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March 14, 1204
"Holladrin! I, uh... I wasn't expecting to see you today." In truth, Farilon had good reason not to have expected her, so she'd take his surprise without question. She'd also take that undeniable smile, and hope to soon see it swell. "I thought we were still... laying low."
"I know, and we probably should for a little longer--but I just had to come and tell you something."
"A good something?"
Of course it's a good something, silly. He wasn't the only one grinning like an idiot.
"A wonderful something!" Holladrin indulged herself with a quick peck to his lips, then eased back, her hands on his shoulders. "My mother approves--of us, I mean. I didn't even know that she knew, but she approves."
"You're serious?" Not words of suspicion, but of hopeful disbelief. If he didn't trust her, those teal eyes wouldn't have hid it well. Those eyes never lied--and for her, at least, they never doubted. "I would have thought... I mean, your mother was the only one who cared at all for Danthia..."
"I think her care for Danthia became..." What had it become? Holladrin sighed. She did not want to think about her late aunt. Danthia would not ruin today for her, or for Farilon. No longer would she ruin anything for Farilon, or for Laralita and Roderick. "I don't know. When it happened, I think she was just relieved that Danthia was... out of her misery. I don't think she ever learned how to not be miserable.
"But that doesn't matter now. Wherever Danthia is--hopefully a place where she can learn to be better--she's not here. And we'll wait some time out of respect, sure, but we can be together now."
"And if your mother supports us, then what reason will anyone else have not to?"
"None that would matter, at any rate." Though, Holladrin supposed the twins might think it strange, at first--the age difference, at the very least, and her friendship with the two of them, and the fact that she was their cousin on their mother's side. But she'd worry for them later. "My mother suggested waiting until well into the summer, at least. To marry, I mean. Er, that is, if you want--"
"If I want?" A soft refrain, as if she'd told a playful joke. "Holladrin, my love: there is nothing I want more."
NEXT CHAPTER:
December 24, 1203
"I wouldn't blame you, you know--if you didn't want to do this any more."
Of course Holladrin knew. How could she not know, when Farilon offered her that out every time they were alone? He always gave her an exit.
And, as always, she didn't care to take it. "I know it's not what either of us really wants, but I'd rather a few stolen kisses than nothing."
"But you could have so much more."
"More, perhaps--but not better. No marriage in the world is as convenient to me as all the inconveniences with you." An inconvenience, she'd learned all too well these past months, did not have to be unpleasant. "Don't worry about my needs. As for my wants, there's only one you need to worry about: you."
Farilon's blush found itself lost in the glow of the nearby fire, but Holladrin didn't need to see it to know it was there. By this point, she knew how it dilated his eyes, opened his lips. She knew even the cheek's tug of a smile before he stopped it from forming. "I don't... I mean, I'm not sure--"
A soft knock on the door cut him off. Holladrin pulled back in a practiced step while Farilon watched over her shoulder. Farilon had excused himself from the party on account of a headache. Holladrin hadn't been in need of a story, but if caught, she'd say her mother had sent her to check up on him. Her mother had seen just how 'ill' Farilon's wife was, after all, to the point of admitting upon arrival that this may not have been one of Danthia's usual ruses. Surely there would have been a chance of Farilon catching that ailment?
"Uncle Farilon? Are you in there?"
"Celina?" His niece, daughter-in-law to the hosting earl and countess. He breathed relief into her name, glad to not have to explain anything to Searle of Bandera himself.
"Yes, he's here," Holladrin answered, announcing herself before Celina could enter. "If you've come to offer him a cup of water or a cold cloth, he's just refused both from me."
"Oh. Sorry that the headache persists." In spite of believing that, Celina did slip herself through the door. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Uncle."
"It's all right. Talking with Holladrin did ease it somewhat." Farilon grimaced. "Did you need something?"
"Actually, you're needed in the entrance hall." Celina's finger caught the end of one moon-blond curl, eyes fluttered shut in a half-informed messenger's unease. "My mother-in-law asked me to fetch you. She said that your wife's maid just arrived. I didn't see her myself, but it seems she's in something of a state."
NEXT CHAPTER:
July 16, 1203
"Oh. I, uh... I thought you would have gone home hours ago."
"My horse hates thunder." Holladrin nudged the logs in the hearth with the poker. Farilon hadn't been at home all day, and once the storm had raged too long, she'd been of two minds whether to wait up for him, or to retire to Laralita's room. In truth she still hadn't made that decision, but it was too late now. "By the time the storm was over, it was too late to head home."
"Ah, right. I nearly stayed at my brother's as well."
She wondered if he now wished he had. "Oh."
"I'm sorry that I've been--"
"No. I understand." She set the poker down and turned. The hearth and the candles lit the room well enough, but his hair still shone the color of moonlight. "I haven't had much idea about what to say to you either."
Could she now, though? As well as the alert to her mother, Laralita had also given Holladrin a conversational entrance with Farilon that didn't involve King Oswald's Easter banquet, or anything that might have happened the night of. Then again... no, that wouldn't do. The last thing Farilon wanted to discuss was Danthia, and the last person he wanted to discuss her with was Holladrin. And what could he do with the knowledge of the letter anyway? The closest he had to a means of controlling Danthia was keeping well enough out of her way that she had little need to bother him. Her mother was the one who could look into it without repercussion.
But that left them in their silence, Easter hanging between them in its unspoken and omnipresent glory. She was tired of the silence. If there had to be silence--between the two of them, at least--it ought to have been on their reasoned terms. "I don't want to pretend it didn't happen."
Farilon's head tipped to the side. Struck by her own lack of clarity, Holladrin abandoned the fireplace and hurried toward him. "I mean, obviously I don't want people to know it did, but I don't see why we should let it keep us from ever speaking. It was just one kiss."
"More of a kiss than I've ever had with my wife," he muttered in admission, as if she didn't know that.
"And more of a kiss than I've ever had with anyone. It was a good kiss. I liked it. I don't regret that it happened."
"I don't either." And yet, his mouth remained a steadfast frown. "But I should. I'm a married man. I'm a father, and you're much closer to my children's age than mine. And hell--my wife is your own aunt."
"You're certainly not married in the emotional sense, and I'm an adult, and we barely knew each other before I was an adult. And you're not my uncle by blood." She smiled, somewhat elated by the mere speaking of it. Farilon's mouth didn't move, but however the candles flickered, his eyes did brighten. "I don't want to have an affair--but if you wanted to kiss me again, I wouldn't oppose that."
"Does that not count as an affair of sorts?"
"Should it?"
Emboldened--for Farilon, at least--he stepped forth, one hand to the small of her back, one steering nudge to the front of his body. "I'd like to think it would be at least significant enough to name."
"Perhaps it would be better to think it too significant to name."
"Will it be?"
Holladrin shrugged. "It's hard to say, if it hasn't even started."
The tips of his fingers landed beneath her chin and his lips brushed hers like a fleeting dream, only for a second but lingering in dancing pulse about her mouth.
"I suppose that's the start of it, then."
NEXT CHAPTER:
December 23, 1202
"Oh! Your highness!" The young woman's cheeks flashed pink as she recovered from her spell of jumpiness--as if it were she who was surprised to see Farilon, in the private upper floor of his own house, not expecting to see any vaguely familiar-looking people who apparently knew him on sight coming out of Danthia's bedroom. "I wasn't sure you'd before I left. My mother sent me over to check up on my aunt, because she didn't want to deal with her herself--and who can blame her, really?--but got word that her sister was 'dreadfully ill' and felt obligated to at least inquire. By the way, it's only a somewhat bad-ish cold. I kind of thought that would be the case, what with Aunt Danthia's typical dramatics, and my mother probably thought the same, but nevertheless--"
"It... it's fine. You don't need to explain." Farilon rubbed at the back of his neck, probably just as red as she'd been at the sight of him. Danthia's niece, then? One of Riona's daughters, probably the eldest if he had a reasonable guess of her age. What was her name? He'd seen her before, certainly. The red curls, the blue Sadiel eyes...
Though, the womanly body must have been a more recent development. "Uh, it... it was nice of you to indulge her."
"You don't know my name, do you?"
"Uh..." He racked his brain again for the names of Riona's daughters--and barely managed to remember Riona's name. She had him there. "Well, if you're half Andronei and half Sadiel, I can probably narrow it down to... six choices?"
"You sound just like the Carvalli students back at the university--as if they're not just as bad with that." Still a university student. Dear Lord. Was he already old enough to be a dirty old man? "Anyway, it's Holladrin. For my paternal grandmother."
"Right. Your, uh, your grandfather's first wife."
"Are you all right?" Her pretty eyes narrowed, pouting lip to a puzzled frown. Such a dynamic face, from the few minutes he'd spent staring at it. Danthia, for the most part, had maybe two expressions. "Frankly, you're much more out of sorts than Aunt Danthia is--at least, by whatever low standard of sanity we can assign to her, at least."
"Uh, yes, I think so." But that arched red brow said he wasn't convincing. "I don't know. Maybe I've caught Danthia's cold? I hope my children don't get it."
His children! Good God. If Holladrin was still attending the university, then she wasn't much older than the twins. And yet--he was staring at her hair, how soft and full it was, and how long it had been since his fingers had been lost in a woman's curls. Er, that was to say, the curls on her head.
Though, come to think of it--
"Um... yes. Yes, I'm definitely coming down with something." He drew his fist to his mouth and forced out a cough. His blood had drawn to the same boil as it had back in his youth, that first time he'd noticed how Aydelle Ildaras's hips swayed in a pendulum motion when she walked away. That had resulted in a swat to the back of the head from his sister Camaline, then a flick of her violet eyes downward and warning that he needed a cold bath. "Uh, I don't want to be rude, but maybe you should... I mean, surely you don't need to catch anything so close to Christmas--"
"Yes, right. I was just about to leave anyway, before I ran into you." She paid him a hasty, likely indulgent smile, then took hold of her skirt for a quick curtsy. What the hell was wrong with him, longing to dive beneath it and let loose his tongue between her legs? "Feel better, your highness."
"Thank-- thank you." Damn, his face couldn't have been far from the color of her hair. "Uh... have a good day."
She hurried past him, no doubt eager to get away but too polite to run. Farilon forced himself not to turn around and watch her leave, lest she have a sway in her hips.
How long had it been? He'd have to get to a brothel soon. It hadn't occurred to him just how pent-up he was.
NEXT CHAPTER:
August 4, 1200
"Comfortable?" Farilon, sensitive man that he was, had probably figured out that of all the adjectives that may apply to a thirty-one-year-old pregnant widow at any given point, 'comfortable' couldn't be fairly expected to be among them. But, if there was a more appropriate way of asking how a thirty-one-year-old pregnant widow was doing at any point, then not once in the weeks since Conant's death had Meera heard it.
"I'll be more comfortable once this baby's body is at least separate from mine, but that's a few too many months in the future for my taste."
"I don't know if December's that far away..."
"December is an eternity away, and don't try to tell me otherwise until you've carried two of your own to term." Though, given who her brother-in-law's wife was, it might have been better for his twins if that had somehow been the case. Not for the first time, she wondered if Danthia might have been why Farilon had been a constant collar since Conant had died--to convey what every one of his family members had probably thought at least once without actually saying it.
I wish it had been my wife instead of your husband.
"You're a good man. I hope you know how much your brother loved you."
Farilon nodded. "I know."
"And you and him both deserve better. He ought to have lived longer, and you ought to be living well."
"I don't... not live well, I suppose." The muttered words of a man who didn't believe himself. Meera's father often spoke in such a tone, but his voice was always pure self-pity; Farilon's was the sort of hopelessness that stirred in those who had come to see simple survival as the best they could dream of. "I mean, there are many who have it worse. Like you, right now."
"Like me." Meera sniffed. Obviously, she hated being a widow. She hated that Conant was dead, and she hated that their last child together would never know his or her father. But she'd seen her father widowed twice, and the last thing she wanted was to become... well, that. She would--even if it killed her--rise above it when the time to grieve had passed.
And if she ever found it in her to marry again, then at least she had the freedom to choose better than a male equivalent of Danthia.
"For now, maybe."
NEXT CHAPTER:
May 8, 1192
"Hello, Mama," the twins chorused as Danthia approached. It was only recently that they had become old enough to attract much interest from their mother, to the point where Farilon was still unused to seeing her in the nursery, and he didn't think he'd have time to adjust. The twins would be in their own bedrooms come the new year.
"Children." She bent down to ruffle Roderick's hair, but quickly returned to full stance. "Don't mind me; I just need a quick word with your father."
"We can talk here, Danthia." This was obviously about the Naronian throne. Having the children around might have made for a conversation somewhat different than the last dozen. "What do you want?"
"You know what I want." He did--to the point where he'd grown paranoid enough to observe the cook as she prepared their food. If he were to succumb to a piece of bad meat, then Danthia could make the claim on Roderick's behalf. Not that there was any chance of the lords accepting a four-year-old as their monarch when the other candidate was a grown, educated woman, but Farilon didn't doubt Danthia's willingness to try it. "Mind if I sit?"
Farilon shrugged. "I won't stop you."
"Good." She did as she'd suggested. There was still a good foot or so between them, but it was the closest they'd come to touching since they'd conceived the twins. At least she left him alone now. "Have you drafted your claim yet?"
Your claim. As if he had a claim, really. Dea was his father's granddaughter by his eldest son. That trumped second son. Certainly daughter trumped brother. "You know I have no intention of doing so."
"But you are a man grown. Your niece is a little girl."
"Nineteen is not little, and she would be a far better ruler than I."
"Not with me by your side." Especially with you by my side, he thought to himself but didn't dare say aloud. "You have an heir, and she doesn't even have a betrothed. You are the son of a king, and your mother was of my noble house. Her mother is the spawn of a madwoman and an eighth son of a mere lord."
"Her father was my brother."
"Half-brother. And his mother was an adulterous whore--as is her mother, I've heard." Danthia's eyes couldn't have been further sparked if she'd walked into a house of diamonds. "Perhaps we ought to take advantage of that. Who's to say how long her mother's unfaithfulness goes back? Little Dea might not be Ietrin's daughter after all."
"Danthia, I know Jeda. She wouldn't have slept with someone else out of sheer spite for Ietrin--and Dea definitely has Ietrin's eyes."
"You may know that," Danthia admitted, "but the commoners don't."
NEXT CHAPTER:
November 17, 1186
"That... wasn't quite the reception I expected," Farilon admitted, voicing Laralita's thoughts to the letter. "Did we catch them off-guard? I thought that was why Ren made you write to Devidra: so she could make the necessary preparations."
"We did make good time. Perhaps they're running behind somewhat." But from what Laralita knew, Devidra's household--even if it wasn't truly Devidra's household anymore--was a tightly-run ship. Unless perhaps Ramona had taken up most of those responsibilities, in which case... well, she couldn't have expected too much, unless Ramona had proven to have the same knack for delegation as Laralita herself. "Odd that the steward would lead us through a side entrance, though."
"He might be new. Doesn't Devidra have a habit of firing stewards before she even breaks them in?"
"Yes, but even if it's his first day on the job, he ought to know where the front door is." And he had managed to find the king's study without difficulty! "He must have been instructed to bring us here, though I'm unsure why Adrius would want a word before we see your sister."
"Maybe she's unwell? She is in the family way, isn't she?"
"Yes, but it's still odd that he'd prefer to greet us here rather than--"
The argument went unfinished as the door opened and the steward stepped in, followed by a handsome young man who could have only been King Adrius--what with the velvet tunic and the startling eyes and the leather strap across his forehead. Regal, but quietly so, not pompous and obnoxious like her stepson. Mona no doubt found him a welcome change.
"Queen Laralita. Prince Farilon." Adrius bowed, for all he had to have been well aware that Laralita was no longer a queen. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
He, doing the interrupting? In his own study? "Of course not, your majesty." She stood and curtsied in turn, her son bowing alongside her. "An honor to make your acquaintance."
"Likewise--but do make yourselves comfortable." As if to lead by example, Adrius sat down at his desk. Laralita and Farilon took the cue and returned the bench, leaving only the steward on his feet.
"You see... we have rather a lot to discuss."
Did they? She might have considered that an explanation for her presence in the study had she thought it at all possible. They'd never corresponded, only ever acknowledging one another through Mona's letters, and she no longer held a shred of political influence in Naroni or Dovia. What could he have possibly wanted to say to her that was so important that it couldn't wait until she'd seen her daughter and grandchildren?
"With all due respect, your majesty, I can't think of anything urgent we two must discuss."
"Oh, it won't just be we two." With that, Adrius looked to the steward--who surely had even less cause for serious discussion. What on earth was going on? "Uncle, maybe it's better if you explain."
Uncle?
"I suppose." After a quick swallow, the not-steward stepped forth to Laralita's seat. "Your majesty, we apologize for the deception, and this really is your daughter's story to explain, but I hope you'll understand why you have to hear this before you can see her."
Eh?
"Look, your daughter was very young when she was sent here, and she hadn't had a chance to figure out what she really wanted..."
NEXT CHAPTER:
April 11, 1185
"You didn't have to come." Laralita told her son this out of motherly obligation, not genuine feeling. In the nearly three weeks since his brother had died, Farilon had called more days that not. She suspected that at least part of his reason was to avoid his wife, but she neither blamed him nor cared. His company was enough not to mind the motives. "It'll be planting season soon. I'll have something to take my mind off things."
"It's not planting season yet." He cast a fleeting glance out the window, as if to reassure himself of this. "Plus... well, it turns out that even Lent isn't a good enough excuse not to... you know."
"Hmm." After two years of marriage now, Danthia had yet to hint at so much as a missed course. Laralita had no doubt that this was largely for lack of trying on Farilon's part. Honestly--now that she was short one more of her own babies, she thought a new grandchild in her arms might do her well, but that was between Farilon and Danthia, and she wouldn't push it.
A new grandchild wouldn't bring Oswald back anyway. "I see."
Her second-youngest would have been twelve come October--still a child, but just old enough to be treated as a man in some respects. At least Ietrin and Elhina had been granted a glimpse of adulthood before they'd gone, even if Elhina's had been too short and Ietrin's, too tragic.
She supposed some women lost more than three. There was much fortune in being born a count's daughter, and large part of that was the decreased chance of illness, the longer lifespan--but Oswald, as a prince, had not been immune to the fever that took him. At the heart of it, blue blood was no more resilient than the common red, just as it truly was no bluer.
"You took good care of him, you know."
"Not good enough."
"Sometimes it can't be good enough."
He'd meant that to make her feel better, but it didn't. Her son hadn't died as a result of her incompetent care, but that didn't make him any less dead.
Nor did it make the world any less cruel.
NEXT CHAPTER:
February 21, 1183
Unless the decorating consultation with his grandmother counted, Farilon's betrothed was the first visitor to the new house since the family had moved in.
Danthia had called a couple times when they'd been staying with Ietrin, and Farilon had mixed feelings about that. On the plus side, he'd a chance to get to know her a bit, to get used to her--to brace himself, if he was being honest. Then again, not meeting her until their wedding in April would have been one last happy year of blind optimism in regards to the match.
One last year--yes, that would have been nice.
He got the feeling that the distaste was mutual.
"Haven't you a servant to tend to the fire?"
Farilon gritted his teeth and prodded a chunk of burnt bark off the log. "It's the housekeeper's day off." Not that Danthia would have considered that servants had families or friends or lives of their own.
"Then perhaps you ought to hire a second housekeeper." She sniffed, and though he didn't turn his head, he knew that her nose was at an incline. "I have no idea how your brother expects your mother to run a household with only three servants, especially if she insists on giving them days off. We shan't be making that mistake when we move into our castle."
"Manor," Farilon corrected, though it occurred to him a little late that he might have been better off saying nothing.
"Yes, but that may very well be temporary. Your uncle knows that a prince ought to have a castle."
"Maybe." Not sure if he could tease any more out of the flames just yet, he put the poker aside and joined her on the couch, for all he would have preferred to rush out the door instead. "I could get used to a manor, though."
"Yes, but I could not." And if the note in her voice had anything to do with it, that was that. "I hear your sister-in-law had her baby. A boy, was it not?" Farilon nodded. He wasn't the brightest of men and he'd come to terms with that long ago, but he suspected he knew where this was going.
"A pity. If she'd only given your brother daughters, then you would have been king."
"I wouldn't make much of a king."
"Perhaps not, but I would make an excellent queen, and an excellent queen can make a mediocre king seem a great one." She pinched the velvet of her gown between two fingers. It was an odd sensation, empathizing with a piece of cloth. "Ah, but our fortunes may turn yet. Princes may be born, but there's never any guarantee that they will live."
Farilon swallowed, fighting back a sickly flush. He'd confided in his brother Conant that he thought Danthia had the heart of a lizard, but perhaps that had been unfair to lizards everywhere. "You're not wishing my nephew dead, are you?"
"I never said that. I was merely stating a fact. He may be the heir, but you are still his heir."
"And I could die any day too."
"A healthy young man of your age? Less likely--particularly since you're not the risk-taking sort. There's hardly an illness or object in existence that couldn't kill a newborn baby."
"Then maybe we should be concerned for our babies." Especially if your milk is as toxic as the rest of you. At least she would likely prefer a wet-nurse.
"I see no reason why I should be concerned for those who don't exist. But existence is a fickle thing, isn't it?" She shut her eyes, and he averted his own, back toward the hearth. A flame curled upward and tickled the air above while another ember retreated. "Perhaps your nephew will never be king. Perhaps our son will."
NEXT CHAPTER:
