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February 3, 1193
"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes." How Ovrean could smile like that after weeks of fevers and coughing fits, Celina couldn't guess. "God, you're as lovely as the day I married you."
Celina tried to return the grin, but couldn't quite manage it. They were both getting up in years--she knew that. Many of the people they'd grown up with were gone. Ovrean himself had more siblings buried than he did living. Celina had to concede that, objectively, sixty-five was not a short life.
But Ovrean still had so much to live for! Two new grandchildren on the way. Their youngest son, betrothed. One daughter to start at the university in April, and another who was still at home and needed a father.
But who didn't still have so much to live for? That was the fairness of death: the sheer unfairness of it.
"Sit with me, my love?"
She nodded. At least she could sit with him. She'd been denied that chance with Dalston.
"Are you sure you don't think you can hold on just a few more months?" Not a question he wanted to hear--but it was the only way she could make her mouth move as she joined him on the bed.
"No. My lungs are failing, and my heart is weak. I believe I have some time with you, then enough to bid farewell to the children. With most of my siblings gone already, I will count myself lucky to have even that."
Celina sighed. "I wish I could give you the comfort and optimism you deserve."
"I don't need comfort. All I need from you is for you to live a long and happy life." With a shaking hand, he took her by the shoulder and shuffled nearer. "Our children and grandchildren will need you for as long as they can have you."
"But you--"
"Don't worry about me." He turned to kiss her on the cheek. "After what will hopefully be many years here, you and I will have an eternity."
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 15, 1188
"Quiet, isn't she?"
Devoted stepfather though he was, Ovrean had only sat through one of Xeta's labors, and that had been the difficult birth of Dalston. Lyssa, Wolf, and Celina had all been healthy, quick births, and by the time Ovrean had arrived at Veldora Keep, they'd all been clean and swaddled and indisputably in the world. As far as he knew, Xeta was not prone to making much noise during her healthy labors.
Severin, having been present for all of them, knew better. The truth was that the baby wasn't the only thing on Xeta's mind.
Jadin ought to have been sitting here.
He was in the bedroom. Xeta was on a single bed set up in the nursery; Jadin had offered to move to one of the guest rooms for the birth, but Xeta wouldn't hear of it. With her ailing husband only a room away, no doubt she was making a conscious effort to keep the noise to a minimum.
But Severin cared to upset neither Ovrean nor himself any more than necessary. "It must be going well."
"I hope you're right." Ovrean drummed his fingers across his knee. Devoted stepfather though he was... he may not have been entirely focused on Xeta either. "You know, I still remember the day I met Jadin, like it were yesterday. Remember, how he and Searle put that snake in my bed?
"I thought Alina was going to kill them."
Severin forced out something of a laugh--more like a sniff. "I think Alina thought she was going to kill them."
"He grew up well, though. A scamp, sure, but always a good-hearted one."
"I always thought so." A good-hearted scamp, just like his grandfather.
Curse all the damned luck in the world that Jadin wouldn't live nearly so long.
NEXT CHAPTER:
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This post centers around a rehearsal for the masque, which as the cross-section of Naroni and Albion readers will know, is based on the "Trial of the Century" arc from the on-going storyline "The Orkney Saga". As such, most of the dialogue between the fourth and eighth images was shamelessly lifted from this Albion post, so all credit for those lines goes to the talented Morgaine. If you haven't read Albion yet... then what are you waiting for? Read it, read it now.
May 6, 1185
"I have to say--you make the most beautiful immortal light witch I've ever seen."
"This after you watched young Ellona in the capture scene rehearsal yesterday?" True. But as objectively attractive as Ellona may have been, there was an inherent repulsion in checking out a woman the age of some of Severin's own children, and he didn't doubt Nora knew it. But she also knew he'd respond to 'But what other immortal light witches have you seen?' with reference to Ellona, so if her aim was to get the last joke, his wife had made the correct choice. "I'm flattered. And I'll have you know that you rank among the most handsome of aspiring barons.
"A pity that in this universe, I'm married to Tarien."
"And I'm married to Arydath. So you may have gotten the last joke, but I believe that between the two of us, I got the more desirable fake spouse--for all Tarien has us both beaten."
"Us, and Arydath too," Nora teased. Severin knew she didn't mean it, but all the same, it was a relief to see that she was now comfortable making such jokes, having spent much of their marriage surrounded by undue glances and constant whispers about former servant girls who married their lords. Most of the spectacle had worn off by now, but some of the lingering stupidity refused to die.
"Indeed. But speaking of fake spouses, there are a lot of other people's not-so-legally un-wedded husbands and wives, and we've probably kept them waiting long enough--unless you care a quick exploration of that broom closet over there, in which case another few minutes wouldn't kill them."
"Tempting, but I'd rather hold out for a lengthier and more comfortable session after the fact." With a wink, she brushed past him toward the door--but not without a nip to his earlobe. So there was an advantage to tying back his hair indoors. "Come along. Sister Paulina always knows when we haven't rehearsed."
"If only because Searle will tell her." But the masque was near enough now that there was little point in complaining too much, so he followed her into the dining hall, where the jury would rehearse while Paulina had the stage for the four in the opening scene.
"Everyone." He took his seat at the head of the table. In the actual performance, they'd be blocked in such a way that allowed them all to be turned toward the audience--but Sister Paulina hadn't quite decided on the arrangement, so they'd sit naturally for now. "I hope you were at least able to entertain yourselves while we kept you waiting."
"Ovrean and Renata were, pestering me about what you were probably doing to my sister," Falidor grumbled.
"And what you were probably doing to my father," added Searle to Nora with a shudder.
"I see." Nora shot a succession of glares about the table, ending with an eye-roll Severin's way. "Well, whatever we were doing to each other, that's our own business, isn't it?"
"Agreed. Let's just start acting, so we can all be equally uncomfortable. Everyone ready?" Five nods. On that note, Severin put on a forced-cheerful face, as dictated by Morgan's script. "Well! What do you say we start with a vote, to figure out where we all stand? Those in favor of acquittal, say aye."
"Aye," chorused Nora and Searle.
"I see. Those in favor of conviction? Aye." Falidor joined him on the last word. As scripted, Renata and Ovrean were silent. "Lady Claire? Master Chevaux? You didn't vote."
"I--" Renata's start and stammer rang perfectly timed as always. She was the strongest actor of the six of them--as Sister Paulina never failed to remind the other five.
Falidor leaned in toward her, a little overdone. "Lady Claire?"
"I... don't know what to think."
"Well, at least you admit it." Nora reassured Renata's character with a wink. "Most folks don't, as a rule."
"So what don't you know what to think about?" Severin asked.
"I... oh, I don't even know where to begin. She's a woman. A mother. A grandmother! How could any mother do such horrible things to a little boy?" A pause, marked by expressions. Renata's in particular melted from indignant disbelief to lost confusion. "But... why would Betsy Pelles... Lady Dindrane, the little boy... why would they lie?"
And then, quick as a whip while the others processed, that was Nora's line. "It's not that simple. We're not being asked to say she's innocent, you know. Just whether she's guilty or not."
"I don't..." How did Renata trail off so naturally?
"We've got two choices for each of the charges: guilty or not guilty. Now, if we say she's guilty, well, then, she's guilty--at least, in the eyes of the law. But if we say she's not guilty? That doesn't mean we think she's innocent. Just that we're not quite convinced that she's guilty."
"Indeed," Searle chimed in agreement, though as always, Severin had to wonder about Sir Aglovale's actual chiming ability. "There's no physical evidence, really--just the word of three people. Should we send a woman to the block on that?"
But to his own credit, Severin could see Richard Ferreira snorting in derision. "She's the king's sister. I'm not at all convinced that she would go to the block, no matter what we decide."
"Even so..."
The scene carried out, for the most part, kink-free. Searle pointed out that these were death penalty offenses, and Renata questioned his trust of his (character's) sister's testimony, while Searle and Nora argued that testimony just wasn't sufficient. Falidor countered that, pointing out the flaws in the defense's testimonies and the strengths in the prosecution's, plus the state of the witness--and Nora confirmed the injuries to be of a magical nature.
Some lengthy reasoning later, and Renata came to the conclusion of 'guilty'. Brought to the fence, Nora questioned the defense attorney's method--the lack of a reasonable doubt, swapped for a multitude of smaller doubts. Searle made a loud-but-weak protest on classist grounds, and Severin ignored him--to ask Ovrean why he had yet to speak a word.
Ovrean stroked his beard, though Master Chevaux was said to have a more impressive one. "Didn't think it was my place at first, sir."
"Nonsense. Of course it's your place. We're all..." Severin relented with the obligatory pause. The Kingdom of Albion did not place hierarchy over justice--that was rather the point of the play--but that didn't mean there was no hierarchy for the characters to consider, or so Morgan had explained. "...here to do the same job."
"Aye, sir."
"So, what do you think?"
Ovrean looked over at Nora, then Severin again--and then, at Searle. "Begging your pardon, sir, but... she's guilty. Ain't no doubt in my mind."
"Why not?" Searle demanded.
"'Cause of--"
"Everyone! Quick! Lady Morgause set the courthouse on fire! We have to evacuate--now!"
That... was not in the script. "Florian, not again!"
"Who is this 'Florian' of which you speak? I am Sir Bors, here to guide you all to the flame-free safety of the great outdoors!"
At least a fire made more sense than his previous interrupt of 'The hippos are attacking!'? "Florian..."
But instead of stopping like a rational person--and Severin had to wonder why he'd ever considered that Florian might do anything like a rational person--Florian dashed around the table and took to prodding Falidor's shoulder. "Come along, Sir Lancelot! We're too young and handsome to die!"
Caught between amusement and annoyance, Renata shrugged. "We might as well continue on as usual. Who knows what antics the audience will throw our way, anyway?"
"No time for nonsense, absurdly attractive wife! We must depart from this place!"
Severin grimaced. At least the performance wasn't so far off now--and at least there would be plenty of people backstage to keep their eyes on Florian. Hopefully. "Yes, let's continue on. Ovrean, let's take it from your line."
NEXT CHAPTER:
May 1, 1183
Out of his parents' concern for his language skills, Farilon had spent much of the past year in the company of books.
He'd already worked his way through the library at home, and much of Lorn and Leara's as well. His current source of new material was Lord Severin, by proxy of young CeeCee, who showed up every couple of weeks with a few more enthusiastic recommendations that Farilon would not have guessed a nine-year-old could have managed. She'd even brought him a geometry text once--geometry!--then spent the next hour babbling on about Euclid's twelfth and thirteenth propositions, ending on some note about the ratios of sides of a triangle, then an accusation of "Were you even listening?"
He hadn't seen her for a couple weeks after that.
But she'd shown up the day before, only somewhat resentful, a new astrology book in hand. "It's a little silly," she'd warned him, rolling her eyes. "But it's interesting, even if there's not a shred of logic to be found."
And it was interesting--interesting enough, apparently, that it took a clear of the throat before he noticed his father's presence. "CeeCee brought another book?"
"Astrology. You're a Gemini, right?" He doubted his father cared that Gemini was an air sign, or a mutable sign, or ruled by the planet Mercury, but it was an opportunity to avoid whatever conversation he was here for in the first place, and Farilon would be a fool to pass it up.
His father nodded. "And you're a Taurus, and your mother is a Cancer. Maybe you can draw up some charts for the family if you think it would be an interesting project." He often suggested 'projects'. Farilon knew he meant well, but productivity required a stamina he still hadn't mustered. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about.
"I got you a job."
"Oh." Farilon swallowed. As the third son of a duke, his default career path would have involved a knighthood, but he'd spent his page years and most of his squire years dead, and he had little interest in being a knight besides. His family had understood this. They'd understood a lot, all things considered. But a job... what sort of job? And was he ready? Sometimes, he wondered if his father thought it mattered. "Um... what happened?"
"CeeCee brought you some scrolls on mechanics a couple months back, correct? And you discussed them with her when she came back to collect them?" Farilon nodded, not sure what the hell kind of job had anything to do with CeeCee Kemorin. "She told her father some of your insights, and he thought they were clever, so he passed them along to Raia. I happened to run into her at Uncle Tarien's castle today, and she asked if you would be interested in teaching physics at the university."
"Teaching?" Farilon's finger fell to the page at random as his nerves played his spine like an organ. Didn't teaching require... talking? "I don't know..."
"I talked it over with your mother. We both agree that it might benefit you to push your comfort zone, but it's ultimately up to you. We could even stage a few practice lectures if you like." Could that help much? Surely his little siblings couldn't feign an interest in physics long enough even if it could. "I know it's a bit... unnerving, but I just want to help you find a place in the world. Promise me that you'll at least consider it?"
Farilon sighed. It wasn't a step he felt ready to take, but his parents had been so good about everything. He supposed he ought to at least humor them. "I'll consider it."
NEXT CHAPTER:
April 28, 1181
Farilon stared at the toes of his boots as his parents approached and hoped they were only there to scold him for not taking them off before lying down on his nice clean bed. Not that it was the wisest of hopes, since they couldn't have known his boots were on the bed before they'd come in and the scolding wouldn't have required a combined effort besides, but Farilon was not above stupid hopes, not when they were preferable to the likely truth.
The likely truth being that no, this party had not been cancelled at the last minute--and indeed, his older siblings and in-laws had already begun to arrive.
"Are you all right?" His mother looked sympathetic enough and he supposed she ought to have. She always knew what he was feeling, or at least the feelings she could understand. Pity she couldn't have believed him if he'd claimed to feel ill. "You haven't left your room since breakfast. Your little sisters haven't even had a chance to give you their present."
I wouldn't have sent them away if they'd knocked, he wanted to say, but he hadn't spoken in hours. He could manage so many words now, but only if he worked himself up to it first. Something more to the point would have to suffice. "Sorry."
"Farilon..." His father trailed off, taking a moment to size up Farilon's mother for any trace of a ready defense. Today, there was none to be found. "I don't see why you insist on spending so much time alone, son. It's not healthy."
His mother nodded. "And we all love you so much; we want to spend more time with you."
"And I'm sure some of the other boys your age would be happy to befriend you. And who knows--maybe some pretty young lady will take a shine to you if you give her half a chance?"
Farilon's toenail scraped the leather by proxy of his sock. He did love his parents, and his siblings, and his nieces and nephews--and even his siblings-in-law, sort of--but they didn't understand. He'd once craved their company but now it only made him ache in ways they couldn't have known existed. He didn't want friends. He didn't want young ladies, no matter how pretty or smart or otherwise appealing they were. Whoever it was, there was always a gap that couldn't be bridged.
You're all supposed to be here. I'm not.
"Farilon?" He swallowed and forced himself to look away from the boot. He hated hearing his mother sound so sad. "At least come out and let Abrich and Meraleene wish you a happy birthday before supper."
"And the rest of them will be here soon too. You wouldn't want to miss your little buddy Yvanette, would you?"
Farilon sighed and slung his legs off the bed. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he supposed he didn't want to disappoint his parents any more than was inevitable. He could play with his nieces and nephews for a while, greet his siblings, endure the over-friendly Jadin, make nice with the shyer Meraleene and the warier Ashe and Leara. They'd bothered to come to his birthday supper, after all.
After supper, he could make another retreat. "I'm sorry."
"It's all right, dear." His mother leaned in for a hug as he approached. He tried to hold off letting go as long as possible. He preferred touch to talk. People talked to other people, but they also talked to animals, plants, ghosts, inanimate objects... even themselves, though most would never admit it. Not they didn't touch those things as well, but was somehow a more human action, a less selfish action, more about the receiver than the giver. He didn't belong either way, but touch was a stronger effort at arguing otherwise. "We know you're still adjusting. We don't want to make you uncomfortable."
I'm always uncomfortable, he stressed in his own head.
But he didn't want to say it aloud.
NEXT CHAPTER:
April 20, 1180
There were thirteen at the table, but barring Vera's informing her sister and stepmother of her decision to buy a new horse and talk of whatever "shapely tavern maid" Lonriad kept muttering about to a half-listening Isidro, the concept of chatter was lost among the room's inhabitants. Lucien wasn't sure if he preferred it that way. The silence was a reminder, not a distraction--he half-believed Vera was only keeping up her conversation for his sake--but if he expected them all to burst out in gossip and anecdotes, he supposed that made him a hypocrite. He didn't have anything to say either.
"Thank you all for coming."
Lord Severin shut the double doors behind him and strode to the empty seat at the head of the table, between Lady Leonora and Jadin. He sat down at stared along both sides, his eyes coming to a rest when they reached Lorn a second time. "Each of you were summoned here today for various reasons. Many of you are among the people I love most, and you are all among the people I trust most. There are also those among you who have been directly impacted by the situation at hand."
Lucien glanced around the the table, from Vera all the way to Lettie on his other side. He wasn't sure he'd quite worked his way into the first group, but that must not have been the prime qualification; Searle and Riona were both notably absent, as were Falidor and Asalaye. He might have been part of the second--at least, he didn't think he'd given Lord Severin any reason not to trust him--but if this concerned Remiel, as it almost certainly did...
Last group. He had to be part of the last group.
"I thought long and hard over the configuration of this council. The most important factor in my decision process was the need for Remiel's victims' voices to be heard, directly or indirectly. It stood to reason that presence of my fellow lords would also be needed, with their wisdom and leadership experience. As for the rest of you--well, some of you are logical, methodical people. Some of you are more instinctual and outwardly passionate. Some of you are, in fact, both.
"With the other criteria satisfied, I wanted to fill the remaining seats with the combination of individuals that offer a firm balance of heart and head, as I believe both will be needed to tie up the loose ends that Remiel left behind."
If even that could do it. Remiel had taken most of his secrets to the grave, and the only other person who might have known them had died that same day. Perhaps Laveria's murder had been a desperate attempt to cover his tracks, and Lucien suspected that Lord Severin had considered this. Then again, maybe he hadn't. It had only been three days since he'd done Remiel in, had his body cremated and handed the ashes to a courier with the given destination of "as far away as humanly possible". It had only been three days ago that his mother had died, and only yesterday he'd buried her. He was still processing. Who was Lucien to guess his thoughts?
"Now that Remiel himself is gone, I believe the most pressing issue is that of the remaining essence we found during numerous searches of his quarters. Unfortunately--certain unsavory uses aside--nothing in Remiel's notes says much about any practical purposes." Of course they didn't. Lucien swallowed; Lord Severin looked over at Lady Leonora before continuing. "Based on the little we do know, however, it seems reasonable to assume that it has at least a few potential applications. I've thought of a few, but I'm curious to see what ideas the rest of you might have."
Several looks were exchanged among the thirteen; if anyone had an idea, they didn't care to share it. Near the end of the table, the duchess sighed. Lord Severin shot her a glance of concern. "Celina?"
She shook her head as Lorn leaned forward to answer on her behalf. "Well... we'd wondered earlier if maybe it could do something for my brother. But that's probably a long shot, and even if it could, there's not much of it, is there?"
"Enough to make a new body? Not that I can be sure how far each drop goes, but probably not." Lord Severin's eyes left the duke and flickered instead toward Lucien. He tried to make contact out of politeness, but on some level, he supposed that required wanting to be here. "Lucien, would you happen to know if it's even possible?"
"It's not, my lord." It was only then that he remembered he wasn't supposed to call him that, but of course Vera's father had too much tact to correct him in front of all these people. Not that Lucien would have minded much, given that he'd been the one to kill Remiel. "Remiel tried it a few times, but it never worked. Sorry, your grace."
The duchess tried to smile. She didn't succeed, but it was nice that she was trying--especially when there was so much worse he could have and probably should have told her. "It's all right. We figured it was unwise to get our hopes up."
"But what about medicinal purposes in general?" Xeta piped up--trying to steer the discussion for her mother's sake, perhaps. "Vera healed Lucien's eyes with it, remember?"
"That's true," Isidro agreed. "Though that does cross a little too far into miracle territory. If we only have a limited supply, it wouldn't be wise to build up a reputation."
On Xeta's other side, Jadin squinted. "What about agriculture, then? We use a little to fertilize the fields and see if there's any difference to the crops."
"But we've only seen its effects on humans," Lady Leonora pointed out. "It might impact plants negatively. There may also be some long-term environmental effects; it might wipe the nutrients out of a field, or it might harm the local wildlife if it gets into the food chain. There's too much we don't know."
"Then we ought to study it, don't you think?" Lettie raised her elbows to the table and propped her chin on her fist. "Test its effects on various things, make note of any positives and negatives and weigh them."
The baron bit his lip. "That would be the logical first step, and I'd be willing to fund a proposed project; that said, though, it wouldn't be practical to throw money at an experiment without a clear-cut goal in mind."
"There's also no guarantee that the study would leave any essence for whatever use it confirmed," Raia pointed out. "It fades over time, doesn't it?"
Lucien nodded. "Yes. Well, at least..." He cast a weary look toward the duchess; unfortunately for him, she caught it.
Across from him, Lonriad frowned. "At least what?"
The duchess too stared at him with inquiring eyes. He hadn't wanted her to find out this way--or any way, really--but he supposed it was preferable to her waking one day and finding that Farilon just wasn't there any more. "At least... when not bound to a biological host."
The duchess's lip quivered, though she chose to say nothing. Her husband reached across the gap between them and steadied her shaking hand, though he himself lacked little in grim. It was Vera who took it upon herself to break the quiet. "Then I take it any kind of military application would only be temporary."
"If you mean attaching it to a sword, yes."
"So what's the rundown, then?" Raia turned away from her sister to instead face their father and stepmother. "We only know that it can be safely used on humans, but we can't attempt anything too drastic, and anything else would require earlier research that we might not have the resources to pursue?"
Her father grimaced. "That seems to sum it up."
Lucien looked over at the duchess again. She wore a brave face, but the twitch of her lashes must have been fighting back a tear. Would it be prudent to suggest donating all the leftover essence to keeping Farilon in that suit of armor as long as possible? Or was it cruel? Steel would not retain the essence. It would, eventually, run out. Giving it to Farilon might have just been postponing the inevitable.
Never mind that none of them could be quite sure how to actually apply it...
"Well... I take it no one else has any suggestions." Lord Severin swept over the table once again before pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. "Go home to your families, all of you, and think long and hard on this. We'll meet again at this time tomorrow once we've all had a little more time to consider the options. Or if we have any options at all."
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 3, 1180
Farilon had a guest, or so his mother said, but she hadn't told him who it was and he wasn't happy about that. He trusted his mother--who else did he trust, besides the little nieces and nephews and baby sister who were young enough to look at him and see something other than 'different'?--and he knew the guests didn't want to hurt him, but they did. There were guests like Rona's friends who tried to be nice but just gawked at him like some animal in a menagerie. There were guests like Lord Severin and Lady Arydath who were also nice on the surface, but were more like doctors than anything else, more concerned with how Farilon worked than how Farilon felt.
And then there were his siblings, and while his mother promised that they loved him, they had funny ways of showing it: Lorn's frequent sizing glances, Xeta and Abrich's stiff smiles, Rona's reluctance to look at him at all. If it was one of his siblings--or any of their spouses, though he didn't think any of them would have come to see him on their own--he hoped that at least Neva or Yvanette or Wolf had been brought along.
But he didn't see any of his siblings, nor any of his nieces or nephews--just the palest man he'd ever seen, seated on the couch next to his father. Farilon shivered, for all his body wouldn't follow. The man was oddly familiar, but such unusual coloring should have been much easier to place.
"Farilon, this is Lucien." His mother nodded toward the pale man, who looked over with a mandatory grin. The name came no more easily than the form. "He's married to Lord Severin's daughter Vera. Do you remember her?"
He nodded, even though it was odd to think that Vera was married when she was only a few years older than he was. Then again, he should have been used to it by now. Everyone was married. Vera probably had babies too, just like everyone else he'd known as a child.
"Hello, Farilon." The pale man sounded nice enough, but that didn't mean much. They all did, at first. "Do you remember me?" Farilon shook his head. The screeching of his own makeshift neck echoed throughout his hollow head and grated whatever mechanism or sheer act of God allowed him to hear. "That's all right. I don't remember you too well either, to be honest--just a bunch of clanking when Remiel was hauling you about. I used to be his... I don't know. His ward, I guess."
Oh. He was that blind boy Farilon had caught a few glimpses of back in the dungeon days. Only he wasn't blind anymore, nor was he much of a boy. He'd changed. Farilon hadn't.
His mother ushered him to the other couch, then sat down beside him. She was a saint, his mother. She was so polite with all of her guests, no matter what she may have secretly thought of them--if she was capable of an ill thought at all. Maybe it was lucky for him that he had no voice or face. She might have been disappointed if she'd known just how bitter he'd grown, and he didn't want to disappoint the only person capable of seeing him as more than some enchanted object.
"It's certainly a pleasant surprise to see you, Lucien. I hope all is well with you?"
"Well enough, I guess. My son's picked up some interesting words from his Uncle Roddie, though." Lucien shrugged sheepishly. "Vera's not so happy about that. But nothing too remarkable, really."
Farilon's father chuckled. "Should've brought him along to play with the girls. Eldona pitches a fit every time someone says a naughty word."
"I'll bring him around some time, then." But if he agreed, then why the strained grimace? He looked almost apologetic, as if he didn't really plan to bring his son. Farilon wished he would. Small children and their simple ways were about all he could handle. Everything was beneath the surface for adults. "But, uh... I actually don't have time to visit long today. Sorry, I know that's rude of me. But it's the first window of time I've had in a while and I had to see Farilon."
So he was just another observer. At least he was honest about it--not that that didn't leave its own kind of hurt. Farilon's mother frowned. "What do you mean?"
"It's... complicated." It was a word people threw around a lot, more than Farilon remembered. Sometimes he wondered if they really knew what it meant. "I didn't mean to offend, really, or to imply that I just wanted to study you or something. I just..."
Lucien sighed. It was another thing people seemed to do, just for lack of anything better. "I don't know. I think after all Remiel did to me, after all he could do because of me... I guess I just had to see that something good managed to come out of it."
It seemed to satisfy his mother--warm her, even. But Farilon didn't know if he was good. He didn't know if he was anything.
NEXT CHAPTER:
