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March 8, 1201
"Mama! You're home!" Sparron bounded over to the top of the stairs as Lettie finished scaling them and greeted her with an enthusiastic hug. Renata's grandson was such an affectionate boy. His mother and siblings did dote on him, possibly to make up for any comments he might have gotten on his unclear parentage--but, if he got any to his face, he was doing far too good a job of internalizing it. Renata hoped it was simply that children were kinder than they used to be, and not that Sparron was suffering in silence; she wasn't so naive as to not have her suspicions, though.
"Mama, Grandmother's here!"
"I can see that, sweetie." Lettie kissed him on the cheek, then ruffled his hair as he released her. "This is unexpected, Mother."
Renata picked at an uneven fingernail. Her visit would hardly be the greatest shock of Lettie's day. "Yes, and I hope this isn't a bad time. Octavius and I received some news today."
With her grandson's back to her, she took the opportunity to flit her eyes toward him, just obviously enough for her daughter to pick up on it. "Sparron, why don't you go down to the kitchens and ask Mara to whip us up some treats? I'm sure she'll let you eat the batter if you help her."
"Can I choose what kind of treat?"
"Of course you can--just as long as we have the ingredients."
"All right!" Sparron flashed Renata a giddy grin--probably thinking about his favorite oat-and-hazelnut biscuits--then rushed down the stairs with sufficient speed that Lettie had to watch over the railing to be sure he didn't trip.
Satisfied with her son's sure footing, Lettie took a seat on the other bench, her face fading from fond to frown in cue of Renata's melancholy. "What's wrong, Mother?"
"It's your friend, Tarien Andronei." Renata sighed as Lettie's brow twitched. Tarien, from what she understood, had once aspired to be more than Lettie's friend, if she even thought of him as that much. But, if she recalled the events surrounding Sparron's likely time of conception, he had managed to somewhat endear himself for at least one night. "He had some sort of accident. He didn't make it."
"Oh." Lettie clenched her lip between her teeth in a few seconds of silence. It perhaps a somewhat easier thing, learning about a death when there were clear feelings one way or another. At least, in those cases, there was an automatic reaction--no need to fret about whether tears or gasps or an obligatory sobriety were most fitting. "I... I'm sorry to hear that."
"Well, I thought you ought to know--am I right?" Renata jerked her head toward the stairs, where Sparron had been only minutes before; biting at her lip again, Lettie nodded. "Does Sparron know who his father is?"
Her daughter shook her head. "I'll tell him if he ever asks."
"You mean he hasn't?" Another shake of the head. Odd. Five years old was plenty old enough to wonder why everyone else had a father, and plenty young enough not to know that it might be a sensitive question.
"He hasn't asked me, at any rate--and I haven't heard about him asking anyone else. I'm sure he wonders, but I suppose it doesn't bother him that much."
That might have been the result of his siblings' tales of growing up with Searle for a father. For his own sake, at least that man seemed to be doing a better job of it with his second wife's children. "Then I suppose he doesn't feel that anything is missing. He's a remarkably well-adjusted child; perhaps it's for the better if you do leave it up to him when he decides when he wants to know."
"That's the plan for now, at least." Pensive, Lettie took to curling a lock of hair around her finger. "Pity there's not a way to know if it's the best one before it's too late to change course."
NEXT CHAPTER:
June 21, 1196
"Look, if there really is a God, and you really did piss Him off, killing Rina would be the least imaginative way for an all-powerful deity to punish you." If Florian still had to explain things like that, then he'd failed as a father. At least they'd had Thetis. "I don't know, maybe one of these days you'll wake up with a pair of butterfly wings or something. But Rina's not going to die."
Severin squirmed, dull brown sleeve rustling against its dull brown tunic. Maybe when Rina did survive this dangerous pregnancy, he'd start wearing some more interesting clothes. "There are negative outcomes other than death."
"Again--not going to happen. That punishes Rina, not you."
"Oh, yes, because Rina's never been unjustly punished before."
"Hey, not everything needs a rhyme and reason to it. Maybe God got bored and left us for some other stupid mortal species, and now we're subject to the whims of chaos. If I were God, I would have ditched our sorry asses eons ago, and don't pretend you wouldn't have done the same; you're even more miserable than I am."
"I'm not miserable; I'm just pissed off." As if the uncalled-for thud of his foot didn't say it even better. Not that Florian much minded the motion. It wasn't his floor, and it was an ugly floor anyway. God, this baby was doomed to suffer from horrible taste! "Pissed off, and I'll be a wreck if she dies. I'll be a wreck, and she'll be dead, and I suppose Mother will have to take the baby in because I'll be too drunk off my own self-pity to even care."
"Not going to happen, son. I've had more than enough whining babies under my roof to volunteer to raise someone else's."
"Besides," chimed Thetis's voice from the opening bedroom door, "none of that happened. Rina's as well as any woman I've ever seen."
Ha! There was nothing quite like being right. "Told you. Now, have fun raising one of these perpetual noise-and-shit machines, then apologizing to me for your mere existence. Thetis, what kind is it?"
It was only when her eyes rolled that he noticed just how alike she and Severin looked. "The human kind, Florian."
Florian sniffed. "No need to be snide."
"Never mind that. Severin, come hold the baby."
He did as he was told, probably only because he'd been told, despite the fact he hated doing as he was told. The news of Rina's survival must have rendered him oblivious to everything else. Now might have been an excellent time for Florian to bury his face in Thetis's breasts. "Babies. I guess this one is at least half Rina."
Rina, Rina, Rina. God, Florian's kids were pains in his ass even when they were happy. "It's also half me."
"Nice math, Father."
That was Alina's voice. Florian scowled. "Alina, stop questioning my math and tell me what kind of baby this is."
"That baby, Father?
"Or this one?"
HA! Somehow, the world was a better place knowing that Severin of all people was now stuck with twins. "Both would be nice. Also, I think we've figured out God's plan for Severin's punishment now."
"I guess two half-Rinas makes a whole Rina, right, brother?" Alina teased.
"Anything that stops my eye from twitching."
That, apparently, did not. Florian rubbed his hands together in glee. "I hope they're just as bad as you two were. Now, what kinds are they? Same kind? Different kinds?"
"Same, different? Which baby, compared to which baby?"
Oh, that would have been too good.
Far, far too good! And not. "All right, now there are three of them? And I don't know what kind any of them are?"
At least he knew Severin was probably never going to loose that stunned perma-blink. "Three of them? Really? Three?"
"Three! Hooray, we can all count!" Three new Florians. Or Florianas. Or hell, they could call the girls Florian too, if any of them were girls. It was a manly man's name, but it wasn't ugly. "But seriously, what kinds are they?"
"Father, I think the quantity is the more pressing concern."
Quantity. Florian snorted. "Talk to me about quantity when you have thirteen."
"Most of your thirteen came one at a time." Severin finally managed to curb his rapid-fire eyes--shut. Probably because the inside of his eyelids was now the last baby-free view in his world. "Three. Three. I can't deal with three babies."
"Good thing you don't have three babies, then."
Severin's eyes shot right back open.
"...This seriously can't be happening."
But it was. And God... Florian fucking loved it.
"This is the best day ever!" His most annoying child, now the father of quadruplets. Or more? Nah--surely the world wasn't that kind. "See, that's what you get for yelling at God. Now, are any of you going to tell me what kinds any of them are? Or do I have to unswaddle them myself?"
NEXT CHAPTER:
May 28, 1196
"Big enough to be kicking! God, what a relief." Renata beamed down at the bump of her growing great-grandchild, then met eyes with her granddaughter. She had to marvel at how calm Rina had managed to remain since she'd decided to keep the baby, even with the high risk of miscarriage, even with the increased danger to her own life.
That calm, Renata hoped, had aided in the sustenance of the child. If it had aided in the sustenance of the child, then--she prayed--it would aid in Rina's own survival when the time came.
Rina gave her stomach a rub, a soft smile on her lips. "They're a survivor, all right."
"They?"
"Oh. Arydath says she keeps getting conflicting boy vibes and girl vibes, and I'm not really comfortable using 'it'. So it's a singular 'they', for now."
Renata chuckled. Rina's mother had been a twin, and her husband was a twin. And in addition to Rina's aunt and mother, Renata had also birthed triplets. "Maybe they're a pair of boy and girl twins."
"Oh, God! Severin would hit the roof.
"But, he'd manage--if only for my sake. Plus, it's not likely there will be any more after, and I'm sure Arydath would chase after him with butcher's knife if this somehow happened again."
"Woe behold the husband who invokes the wrath of Arydath. Good thing a doctor would know how to prevent a pregnancy without having to deny the pleasure."
Rina laughed. God, how good it was to hear her laughing! "I should hope so!"
Hope. Hope was everything here. For Rina's baby, Rina's life, everything. "I'm so glad things have worked out for you so far, with the rotten start you had to your adulthood, and that horrible man you had to call your father. Just... let's all do everything we can to make sure you're around to see the good things to come, all right? You and me and Severin, Nanalie and Arydath, the whole team. Let's do everything we can for the next month or so, until the baby's born."
Rina nodded. "On the twenty-first of June."
Renata tilted her head to the side. "You don't have a guess about the sex, but you're sure of the date?"
"It's the only one the makes sense." Said with a smile that Renata hoped her daughter could see from heaven. "The first day of summer. The first day of something new."
NEXT CHAPTER:
June 13, 1194
"Still no news?"
Octavius shook his head. Poor Florian. Poor Thetis. "We've yet to find anyone who's seen him since his graduation. Seems the boy has vanished into thin air."
"How awful." And so unlike him! Granted, Renata didn't know any of Florian and Thetis's children too well, but Teodrin had always seemed so... quiet and unassuming. Not like brash Alyssin or dazzling Alina or independent Severin. Teodrin was hardly the type to take off without warning and frighten his parents half to death.
Or was he? The quiet ones never were as predictable as they seemed.
"Indeed. It's not often that the child of a prominent family goes missing in a tight-knit little kingdom like this. Florian and Thetis would have thought they'd had their fill of this back when Severin went off to fetch Rina's horse."
"But at least Severin came back." Renata shuddered. Lettie had run off once, at twelve or thirteen or so, but it was only a day before she came back, claiming she'd just wanted to see what it was like to spend a night alone in an inn. That brief disappearance had been more than Renata ever wanted to handle as a parent again. "Who knows if Teodrin will."
Her husband nodded. So far as she knew, none of his children had ever run off--but, two of his had predeceased him. With that sort of tragedy in one's life, it was easy to assume the worst. "All we can do is hope for the best at this point."
"That, and help Florian and Thetis where we can. Perhaps we should send some of the staff over there." Between Esela's new baby and the stress of Teodrin's disappearance, she doubted Thetis had much energy left over for cooking and cleaning.
"It's worth offering, certainly. And I have no plans to take the men off alert until necessary. With any luck, maybe the boy just took off with one of the university maids for a fortnight of passion."
Again... that didn't sound much like Teodrin.
Octavius didn't seem too convinced of his own theory either. "With any luck."
NEXT CHAPTER:
February 12, 1191
"Karlspan was here?"
Octavius cringed and nodded at once. He preferred not to discuss his good-for-nothing son-in-law with Renata--not because she didn't understand, but because she understood better than anyone. Her daughter Ramona had died in her last labor, leaving behind a broken shell of a man who couldn't be bothered with the child he blamed for her death. Ietrin may have even been worse than Karlspan, from what Octavius could tell. Karlspan had at least had the decency to leave Holladrin to loving relatives rather than neglect her in his own home until his brother intervened.
Now that Ietrin was dead and his daughters were thriving, there was no sense in making Renata live through that again. Not that life had much sense to it, the sick son of a bitch.
"Yes. Holladrin saw him for all of two minutes before he sent her off to fetch me, then he handed me a note from Oswald and left. Holladrin just ran off to her room after that; Prior's with her now." A sweet boy, like his father. Why the hell was Sparron gone while Karlspan was still around to break Holladrin's heart every couple of years?
"I just don't know how much more of this the poor girl can take. No one misses Pandora more than I do, but it's been eleven years and that useless ass still can't look his daughter in the eye. Her death wasn't anyone's fault; he should have figured that out by now."
"For what it's worth, I doubt Ietrin would have figured it out in twice that long. But perhaps it might be time to give Karlspan an ultimatum." Not something Octavius himself hadn't considered once or twice in the past few years. "Either start being a father, or make a clean break and let Holladrin heal."
"It's drastic--but at this point, I don't know if anything less than that would make a difference." Well, he did know. He knew it wouldn't. "Next time he shows up, I'll tell him just that."
NEXT CHAPTER:
July 14, 1190
"I'm glad you felt up to attending Alina's wedding." For all the idea had worried Renata at first--but once they'd reached the chapel, Laralita had seemed all right, at least then. "I know it meant a lot to her and Searle."
"Oh, I needed to get out of bed anyway. Besides, it's not every day one of my nieces or nephews gets married--even with the size of our family." Laralita giggled, but there was a hint of a sigh behind it. "The doctor said he expects I'll make it to Conant's wedding in September, at least. I hope Lily and Marsden will forgive me for missing theirs when their wedding days arrive."
"Of course they will."
"I should hope so. With any luck, I'll have a decent view from the clouds."
Perhaps. Still. "You needn't speak like that just yet."
Laralita sniffed. "I'll speak how I like. Besides, it would have been a poetic injustice had I lived too long to leave a beautiful corpse."
"We're Sadiels, Lara; we all leave beautiful corpses." If only they could all leave beautiful elderly corpses.
"I suppose that's true. But promise me one thing--or try to, at least."
Renata didn't think her sister had ever asked her to promise anything, but she nodded now. "All right."
"If it's possible, I'd like to be buried next to Roderick. One of my sons can deliver me if that good-for-nothing stepson of mine relents."
NEXT CHAPTER:
June 11, 1190
Renata rubbed her brow as she waited for Octavius to finish reading the letter. They rarely read each other's correspondence, instead extending the courtesy of filling each other in by mouth, but she'd found she wasn't up to recounting. She and Octavius were among the oldest surviving of their generation now, strange as it was. Neither was any stranger to the prospect of losing a sibling, sad as it was.
It didn't get any easier. Rather the opposite.
The desk chair dragged against the floor and the paper fell to the desk. Octavius's footsteps approached the couch. "I'm so sorry."
"She's my last sister," Renata muttered as he sat down beside her. "We were never that close, but... with all the others gone, we did make more of an effort."
"And she seemed to be doing so well, once she got back on her feet."
"She was. She finally seemed like a real person to me." Seems, she corrected herself. Laralita wasn't dead yet.
Just dying.
"Would you mind if I headed out for Dovia a little early? I mean, we'll be there in July for Alina's wedding anyway. What if I went a few weeks early and the rest of you met me there?"
"Of course." Octavius sighed. He'd had seven brothers once, and only two remained now. He understood. "Savor the time she has left."
She nodded. Tomorrow, she'd call on Ovrean and Tarien, see if they wanted to come with her. Whether they did or not, she'd leave within the week. "Yes."
NEXT CHAPTER:
May 1, 1186
It was not the first time Renata had entered a room to find only Sparron, and he'd failed to greet her. He did the same with Octavius, Florian, Camaline, the children... almost everyone. Only Prior's existence was consistently given the benefit of the doubt.
She didn't know the feeling, but she could see the logic in his behavior. In Sparron's mind, it made sense that some hallucinations were better ignored than indulged--maybe it chased some of them away, though Renata didn't want to assume. Some days, especially after particularly scarring episodes, it was a danger to take reality for granted. Renata could have very well been a figment of his illness.
But she might have been reading too much into it. It was a sensitive matter, and perhaps not her place to speculate. The best she could do for her stepson was accommodate him, keep him comfortable. In cases such as these, the best way to proceed was to speak of something mundane, as it seemed his delusions rarely did. "Seems the rains have stopped."
"Oh." She doubted that syllable had a thing to do with the weather. "It's you this time. The real you."
Oh. She still wasn't quite clear on how to proceed when he said things like that. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Sparron shrugged. "I think I knew it wasn't you. You looked younger."
"How flattering." Though... her stepson was one of the few men who saw any sign of age in her, one of the very few who leered, and in an odd way, it was refreshing.
"Holladrin was there too." He slouched, the mass of his torso favoring the further leg somewhat. "And my mother."
"Sparron..." She let his name trail in a sigh as she came closer. She didn't want to cut him off if he cared to keep talking, nor did she wish to force him if he didn't. "Your mother--"
"You and Holladrin tried to chase her away. Thank you for that--even if it wasn't really you."
To be haunted by a long-dead mother he'd barely even known. As if he wasn't suffering enough. "Sparron, your mother wasn't a bad person."
"So the illness made her cruel?"
"No!" How could it have? Sparron... wasn't. Not really, she didn't think. "Your mother... she was miserable. Most people don't bear misery well. I don't think your father did either back then."
"But I'm miserable too. And I've been cruel--very cruel." The heel of his boot hit the couch frame with a thud!. His mother's old furniture. Renata doubted he cared if he broke it. "Just ask Lettie."
"Lettie thinks very highly of you."
"Then she's a damn better friend than I deserve." He didn't elaborate. She didn't want him to. "There's no difference between me and my mother."
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:
