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November 19, 1178
The fire in Holladrin's lungs had faded to embers, but it wouldn't be long before it flared up again. She knew it. Her husband knew it, her children knew it, even the cats knew it. She had put up a good fight, as had those around her. Laveria and Hilla and all the rest of the healers had done their best--better than that, as she'd far outlived their expectations--and after so many long years, she could hardly begrudge them if all they could do now was keep her comfortable.
Besides... all in all, she'd had a good life, longer than many ever got. For all it pained her to think that she'd never see her children grow up, never cradle her grandchildren in her arms, it was hardly fair to ask for more. If this was her time, then it had not been wasted.
"You'll give Pandora my wedding dress, won't you?"
It hadn't been all that long ago when Octavius would have gone all wide-eyed and begged her not to talk like that, but she was relieved that those days were over. The sooner he got used to the idea, the sooner he would be able to move on; she didn't want to think of him moping around like Oswald-post-Athalia, or filling voids with hedonistic gambles like Severin-post-Alina. She wanted him as he was; steadfast, stable, holding the family together. "She'll be beautiful."
"She will. I'll see it for myself." Though not likely from here. "And Thallie can have my ruby pendant. She always did like it."
Octavius nodded. "All right."
"And the boys... well, I can't imagine they'd be interested in any of my possessions. Just tell them that Mama loves them. And tell Sparron and Jeda that I always thought of them as my own."
"I'll tell them every day."
Once a day. It would not be enough, but it would have to suffice. "Thank you. And tell yourself I love you too."
He smiled, or tried to. It never reached his eyes, but she could give him credit for the effort. "And you tell yourself the same from me."
Some seething thing spread from the corner of her lung upward. It was slow, but sure; she would have time before it took over, but there would be no more beyond that. Something in her heart knew it and something in her head agreed. "Octavius? Can you fetch the children?"
It was not a request she ever made lightly, but he felt no need to argue. He just kissed her and slipped off the bed, footsteps firm on the hardwood as he hurried to the door.
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 5, 1176
If the angle of the sun had anything to say about it, it had been nearly noon when Holladrin had woken--about an hour ago now. Her husband, if she'd even been well enough for him to share the bed, would have left some hours prior. She'd resigned herself to the reality that he might not get a chance to see her until the evening, but it seemed that the heavens were smiling down on her, as he strolled into the room just as she'd considered getting dressed and going about her usual routine. "Glad to see you awake."
His voice was both tired and relieved. Holladrin's heart beat as though filled with lead. She wished she wouldn't worry the poor man so. "I hope I'm not keeping you from anything important."
"Of course you're not." Octavius smiled at her, then nudged the door back into place and set course for the empty side of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Just a little light-headed." She nudged herself upward a couple inches against the headboard, the pillow firmer than she remembered against her tired spine. "Much better than yesterday."
"The day before, you mean."
Holladrin raised an eyebrow. Surely he did not mean...? "I slept through all of yesterday?"
A thick lump of everything and nothing formed in her throat and only swelled when he nodded. "Well... maybe not quite all of it. But the important thing is that you're awake now. Anyway, should I send for some breakfast? Or just water, perhaps?"
"Ellene already brought me some water and a bit of fruit; I should be all right for now." Good old Ellene. She'd practically had the meal waiting for her, fresh yet prompt, just the perfect amount. Holladrin wondered what would come of her maid when she passed. She hoped someone would take Ellene on--but with her skills, perhaps that was a needless worry. Maybe Pandora would take her, and then Thallie could have the girl they currently shared all to herself.
Ah, but maybe it was still too early to worry about dying just yet--after all, had she not had worse? And maybe it was a bit selfish to dwell on her own health; there were always others in dire straights, after all. "How is your brother?"
"Quartus?" She nodded. Octavius sighed. "Well... not any worse."
"But not any better."
"No." He let his head fall back against the board, his hazel eyes waning beneath the weight of his lashes. "Old Hilla says a whore in the local brothel and three other men in the area are down with the same thing. I suppose at least he was doing what he loved?"
"I suppose," Holladrin agreed, though the thought seemed bittersweet at best and her husband's melancholy did little to help. But she supposed she could understand; she had brothers too. "Odd, though. He was always so healthy before."
"That he was." An audible breath escaping him, Octavius raised his hand to the back of his neck and gave it a quick rub. "Then again, I suppose no one ever knows."
As if there was ever a more bitter truth. "No. No one ever does."
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 3, 1173
"--and I don't care if you weren't expecting it for another week! I don't care if you weren't expecting it for another month! Even you're not dense enough to think that the date the midwife gives is more than an educated guess; when she starts looking like she could burst any minute, then you're on alert, you hear me?"
His eyes wide and his form trembling, Ietrin nodded. He and Sparron had returned about ten minutes prior, and Sparron's father had spent the better part of the time between then and now cursing his son-in-law for his tardiness. Not that Sparron could blame him--hell, he might have chewed Ietrin out himself on the ride over here if only his anxiety had allowed him to speak.
And really, it had been a relief to find his father furious. The alternative would have been finding him heartbroken.
In some miraculous surge of intuition, Ietrin seemed to pick up on this too. "Are Jeda and the baby all right?"
"They're fine." Sparron watched as his father's fist wavered at his side. He'd always been a stoic man, but everything was going to hell and the stress was taking its toll on him. He had a sickly wife and a miserable daughter and a disgusting pervert of a son, and almost losing both Jeda and her baby must have been more than enough to push him over the edge. "It was looking grim for a while, but Arydath managed to save them both. Now, we're going to go in there and see them, and you'd better be the best damn husband and father the world has ever seen. I don't want you so much as thinking about your whore and your bastard while you're in there, you got that?"
Ietrin sighed. "Yes, sir."
"Good." Sparron's father turned around and started down the corridor, the muted prince at his heels. Sparron waited until they had both turned the corner, then rose from his chair and followed. He was an uncle. His sister was alive, and her baby was alive. He would have his words with Ietrin later, and his father would have even more, but for now, Jeda and her baby were all that mattered.
His father opened Jeda's bedroom door and led the way inside. "Ladies."
"Darling," replied Sparron's stepmother, whose feet he could see on the bed beside Jeda's. "They're just cleaning up the baby in the next room. They won't be much longer."
"Very well." His father stepped toward the bed and placed his hand on one of the bedposts, eyes on Jeda. It was a shame to see her sweet self so tired and sweaty and likely in some lingering pain, but at least she was alive. "How are you feeling, angel?"
"All right," she answered, giving him a quick smile before locking eyes with Sparron. There was something odd about her expression--something rather melancholy, almost mournful, not the sort of face he would have expected to see on a new mother. Nobody else seemed to notice this; perhaps there was something to be said about the bond between twins after all.
"Jeda..."
If new fathers and new grandfathers hadn't taken precedence over new uncles, he would have crawled onto that bed and hugged her. He would have brushed back her hair, kissed her brow, promised that he'd make everything better. He would have done as he had when they were children and she'd needed cheering up, taken her by the hand and dragged her to the sitting room. They would have built a fort out of the couch cushions and retreated inside as if they'd created a whole new world and no one else could see or hear anything that happened within. He would have held her close and listened as she told him everything.
But they weren't children anymore. They were both grown and married and miserable. The most magical of couch forts could not have helped either of them--not anymore.
"You'll feel better soon," their stepmother did her best to reassure her, though Sparron doubted it would work. "Everything will be all right now."
Jeda didn't say anything. She just sat there, head to the board and hands to her still-swollen stomach, subdued and bitter like the sky awaiting the storm. She was far gone, beyond comfort. Never before had she looked so lost, not even when their parents had sat them down and told them what had happened to their mother. At least then he had been able to console her. At least then he'd known what was wrong.
"Jed--"
"Well, look who's here!"
The door to the adjoining nursery had flung open, a grim Lady Arydath and a calculating Camaline at the heels of Leara, who held in her arms the newest addition to the family. The baby had the same violet eyes as its father and aunts, and its wispy hair was the same sunny blond as Jeda's own. "Congratulations, Brother--or should I call you 'Papa'?"
A grin on his face as he locked eyes with the infant, Ietrin hurried over from the bedside. Behind Leara, Camaline reached back to shut the door, then exchanged a quick glance with Sparron. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one who sensed something amiss. Arydath too seemed rather grave, and Sparron's father had raised an eyebrow--but now that the baby was in the room, Jeda seemed to have vanished from Ietrin's mind. "Aww, the poor thing's so small."
"It was an early birth," his sister reminded him as she held the baby out for him to see. "Don't worry too much, though. I'm sure she'll be fine."
Back on the bed, Jeda winced. Camaline bit her lips and Arydath crossed her arms. Sparron's father glared at the back of Ietrin's head as if waiting for a reason to grab him by the scruff of the neck and throw him out the window. Ietrin's smile froze to a pained grimace as his eyes cracked and crumbled like shattered glass.
"Um... 'she'?"
NEXT CHAPTER:
August 3, 1172
In the absence of light, sound had a way of taking over. The rustling of sheets became the crash of waves and the gust in the courtyard outside was a dragon's roar. Servants' footfalls swelled to thunderclaps; a lone wolf howled with the fury of a charging mob. Holladrin's faint, self-stifled coughs bounced off the surrounding surfaces and engulfed the room in a dreary haze of worry and anguish.
Though far from awake, Octavius was not quite asleep and not even close to dreaming. He knew perfectly well that he was nowhere near and ocean and that dragons did not exist. It was too late in the season for violent storms and by his estimation, the next angry mob wasn't due for at least another week or so; there was no sense in worrying about such things just then.
What concerned him was that cough, raspy and persistent as it always was whenever it chose to rear its ugly head. His wife was a fighter--she soldiered through every spell of illness and emerged as vivacious as before--but he couldn't deny that her bedridden bouts were growing more and more troubling. They were a little longer, a little harsher, a little more frequent, and despite all her efforts to hide it, it wasn't as if he hadn't noticed. Having nearly lost her time and time again, she couldn't so much as yawn without sparking his worry.
Another cough. He pressed his hand to the curve of her naked back and rubbed. Her shallow breathing eased somewhat, still strained but at least stable--inhale, exhale, inhale...
Knock!
Octavius pried his eyes open as Holladrin began to stir beneath his touch. "Was that--?"
Knock! Knock! "Anyone awake in there?"
Oh, hell no. "...Florian?" Of all the people who could have been banging on his bedroom door in the middle of the night; annoyed, Octavius pushed himself upright and glared in the direction of the noise. "Christ, it's got to be past midnight by now. Go home!"
"Not without a word." If only for the purpose of being a nuisance, the steward rapped his knuckles against the door once more. "Can I come in?"
"No!"
"Why not? Is Holladrin naked?"
Why haven't I fired that man yet? Cringing, Octavius kicked back the covers on his side and slung himself off the bed; back on the mattress, Holladrin retreated further into the folds. "Go down to my study. I'll be there in a few minutes."
Florian gave the door one last thud! before scurrying down the corridor, his footsteps a strain on the ear even as they faded. Shaking his head, Octavius dragged himself to the wardrobe, then grabbed one of his shirts and an old pair of slacks. He dressed himself with a lazy sort of haste and glanced back toward the bed. "I shouldn't be long. Try to get some sleep, all right?"
"I'll try to take advantage of the absence of your snoring." She winked at him before rolling onto her side; he smirked as he shut the wardrobe door, careful not to close it too loudly. Maybe having the bed to herself for a few minutes would do Holladrin some good.
Swift yet quiet, he stepped out of the room and into the hallway, down the stairs and through the sitting room to the narrow stretch that led to the northeastern corner of the castle. Florian had not thought to leave the door ajar; the reasons for his annoyance mounting by the minute, Octavius pushed it open and entered the study.
"All right, out with it--what do you want?"
Not taking his eyes off the newly-lit candles, Florian sighed. "You're going to want to sit down for this."
He gestured toward the couch. Octavius rolled his eyes and crossed the floor to collapse upon it. "This had better be urgent."
"You know, I liked you better before you got to be so angry all the time." Florian turned around and looked down at him through narrowed eyes, his upper lip caught between his teeth. "But whatever. Apparently my son is in love with my stepdaughter."
The room fell silent save for the sound of Octavius's own rapid eyelids. Three blinks. Four blinks. Five. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. "Really? You woke me up in the middle of the night to talk about your children's personal lives?"
Florian sniffed. "Oh, well of course you don't see it as a problem; I suppose I shouldn't have expected much of a reaction from a man who married two of his own cousins."
"Second cousins," Octavius corrected, "but what does that have to do with anything? Hell, what does any of this have to do with me?"
The steward shrugged. "I figured you might be able to help."
"How?"
"I don't know, that was supposed to be your part." Florian drove his fist into his own hip, as if to burrow his knuckles in the flesh--as if that could do anything. "Make it illegal or something."
This was so bizarre it almost had to be a dream; God really did have a sick sense of humor. "What would the point of that be? I mean, really, is it such a problem? It's not as if they're--"
"Hey, since I'm the only one of us who never married any of my cousins, I'm the one who gets to have an opinion." Irritated, Florian tapped his foot against the floorboards; knowing Octavius's luck, his boots were probably muddy. "At least help me figure out a way to keep them apart for a little while--maybe a way to get one of them out of the house for a while without making it looked like I kicked them out."
"Fine." Octavius stood, his arms crossed over the bleached linen of his shirt. The man was really making far too great a deal out of this, but now that he thought about it, there was an opening here. "But if I help you with this, then Lord help you if you ever drag me out of bed at this hour again."
A squeamish look flashed across Florian's face for a few seconds before he swallowed back his pride and nodded; it seemed that even Florian could be propositioned. "Fine, whatever you say; just tell me what you can do."
"All right," he began. "Garrett's seventeen now, and while that is a rather young age to be knighted, I do think he's ready for the responsibility, so he probably won't be my squire for much longer. I haven't had the time to get a replacement lined up, so if you like, I could give the position to Setran and he could come and live here."
Florian took a moment to consider this; in spite of his ill temper, he seemed intrigued. "I could still see him every day, then."
"That you could--and in all honesty, I think it would be good for Sparron to have a boy his own age around here." Octavius tugged at the sleeve of his shirt and sighed. "Poor kid never sees much of his friends anymore--well, except for Searle, but I don't really know what's going on there. He hasn't been himself since they started spending so much time together, and I think someone like Setran would be good for him."
"So you'll take him, then?" Florian's features were both hopeful and resigned, neither trait one Octavius might have expected from him; in a strange sort of way, he almost pitied him. "You'll make a squire and make him a knight and maybe introduce him to some pretty young noblewomen?"
Not sure how to respond, Octavius gave an awkward sort of half-nod. "I'm not pulling any strings in regards to his love life, but the change of environment might give them both a chance to reconsider."
"Fair enough." The other man moved his mouth as if trying to smile; he eventually gave up and compromised with a stare. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Octavius gave him an indulgent pat on the arm, then pointed toward the door. "Now get out."
NEXT CHAPTER:
April 29, 1170
Holladrin watched the door with a grimace. It had been a few minutes since Nora had dashed out, and surely she would be returning soon--not soon enough, however, for the inevitable speculation. "That's the second time in half an hour."
Smiling, Valira rolled her eyes. She couldn't say that Nora's behavior had surprised her; when one was married to Lord Severin, it was never all that long before one had something to show for it. "You should have seen her on the ride over. She kept stopping to puke in the bushes, and then whenever I suggested that we just turn around and go home, she'd gallop off. Either she really wanted to see you, or she's in denial."
"Or perhaps both," Holladrin mused with a wink.
Valira laughed. "Can't argue with you there, Aunt Holladrin. Still, I hope she's all right."
"Oh." A thoughtful sort of seriousness glazed over the baroness's face. "Yes, given how Lady Alina died..." She trailed off; neither of them wanted to think about that. The memory of that day was still only too clear--the crash of the sudden fall, all the blood, everything. Valira had not even been in the room and she could still recall and picture every detail.
No--neither of them wanted to think about that.
Fidgeting in her seat, Valira made up her mind to look toward a more positive outcome--the most likely outcome. After all, Nora had already birthed two single babies and set of twins. Lady Alina had birthed seven before that fatal day, Holladrin had birthed three, and Valira herself had had one with no complications. If every pregnancy merited a fatality, the only women alive past their late teens or early twenties would have been nuns. "I bet it's a boy."
Holladrin smirked--she must have been giving herself a similar lecture. "I'll take that bet."
"What bet?"
Nora had returned. "Sorry. What did I miss?" She collapsed onto the empty seat next to Valira and grinned weakly, though she did still look a little green.
"Just us making a wager about the sex of your unborn child, dear," Holladrin informed her with an impish grin. "I think it'll be a girl."
Valira shook her head. "I'm telling you, it's going to be a boy."
"My unborn child?" Her mouth obscured as she gnawed the inside of her cheek, Nora sent Valira a quizzical glance. "I don't recall mentioning anything of the sort."
"You didn't have to." Valira tugged at her sleeve and reclined backward. "The nausea did the talking for you."
Nora's lip quivered in desperate protest. "Perhaps I'm simply ill."
"Riddle me this, then," pried Holladrin from the other couch, running a hand over her own seven months' worth of swell. "How long has it been since your last course?"
Resigned, she glanced down at her lap and began to spin her wedding ring about her finger. "A while..."
"Ah yes--a while." Holladrin sighed. "Do you think Severin knows?"
Nora shrugged. "I doubt it; I imagine he has more important concerns than my laundry."
"Men can be rather unobservant," mused Valira, shaking her head as she recalled all those none-too-subtle hints that Searle had so thoroughly failed to notice. "When do you plan on telling him?"
"I don't know." She sighed, the wedding band still twirling about. "He won't be happy about this. He already has seven children, and add my four... and then with what happened to Lady Alina..." She didn't finish. She didn't have to.
The silence was brief, but overwhelming; it would have been against every urge in Valira's nature not to break it. "It's so easy for them to forget to pull out."
"On the off-chance that even works," Holladrin laughed in reply. "There's only one way to prevent the occasional accident from happening, you know--abstinence."
Valira stuck out her tongue at her aunt-by-marriage. "As if you've ever tried that."
Holladrin giggled again, and even Nora snickered. A smile curled on Valira's lips as she played with a lock of her hair; the room's gravity had not been fully vanquished, but at least they had this moment of relief. Predictably, however, it didn't last long.
"When do you think I should tell him?"
Valira sighed. She was younger than Nora, but still plenty old enough to know that such harsh questions typically merited answers of equal or greater difficulty. "Ideally, never; realistically, soon."
NEXT CHAPTER:
February 11, 1170
Florian stepped into the study and greeted his disgruntled lord with a wide grin. He had been given the day off, and he knew exactly why--indeed, it was also the reason he had come. "Happy birthday!"
The baron shot him an annoyed glare; Florian briefly wondered if he'd considered the possibility of a surprise visit for the sole purpose of being a grievance. "Get out."
As if he had any intention of doing so. "So, my lord, how does it feel? Is there truly such a difference between thirty-nine and forty?" If there was one thing that Florian had learned about the nobility, it was that most of the adults had an incredible preoccupation with their ages; birthdays were always dreaded, and God help everyone else if one of the lords or ladies was approaching a multiple of ten.
His lord slouched further downward and sighed. "I gave you the day off; can't you just go and savor that extra freedom like anyone else would?"
"Not a chance." Florian made sure to maintain his smile; the baron was looking annoyed, but not quite sufficiently so.
The nobleman pulled himself to his feet and stepped around the desk. "Don't you have a wife and children at home?"
"Well, yes, but most of the kids are off playing with Falidor's brood," Florian replied, taking a secret delight in the thought of stuck-up Ailede having to put up with his unruly offspring. "Anyway, Thetis wanted me to go to the village to pick up some herbs; if she asks, I was never here, all right?"
The baron raised an eyebrow. "Well, if your wife needs herbs, then perhaps you should go and get them for her."
Florian dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "I sent Evera and Setran to get them. Besides, Thetis only thinks she needs herbs--pregnant women, you know? And would you believe that she's claiming it's going to be twins?"
Likely for the first time that day, a smile broke upon the baron's face. "Well, if any woman deserves the honor of twins, it's Thetis--and if any man deserves the burden of twins, it's you."
"I won't argue with you there." Florian brushed a bit of hair out of his eyes, then shook his head. "I just hope it isn't triplets."
"What's this? You're having triplets?"
Florian glanced back toward the door, the source of the voice revealing herself to be the baroness, her small son in her arms and her own bulging middle a fraction of the size of Thetis's. "I thought you had the day off, Florian."
He smirked; he could tell by the sparkle in her eye that she'd been expecting him. "Well, it isn't every day that my lord celebrates his fortieth birthday."
"I don't believe 'celebrate' would be the right word," groaned the baron.
"Birfday," repeated young Nythran, though Florian doubted the boy understood such abstract concepts just yet.
Regardless, it seemed only proper to reply to a nobleman, even if he was under a year old. "Yes, Nythran--birfdays. You haven't had any yet, but your father has had more than enough for both of you."
Laughing, the baroness waddled to her husbands side and handed him the toddler. "He wanted to see Papa--to wish you a happy birfday, no doubt."
The baron rolled his eyes, but nonetheless indulged the boy with a hug. "Thank you, son."
"And speaking of birthdays," the baroness mused with a smile, turning to Florian, "isn't Thetis nearing her due date?"
Florian nodded. "Just one more month now. Poor thing's getting pretty tired; had to send Evera and Setran into town for herbs."
"Evera and Setran?" For some reason, her blue eyes widened. "You mean to say that your boy is old enough to be taking girls on trips to the village?"
It seemed that Florian was not the only one who had stepped into the room with the intention of being an annoyance. "What? Of course not--she's his stepsister."
The baroness exchanged a quick grin with her husband. "Well, it isn't as if she's his actual sister."
"She might as well be," Florian reminded her. "They grew up together. Evera was in my care for nearly a year before Setran was born."
"So what you're saying, then, is that they've had their entire lives to grow fond of each other."
Shit. He'd forgotten how difficult it could be to argue with the baroness. She was sharp, charismatic, and armed with a distracting amount of cleavage; had she not been, he might have thought of a retort. "Congratulations, my lady; you have me sufficiently annoyed."
NEXT CHAPTER:
