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:
August 4, 1200
"Comfortable?" Farilon, sensitive man that he was, had probably figured out that of all the adjectives that may apply to a thirty-one-year-old pregnant widow at any given point, 'comfortable' couldn't be fairly expected to be among them. But, if there was a more appropriate way of asking how a thirty-one-year-old pregnant widow was doing at any point, then not once in the weeks since Conant's death had Meera heard it.
"I'll be more comfortable once this baby's body is at least separate from mine, but that's a few too many months in the future for my taste."
"I don't know if December's that far away..."
"December is an eternity away, and don't try to tell me otherwise until you've carried two of your own to term." Though, given who her brother-in-law's wife was, it might have been better for his twins if that had somehow been the case. Not for the first time, she wondered if Danthia might have been why Farilon had been a constant collar since Conant had died--to convey what every one of his family members had probably thought at least once without actually saying it.
I wish it had been my wife instead of your husband.
"You're a good man. I hope you know how much your brother loved you."
Farilon nodded. "I know."
"And you and him both deserve better. He ought to have lived longer, and you ought to be living well."
"I don't... not live well, I suppose." The muttered words of a man who didn't believe himself. Meera's father often spoke in such a tone, but his voice was always pure self-pity; Farilon's was the sort of hopelessness that stirred in those who had come to see simple survival as the best they could dream of. "I mean, there are many who have it worse. Like you, right now."
"Like me." Meera sniffed. Obviously, she hated being a widow. She hated that Conant was dead, and she hated that their last child together would never know his or her father. But she'd seen her father widowed twice, and the last thing she wanted was to become... well, that. She would--even if it killed her--rise above it when the time to grieve had passed.
And if she ever found it in her to marry again, then at least she had the freedom to choose better than a male equivalent of Danthia.
"For now, maybe."
NEXT CHAPTER:
September 6, 1190
"Better?"
She didn't mind given the circumstances--illness wasn't anyone's fault, after all--but when Meera had imagined her wedding party, it had not included a detour to her mother-in-law's bedroom to make sure the woman was comfortable. Laralita had mellowed considerably since her years as Queen of Naroni, everyone said, and Meera didn't doubt it given their pleasant-enough time spent together. That didn't mean seeing Laralita to her bed would have been her first choice of wedding reception activities.
Of course, it would have been even further down Laralita's own list. "Much, thank you. Where did you learn to rub shoulders so well?"
"My mother used to rub ours, before she died." And many nobles would have considered that too common a task, but Meera had always found it a welcome personal touch. "Do you need help with anything?"
"Oh, no, I'll wait for my maid. I couldn't keep you long from your own wedding party."
"It wouldn't be much trouble. The party will surely go well into the night anyway." Provided the guests had the presence of mind to keep the noise down.
"Not without the bride, it won't! Farilon and Lily can always check up on me while you have your night. Just tell Farilon to make sure that ghastly wife of his doesn't bother me."
Meera shuddered. Danthia of Valcria--or, as she insisted, Princess Danthia of Naroni, for all her husband was half an exile of that land. With any luck, she'd turn up her nose at the 'low-brow' festivities and leave in a huff before supper. Meera's mother had taught her better than to look down on other women, but Danthia wasn't even human enough for Meera to consider whether she was a woman or not. "You and me both. I'll tell him."
"Thank you. It's good to know that the rest of my boys married good women--my lucky young Conant in particular." That last bit might have been gratuitous--surely Ren had been far more accommodating to Laralita overall--but the first part was sincere enough.
"Well, however you raised Conant and his brothers, they grew up splendidly."
"Well... I can't pretend I deserve much credit for Searle, but for the others, thank you." She smiled--tired, weary, but a smile nonetheless. "I'm glad Conant will be in good hands."
There was more to that, but it needn't have been said. "I'm glad you approve."
NEXT CHAPTER:
February 16, 1180
"And that," Kaldar finished, grinning a little widely to be taking his own 'spooky' story seriously, "is why no one ever returns from the swamp--at least, alive."
Ellona snorted. On the floor, Ella reacted similarly. Good to know that she wasn't the type to believe anything she heard. "I think you have to work on your storytelling, kiddo."
Her son sighed--not the sort of world-weary sound she expected of a seven-year-old, but it was reassuring nonetheless. If Kaldar could admit to fault, could admit that he could be better, could admit that he could be wrong, then he would let himself learn. He would grow up. He was not his father.
"I don't get it. I'm not good at telling stories, but that's really just lying, isn't it?"
"Cynical way of looking at it, but I suppose you have a point." Did he? Ellona wasn't sure. She wasn't much of a storyteller herself. She'd always thought herself too pragmatic. Then, she'd finally ditched Ietrin and in hindsight, it seemed more likely that she'd always been too stupid. "You're not so good at lying either, though."
A little devious, Kaldar beamed. "Or so I let you think."
"Oh, really?"
He nodded, confident smile still in place. Ellona returned it with one of her own, unconcerned. Her boy had no problems with his self-esteem so far as she knew, but a truly skilled deceiver wouldn't have put her on high alert had he not been downright arrogant. She did not think Kaldar was arrogant. She did not want to.
"Well, keep practicing with the stories, but I'd think twice about lying to me if I were you; I let you think certain things too."
For safe measure, she added a wink. Kaldar opened his mouth, no doubt some clever-for-a-kid quip on his tongue, but whatever he had to say was overridden by the knock at the door. "Ellona, seriously, Neilor needs a new steward."
She knew that voice. Ella, apparently, did too. "Uncle Cas!"
"He's not our uncle," Kaldar corrected her--thank God he'd taken to leaving the word 'stupid' off the end of such sentences. "...is he?"
Ellona shook her head as Casimiro stepped in, someone else at his side, a young girl Ellona couldn't place for the life of her. Frankly, Ellona was more interested in Casimiro's reaction; to her relief, he'd taken it in stride as he always did, never mind that her children hadn't known him nearly long enough to dub him 'uncle'. "You're welcome to call me what you like, both of you."
"Oh, really?" That mischievous twinkle returned to Kaldar's eye. "Can we call you 'Sir Buttscratcher McFartbreath'?"
Ella fought back a giggle while the older girl snorted. Ellona couldn't say she saw what was so funny. "Kaldar!"
But Casimiro just shrugged, a hint of a grin on his lips and his eyes hardly void themselves. "If it please you--although it might be a bit of a mouthful."
"I guess. I'll just keep calling you 'Cas'--or maybe 'Gas', because that rhymes." Casimiro gave a nod of approval before taking a seat. Kaldar's attention shifted instead to the girl. "Hello. I'm Kaldar del Marinos. You're very pretty, but I'm contractually obliged to inform every beautiful woman I meet that I already have a girlfriend."
Ella rolled her eyes. "You do not!"
"I do so! We even signed a paper. And we got a witness. And he signed it too, because witnesses do that." As if it proved his own point, he nodded matter-of-factually. "And as long as I tell other lovely ladies about us, she can't tickle me."
"Fair enough. My father has plans for me anyway." She held out her hand as if for a shake; Kaldar kissed it instead, but if she minded, she didn't say. "Meeraleene of Hoprine--but please, call me Meera."
"Meera's father is paying suit to my sister," Casimiro explained. "Things seemed to be going well, so we figured we'd give them some privacy."
Ellona let her eyelids droop, his face obscured through the veil of her lashes. "Another stellar chaperoning accomplishment under your belt."
Casimiro chortled. Lacking the context and deciding he wasn't bothered, Kaldar glanced back at Ella before looking up at Meera once more. "I promised my sister that we'd build a snowman today. Would you like to help?"
"Sure." Meera let Kaldar take her by the arm and lead her back to the front room. Half-forgotten, Ella hurried behind as quickly as her stubby little legs would allow.
The sounds of the children scrounging around for their cloaks a little more audible than Ellona had hoped, Casimiro gave a fond shake of his head. "Oh, your kids never fail to amuse."
"Try living with them for a week and see if you still believe that." Ellona flipped a stray curl back over her shoulder. Lucky Kaldar had manageable locks like his Uncle Neilor, but poor Ella was doomed to the same unruly mess that plagued her mother, only in blond. It wasn't quite Ietrin's blond--more like Ellona's sister's--but nonetheless sometimes Ellona wondered if Ella would consent to dying it. Then again, Ellona's color wasn't without its unfortunate family connections either.
But she supposed it was impractical to dwell on that just now. If Casimiro had come, then he must have wanted to visiting--and for all Ellona had never been fond of such activities, visiting was supposed to be pleasant. "So, how is this new suitor? Do you think he might ask for Catalina's hand?"
"Things are looking hopeful. The poor man's a widower twice over and I think he wants a mother for his children more than anything else, but I think that could work for her. After her own little girl's death, I think she just wants to be a mother again anyway." Oh. He hadn't told her that and her face must have shown it. He made the customary awkward glance toward his boots before saying anything more. "That and he's heir to a baron; she could do a lot worse, at least given that she doesn't seem to be after romance."
"Indeed." Ellona rose to her feet, only to relieve them once more when she took the seat next to Casimiro. She wasn't quite sure why she'd bothered with the move. "Romance is overrated anyway."
She'd figured he would have agreed, given his attitude toward Searle. But the look he shot her was almost hurt. "There's no need to give up, you know. You could find another man."
"Hardly. I'm a disgraced ex-mistress with two bastards, a scheming bitch of a mother, and a brother whose only notability around here came from being a favorite in that tournament and losing to some nobody." Not that she didn't hope that her brother would accomplish more--but for now, the point stood. "But as long as I've got the kids, I'll be all right."
"It's because you're strong." He slung his arm around her and pulled her nearer, the way her brother sometimes did on the off-chance neither of them were opposed to unecessary touching. Just this once, she supposed she would indulge him. "You're lucky that way."
Perhaps she was. And perhaps he didn't give himself all due credit either. "You're stronger than you think you are."
NEXT CHAPTER:
