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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
"Well, I suppose I can be grateful that she at least got herself here safely," Danthia sighed as she stepped down from the stairs and joined her former husband in the kitchen. His stillness was more than a little puzzling; all these years and she didn't think she'd once seen him sit without fidgeting like he wanted little more than to get up and leave.
Then again, she'd never seen him at home. "So I take it she's not--?"
"Grounded until the birth of her first child? Oh, she definitely is." And given how long Tivie had been gone and how far she'd traveled--and everything that could have happened between then and now--it was a lucky thing that such an event was well over nine months away. "But her well-being is more important; I needed her to know that, so I just looked her over and gave her a hug and said we'd talk once we both got our thoughts together. Celina's bracing her for the worst, no doubt."
She pulled up the nearest chair and settled herself in. She supposed she could work out her feelings around Searle. She didn't want to risk giving her daughter the wrong idea, but she felt no similar concern toward Searle. And why should she? He'd certainly never given her that courtesy.
"Speaking of my sister, why is she here?"
"Moral support, mainly." Searle raised an eyebrow, and not without reason. But she doubted he knew his sister as well as he'd have himself think. "She called just as I was about to leave and insisted on joining--probably just to make sure I didn't kill you." Not that it had been necessary. If she'd gone through their entire marriage without killing him, then she clearly had no such intentions.
"And Sidwein had nothing to say about that?"
"Sidwein has no say in what Celina does. I sent my son with a message, but we left before he did, so it's not as if Sidwein had a chance to object." She dragged the chair forward with her ankle on its leg and set an elbow on the table top. "Besides, it works out well enough given that we might meet them halfway. Nythran and the children are heading to Naroni, and if Sidwein heeds Primus, he and little Haldred will join them. He has a brother he barely knows there anyway."
Searle sniffed. "What business does your family have in Naroni?"
"You don't know?" He shook his head. The response both surprised her and failed to do the same. "Doesn't your father-in-law write to you?"
"He writes to Viridis, and I respect my wife's privacy."
"Of course you do." It was perhaps the only part of being a husband she recalled him having mastered. "I suppose it must have slipped her mind. But anyway, it's your niece. Cladelia."
Searle's eye twitched. Beyond that, however, his stoicism was so complete she thought it almost forced. "Riona's eldest?"
Danthia nodded. "She's marrying one of your cousins--Karlspan, your Aunt Renata's youngest boy. He squired for Lord Severin before he was knighted last fall."
"Huh." Searle pressed his hand to his chin and slumped forward. "It didn't occur to me that Cladelia was old enough to be married."
"Well, you ought to get used to the idea, since Tivie's less than a year younger." Another twitch of his eye. Tivie had asked about Searle a few times, and one of the few details Danthia had given was that she had her father's eyes. She'd been wrong, though. Tivie had gotten her eyes from her father... but they were his father's eyes. Searle had his mother's eyes, which were nearly as startling, but the fact that she'd forgotten was yet another reminder of how little they'd known each other. They weren't even close to the same shade. "Anyway, we'll be there early to help with the preparations--apparently the castle needs some serious work--but the wedding isn't until June. You have plenty of time to consider coming."
He sniffed. "Do you think I should?"
"You're the bride's uncle, and the groom's cousin, and the father of Cladelia's stepsister." For all facts had traditionally held any sway over Searle. "You figure it out."
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:
October 5, 1169
"Not that I'm not happy to see you, cousin," Nythran muttered after an awkward minute of exchanged stares, "but I certainly wasn't expecting our paths to cross any time soon, least of all in my own home."
Searle placed his hands on his knees and tried not to frown. He might have liked Nythran if not for his marriage to Riona, but following that, it had become painfully difficult to stomach his cousin's presence. It seemed it had grown even moreso since her death. "I haven't been back in Dovia all that long, but when I arrived back at my castle, Danthia and Tivalia weren't there. I went to see Danthia's father, and he said that they were staying here with you."
Nythran squinted. "That was all he told you?"
That was a strange response; regardless, Searle nodded. "He wouldn't give me any details. I think he just wanted me to leave; Danthia's family doesn't really like me all that much."
"Oh." Nythran didn't seem to need any explanation. Searle was relieved; he didn't really want to talk about his relationship with his in-laws.
But at least Secundus had been civil enough to point him in the right direction. Searle wasn't exactly happy to be back--he hadn't been happy in years--but he was tired of the Elaryses and the Genevas of the world. He was sick of being used and discarded and left to his own devices. Danthia was the one person in his life who was always there for him no matter what, and if he couldn't make things better for himself, then perhaps he ought to try making them better for her.
"Well? Can I see her, or has she turned in for the night?"
Nythran sighed as Searle heaved himself off the couch; the young lord was considerably shorter than Searle himself was, but in spite of his small frame and mild manner, his presence was eerily stifling. "She should still be awake, but... well, I don't know if it would be a great idea for you two to see each other right now if Secundus didn't give you all the details."
Searle frowned; why was the other man being so difficult. "I don't see why there would be a problem; she's my wife, Nythran."
His cousin swallowed. "Uh... about that..."
"Nythran?" The door swung open. "Nythran, who's--oh.
"Well, I'll be damned."
Searle had thought so far ahead; he'd known what he wanted to do. He'd wanted to apologize and tell her they'd head home first thing in the morning. He'd wanted to promise they would start over. He'd wanted to run to her and look her in the eyes and kiss her.
But he couldn't look her in the eyes. All he could see was her stomach. "Danthia?"
A strange smile curling on her lips, Danthia waddled toward Nythran and rested her hand on her arm, planting a light kiss on his mouth--what the hell was going on here? "Darling, can you give us a minute? I think Searle and I need to talk." Darling?
"Are you sure?" he asked, taking her hand and squeezing it reassuringly. Searle knew that squeeze--he'd once held Riona's hand that way.
Danthia nodded as Nythran let go of her hand and instead gently massaged her bulge. Was he the father? He must have been; Searle certainly wasn't. "I'm sure. I'll be with you in a little while--why don't you go check on the girls?"
He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, then left. Searle waited a few seconds from the time the door shut--five, four, three, two...
There was no 'one'. He couldn't hold it in any longer.
"What the hell is this?" Searle hissed, holding back his arms to restrain himself from shoving her. "You little strumpet! Is this a recent development, or have you been fucking Nythran behind my back for years now? Is Tivalia even mine?"
Danthia rolled her eyes. He scowled; did it not occur to her that this was a serious accusation? "Of course Tivalia is yours, you arrogant ass-wipe! And I haven't been 'fucking Nythran behind your back for years' as you so delicately put it; I've only been sleeping with him since I married him in January."
Wait... what? He couldn't do anything but gape at her. This made absolutely no sense. "Since you married him? You can't be married to Nythran! You're already married to me!"
"Not anymore," she insisted, an insultingly wide smile upon her face. "You were gone for well over a year, you know--our marriage had legally ended months before I became lady here. Oh, and seeing as I am lady here, you might want to apologize for calling me a strumpet; you must realize that I outrank you now."
He couldn't believe this. That damn Nythran. First he'd stolen Riona away, and now Danthia too. Who was next? Was Tivalia going to start calling him 'Papa'? "This is ridiculous."
"You may think so," Danthia sniffed, "but you brought this all upon yourself; even you're not selfish enough to miss that detail."
That stung; he almost would have preferred it if she'd kneed him in the balls. "Look, I know I'm not much of a husband, but... ah, fuck it! Let's just wake Tivalia and go home, and I'll go to the grave swearing that your little bastard is mine, all right?"
He prepared himself to head toward the door; Danthia, however, did not budge. "You idiot! You weren't listening to a thing I said, were you? Nythran is my husband. Everyone in Dovia knows that Nythran is my husband. Everyone in Dovia knows that this is Nythran's baby. If you didn't know that until just now, then I fail to see how that can be my fault."
He didn't think he could take it anymore--this was far too much, far too soon. "Why is it that everyone I've ever cared about has been taken away from me?"
A sorrowful glaze crossed Danthia's face--her copper brows, her blue eyes, her full lips. She'd never looked so tragic. She'd never looked so beautiful. "You never cared about me, Searle. You never cared about me, and I was never taken away from you--you pushed me away."
God--he had pushed her away. He'd never meant to; he'd never thought it was possible. Since he'd been forced to marry her, she'd been the one constant in his life, the one person who had cared and worried and kept him going, all the while suffering in silence. Now, even she had turned her back on him. No, that was not quite true; he himself had spun her around.
It was no easier to look at her than it ever had been. "Danthia... I'm so sorry."
She didn't even blink; she simply crossed her arms over the bump of Nythran's spawn and stared at him. "Seeing as it's the only thing you've ever offered me, I suppose it would only be polite of me to accept your apology; don't for a second, however, think that means that I forgive you."
Searle nodded, his heartbeat slowing deep within his chest. What a pathetic little thing it was; it produced so much, yet it was never enough. "I couldn't expect that you would."
Danthia clasped her hands together, the glint of a nearby candle reflecting off Nythran's ring on her finger. "It's getting late. You may spend the night if you wish, but you have to be long gone by the time the girls wake. You're always stepping back into Tivalia's life for a couple of days only to leave for months on end, but no longer; I will not let you break her heart again."
NEXT CHAPTER:
September 16, 1168
It might not have made sense to be sad. It might have even been a little selfish to be sad. Danthia's mother had spent the last months of her life in such incredible discomfort that her soul must have leapt from her agonizing prison of a bed at the sight of Death and embraced him like an old friend. Wherever she was now, at least there would no longer be such a thing as pain. At least she would be able to sleep without waking up to cough blood onto her pillow.
And yet, it was only human to be sad. She would miss her mother; she missed her already. She wondered if they'd had enough time together and if there was even such a thing as too much. She would have liked her own daughter to get to know her, and her brother's new baby girl had scarcely had a month with which to do so. She was sad--how could she not be? But not all of her emotions were directed at her mother; she was also angry.
She felt her sister-in-law wrap a warm hand around her own and squeeze. "I'm so sorry." Danthia knew that her mother wasn't the only reason Lileina was saying that. "I still can't believe he isn't here."
She had to have been lying; Searle's absence couldn't have come as a surprise to anyone. Danthia shook her head. "I figured it would have been stupid to expect him to show up."
It took a moment for Lileina to respond. She pursed her lips and bowed her head before a defeated sigh broke her facade of naivety. "Really, I'm sorry about everything my brother's put you through. He should be here."
"He probably doesn't even know. I can barely even remember the last time I saw him." How long had it been? Lileina had told her that he'd shown up for King Farilon's funeral, but had kept his distance from the crowd; Danthia herself hadn't caught a glimpse of him, nor had anyone else, it seemed. That had been five months ago now, and she did not think he had been home since eight or nine months before then. All her widowhood lacked was its official status.
Bitter, she nudged the dirt beneath her boot and sunk back against the crypt wall. "It's just as well that he didn't come, really. My mother lost her liking for him years ago."
"And I can't imagine that your father sees him any differently," Lileina added, her voice so neutral that it must have been forced. It had to hurt to admit such a thing of one's own brother.
Sisterly as she might have been to Searle, she pulled Danthia inward and offered a small bit of comfort in the guise of a hug. Danthia cringed as Lileina's growing stomach pressed against her own. Was it mad to be jealous of a pregnant woman? Particularly since she herself had suffered the pregnancy from Hell only a few short years prior?
People were talking, she was well aware. She wished they could understand that there was really nothing to talk about. She and Searle hadn't had any trouble conceiving Tivalia once they'd bothered trying; there was nothing wrong with her fertility. The problem was that on the rare occasion Searle was home, he did not care to bed her--and even if he did, she did not care to let him. She didn't miss the sex. She supposed it might have been pleasurable with a man who actually seemed to give a damn, but all she'd ever had was Searle. A suit of armor might have been a more emotionally-invested lover if only it possessed the required anatomy.
"Do you think he'll ever come back?" She asked simply because it seemed proper to do so; she was past the point where she actually cared.
"Of course," Lileina answered automatically. It was an interesting way to say 'no'.
The brief following silence was broken by the creaking of the hinges as the heavy door was pushed open, the figure of a man emerging from behind it. "Danthia?"
It was her cousin, Nythran, his mustache still visible despite the dim light and its blond color. Searle had only ever managed stubble. "Good, you're still here. Your brother was worried that you might have left already."
Danthia sniffed. "Of course he would be. Marsden can't even keep track of chairs at the dinner table, let alone this whole extended family; he should count himself lucky that his balls are attached."
Nythran's booming laughter echoed throughout the otherwise dismal room. Surely there was nothing like four years of frigid Riona to make a man appreciate every instance of a woman saying the word 'balls'. Surely there was nothing like six years of woebegone Searle to make a woman appreciate masculine laughter. "Amen to that. Anyway, your father was looking for you--wondering if you and Tivalia wanted to stay a few days longer."
"Of course we will," she told him. "It isn't as if we have anyone waiting for us back home."
Her cousin's limp hand clenched into a sudden, tight fist. "If your husband lacked the decency to show his face here, then he should just keep making himself scarce if he knows what's good for him."
"Oh, I would kill him if I found him there," Danthia assured him with a grimace. "I don't think we have to worry about that, though; we all know that home isn't one of his usual haunts."
"Hasn't been around for a few months again, then?"
Rolling her eyes, Danthia nodded. "I haven't seen him since..." She paused, forcing herself to remember when she'd last seen Searle. It took her a couple of seconds to find an approximate date. "Some time in July of last year, at the latest."
An odd sort of light sparked in Nythran's hazel eyes. Danthia frowned; she hadn't known what sort of reaction to expect, but the quiet thoughtfulness it seemed to have inspired in him was rather baffling. "You mean... you haven't seen your husband in over a year?"
NEXT CHAPTER:
January 1, 1163
"Thank you again for your hospitality, my lord," Danthia acknowledged with a slight smile; it seemed that her husband preferred that she do the talking for both of them, though he did look to be in somewhat better spirits than at any point over the course of his stay. "Christmas here was lovely. You have the most wonderful children, and I'm sorry for imposing."
"Believe me, you didn't impose," Severin assured her, the memory of Laralita still firmly rooted in his mind. "It was our pleasure. Thank you for coming; I'm glad to hear that your stay was comfortable."
These stiff salutations were not the sort he would have preferred, though he felt it rude to say so aloud. Severin was the sort of man who bade friends farewell with jokes and embraces; however, despite Searle's relatively elevated mood, it still seemed necessary to weigh each and every word and gesture while in the boy's presence.
Even Raia seemed to sense it, he was acutely aware. His other children, as well as their mother, had given their farewells to the guests as they had left the breakfast table, but his eldest had chosen to accompany them to the front room. Perhaps he should have objected in the best interests of her innocence, but now that he thought about it, he saw little point in sheltering the girl; no matter what he did, she would eventually have to know how to deal with situations such as these anyway, and there was no sense in postponing the inevitable. At the very least, it relieved him to know that his ordinarily boisterous daughter did have the sensitivity to realize that this was a delicate atmosphere.
"Are you sure you don't wish to stay for New Year's?" inquired Severin, though admittedly more out of politeness than anything else; he wouldn't have minded keeping Danthia there for a while longer, but Searle had been staying with them for months and had yet to make an effort to be anything more than melancholy. The boy permeated gloom as though it were a strong, foul aroma, and it had the whole household rather on edge--for the children's sake, it was best if he left.
Fortunately, Danthia seemed to sense this--and understand it. "Your offer is tempting, but unfortunately, there are probably people in Dovia wondering where we are. We really do need to get home soon, and who knows how long the weather will stay this agreeable? We should get leaving while it's calm."
"Fair enough," he agreed. "I do feel guilty that you won't be enjoying any feasts tonight, however."
"We'll have our own feast when we get home," she assured him. "Won't we, Searle?"
For a moment, Searle didn't say anything--not that Severin had expected he would by this point. His eyes fell to his wife briefly, then--
"Goodbye, Uncle Severin. Goodbye, Raia."
Severin sighed. "Farewell, Searle."
"Goodbye Searle," Raia bade him, but by the time she had finished, he had already turned and started off toward the door.
Shaking his head, Severin gently patted Raia on the shoulder, then approached Danthia. It was true torture to see such a young, amiable girl so resigned; there was life in her, but she had yet to find an opportunity to release it.
"Danthia, before you go, let me tell you something about men," he muttered under his breath, though he doubted Searle would bother listening even if he could hear them. "You've probably figured it out by now, but I shall admit it on Searle's behalf--we're all idiots."
NEXT CHAPTER:
