skip to main |
skip to sidebar
May 17, 1203
"Meera! You're stunning! I thought you'd gone mad when I heard you let your daughter pick your dress, but I see she inherited your good taste."
Lily beamed of a sincerity that would have been baffling in itself, but Meera struggled with the thought of her very presence. A second wedding didn't merit the fanfare of the first, so she'd opted to dress herself, even if she had let Laralita choose the dress and even if she had let her eldest soon-to-be stepdaughter do her hair. More than lack of ceremony, though, she'd simply had no suitable options. She had friends, yes, but she didn't want to subject them to her bittersweet preparations. Her two living sisters were much younger half-siblings with whom she wasn't particularly close, and both were at the university in Naroni besides. Arkon's sister was also in Naroni, and his mother was dead, and her own mother had died long before even her first wedding. There was no one for whom the burden would have been appropriate.
Especially her sister-in-law from her first marriage!
"I-- I didn't even think you'd come." The invitation had been made, of course--but given her father's parade of weddings, Meera had assumed a universal understanding that the family of any previous spouse had no obligation to appear. "I'm glad you did, though. Thank you."
"I never would have missed it, Meera. Conant would have wanted you to live your life, so why should I begrudge you for doing so?" Lily's sweet smile gave no hint of any more complex feeling beneath it. She didn't resembled her brother much, but Conant's honest grins and over-simple explanations had always been similar. "Farilon and Marsden are here too, and my sisters abroad send their regards."
"That's very gracious of you all."
"Nonsense! You're still our sister, and not just because Conant would insist that it's so--though, for the record, he would." Light still on her lips and song still in her eye, Lily opened her arms for a hug; a little hesitant, a little sheepish, maybe a little embarrassed, Meera awkwardly obliged. "Never fear to ask anything of any of us, all right? We're still family. We'll always be family."
"Of course. Don't think I don't hold you as such." But what a relief it was--and what a shock it was--to find that sentiment still reciprocated. "Thank you, sister."
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 4, 1199
"You're staying here tonight?"
Lily only asked because she and Cambrin had a castle, while Conant and Meera were in their mother's old house. Cambrin didn't need the stress of hosting his widowed sister-in-law and her children on the night after his brother's funeral, and Riona didn't have it in her to be any sort of gracious house guest.
And in truth... the relative smallness of the house would suit Riona tonight. If she wanted to check on her children as they slept, she didn't fancy a candlelit journey to another floor, another wing. She'd sleep here, in her mother's old bed, with her two small girls beside her. Her boys would be in the next bedroom, from where she wouldn't miss so much as a skipped snore.
So, she nodded. "Meera told me she doesn't mind. I won't impose longer than tonight.
"I just... I think I need a night elsewhere before I can sleep soundly in that bed without Lonriad."
It had been a political match, arranged by their mothers years before they'd ever met. She'd grown fond of Lonriad, Riona supposed, and she thought he'd felt similarly about her, but it had hardly been a fairy-tale romance. She hadn't expected to miss him quite so much.
Then again, she'd never thought much about him dying. Lonriad had been a healthy man, and healthy men didn't waste away, leaving their wives time to prepare themselves for the inevitable. Healthy men died suddenly in freak hunting accidents.
Riona would have preferred if he'd been sickly.
"You're sure?"
At least she had her choice of sisters here in sweet, open-hearted Lily--even if all she really wanted, just for a moment, was her only-somewhat-more-than-platonic husband back. "Yes. Thank you, though."
"I can call here tomorrow morning, if you like."
"All right." Her sister, bless her, would be worse for wear if she didn't at least let her try to help. There wasn't much help to be had, but there was something to be said about the effort. "I could probably use some adult company for the ride back home after breakfast."
NEXT CHAPTER:
April 9, 1191
"You look lovely, sister." Riona was not usually one for sincere compliments, preferring only to flatter when she might gain flattery in return and keeping it to herself if genuinely impressed, but Lily knew her sister well enough to know when she spoke her mind. Riona didn't have the energy for social games these days, anyway. Her older son was quite ill, and not one of the healers she'd summoned expected he'd last the year. With the death of her daughter ten years prior, that would leave her with only one child--and for all of King Roderick's children who weren't Leara, babies were few and far between.
While 'sweet' was not an ideal word to describe Riona most of the time, Lily thought it was just that of her to show up to her wedding at all.
"Thank you. And thank you for helping me prepare."
"You're welcome." Riona sighed. Lily knew in her gut that she was about to say what they were both thinking. "I wish Mother were here."
"Father too, as long as we're dreaming," Lily agreed. Her brother Farilon would be the one giving her away. She'd hardly be the first bride to walk down the aisle an orphan, but it was a fate she wouldn't have wished on anyone. Certainly not herself.
"Maybe they are, on some other plane." She sniffed, hardly believing it herself. But for the sake of her children, perhaps Riona made more of an effort where the divine was concerned than Lily gave her credit for.
Riona reached for Lily's shoulder and rubbed. The stiff fabric of her wedding gown scratched as it folded, but Lily let it slide. "Wherever they are, I know they're proud of you. And pleased that we'll be sisters twice over now."
"True." Riona's husband Lonriad was one of Cambrin's older brothers. "That will only bring us closer."
"I should hope so. With Mona so far away, the two of us have to stick together."
Even then, she'd write Mona first thing the next morning.
For their mother's sake. "Yes."
NEXT CHAPTER:
January 2, 1182
Two days was too soon for a funeral.
It had been closer to one day, even, given the late hour of Roderick's death. Laralita had been a wreck that night, as well as the day after, all tears and loose hair and God only knew what else, not bothering to dress or leave her bedroom or even eat for all the world seemed too large a place without him.
Today, though, she was numb. It was early for numbness if she recalled anything about loss, but perhaps the pain of losing Roderick had been so strong that her heart had been forced to retire, a day of sabbatical in order before the grief could go on. She'd overheard more than one acquaintance remark about how well she was keeping herself together, but she didn't think that was it. More like she might as well have died too.
But the funeral had been over a while now, and the last of the mourners had been filing out when she'd retreated to her bedroom with the only daughter she still had with her. She hadn't seen Lily or any of her other children at all the day before, and from what she'd heard, Lily had been distraught, but controlled. That apt description still applied from what Laralita could see; she wore a brave face, but at a moment alone, her father's grey eyes might have been brimming.
Ah, but she couldn't think about Roderick. It was impossible not to think about Roderick, but every thought was a reminder that she'd never see him again. She had to think about something else. Anything else.
"Your singing teacher says you have a lovely voice." Lily looked taken aback and Laralita supposed she couldn't blame her; she'd always found music a bit of a bore. But talking about music was the furthest thing from talking about Roderick. "I hope it won't be long before you let the rest of us hear it." A pity that your father never will.
"Did she?" Her daughter blushed, though her eyes didn't light. "Oh, I don't know. I'm not comfortable with it yet."
"Don't be silly. I know for a fact that music teachers are stingy with their compliments. If she says you have a lovely voice, then you must."
"I suppose I'm all right, maybe. But--" But 'what', Laralita never found out. Lily turned her head just as Laralita looked up, cued by the creak of the door and her stepson's shoes. "Hello, Ietrin."
"Sister." Ietrin didn't even look at Laralita. "If you don't mind, I'd like a word with your mother alone."
Unsure, Lily looked to her for confirmation first. Not up to an argument with Ietrin today, Laralita nodded. "It's all right. Go practice your singing for me."
Her daughter nodded and hurried off, brushing past her half-brother on the way out but not gathering a second of attention. Laralita had never known Ietrin to hold more than one thing in mind at a time.
"I didn't expect you to be so calm today."
And I didn't expect you to throw your father a funeral unworthy of the king he was. But she wouldn't say it aloud--every mourner had thought it, so it was only a matter of time before the sentiment got back to him somehow. For once in her life, she chose the direct option. "What do you want, Ietrin?"
"As I said, a word."
"You've never wanted a word with me."
"And I doubt I shall ever want one again." A little blunt, even for a man whose father had just passed. A lucky thing for him that she'd lost her will to feel. "And that is why this is necessary. We're both upset about my father's death and lesser people would excuse us for wanting to divorce ourselves from the world for a time, but I find no sense in delaying any crucial arrangements."
Odd that he would be talking to her then. Laralita had never been much for those aspects of her rank. "Such as...?"
"I shall be blunt. I've never liked you." He sat where Lily had the minute before, but no longer did Roderick's eyes pain her and comfort her. She found nothing in the violet. "My father loved you and I loved him, so I was willing to put up with you while he lived, but now that he is no more, I see no point in your continued presence here. You and your children have one week."
NEXT CHAPTER:
July 1, 1172
While her brother's soft snores could be heard from the other crib, young Princess Lileina was all giggles. The concept of nap time was lost on her; she just wanted to play. Such a sweet little girl she was, or at least in Jeda's opinion.
A pity that she'd probably end up like her mother. Perhaps Jeda would make it her cause to prevent the baby from becoming another Laralita. Such a project might--if nothing else--make life here a little more worthwhile.
Ah, but such thoughts were unbefitting of a princess! Granted, so was everything else she did these days, from running through the halls to wearing her hair loose to putting her little in-laws down for their afternoon rest. She didn't see what the problem was--nothing she'd done since her marriage might have harmed someone, she was sure of it--but no matter what she did, no matter how she behaved, the king and queen remained quietly unsatisfied and Ietrin was as indifferent as always.
And by this point, she growing somewhat indifferent herself. She just wished the process would hurry itself up; she didn't much care for apathy, but anything was better than sheer disappointment.
After a few minutes of squirming under her blanket, Lileina's eyes finally drooped. Jeda kissed her on the forehead, then stepped away from the crib and slumped herself against the wall. She missed Tetran. She missed her twin brother and her little half-siblings and her stepmother. Most of all, she missed her father. More than once had she been tempted to accept his offer, to saddle up her horse and ride across the kingdom, back into the safe haven of his open arms; she might have done so that minute had she known whether or not a ride was a risk for her just now.
She'd never thought she'd yearn for that gloomy, almost dungeon-like castle, its stone walls and its cold tile floors and all the green decor that the eye could handle. Green. She'd never much cared for green as a girl--she saw so much of it every day that she'd tired of it before long--but now, her heart skipped every time she saw the barest hint of it. Green was comfort, and it was love. Green was home.
"Jeda?"
Swamped and resigned, she looked up. It was her husband, and perhaps the last person she wanted to see just then--not that she had seen him at all since she'd closed her eyes the night prior. "Good day, Ietrin."
"Good day." He listened for the sleepy murmurs of his small siblings, then shut the door and gestured the couch. "Might we have a word?"
He didn't have to ask and they both knew it. Jeda dragged herself to the couch and sat. She thought she knew what he wanted to talk about, and while she didn't care to discuss it herself, it was inevitable; it was a battle that was not worth fighting. "Fine. What about?"
"Well," Ietrin began, setting himself down beside her, "correct me if I'm wrong, but it's been quite a while since the servants have had to scrub any blood out of your linens, hasn't it?"
Not sure what else she could do, Jeda frowned. "It's a little early to tell, if you're asking what I think you are."
"But it is possible?" He leaned in a little closer, the smell of Ellona's perfume wafting off his form. A bit of leftover nausea from hours prior wedged itself in Jeda's throat as she nodded, but Ietrin didn't notice. "Good. It's about time, you know--people have been talking."
As if he had to tell her that. Her flat belly had been a source of gossip for months now and she was well aware of that fact; people as a rule were not subtle with their stares and whispers, and this had become even more obvious in her newfound cynicism. What bothered her most, however, were not the pitying looks and the patronizing inquiries about her health, but the fact that ten months of marriage without so much as a bump to show for it was translated unquestioningly by the masses as a problem with her.
Trying to ignore one's feelings made one examine the facts with an almost obsessive scrutiny. Ietrin had been routinely bedding Ellona for nearly a year before he'd married Jeda, and only now did she have a bulge beneath her gown to prove it. Ietrin had been going about his rounds of chambermaids and kitchen girls since his voice had begun to crack and never once had Jeda heard a whisper of some servant's bastard with violet eyes or golden curls. So far as she could tell, there was no proof either way in regards to her fertility; if there was a problem, it seemed more than likely that it had nothing to do with her.
But Jeda had never been a bold girl--at least, not bold enough to insult a prince's virility to his face. "I know."
"Well, at least I have an heir on the way now." He placed his hand on her stomach; she squirmed, but he didn't seem to notice. "That's the important thing. Now, just be careful with him, all right?"
"All right." She didn't know yet whether or not there was an it to be careful with, but she would be careful anyway. She was tired of trembling as he crawled into bed beside her and pushed her nightgown to her waist, climbing between her thighs and telling her he'd try to be quick. She was tired of his grunting and his panting and his almost militant thrusts as the sweat pooled on her brow and she tried to stop herself from crying. She was tired of a lot of things, but if there was something to be careful with, then at least she could have a break from all that.
"Good. I'm glad we have an understanding."
What was there to understand? It was the simplest thing she'd ever heard and he was still treating her like some little child who didn't know any better, still looking at her with that accusing stare that hinted she should have missed a course months ago--as if she could have done anything about it. She was probably fine. Perhaps if she'd had a different husband, she might have fallen asleep on her wedding night with the beginnings of a baby firmly planted within her.
But no one would see her logic. She was a woman, and the wife of the crown prince. As far as anyone was concerned, providing an heir was her only purpose--and if she couldn't do that, then she must have been lacking in all regards. It was the reasoning of an idiot, but it was also the reasoning of the world. So far as the people of Naroni could see, there could be no other excuse for her lack of a child.
At least, no excuse that anyone was willing to accept.
NEXT CHAPTER:
