In Which Holladrin Approves Any Addition

July 4, 1202

"There! Is that better, you fussy little boy?" Holladrin watched her son's face ease with relief as she tested his blankets with a pinch of her fingers. Her mother-in-law, the kingdom's premier midwife since its founding days, new better than anyone how to swaddle an infant, but Tarien always seemed to want more wiggle room than the typical baby of his size. Odd, seeing as he never wiggled much once he had that room, preferring only to writhe about in shameless annoyance when he didn't.

How would the poor tailors manage, once he was of an age to do the same with his clothing? "You should take advantage of your swaddling days, you know. Once you're free to move about, it's only a matter of time before you'll be expected to do things, and life won't be just naps and cuddles and... excrement."

"Well, there will always be excrement," came Searle's voice from the doorway, more sigh than statement.

Holladrin frowned. If he'd chosen to flip her words into a commentary on life rather than tease her about how she was talking to a baby about bodily functions, then there must have been some of that so-called excrement with which to deal. "What's wrong?"

Her husband folded his hands in front of him and cracked his knuckles--a standard for him, if he would have preferred to use those knuckles to knock someone's teeth out but was too polite to do so. "Your father is here."

Of course. The teeth that every man who cared about her wanted to knock out the most. "That's strange."

"My father said the same--only, peppered with a few words I don't know if this little boy needs to hear yet. But my father must not be as terrifying as your grandfather, because he's still here."

"So he'll show up unexpected on a random day for no reason, but our wedding was out of the question." Of course, her twelve-year-old self would have been ecstatic had he shown up for any reason at all. If only she could reach back in time and slap some sense into that stupid girl. "Tell him I've gone out."

Searle cringed. "Actually, all he said when I was in earshot was that he wanted to meet his grandson."

That ought to have surprised her more than it did. "So he'll acknowledge that he has a grandson. Then again, he did acknowledge that he had a daughter and seemed to consider that in itself decent parenting. If he goes through the trouble of looking at Tarien once, then he can call himself grandfather of the year."

Of course, Tarien had a grandfather--Searle's father--who could have been in the running for that title in earnest. And he also had a great-grandfather, her grandfather, who had won it twenty-two years straight. "I'm not subjecting our son--or any other children we might have--to any of that."

"So... I'll tell him to take a long walk off a short pier? Or some more biting version of that I can say when there's no baby in the room?"

"First off, tell him that he can't be a grandfather if he hasn't been a father first." In her arms, little Tarien blew a few saliva bubbles and let their remnants drip down his mouth. Searle reached over and wiped the drool away with his sleeve. How comforting it was, knowing that if she dropped dead tomorrow, her son would have a father who'd never dream of abandoning him. "And then you can add whatever you like."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Searle Resents the Twisted Luck

August 19, 1200

"My father's not coming to our wedding."

Holladrin's words were laced with neither anger nor sorrow, but an ill mixture of resentment and exasperation and defeat. Searle would have almost preferred to find her throwing furniture in a rage or sobbing on the rug. Neither would have been a happy sight, and both would have been the frustrated aftermath of dashed hopes, but at least there would have been hope there to begin with.

Holladrin's father had been letting her down for so long she no longer entertained the thought that he wouldn't.

"Oh." If there was something he could say to make it better, it was beyond Searle's imagining. His own father had never let him down. "Well... maybe that's for the best. You don't need him."

"You're right." But she picked at the nail of her thumb with her index finger--her never-fail tell of uncertainty. "He'd probably just sulk around the whole time anyway."

"Hmm." It may have been harsh to so readily agree to criticism of a man he'd never met, but Holladrin's father had proven to Searle time and time again just how possible it was to hate a complete stranger. If they ever did meet, he doubted his own capacity to offer a handshake instead of a slug across the jaw. For Holladrin's sake...

...well, she needed some form of closure, maybe. Some final note. But other than that, there couldn't have been any upside to her father's showing up any time soon.

For her sake--no matter what happened--he would never be that kind of father to any children they had.

"You're so lucky. Your father is always so... present. Your mother too. And, obviously, your mother is alive."

"I am lucky." Almost twisted, really. In many ways, who one's parents were could make or a break a person--and who one's parents were was always, invariably, a matter of pure random luck. "And you deserve to have been so much luckier."

Holladrin sniffed, picking at her nails again. Taking compliments couldn't have been easy for someone whose only parent had spent their entire life neglecting them; it would be some years yet, he'd come to terms with the fact, before she'd truly believe him when he spoke the truth about her. For now, he'd take a small smile when she was done, and her leaning on his shoulder with a sharp breath, hair liquid gold against his fingers.

"At least I'm lucky to have you."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Holladrin Doesn't Get a Different Happening

February 12, 1191

"Father!" If not for his sturdy frame, Holladrin might have tackled him to the couch when she sprung into his arms. The last time her father had shown up at her grandfather's castle, she'd slept right through his entire early morning visit. This time--in exchange for distracting the cook while he herded a pack of squirrels through the kitchens--Florian had promised to alert her first, and he'd kept to his word. "Father, I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Yes, well..." He swallowed. He always did. For some reason, Holladrin kept pretending not to notice. "I've been very busy back in Dovia."

"It's fine." She let him go and stepped back. It hurt that he looked relieved. "What are you doing in Naroni?"

"Just a few errands for your Uncle Oswald. Nothing too interesting."

"Oh." There'd be no point in asking him to elaborate. "Do you have any time to visit for a while? Grandfather's birthday was yesterday, and there's still some cake in the kitchens."

"Thank you, but no. Cake is a little sweet for me."

Why doesn't that surprise me? "Oh. Yes, of course."

"Anyway, is your grandfather around? I have a message for him."

That would be it, then. Her grandfather would send Florian in to hear the message in his stead, then her father would slip off to Lord only knew where without so much as a parting nod.

She must have been mad, thinking it would ever happen differently. "I'll go find him."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Camaline Allots Her Capacity

April 2, 1181

"Why didn't I tell you?" It was only because Searle was a contributing factor in the existence of Prior that Camaline would indulge such a stupid question. If he hadn't figured it out on his own--and she wouldn't have guessed even he was so empty-headed--he could have at least picked a better time to ask her. When she was in her sitting room, perhaps, doing nothing as she usually did, not when Sparron was ill and the baron was occupied and there was no one else to deal with any business that wandered into the study.

Not that anything interesting had managed to occur, but still.

"You know why I didn't tell you. Sparron didn't want you to know, for about a hundred reasons, and you could no doubt tell me every one of them if I cared to talk for that long."

Searle's shoulders slumped. It wasn't the sort of thing Camaline usually made a point to notice, but she couldn't help it. Odd how such an inconsequential shift could make him look so much sadder, so much younger. So much like the same sad puppy who used to mope around Sparron's bedroom in the early days of Camaline's marriage. She decided she did pity him. "I know."

"I'm sorry." What an odd thing to say; she'd never quite understood why everyone defaulted to that meaningless phrase when any fool with a shred of economy ought to find silence more fitting. Why should she be sorry? She hadn't done a damn thing. Not about this, anyway. All she'd done was respect her best friend's wishes. If that hurt Searle, so be it. She had nothing against him, but he was not where her loyalties lay.

"You're not."

"No." She expected him to cringe like she'd cuffed him, but he didn't even blink. Maybe he was tougher than she gave him credit for. "But it's the thing to say."

Searle's mouth cracked open, but shut again as his eyes fell to Camaline's son and niece, playing on the floor, pretending not to hear what the adults were talking about as children got used to doing. Poor little Prior, waiting around for Daddy to get better under the guise of entertaining his cousin. She hoped this would be all he heard for a while.

"Who else knows?"

"Besides our household?" He nodded. "Jadin, as you've seen. Possibly your father and Lorn, if Octavius told them, and Sparron told Lettie before..."

She glanced down at the kids. He knew what that meant. "Just so she knew."

"Just so she knew." He let the words hang as if on a balance, weighing each against another in search of some fabled equivalence of the said and the unsaid. It was a nuance lost on her literal, to-the-point mind. "So Sparron got it from his mother, then?"

"Yes."

"Do you think... they'll be all right?"

He looked at Prior again; she guessed that to mean Alina. She didn't want to lie to him. "I hope so."

Searle sniffed, turning his head just as Camaline caught sight of a moist bead in the corner of his eye. "I see. Good day, Camaline."

"Good day, Searle."

Had she been the sort who was inclined to comfort, she might have hugged him before he left, but to her great relief he was gone before she could see him crying. With any luck, Lettie or Jadin would be more sympathetic. Or Lord Severin. Anyone. What little emotional capacity she had was presently occupied by Sparron; she didn't have the room for anyone else.

"Mama?"

Or maybe just one small someone else. "You're all right, Prior." You'd better be.

NEXT CHAPTER: