In Which Severin Is Commanded at the Last Stand

April 17, 1180

Severin and his sister had never been particularly close--could anyone have expected them to be, considering she hadn't been born until he already had four-going-on-five children of his own?--but in spite of that, she didn't hesitate to hurl herself into his arms as soon as he'd reached the top of the stairs. And given the circumstances, he wasn't about to object. "How is she?"

"Mmm... not so good." Aerina dried her tearing eyes on Severin's shoulder, sniffling like his children always had when they'd been down with a bad cold. He never could forget how young she was, but today, she seemed even smaller. It made sense. He didn't think he'd ever felt so small himself. "She was asking for you. I think she's awake."

Severin peered around the back of his sister's head for a glimpse of their bedridden mother; through vision alone, he wasn't sure he could confirm it. But her form rustled beneath the blankets and her lashes flickered. She might not have been awake, but at least she was alive.

"Mother?" He made sure to whisper, in case Aerina was wrong.

But as it turned out, she wasn't--not quite. "Severin?"

"Oh, thank God," Aerina muttered as they broke apart. "I'm going to fetch her some water, all right?"

Severin nodded. Aerina stepped around him and hurried down the stairs while he took half-step toward the bed. Their mother's breathing was raspy and uneven, like a March gale in the last of its wintery prime, desperate to sting just one more cheek before spring warmed it to a gentle breeze. Beads of sweat welled from her brow and the shadows stirred beneath her eyes as the dusk crept down upon a thinning red horizon.

She was worse than he'd been, and worse than Riona. Worse even than Lucien, for he'd endured Remiel's touch for God knew how long. Severin's mother had also suffered for years, but that was long ago now. She'd always been tough--he'd never known her not to be--but she wasn't young any more, not as physically resilient for all she'd kept her wits. Perhaps, this time, she couldn't fight it. "Mother?"

"Mmm." Her lashes opened a crack; the exposed iris was blurred and moist, but what he saw of the sclera was a sickly pink. "You're so handsome. I knew you would be... with your father..."

"Mother--"

"Shhh." It took a lengthy inhale to recover from the fricative, but beyond her respiration, all was silent. "Hear that?"

He shook his head. "What?"

"Sounds like voices."

Voices. Alina hadn't mentioned voices, but Nora's mother claimed to have heard that of her late husband as her last minutes drew to a close. Celina said that Farilon had looked to the other side of the bed and addressed his papa. Even Florian--never serious, never reverent, perpetual prankster Florian--swore that Electra had spent her last breaths conversing with her lost love. Private perceptions were never a good sign. "Mother..."

"I don't know them." As if in some last self-deprecating joke, she cracked a small, tired smile. "That tends to happen when you don't let people know you. But they don't sound hostile."

He wished she'd stop talking and let herself rest. He wished she'd keep talking and keep herself alive. "Mama..."

"Hush." Behind him, he heard Aerina ascend the final steps of the staircase. She held the promised cup of water, but one look at their mother and she set it on the table, resigned. She too was a healer, as he had never been. She was blessed and cursed with an innate knowledge of the point at which she could do no more. It wouldn't be until he reached his own deathbed that he knew whether or not he envied her.

"Take care of your families. And each other. I know you will."

So that was it. She'd said it herself. "Mama--"

"Don't worry about me. I've cheated Death more times than I can count." Somehow, she let herself laugh. "Seems he's finally caught on."

"Don't..." Don't what? Don't joke--but what if it eased her suffering? Don't speak--but what if she still had something to say? He knew what he truly wanted to ask, but he couldn't.

He knew, deep down, little as anyone cared to believe it, that there was no point in asking someone never to die.

"Severin?"

He swallowed--but he forced himself to nod. "Yes?"

His mother labored through a few more strained breaths before she shut her eyes again, a fighting scowl battling for a last stand on her lips. "Kill that son of a bitch."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Laveria Does as Meant

April 17, 1180

No less than ten minutes over the fire and the mixture had yet to spew forth a single bubble. Had she done something wrong? She must have. Too high a concentration of solid ingredient, perhaps, or too low a storage temperature--of course, the latter could be blamed on the weather, but the thought stung nonetheless.

And it only served as further proof to Laveria that this day did not in the least promise to be a good one.

She'd retired late, as she'd refused to turn in before she'd heard from her family. Severin had guards, as did most of his children, but Aerina and her family were vulnerable, as were Raia and Vera. It wasn't until Rifden had shown up to confirm that Aerina and the kids were settled at Sir Searle's castle, then Falidor for his family at Lonriad's, and Isidro for Vera's at his and Riona's, that Laveria even thought about going to bed, and once she actually did, sleep was a much more considerable feat than simply resting her head against a pillow. Add that to having run out of bread and a batch of her merchandise expiring and the troubling lack of any messenger bearing good news...

The mixture still hadn't boiled by the time the knock at the door finally came, and it wasn't the right knock. Not that she would have recognized any guard Severin sent--partly why she'd refused his offer of posting a few here, as she knew better than to trust just anyone--but there was something about it, some intrinsic tone in the sound or some variation in pressure that told her that whoever it was, they were not here to reassure her. Whoever it was, she would be, in the short-term, better off not answering.

And yet, there was some other sense--a tug at her heart, the faces of loved ones dancing in front of her--that said whoever it was had not come without some cosmic purpose. Whoever it was, she would answer. Whoever it was, she was meant to open the door.

Even if it was the last door she ever opened. "Figures that you're mad enough to come here even with the whole shire on the watch for you."

"Maybe." He crossed the threshold of her shop and kicked the door shut behind him. "But the fact remains that they still haven't found me."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Lucien Finds Someone Worth Seeing

February 15, 1178

"You don't think... maybe Vera gave just enough to...?"

The moving lips were a stranger's, but the voice was Laveria's. Was he dreaming? She wasn't as she usually was. When Lucien tried to picture Laveria, he thought of someone a little older--more gray in the hair, probably up in a knot, with a stern scowl and a sterner neckline. She might have shown up once or twice in his dreams, but she'd always matched that approximation; not once had she been loose-haired and bare-shouldered.

Contemplative, Dream-Laveria turned away as Dream-Lucien's trembling legs slipped off the side of the bed. Trembling? He didn't tremble in his dreams. His head throbbed and his eyes seared. Most dreams were not so vivid. The shapes and colors he normally welcomed in the night were more than he could handle, an assault to the nerves against which he could not defend himself. All he could do was blink and it did next to nothing.

He tried to stand but fell to his knees as his shaking legs gave out beneath him. When looking down, all he could see was the grain of the dull floorboards and even that was too much for him. Maybe he wasn't dreaming at all. "Am I dead?"

"No," came a woman's voice from behind him, a little softer than Laveria's. He recognized it as Lady Leonora's. "No, you're not dead."

A foreign wetness on his lashes, Lucien tried to guide his wavery hand to the edge of the mattress but could only succeed when he closed his eyes. He pried himself off the floor in a comforting darkness and followed the edge around to the footboard, but the building moisture needed a release and he blinked on reflex. The attack of the colors returned stronger than ever. "I'm scared."

"Lucien..."

Vera's stepmother was a curvy brunette in a form-hugging ensemble of velvet and silk. Her overdress was lined with a pattern of curlicues that must have been designed with the sole purpose of tormenting him; he raised his hands and tried to focus on them instead, but they were just as unfamiliar. "I can't--"

He couldn't even finish the thought. He couldn't even recognize his own hands unless he shut his eyes and pressed them to his face.

"You'd think he'd be happy about this," grumbled Laveria from behind him.

"Laveria, it's an adjustment. He's not used to this." A silky underdress swept against the floorboards and a velvet clad arm laced around his shoulders while its opposite hand brushed the tears aside. "Lucien? Is there anything we can do?"

He shook his head. They meant well, but they didn't understand. Nor was there a way to help anyway.

"What if we got something translucent? A sheer silk scarf or something. What if we covered your eyes with that for a while, then switched to something more transparent once you got used to it?"

He choked in protest as the door creaked open and he feared his ears might explode. Even his familiar senses had betrayed him. "Honey--"

"You're awake!"

Lucien froze. That voice was the one sound he could stand to hear. "Vera?"

Lady Leonora stepped back as another feminine form embraced him, a soft cheek rubbing against his own and before her chin rested on his shoulder. "I was so worried about you!" She raised her head and kissed him squarely on the lips--never mind the presence of her stepmother and grandmother. "I missed you. You were asleep for so long..."

He'd missed her too, even if he didn't know how long they'd been apart. Too long, in any case. "Vera..."

Did he dare look at her?

Yes. He had to know. Bracing himself, Lucien pried his eyes open and forced himself to look, only to find he didn't need forcing at all. Of all the things that had come flying at him in the past couple minutes, her face was the only one not charging forth with a dagger. She wore a smile instead, one that spread past her rose petal lips to her straight nose and her silky black hair and her pretty, long-lashed sapphire eyes. How many times had he tried to perfect the picture of her in his mind? Not once had he guessed anything near her beauty. "Vera..."

"You can see me." He nodded. A soft hand he knew better than his own pushed a lock of dull hair out of his fresh, aching eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Uh..." It was tough to find the right word when she was looking at him like that. "Kind of overwhelmed." Her smiled faded somewhat. It was the most painful sight of the day. "Looking at you helps, though."

He didn't think he'd ever done anything so fulfilling as spurring that smile back to its full glory. "It's all right. You'll get used it--I promise. Let me help you?"

Her hand fell to his side and found his own. He squeezed it harder than he'd intended, but she never said a word.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Nora and Laveria Disagree on Sense

February 15, 1178

"Good to see that Vera recovered so quickly, at least," muttered Laveria. Her mother-in-law was only speaking to fill the void, Nora was sure of it, but she didn't particularly mind. She wasn't fond of voids either. "I still think it was damn foolish of her if she knew what she was doing, though--and even more damn foolish if she wasn't."

Not sure she agreed, Nora pushed back one of the logs and watched it roll to the back of the hearth. "She cares for him."

"I've cared for men before. Wouldn't have done that for any of them."

It probably wasn't tactful to suggest that had something to do with Remiel. "She's young. Let her be."

"Oh, I will--just here I was, thinking she was one of the few grandchildren I have with an ounce of sense." Laveria sighed, but out of the corner of her eye Nora thought she saw a small grin. "Here's hoping the young ones grow up with their heads on straight."

"Mmm." Privately, Nora thought that her stepchildren had more sense than their grandmother gave them credit for--at least, most of the time--but it wasn't a good idea to argue with a wise woman while there was a comatose patient in the room. She set down the poker and stepped around to the other side of the bed, eyes never leaving Lucien. "How much longer, do you think?"

"Until he wakes?"

She nodded.

"Not long now." Smiling, Laveria leaned in to stroke back Lucien's hair. "He's more of a fighter than he thinks he is, this one. He'll be just fine."

It hadn't been the first time Laveria had said that in the past couple of days, but it was still a relief to hear it. "For all you think Vera lacks sense, you have to admit she knows how to pick them."

Laveria chuckled. "Severin's girls all do. Well, except maybe Virid--"

"Vera?"

Startled, Nora steadied herself with a hand to the bedside table. On the other side, Laveria sprung to her feet.

"Well, I'll be damned! I would have thought at least another day or two!"

Lucien's hand reached up from under the blankets and rubbed his eye. Nora smirked. Perhaps Vera's interference had helped more than Laveria cared to admit. "Vera..."

His voice trailed off into a yawn as Nora and her mother-in-law exchanged relieved smiles. Vera would be over the moon, no doubt--even if she did take a while to forgive her grandmother for chasing her out an hour prior. Was it too early to run and get her? No, it was probably better to wait a few minutes, just in case; no sense getting her hopes up if it was only sleep talk.

Still... "Lucien? Can you hear me?"

"Mmm..." His lashes fluttering, Lucien pushed back the blanket and propped himself slightly on his elbows. He blinked.

Laveria squinted. "What the...?"

His eyes widened, shocked beyond belief but otherwise inscrutable. Nora had no doubt that her own had done the same.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Laveria Leads the Search

February 8, 1178

"So... what are we looking for, exactly?"

The poor duke, woken at this atrocious hour for such an urgent task. He'd probably thought all this Remiel business was over and done with, but he barely knew the half of it. There would be messes to clean up even after Remiel's death, Laveria was sure of it--more than she'd stumble upon in what remained of her lifetime.

"A stash of Lucien's essence. It would be in some sort of container, probably a small one." She took another book off the shelf and looked in side. Solid pages, just like the previous three; none of the cut-out compartments the Remiel of old had so loved. It didn't look like the young reeve was having much more success with the other shelves.

But she hadn't lost hope yet. She could sense something beyond herself and the three men, something that felt suspiciously like Lucien. It wasn't much, but it would possibly be enough--if only they could find it.

"What about these flasks above the table?"

All it took was a glance over the shoulder to dismiss them. "If it's out in the open, it'll be in something opaque. It gains a bit of a glow after a few weeks; if it was in one of those, we'd be able to see it."

She hoped she hadn't sounded too impatient--none of them would have known that, not even Severin--but surely they realized there was something of a rush. The sooner that essence was back inside the boy, the better chance he had of a recovery. "Keep looking. Knowing Remiel, he probably found a loose brick or floorboard, or he hollowed out a book or something. It'll be in a secret place. Or possibly some place deceptively simple."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Xeta's Inquiry Is Mirrored

February 7, 1178

Xeta had always been more of an academic than an athlete, but her girlhood dancing teachers had always praised her for being light of foot and a consistent record of sneaking successes had led her to believe them. But knowing Laveria's keen senses, she might as well have been traipsing around in a pair of iron boots. "How is he?"

Laveria glanced back at the young man and breathed a funny sort of breath, one she didn't breathe often. Xeta had only ever heard it once, when death came to court her precious baby boy and he was nearly too late in refusing it. February was cool enough, but that sniff shot her back to December. "Remiel took most of his essence. I gave him enough of my own to stabilize him, but it's old and stale and any more would do more harm than good. It's a waiting game for now."

Off to the side, Vera sobbed while Nora held back her hair and whispered all those usual assurances that were never assuring at all. Xeta doubted Vera could hear her in any case. She still couldn't remember anyone saying a word to her while Dalston lay fighting for life. "Poor boy."

"Mmm." Lucien tossed and Laveria peeked over, concerned. It was either a sign of life or he was wasting what little energy remained; Xeta couldn't tell and didn't care to guess. "He didn't get to any of the other children?"

Xeta shook her head. She'd woken each of them, something she never did at this hour. If Remiel had touched them, getting them back to sleep wouldn't have been such a struggle. "They're all fine."

"Good." Laveria sighed as Lucien stirred again. Xeta supposed it was safer to assume that was a cause for alarm. "Remiel's locked up in the dungeons with a couple of guards on him. Severin's in conference with Renolt and the captain; there'll be an interrogation before dawn, mark my words."

Vera choked again. Nora rubbed her on the shoulder and glanced up at Laveria. "If he knows if there's a way to help Lucien, is there any chance he'd tell us?"

She already knew the answer--Xeta could hear it in her voice--but she'd asked for Vera's sake. It was a small kindness, but it was something. Laveria answered in a similar vein. "Given what I know about this sort of illness, a better course of action would be to search his old chambers at Armion. He left the country in a hurry; there might still be a stash of Lucien's essence there."

"And his own essence would be preferable to anyone else's."

"If there even is anyone else."

Vera started to say something, but cut herself off another wail. Xeta looked at Nora, whose eyes flitted to the door; Laveria nodded. "Take her to your bed and give her some warm milk with honey. Severin can sleep on the couch if he can sleep at all."

Solemn, Nora paid Lucien one last look and ushered Vera to the door. Back by the bed, Laveria closed her eyes. "Xeta, I want you to go to Severin and tell him what I said about Remiel's old rooms. Don't worry about interrupting them--just make sure he knows. Then come back here to confirm, just for my peace of mind."

Xeta nodded, but remained until the door had swung shut behind the other two. She had a question that couldn't be worded in a way Vera could stand to hear. "Will it really work?"

Once again, answer mirrored inquiry. "I'm not in the miracle business. I only make a point to do everything I can."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin Is Not Finished

April 29, 1177

"You mentioned an uncle on occasion." It was an odd way to ask about his grandparents and Severin knew it, but it was the only lead he'd ever gotten. And it did tell him something, even if not quite enough.

His mother hesitated before nodding. She knew what he was really trying to say. "I never met my father. My mother died when I was barely off her breast; her brother took me in and raised me until I was twelve or so."

"And then Remiel happened."

Another reluctant nod. "The family needed money. Remiel's price was right."

So his mother had been bought and paid for like a slave. A sickly fury stirred within his core, though he wasn't sure whether it was for the man who'd sold her or the man who'd bought her. Both, perhaps. "The blind boy must have a similar story."

"Probably. The girl before me did. Same with the boy before her, and so on and so forth."

So on and so forth. He wondered how far back that went. "He used you all to keep himself youthful, then."

"Among other things; he performed some experiments using leftover essence." Plucking a loose thread from the shawl around her waist, his mother sighed. "He never gave me any specifics on those."

"Mmm." As if the thought of a man harboring human vitality like a cook stored spices wasn't specific enough. "But he can't use just anyone."

"No." The closure in her voice and that shielding glaze in her eye said she was finished.

Pity for her that he was not. "Remiel said his field was demonology--incubi, specifically."

His mother's skirts rustled as she kicked in irritation. "I'm not a succubus, if that's what you're asking."

"No." All that bedridden reading had told him that much already, that much and more--even if his questioning nature wouldn't let him fully believe it. Not without hearing it from her. "You're a cambion. You're technically human, but you were conceived through demonic meddling. That must result in some sort of varied vital state, giving you the sort of energy Remiel needs."

He paused, giving her a chance to protest, but she didn't take it. So much for maintaining a hopeful bit of skepticism. "You always were too clever for your own good."

"And you always were too guarded for yours." She was just on the other side of the couch, but she might as well have been across the sea. She even looked faraway. He hardly felt like he was talking to her at all. "If none of this had happened, you would've gone to your grave without telling me."

His mother sighed. "That was the plan, yes."

"I see." Good to know how trusted I am. "So... what do we do now?"

If her hurt look was any indication, something in his tone must have stung. If it had, though, she was beyond comment. "Let's just start with getting you a little more well-rested."

NEXT CHAPTER: