around all of June. Surely he would have noticed and recalled any ethereal beauty who'd turned up. "Forgive me, my lady, but if I have ever seen you in my life, it would have been during my teenage years, in a dream, and naked."

The woman's eyes narrowed. In near unison, the baron's lip twitched. "Might I request that you not make such comments about my wife?"

"Your what now?"

He looked at the lady again, then back to the baron. Back and forth again. Had he just heard what he thought he'd heard? He'd thought he'd heard... "What? Really? When did this happen?"

"Last June."

June again? Whatever his game was, the baron needed a new angle. Florian damn well remembered June--and he would have remembered the baron getting married in June. July, maybe not so much... but June? Fuck, June might have been yesterday. There had been no weddings yesterday.

Not that he'd been told, anyway. "You got married and you never mentioned it?"

"What are you talking about? I told you the very next morning." No. You. Did. Not. "And I've mentioned it several times since. How is this a surprise to you?"

"We did debate keeping it a secret, but we opted against it." Renata, though Florian did not generally make a point to disagree with baronesses who weren't Medea, was wrong. They had, very clearly, opted for it. "Octavius told me that pretty much everyone in Naroni knew--and of course, everyone in Dovia knew once I started showing."

Well, that explained the baby. "So you got married, and you had a kid, without even giving me fair warning? Damn it, you'd better not be expecting any wedding presents from me after this!"

"You already gave me a wedding present!" The baron groaned, though Florian could not for the life of him figure out why. If he'd given any presents in June, he would have recalled what they were; somehow, he doubted that the baron had been the recipient of that pink toy rabbit. "As for the baby, I didn't know about her myself until just before I left, but surely Sparron or Camaline or somebody would have told you why I'd gone?"

"Nope. I just assumed that you were on a quest for some superior magic mushrooms. In my mind, you were wearing a red hat and jumping on turtles." The baron blinked. Florian supposed that one was justified. "I have no idea why. But no--nobody said anything about you having another kid. And nobody said anything about you being married either."

"For Christ's sake, Florian--I told you a thousand times if I told you once."

"But you didn't tell me once!" That's what I've been saying this entire time!

"I told you many more times than once!" Vicious falsehoods. The baron sighed--good. Florian would take that as an admission to his horrendous lies. "God, I don't have time to deal with this. We need to make some adjustments to the nursery. Prior's still sleeping in his big boy room just fine?"

Florian scowled. "I don't know, I'm not his parents. Not that anyone tells me anything these days, apparently."

"Oh, shut up. We tell you everything." Hmph. Said the man who had never once given an answer to the question of Holladrin's breasts sans corset. "But anyway, one of the stablehands said that Thetis was here a few days ago, dropping off some old baby booties for Clia? Thank her for us, all right?"

Well. Now that stung. "Thetis knew? And she never mentioned it?"

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Renata's Wonderings Are Confirmed

March 8, 1182

The baby's little eyes had barely flickered when Renata lifted her from the basket. This was her tenth child. It was about damn time she'd birthed one who slept through her first night without a fuss. "Morning, sweetie."

Her daughter's tiny lips were moist against her shoulder, but no suckling motion came. She'd been fed just before the two of them had retired, and it seemed she was not quite hungry yet. For that, Renata could not complain either. "There's my good girl."

Good girl indeed. Perhaps it had been predictable with nine children before, but this birth had been the easiest by far. The baby had waited for the midwife as politely as an imminent birth could, but once the woman had arrived, she'd wasted no time in meeting the world, crying just boldly enough to assure everyone of her well-being, but quickly quieting to a soft cooing sound.

And in these first minutes of their shared morning, the baby's easy existence continued. Renata couldn't even smell any indication of a soiled diaper. "That's my really good girl."

"She's awake, then?" Octavius pulled himself out of the chair by the fireplace and joined the pair of them by the basket, fond eyes on the new arrival. She didn't look much like any of Renata's other children when they'd been first born, but Octavius had sworn she was the spitting image of his beloved, ill-fated Pandora.

"Yes, but she doesn't want to be any trouble, it seems." And that was fine. An early bout of colic aside, Lettie had been an agreeable baby as well; Renata had just had to remember to check her needs without the prompt of a cry. "You know, it's funny. When I left Naroni, we were teasing Searle about how neither of us would ever have to put up with a newborn again, and he's been teasing me back ever since he learned. I can't wait to tell him she's the least fussy infant I've ever seen." Searle, she had never forgotten, had been the precise opposite.

"And his latest was a nightmare, or so Valira told me." They shared a smirk. Once again, Renata had to thank whatever angel had put in the request for such a calm reunion.

"So... does she have a name yet?" he asked as he leaned forward, a silly grin on his face for the infant's benefit.

"Uh... well, I named my last daughter for one of my late sisters, so I was thinking maybe Cladelia? I know it's more of a grown woman's name, but she'll be a grown woman some day." And hopefully, she'd be a grown woman a lot longer than she was a child.

"True. Plus we could always find a way to shorten it in the meantime."

Delia? No, that was taken by some other Cladelia--not that Renata could ever remember whose nickname was whose. Claddie, for her poor departed daughter-in-law? No, it didn't feel right, using that name on anyone else.

"Hello, Cladelia." Octavius kissed the baby on the forehead, then nuzzled his nose against whatever she had of one. "Cladelia. Cli-Clia-Cladelia."

Thank God for baby talk. "I like that--Clia."

"Clia it is, then." If it stuck, a grown woman could probably pull that off as well. "Renata, can I ask you something?"

"As long as you're not asking for another baby." Clia, she figured as she lowered her back into the basket, was no doubt the last her body would allow anyway. "But in all seriousness, yes, you may."

"Thank you." He took her by the hands and led her a few paces away from Clia's bedside. Did he not want to trouble the little girl? As if she would understand him anyway.

Then again, maybe he just wanted some semblance of privacy. "Look, I've been thinking about what you said last night--you know, about our arrangement not accounting for a baby?"

She nodded. She had said something like that, supposing she could indeed remember clearly the moments before the labor. "All right..."

"And I was wondering... well, maybe once you and Clia can travel, if you wouldn't be averse to coming back to Naroni with me?"

She'd wondered if it might have been that. "I don't know. I know you have enough to deal with at home without a baby around."

"Yes, but unless the change leaves you be for a few more years yet, she'll probably be my last child. I know it's impractical, and rather selfish of me, but I'd like to be a part of her life, and not just a fleeting one."

It wasn't selfish, but of course he would say that. The one lucky star that was Holladrin aside, Octavius was not used to getting what he wanted. "No, that's understandable..."

"If you'd prefer not to leave, I won't continue to pester you." She trusted he wouldn't--even if a glance toward Clia's basket suggested it would be a struggle not to do so. "But if there's any chance you might be willing, I'd appreciate it if you would at least think about it."

Think about it. She was comfortable here; she had children here, and grandchildren, siblings, friends. Then again, the same could be said of Naroni. And perhaps she was stepping on Odette's toes somewhat, still taking on many of the responsibilities of lady here. And perhaps Octavius might have needed a baroness.

She was comfortable here. But perhaps she wouldn't be any less than that there as well? "I'll think about it."

NEXT CHAPTER: