In Which Alina Vows to Rest

February 18, 1167

"You know, I have to say," Honora sighed as she lowered her heavily pregnant form into the chair, "it seems to me that each time is a little more comfortable than the last. I was practically confined to bed for most of the time I was pregnant with Evaleith, and even with Had I was housebound, but this one's given me no trouble at all."

Of course, seeing as she was ready to burst any minute, Honora was certainly housebound now, but Alina chose not to point that out. "I think mine were a little more random. Searle was probably the worst; Jadin and Riona were both much more docile in the womb than they ever have been out."

"And what about this little one, hmmm?"

Well, so much for keeping that suspicion to herself until she started showing. After those two miscarriages, Alina didn't care to spread any news before she could be reasonably sure that the baby would make it, and she might not have even been late enough to ponder in the first place... but she couldn't deny that the way she'd been feeling for the past few weeks was pleasantly familiar. "And what little one might this be?"

"Oh, don't be coy with me!" her friend scolded with a laugh. "My God, Alina, if anyone can tell when she's pregnant, you can! Besides, I know it too--you're always so nauseatingly happy when you've got one on the way."

Was it really so obvious? No one had ever mentioned it before; with any luck, Honora alone had made this observation. Alina decided to pretend that she herself had not. "Am I?"

Honora nodded. "Seems to me, at any rate, even if you do seem a little wary this time. Besides, I was your maid for long enough to know that you have the most predictable of monthlies; if you think you might be pregnant, you probably are."

She was right; for almost twenty years now, it had come every twenty-four days to the precise hour in times when her womb rested empty. Still, she thought it might be wise to keep it between herself and Honora for the time being. Her friends and family had suffered a somber spell when they'd learned of the first miscarriage; she'd told only Severin, Raia, and Honora of the second pregnancy, and when she had lost that baby as well, the burden of secrecy had worn heavily on each of them.

"Well, could you keep it to yourself? The last thing I need is for the whole damn kingdom to know my business."

Honora sent her a smile that Alina supposed was meant to be reassuring. "It comes with the territory, your ladyship. Besides, you have to think positive; if you just relax and enjoy the next few months like you did with your last seven, I'm sure everything will be just fine."

Maybe she had a point; Alina's anxiety had certainly been much higher during the pregnancies she'd miscarried. Perhaps a little rest was all this baby needed. "You know, you could be right."

"Have you not learned by now? I'm always right."

Alina smirked; leave it to Honora to put a smile on her face. "Humble, aren't you?"

"Oh, enough about me!" her friend dismissed, attempting to bounce in her chair but held back by the mass of her bulge. "Since we're both in this state, we might as well talk about names. What are you thinking for yours?"

Names. Yes, there would be a baby to name--at least, providing this whole positive thinking thing worked. "Well... we're out of parents, so I suppose we have to finish up the grandparents now. I guess that leaves either Roderick, Conant, or Ovrean for a boy, and then Celina, Ramona, or Lileina for a girl."

Running a hand over her swollen stomach, Honora rolled her eyes. "Why do you nobles insist on milking the same twenty or so names for all they're worth? Have all the Searles taught you nothing?"

"The fact is that we're all horribly lazy," Alina admitted, prompting a grin from her friend. "Now, tell me--what are you going to be calling this one? It seems to me that you and Adonis have run out of parents as well."

Honora shook her head, her cinnamon hair flipping over her shoulder. "It's a surprise."

Unamused, Alina pouted. "I told you what I might name mine."

"Yes, but you gave me six possible names instead of just two," laughed Honora. "I have a pair names in mind, one for a boy and one for a girl--and, actually, Arydath thinks this one will be a boy, and we both know she's always right."

"If my memory serves correctly, this one feels more like a boy too," Alina stated, her eyes resting on her friend's stomach. "Perhaps they'll be playmates."

"That would be nice, although truth be told I'm still hoping that one of mine marries one of yours--you must admit that we'd have exceptionally pretty grandchildren."

A slight bit of nausea welling within her, Alina grimaced. "Honora, please! I'm still having babies; grandchildren are about the last thing I care to think about right now."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Evaleith Dispels a Musing

December 2, 1164

"...and that should just about do it," declared Nora as she tucked the last of Evaleith's curls into place. "God, you have such lovely hair. Our mother had nice curly hair too, but you can see that none of us got it."

Evaleith closed her eyes. "It can be such a bother, though..."

Nora laughed. "Mother always said so too--of course, that never stopped me from envying her."

Curious, Evaleith turned around; she had just been given a glimpse of a side of her soon-to-be sister-in-law that she would have never guessed existed. "I had no idea you were a woman who cared so much about her hair."

"I'm not," Nora agreed with a grin. "I gave up on it years ago."

"How practical of you."

"Indeed."

Senseless banter aside, Evaleith had gained a healthy respect for Ceidrid's older sister over the past few months. The woman was a widow of not even a quarter of a year, a widow of a man with whom she had shared a deep love, a widow left with two young children and another on the way... and yet, she had not approached anyone for charity, nor had she burst into tears in the company of any second party. There was an undeniable strength about someone who did not allow their own suffering to compromise anyone else's happiness, a strength that one couldn't help but admire.

Of course, this was not the only reason Evaleith had come to enjoy Nora's company. She had a quick, witty tongue, as well as the rare ability to be blunt without being cruel. With Evaleith's own tight funds and refusal to allow Ceidrid to pay for her wedding dress, Nora had been kind enough to let her use one of her outgrown gowns--quite economical, seeing as it was old, borrowed, and blue--and she had just spent more time on Evaleith's hair than she had likely ever given to her own. She was generous, reassuring, and helpful, all while still being clever, humorous, and to-the-point. If Evaleith had ever had a sister--or at least, one she'd actually grown up with--she might have hoped she would have been rather like Nora.

Well, she supposed she had two new sisters now, one of which actually was Nora. And Alsina... well, she would be a good sister too, in her own way.

"You're so beautiful!" she cooed, quickly looking Evaleith up and down. "Just wait until Ceidrid sees you in that--hell, just wait until he sees you out of it!"

Evaleith and Nora shared a quick laugh. In truth, Alsina was close to a year older than she was, but Evaleith had been shocked to learn this; she did seem quite immature at times. Oh well--for the most part, Evaleith liked Alsina well enough, but she was still somewhat glad that the girl and her younger brother had moved out of Ceidrid's house and into Nora's instead.

Her eyes narrowing slightly, Nora gave a sly smile. "She is rather stunning--in fact, I'd say she's almost glowing. Do you have a little secret, honey?"

She could not remember ever blushing and laughing at the same time before then. "Oh--no! At least, not that I know of," she added with a wink, for their benefit.

Alsina gave an appreciative laugh. "I'm sure we'll see soon enough. Anyway, I'm glad Ceidrid's marrying someone pretty--can you imagine the children he'd produce without her?"

Nora snickered. "On his own? Alsina, I thought I already gave you this talk--he wouldn't be having any children at all."

The younger sister rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. Anyway... when's the ceremony starting? I want to get to the dancing already."

"Fairly soon, I imagine," answered the elder. "Maybe we'd better go take our places. Evaleith, your stepfather is giving you away, right?"

Evaleith nodded; Nora planted a quick kiss to her forehead, then made her way toward the door. "He'll be here shortly, then. We'll see you outside, sister."

Sister. No one had ever addressed her as such--not even her brother. The most he had ever said was 'my sister'--not simply 'sister'. Of course, she supposed one couldn't blame a nine-year-old boy for such a thing, especially considering he was really only her half-brother. Her sisters were worse for it. Little Asalaye was all smiles, but she only ever called her 'Leithie'; Nanalie rarely saw fit to waste words on her at all.

After trailing out of the room behind her sister, Alsina closed the door, leaving Evaleith to herself. She was not a girl who was overly concerned about her appearance, but she was drawn to the mirror regardless--it was her wedding day, after all.

Nora had done a splendid job with her hair; indeed, she would have never believed hair could be made into such art if she had not seen it for herself, having grown up surrounded by pirates and peasants and wenches. She felt almost like a princess, if only princesses waited to be walked down the aisle in the bedrooms of their sister-in-laws' houses, wearing second-hand dresses of a color other than the purest of white.

"Evaleith?" came a voice from the corridor, accompanied with a light knock on the door. "Evaleith, are you ready?"

It was not her stepfather's voice. It was her mother's.

She didn't answer, but her mother entered regardless. She was as queenly and beautiful as ever, her cinnamon hair hanging gracefully over her shoulder and her skin putting the smoothness of her silken, lacy gown to shame. Indeed, even her large, pregnant belly seemed becoming. A smile on her full lips, she surveyed Evaleith with her teal eyes, then spoke. "You look beautiful."

>At the very least, Evaleith had to be polite. "Thank you. I could say the same of you."

"Adonis will be here in a minute," she promised, "I just wanted to see you one last time before the ceremony."

"I see." Evaleith had seen her mother a few times over the course of the past few months, and while she had grown civil--perhaps even kind at times--there was still the lingering awkwardness of everything that lay between them. Her father, for one. Her stepfather and his children, for another. And Evaleith didn't even want to think about Honora's earlier denial.

Honora tossed back her head and glanced toward the ceiling. "If only your father could see you now. Where is he, exactly? Is he still alive?"

"So far as I'm aware," Evaleith replied as best she could; it hurt to be reminded that her own father could not attend her wedding, nor even had any idea that she was getting married in the first place. "He's been in prison for four years, and I doubt he'll be out any time soon."

Her mother stiffened. "I see. Nevertheless, I'm sure he's thinking about you today."

"I don't doubt it."

It was obvious to Evaleith that Honora was just as eager to change the subject as she was; fortunately, the other woman was quick to do so. "Anyway, I just wanted to come in and tell you I'm proud of you--and that I'm sorry about everything. Not that it makes much of a difference, I suppose, but..."

"It's the thought," Evaleith finished for her, offering a quick embrace--it occurred to her that she hadn't hugged her mother since she could scarcely talk, and she did not want to go into her marriage with such a musing. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm supposed to go get married or something."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Adonis Hears from the Beginning

June 12, 1164

Adonis did not think it gentlemanly to presume to take the bed for oneself when arguing with one's wife, but he had come in from the barn to find Honora in her nightgown, fast asleep on the couch in the children's room; not wanting to disturb her, he had taken her attire as a sign that she had planned to sleep there and not simply dozed off, leaving the bed to him.

He wished she hadn't. The bed was far too big for one, he was now painfully aware. So many times he would reach for her out of sheer habit, only to remind himself once more that she was not beside him. He closed his eyes, but he did not think he would sleep tonight; this empty bed was a vast and barren wasteland, and somehow, he was lost in the middle of it.

Then, like an answer to an unconscious prayer, the door opened, then quickly closed again.

At the sight of his wife, Adonis kicked back the covers and pulled himself to his feet. "I'm sorry; I thought you were settled for the night. Here, take the bed. I'll just go sleep on the--"

"Wait."

Startled, he did as he was told. He watched the silk of her nightgown sweep against the floor as she crossed the room and sat down on her side of the bed. As soon as she had settled into a comfortable position, she sent him an expectant glance. "Adonis, please sit down."

He hastily pulled the blanket back into position and adjusted the pillow, lowering himself against it. While he still felt rather betrayed, the last thing he wanted was to deny her a chance to explain herself. "I'm listening."

Honora shifted. "I don't know where to start."

"Start at the beginning."

She sighed, then nodded. "Well... my mother was a daughter of the old Lord Aythwing by a scullery maid. She ended up eloping with my father, who was the leader of a band of thieves who traveled from village to village, plundering as they went."

Adonis closed his eyes, trying not to dwell on the fact that his son had been named after a criminal. "Continue."

"My mother died giving birth to me, leaving my father to raise me on his own. He took me around with his band until I was eight, when he was killed by some of his men who wanted to seize control of the group. The lot of them left after that; I had to bury him on my own."

"Honora..." Adonis whispered. It was a weak thing to say, but he did not know how to respond to such a sentence. What sorts of monsters left a little girl with nothing but the corpse of her own father?

Honora silenced him with a shake of her head. "After that, I wondered around aimlessly until I arrived in the port village of Dragon's Gate. My first week there, a man said he'd give me food and shelter for the night if I slept with him; in my desperation, I took him up on that offer. I lived like that for a few years, until I was about twelve or so, when I met Adwyn--Evaleith's father.

"A client of mine had neglected to pay me, so I'd chased after him, only to end up pressed against the back wall of a tavern with a knife to my throat and a hand up my skirt. Adwyn happened to come along and fought the brute off. I ended up staying with him for a while, even going to sea with him--he was a pirate on a ship called the Jade Serpent. He was handsome, strong, exciting... what can I say? I was young and stupid and thoroughly smitten.

"Then Evaleith came along, and... well, everything changed. I was often alone on the mainland for weeks on end with the baby, and whenever Adwyn was actually around... God, he was such a wonderful father to her. He was far more of a parent than I could be at my age, and I started to resent him for it. Meanwhile, Evaleith took to him far more easily than she did to me; whenever the three of us were together, it was like I was looking through a window. They were like me and my father were, all those years before--the father who had raised me on his own, without a mother.

"I grew tired of being an extra wheel, and as I matured, I realized that Adwyn could never offer me the stability I wanted. One night, when he had returned from one of his voyages, I decided to leave. I nearly took Evaleith with me, but I realized I couldn't do that to either of them; they were so close, and I was not about to rob Evaleith of her father like those men robbed me of mine. It also seemed like the last thing I could give Adwyn for saving my life--his beloved daughter.

"Anyway, you know the rest; I headed to Dovia and ended up working as Alina's maid until she eloped with Severin and I married you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you all this before, but... well, I hope you can understand that I didn't really want to think about it," she finished lamely. "I love you, Adonis. I love our life. I didn't want anything that had happened all those years ago to ruin what we have now."

She did not want his sympathy, he realized. If that was what she was after, she would have told him this long ago. No... she simply wanted his understanding, and his reassurance. He could give her plenty of both.

"My darling," he addressed her, taking her in his arms and inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, "I promise you that nothing is ruined."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Honora Is Invisible and Inaudible

June 11, 1164

Scanning the room for any lingering candlelight she may have missed, Honora bade her children goodnight, then descended the stairs. Good Lord, they grew up so fast; she could hardly believe it had been nine whole years since she'd first discovered she was pregnant with Had! Before she knew it, they would be off having babies of their own.

"Adonis? Are you there?" she called over the railing. She had been at the castle that morning, and had returned to find that Adonis had busied himself with the rotting floorboards in the barn's hayloft; while she appreciated his initiative, it did mean that she hadn't seen him all day.

He didn't answer, but a quick glance told her that he was, in fact, inside, seated in his favorite chair and staring off into space. Honora frowned; Adonis was too practical a man to be expected to brood. "Adonis? Is something wrong?"

Her husband grunted, only unnerving her further; he was not a man who used wordless sounds for replies. This would not do--something was troubling him, and she'd be damned if she didn't get to the bottom of it!

"Adonis!" she addressed him once more, twirling about the chair and stopping in front of him. "Adonis, talk to me. What's going on?"

For a moment or so, he only stared at her, his ordinarily dazzling eyes blank and lifeless as a pair of rocks. Then--

"Had told me he today that he heard you and Evaleith talking back when she first came."

It was truly astounding how one could be so unconscious of a beating heart, yet fully aware of the precise second during which its pulses ceased. "...sorry?"

Adonis shook his head; never before had Honora seen her resilient husband so defeated. "Please don't make me feel stupid, Honora. That's the last thing I need right now."

Gnawing on her lower lip, Honora fiddled with a lock of her hair. "Adonis, please..."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Did he really expect her to answer that? Somehow, it just didn't seem like a fair question. "I... I just... didn't want to talk about it."

"The 'it' you're referring to is your daughter, Honora."

His words were as frigid as the winter breeze. Her flesh was numb, and there was ice on her lashes. She was caught in a snowstorm; she searched desperately for any sign of shelter, but she saw neither house nor cave. There wasn't even a lousy tree.

"I'm going to go feed the animals," Adonis muttered, heaving himself out of the chair and making his way toward the door. "Don't bother waiting up for me. Sleep well, Honora."

Sleep well. The command seemed almost a curse. She might have found it less painfully if he had shouted it, or allowed it to seethe spitefully out of his mouth; his resignation was perhaps the most arduous torture of all.

She cringed as the door swung shut behind him. He would be back... wouldn't he? He couldn't just leave her... could he? Even if he no longer loved her, would he not stay for the children?

Not necessarily, she had to admit. Some men didn't stay. Some women didn't stay. Once upon a time, she herself hadn't stayed.


March 23, 1151

"Oh, don't!" Honora urged as Evaleith contentedly munched on her own fingers. "You were just playing on the floor--your hands are dirty."

The baby squealed and did as she was told. As usual, Honora was never sure whether the kid was obeying her or taunting her. God, what had she been thinking when she had turned around halfway down the path to the wise woman's house? She didn't know how to be a mother; she still needed one herself.

She did love the girl. She had carried her for nine months, birthed her, cradled her, nursed her... and yet, somehow, Honora still didn't feel as though Evaleith was truly hers. She might as well have been some other girl's baby. Of course, this sentiment was especially true when Adwyn was off on one of his voyages; it was also especially true when he wasn't. Perhaps she was simply not mature enough to be anyone's mother.

Sighing, Honora eased herself onto the bed next to Evaleith, who pointed at a spider on the opposite wall. Honora responded with a flick of her eyes. "Yes, we live in a hole right now. Get used to it--the way your father is, we're never going to have a permanent home, and probably never a nice one either."

It didn't seem right to speak ill of the man to his daughter, especially when said man could very well have been the difference between life and death for Honora herself, but over time, her opinion of Adwyn had become much like her opinion of a pagan god--handsome, exciting, and just devious enough, but with such frequent and total absences that she often doubted whether or not he even existed. This time, he'd been gone for a good three months; she found herself wondering if he would even bother coming back.

The familiar sound of the barmaid's fat fist against the door pulled her from her thoughts. "Come in."

Immediately, the woman entered, sweeping the room with her eyes as she always did; Honora could only hope that one of these days, she'd sweep it with a broom instead. "Beggin' yer pardon, missy, but Master Ladell be back fer yeh."

Honora rolled her eyes. "Speak of the devil. I trust he'll come whether I tell you to send him in or not?"

"Sounds a fair wager, missy."

Honora slipped off the bed and lit the only candle in the room; she liked the dark, but Adwyn did not. "All right, then."

A fair wager indeed--not a second after the barmaid had left, another familiar set of knuckles pounded on the door, these ones with such startling force that she very nearly toppled back into the baby. "Adwyn? Is that you?"

"No, it's God Almighty," he teased from the corridor, "or at least, that's what you'll be calling me tonight, angelface."

She rolled her eyes as he entered the room; as usual, plundering ships for weeks on end hadn't changed him at all. "Not tonight; I've been rather ill."

Adwyn closed the door behind him, then made his way toward her and locked her in a tight embrace--she resisted the urge to struggle. "Sorry to hear that, honeycake. You're on the mend, right?"

"I've been getting better," she assured him.

"The baby didn't catch it?"

"No, she's fine."

"Good."

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then proceeded to Evaleith. Honora knew that a mother shouldn't feel envious of her child, but she could not deny that pang of jealousy as Adwyn approached the center of his universe; try as she might, she could not accept her demotion to merely the second most important person in his life.

What sort of woman was she? Resenting her lover for being a father to their daughter? Truly, she was nothing more than a spoiled little girl.

And yet, she couldn't help it; after all, who got to choose their own heart?

"Papa!" Evaleith squealed as Adwyn lifted her off the bed. "Papa home from sea!"

Adwyn beamed at her, his eyes adoring as ever. "Yes! And one day, when you're bigger, I'm going to take you and Mama with me! Doesn't that sound fun?"

Evaleith smiled, showcasing her small number of teeth. "Sea!"

Honora groaned inwardly. She had sailed with Adwyn once or twice, before Evaleith was born, and she had spent most of those trips leaning over the railing, vomiting more than she could have possibly have eaten on a pirate's rations; she could not say she cared to set foot on a ship again.

But she could not tell him this. He loved the sea. He loved ships and sailing and piracy. It was more than a livelihood to Adwyn--it was his life, his very soul.

And Evaleith! The one he loved most! How he had longed to take her along with him since before she was born, to show her the waves and sunset sparkling on the water and all the leaping dolphins. Oh, and it was obvious to anyone with eyes that the girl wanted to go too, with the way her face came alight at any mention of the prospect. One day, he would take her to the sea, and one day, she would go willingly with him.

And all the while, Honora would be sulking along behind, as invisible and inaudible as ever.

NEXT CHAPTER: