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October 5, 1169
"Not that I'm not happy to see you, cousin," Nythran muttered after an awkward minute of exchanged stares, "but I certainly wasn't expecting our paths to cross any time soon, least of all in my own home."
Searle placed his hands on his knees and tried not to frown. He might have liked Nythran if not for his marriage to Riona, but following that, it had become painfully difficult to stomach his cousin's presence. It seemed it had grown even moreso since her death. "I haven't been back in Dovia all that long, but when I arrived back at my castle, Danthia and Tivalia weren't there. I went to see Danthia's father, and he said that they were staying here with you."
Nythran squinted. "That was all he told you?"
That was a strange response; regardless, Searle nodded. "He wouldn't give me any details. I think he just wanted me to leave; Danthia's family doesn't really like me all that much."
"Oh." Nythran didn't seem to need any explanation. Searle was relieved; he didn't really want to talk about his relationship with his in-laws.
But at least Secundus had been civil enough to point him in the right direction. Searle wasn't exactly happy to be back--he hadn't been happy in years--but he was tired of the Elaryses and the Genevas of the world. He was sick of being used and discarded and left to his own devices. Danthia was the one person in his life who was always there for him no matter what, and if he couldn't make things better for himself, then perhaps he ought to try making them better for her.
"Well? Can I see her, or has she turned in for the night?"
Nythran sighed as Searle heaved himself off the couch; the young lord was considerably shorter than Searle himself was, but in spite of his small frame and mild manner, his presence was eerily stifling. "She should still be awake, but... well, I don't know if it would be a great idea for you two to see each other right now if Secundus didn't give you all the details."
Searle frowned; why was the other man being so difficult. "I don't see why there would be a problem; she's my wife, Nythran."
His cousin swallowed. "Uh... about that..."
"Nythran?" The door swung open. "Nythran, who's--oh.
"Well, I'll be damned."
Searle had thought so far ahead; he'd known what he wanted to do. He'd wanted to apologize and tell her they'd head home first thing in the morning. He'd wanted to promise they would start over. He'd wanted to run to her and look her in the eyes and kiss her.
But he couldn't look her in the eyes. All he could see was her stomach. "Danthia?"
A strange smile curling on her lips, Danthia waddled toward Nythran and rested her hand on her arm, planting a light kiss on his mouth--what the hell was going on here? "Darling, can you give us a minute? I think Searle and I need to talk." Darling?
"Are you sure?" he asked, taking her hand and squeezing it reassuringly. Searle knew that squeeze--he'd once held Riona's hand that way.
Danthia nodded as Nythran let go of her hand and instead gently massaged her bulge. Was he the father? He must have been; Searle certainly wasn't. "I'm sure. I'll be with you in a little while--why don't you go check on the girls?"
He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, then left. Searle waited a few seconds from the time the door shut--five, four, three, two...
There was no 'one'. He couldn't hold it in any longer.
"What the hell is this?" Searle hissed, holding back his arms to restrain himself from shoving her. "You little strumpet! Is this a recent development, or have you been fucking Nythran behind my back for years now? Is Tivalia even mine?"
Danthia rolled her eyes. He scowled; did it not occur to her that this was a serious accusation? "Of course Tivalia is yours, you arrogant ass-wipe! And I haven't been 'fucking Nythran behind your back for years' as you so delicately put it; I've only been sleeping with him since I married him in January."
Wait... what? He couldn't do anything but gape at her. This made absolutely no sense. "Since you married him? You can't be married to Nythran! You're already married to me!"
"Not anymore," she insisted, an insultingly wide smile upon her face. "You were gone for well over a year, you know--our marriage had legally ended months before I became lady here. Oh, and seeing as I am lady here, you might want to apologize for calling me a strumpet; you must realize that I outrank you now."
He couldn't believe this. That damn Nythran. First he'd stolen Riona away, and now Danthia too. Who was next? Was Tivalia going to start calling him 'Papa'? "This is ridiculous."
"You may think so," Danthia sniffed, "but you brought this all upon yourself; even you're not selfish enough to miss that detail."
That stung; he almost would have preferred it if she'd kneed him in the balls. "Look, I know I'm not much of a husband, but... ah, fuck it! Let's just wake Tivalia and go home, and I'll go to the grave swearing that your little bastard is mine, all right?"
He prepared himself to head toward the door; Danthia, however, did not budge. "You idiot! You weren't listening to a thing I said, were you? Nythran is my husband. Everyone in Dovia knows that Nythran is my husband. Everyone in Dovia knows that this is Nythran's baby. If you didn't know that until just now, then I fail to see how that can be my fault."
He didn't think he could take it anymore--this was far too much, far too soon. "Why is it that everyone I've ever cared about has been taken away from me?"
A sorrowful glaze crossed Danthia's face--her copper brows, her blue eyes, her full lips. She'd never looked so tragic. She'd never looked so beautiful. "You never cared about me, Searle. You never cared about me, and I was never taken away from you--you pushed me away."
God--he had pushed her away. He'd never meant to; he'd never thought it was possible. Since he'd been forced to marry her, she'd been the one constant in his life, the one person who had cared and worried and kept him going, all the while suffering in silence. Now, even she had turned her back on him. No, that was not quite true; he himself had spun her around.
It was no easier to look at her than it ever had been. "Danthia... I'm so sorry."
She didn't even blink; she simply crossed her arms over the bump of Nythran's spawn and stared at him. "Seeing as it's the only thing you've ever offered me, I suppose it would only be polite of me to accept your apology; don't for a second, however, think that means that I forgive you."
Searle nodded, his heartbeat slowing deep within his chest. What a pathetic little thing it was; it produced so much, yet it was never enough. "I couldn't expect that you would."
Danthia clasped her hands together, the glint of a nearby candle reflecting off Nythran's ring on her finger. "It's getting late. You may spend the night if you wish, but you have to be long gone by the time the girls wake. You're always stepping back into Tivalia's life for a couple of days only to leave for months on end, but no longer; I will not let you break her heart again."
NEXT CHAPTER:
September 16, 1168
It might not have made sense to be sad. It might have even been a little selfish to be sad. Danthia's mother had spent the last months of her life in such incredible discomfort that her soul must have leapt from her agonizing prison of a bed at the sight of Death and embraced him like an old friend. Wherever she was now, at least there would no longer be such a thing as pain. At least she would be able to sleep without waking up to cough blood onto her pillow.
And yet, it was only human to be sad. She would miss her mother; she missed her already. She wondered if they'd had enough time together and if there was even such a thing as too much. She would have liked her own daughter to get to know her, and her brother's new baby girl had scarcely had a month with which to do so. She was sad--how could she not be? But not all of her emotions were directed at her mother; she was also angry.
She felt her sister-in-law wrap a warm hand around her own and squeeze. "I'm so sorry." Danthia knew that her mother wasn't the only reason Lileina was saying that. "I still can't believe he isn't here."
She had to have been lying; Searle's absence couldn't have come as a surprise to anyone. Danthia shook her head. "I figured it would have been stupid to expect him to show up."
It took a moment for Lileina to respond. She pursed her lips and bowed her head before a defeated sigh broke her facade of naivety. "Really, I'm sorry about everything my brother's put you through. He should be here."
"He probably doesn't even know. I can barely even remember the last time I saw him." How long had it been? Lileina had told her that he'd shown up for King Farilon's funeral, but had kept his distance from the crowd; Danthia herself hadn't caught a glimpse of him, nor had anyone else, it seemed. That had been five months ago now, and she did not think he had been home since eight or nine months before then. All her widowhood lacked was its official status.
Bitter, she nudged the dirt beneath her boot and sunk back against the crypt wall. "It's just as well that he didn't come, really. My mother lost her liking for him years ago."
"And I can't imagine that your father sees him any differently," Lileina added, her voice so neutral that it must have been forced. It had to hurt to admit such a thing of one's own brother.
Sisterly as she might have been to Searle, she pulled Danthia inward and offered a small bit of comfort in the guise of a hug. Danthia cringed as Lileina's growing stomach pressed against her own. Was it mad to be jealous of a pregnant woman? Particularly since she herself had suffered the pregnancy from Hell only a few short years prior?
People were talking, she was well aware. She wished they could understand that there was really nothing to talk about. She and Searle hadn't had any trouble conceiving Tivalia once they'd bothered trying; there was nothing wrong with her fertility. The problem was that on the rare occasion Searle was home, he did not care to bed her--and even if he did, she did not care to let him. She didn't miss the sex. She supposed it might have been pleasurable with a man who actually seemed to give a damn, but all she'd ever had was Searle. A suit of armor might have been a more emotionally-invested lover if only it possessed the required anatomy.
"Do you think he'll ever come back?" She asked simply because it seemed proper to do so; she was past the point where she actually cared.
"Of course," Lileina answered automatically. It was an interesting way to say 'no'.
The brief following silence was broken by the creaking of the hinges as the heavy door was pushed open, the figure of a man emerging from behind it. "Danthia?"
It was her cousin, Nythran, his mustache still visible despite the dim light and its blond color. Searle had only ever managed stubble. "Good, you're still here. Your brother was worried that you might have left already."
Danthia sniffed. "Of course he would be. Marsden can't even keep track of chairs at the dinner table, let alone this whole extended family; he should count himself lucky that his balls are attached."
Nythran's booming laughter echoed throughout the otherwise dismal room. Surely there was nothing like four years of frigid Riona to make a man appreciate every instance of a woman saying the word 'balls'. Surely there was nothing like six years of woebegone Searle to make a woman appreciate masculine laughter. "Amen to that. Anyway, your father was looking for you--wondering if you and Tivalia wanted to stay a few days longer."
"Of course we will," she told him. "It isn't as if we have anyone waiting for us back home."
Her cousin's limp hand clenched into a sudden, tight fist. "If your husband lacked the decency to show his face here, then he should just keep making himself scarce if he knows what's good for him."
"Oh, I would kill him if I found him there," Danthia assured him with a grimace. "I don't think we have to worry about that, though; we all know that home isn't one of his usual haunts."
"Hasn't been around for a few months again, then?"
Rolling her eyes, Danthia nodded. "I haven't seen him since..." She paused, forcing herself to remember when she'd last seen Searle. It took her a couple of seconds to find an approximate date. "Some time in July of last year, at the latest."
An odd sort of light sparked in Nythran's hazel eyes. Danthia frowned; she hadn't known what sort of reaction to expect, but the quiet thoughtfulness it seemed to have inspired in him was rather baffling. "You mean... you haven't seen your husband in over a year?"
NEXT CHAPTER:
December 31, 1165
Three-year-old Cladelia squirmed as Nythran lowered her into her bed. "Papa! Let's play longer! Please?"
"Sorry, angel," Nythran laughed, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. "Your sisters have been asleep for an hour already, and your mama is probably wondering where I am."
The little girl shook her head in protest. "No, she's not."
He had to admit, that probably was the case. Some of Nythran's friends spoke of women who enjoyed their husbands' company, but other than the occasional secondhand piece of information, this species was a mystery to him. In all likelihood, Riona had been fast asleep long before the year-old twins, but he wasn't about to confess his marital woes to his young, impressionable daughter. "Good night, sweetheart."
"Night!" mimicked Cladelia. "Good dreams!"
The base of Nythran's neck shivered. "Sorry?"
The little girl's eyes widened in concern. "You had bad dreams. Hope they go away."
He had been having bad dreams, in fact, but he didn't know how Cladelia would have known about them. Perhaps he'd taken to screaming and moaning in his sleep? In any case, that at least gave his wife an excuse to leave halfway through the night and sleep in the guest chamber, but if the dreams were disturbing his children, then perhaps he should have been the one to take up night-time residence somewhere else in the castle; he doubted relations with Riona's side of the family would improve if three girls under the age of four knew that their father was nightly bound in his own dungeon by their Uncle Searle, who would then proceed to cover every surface in the castle with oil and throw down a torch at Nythran's feet. "Uh... thank you, angel. Sweet dreams."
Perhaps it would help to discuss these dreams with someone, he considered as he left the nursery and stepped into his bedroom, but who was there in which to confide? Surely not his friends, who might think him mad; surely not his family, who had enough troubles as it was. It didn't seem like a good idea to bring it up with Riona, as she always seemed so uncomfortable talking about her twin brother. No, the only reliable listener he could think of was his horse, and Nythran doubted that he'd have much useful insight; it seemed he would just have to deal with the problem himself.
"Riona?"
A glance toward the bed assured him that she had not yet left. She lay above the covers, peaceful and unmoving, as though she had no intention of doing anything other than simply breathing. "Riona? I think I'll sleep elsewhere tonight; I don't want to risk waking the children."
She didn't respond; perhaps she was asleep after all. Regardless, he doubted she would miss him in the morning, so he chose not to wake her.
Even though she wasn't fond of him, however, he figured it would only be rude of him to leave her in a lit room. He did try to be a good husband, even if he was never good enough for her, and he would not have her waking up to a flickering candle--or worse, a burning table.
He made his way to the desk and began by dousing the candles there. He then backed away to proceed elsewhere in the room, but caught sight of his Riona's slanted cursive on a nearby piece of parchment. That was odd--Riona never cared to write if she didn't feel obliged. Nythran's curiosity struggled against his respect for his wife's privacy; he allowed himself a quick glance, only to find that the note was addressed to him anyway.
Nythran,
I'm sorry about everything. Please tell Searle that I am not the stronger one after all.
Searle? Her brother? What could that have meant? For all she was cold and quiet, Riona was as strong a woman as any--much stronger than her sighing, woebegone brother, at any rate. This didn't make any sense. "Riona? Riona, if you're awake... can you please explain this note?"
No answer. He turned around and headed toward her bedside. "Riona, please wake up."
Not even a twitch of her slipper. As he stopped at her side, he couldn't help but notice a half-full glass of wine on the bedside table. In their entire four years of marriage, Nythran could only remember Riona ever having about three glasses of wine over the course of that time, and always in the afternoon--never before bed. Also, this wine had a peculiar, acrid odor he could smell even with several feet between his nose and the source; had it perhaps been exposed to the air too long? "Riona?"
Again, there was no reply. Shaking his head, he turned to look at her, only to stumble an inch or so backward in shock.
He had been led to believe that she was asleep, but her eyes were wide open--moreso than they ever were even during the day. Their teal depths were both glazed and glossy, and her ordinarily neutral mouth was curled into an almost taunting smile. He tried making a sudden hand movement; she didn't blink. So far as he could tell, she wasn't even...
...breathing.
"Oh, God! Guards! Somebody! Help!"
NEXT CHAPTER:
