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June 8, 1198
"Now, you keep taking good care of my sister and the kids for me," Leara's youngest brother instructed a tail-wagging Jadin as he scratched the dog behind the ears. Dogs had always loved Marsden, and Marsden had always loved them right back. His mother hadn't allowed him to have one as a child--but that hadn't stopped him from raising a litter of puppies that had belonged, nominally, to their cook. "Can you do that?"
Jadin yipped. Marsden moved his hand to the middle of the dog's head and gave an affectionate pat. "I thought so."
Leara pinched the seam of her skirt between her fingers. Her youngest brother--twenty-two years her junior, younger than two of her own children--had finished his studies and would be heading back to Dovia. His graduation had been the week prior, and she and Lorn had hosted him after he'd left his residence, him and Farilon and the twins. Any minute now, the other three would finish saying their goodbyes upstairs, and then they'd be down here, bidding her the same. And all four of them would be off, back to Dovia, even though Dea had formally granted that Laralita's descendants were welcome to return to live in Naroni should they choose.
Too many years too late, alas. Marsden was a Dovian now, as were Leara's other half-siblings. Well... except for Mona. Mona, Queen of Carvallon, who raised some kind-but-strange children who asked peculiar questions they ought to have already known the answers too anyway--at least, if her one meeting so far with her nephew Telvar was any indication. Perhaps his younger siblings were a little more-down-to-earth.
But at least she'd get to meet them, finally--whenever they started. Thanks to the university, she would meet all of her nieces and nephews. Even if they were Dovians, Carvalli... whatever.
"You'll be in Dovia in August, right?" Marsden asked as he turned away from the dog and stepped up to Leara for a hug. "For my wedding?"
Leara smiled. His wedding would inevitably mean more nieces and nephews soon--these ones, younger than at least one of her grandchildren. Lord. She hoped she lived to meet them. "You know it."
"Good. Athalia only has two siblings; she'd never forgive me if she didn't get to meet all of mine."
Leara smiled. There had been times, definitely, when she had not quite been keen on their large family. But... well, she'd made a large family of her own since then. Large families had their downsides, but at the end of the day...
Well... who would she choose to let go, if given the opportunity to downsize?
"I'm sure her two siblings love her very well."
"I'm sure they do too, but they're so much younger--not that you wouldn't know how that feels."
She smacked him lightly on the arm as he smirked. "Where did you get that mouth on you?"
"Probably one of my many uncles on my mother's side," he answered with a grin. "Or perhaps one of the family dogs."
NEXT CHAPTER:
July 26, 1186
"So I'm thinking I'll study Philosophy. It should be sort of interesting without being too time-consuming." Unless maybe there were a lot of papers involved. But if he specialized in logic, assignments would probably run more along the lines of short answer problems--at least, Karlspan dared hope. "What about you?"
"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it yet." That... sounded like Ricky. And Ricky's father, according to Karlspan's father. "I still have three years before I even go, and I don't think you have to choose your major right away."
"But it seems that most people have."
"Maybe. But everything sounds sort of interesting to me, and sort of boring too. I might have to feel all the faculties out."
Yes--his father had been right. The Mokonris were rather wishy-washy. The Mokonri men, at least; both of Ricky's full paternal aunts seemed to know what they wanted. Maybe there was hope for Celina after all. "Has your sister thought about it at all?"
"I don't know. Probably not; she's not starting until I'm a junior and you're a senior." Ricky lifted one hand from the ground and picked at his fingernails. Apparently he'd never heard of a file. "Why do you care what she wants to study?"
"Why shouldn't I care?"
"I don't know, but it's not like you to care." This coming from a kid who picked at his nails. "For all I know, she might not even want to go."
Really? "Why shouldn't she go?"
"It's not a question of 'shouldn't'. She might just not want to."
"Do you think she doesn't want to?"
"I don't know. But she wants a big family, and she might want to get an early start."
Ah, yes, the 'big family' excuse. When Count Felron had cited that during an angry rant about the university admitting women, all Karlspan's father had had to do was point out that it was only matter of time before there were more noblemen than reasonably-sized estates. Besides... "Your grandmother has ten kids and didn't get started until her twenties--older than she would have been had she just gotten out of this university. If Celina wants a big family, she can still have one if she goes to university first." Though, God--he hoped she didn't want ten kids!
"Hey, I didn't say I didn't want her to go. Just that--"
"Yes, yes." Karlspan rolled his eyes. "She might not want to. I heard you the first time."
"Then why do you--?"
"Ricky!"
Speak of the... well, it couldn't have been the best idea to think of her as 'the devil', even in his own head for the sake of an old expression.
"Ricky, I'm going to Veldora to see CeeCee and Renata--and to see if Lyssa's feeling better. Mama says you have to come with me."
"Aww, really?" Ricky groaned. There really was a world of difference between fourteen and fifteen, Karlspan supposed. Sure, girls Ricky's sister's age were a little younger, and Renata would probably always be plain, but CeeCee... no, there would be no such worries on that front, with her bouncing brown curls and her clever smile and her much-more-womanly-than-twelve body.
Not that Karlspan had any right to notice that now. But there was another opportunity to be had here. "I can go with you, Celina. I know the way."
"Oh." She stopped just short of him as he shot to his feet, eyebrows peaking as her brother sighed with relief. She wasn't any stunning beauty, but she was nothing horrible to look at either. Besides, she was only twelve; she couldn't have reached her aesthetic peak yet. And there were more important things than looks anyway. "That should be all right. I'll have to ask just in case, but Mama did call you trustworthy yesterday."
His father would be pleased to hear that. He'd told Karlspan to worry more about impressing the duchess than the duke before they'd left for Naroni; a mother's opinion, after all, meant more than a father's in such matters. "I'm flattered."
"Are you sure it wouldn't be an inconvenience, though? I mean, you are a guest, and Mama did ask Ricky."
"It's no inconvenience." For the sake of getting off on the right foot, he wouldn't mention that technically, Ricky had neither been asked nor been informed by their mother. "It will give us a chance to get to know each other. I don't know about you, but I'd like to have some idea of who you are before we get married."
Ricky choked. Celina was subtler, but the bulging eyes and the backward lean were an unmistakeable tell of a person in startlement. "Before... what?"
"Your father never told you?" Shit. Did most fathers not tell girls? It seemed a basic courtesy to tell them. Lia, at least, had been told about Cambrin Jamoran...
"He... didn't mention it." Damn. It would probably take the entire trip to cheer her up, if he could even do that. It might be a job better left to her friends. "Did they just decide this?"
Oh, double damn. He couldn't lie to her after that. "No, they made the agreement a few years ago now."
"A few years ago?" Why oh why hadn't his father warned him that she didn't know? More to the point, why had her father not told her? "Ricky, did Papa say anything to you?"
Karlspan followed Celina's gaze over to her brother. He doubted there was any more certainty there than there had been in regards to the university. From the looks of it, he wasn't wrong.
"No..."
NEXT CHAPTER:
November 27, 1184
Casimiro was not any more religious than the average young man of his age--the church was hardly welcoming to those like him, after all, so why should he have paid them any more mind than social obligation demanded?--so he hadn't bothered to make much use of the small chapel in his own castle. Hadn't been much point, really. Neither he nor Ellona were the epitome of so-called good Christians, and having a chapel in their own home would have only served as a reminder of that, like some nagging elderly relation they lacked the heart to evict.
But his little daughter had been sick the week before, sick enough that he'd feared the worst in the darkest hour, but she'd made a turn for the better and was now well on her way to a full recovery, or so Widow Fedurin and Aerina Frey agreed, and that was why he'd ridden over to the chapel at the duke's keep. If God had a hand in that, Casimiro supposed it was only polite to thank him.
But the scratch of paws against the hardwood and the thud of a tail against the pews and the wet nose just in view did little for his concern over whether or not it was the right time. "Um... hi, Jadin."
Jadin yipped. At first, Casimiro had been baffled by Lorn's decision to name his dog after his brother-in-law, but the last time he'd seen the mutt, he'd been attempting to hump a barrel. The resemblance had been more obvious since then.
"Oh, don't mind him."
Huh. How had he missed the holy man? "He likes to keep me company during the quiet hours."
"Right." In his pocket, Casimiro fiddled with his wedding band. The clergyman was young for a parish priest--he couldn't have been more than twenty--but he had a calm air of wisdom about him that Casimiro had yet to see in any other priest in the country. Old beyond his age, maybe. "Uh... I don't think we've met."
"No, I don't think we have. I'm Brother Sieron." He stepped around the altar and approached with a whimsical smile. Old beyond his age, but still young in spirit? "I've only been here a few months."
"And I haven't been here... um, probably since the duke's brother got married." And yet, there was no hint of disapproval or condemnation in the priest's eye. "Casimiro de Cervantes. I live in one of the castles close to the border of the royal shire."
"You're a knight, then?" Casimiro nodded. "I thought so. Strong of body, noble of face."
"Well, my brother Bernardo was always the good-looking one, but thank you."
"Men of God are not called to lie to their flocks, Sir Casimiro." One hand flew to Brother Sieron's chest, maybe in search of a cross hanging beneath his robe. "But surely you didn't come here for flattery. How may I help you?"
He asked of his own accord? That was quite an improvement on the other priests. "Just a prayer, I suppose."
"Of course. What sort of prayer?" Another crooked smile broke out across his face. If Casimiro took in his features, only his eyes were remarkable on their own, but in combination, they somehow sang.
"A prayer of thanks. My daughter was sick, but she's recovering now."
Brother Sieron nodded. "A worthy prayer indeed. Shall I add her health to my list of prayers for tonight, or would you like to pray together now?"
Huh. Half-decent priest or not, Casimiro wasn't sure that anyone had ever asked him that. Certainly no one had made it sound appealing. "I've got time."
NEXT CHAPTER:
