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January 1, 1200
"See, Uncle? I told you your room hadn't vanished."
"Ah. Righ'." Searle gave Celina a grateful pat on the arm as he tried to blink her face into focus. Melria had taken the children home shortly after dinner, but she'd told Searle she'd understand if he ended up staying late and spending the night; given that his horse wasn't likely to be any more cooperative than the last chair he'd tried to sit on, his father had advised that he do just that. "I don' remember the halls being this twisty."
"The halls aren't twisty, Uncle."
"They sure weren'--not back in my day! Your father an' me used to race dogsled rug all the time; no one fell into the wall back then." Well, maybe Jadin had, once. That would have explained quite a bit. "God, I miss your father. Don' tell your aunts an' uncles, but he was my favorite."
"Your favorite sibling?" Celina's head, still blurry enough that he couldn't quite make out her expression, tipped to one side. Maybe she'd flipped the veil on her hat to the front at some point? It was possible. She'd always been the strangest of Jadin's children, after all--well, except for maybe Dalston. Something about the pale skin and pale hair and grey eyes against the typically blue and black wardrobe. Or maybe that constant air of preoccupation with... nothing? Ish?
"E'zactly!" Searle clapped his hands together at the sound of the correct word. "He was my only big brother, you know. He protected me. And he always had a funny story--usually about him havin' sex."
His niece's head twitched again. God--her new betrothed must have had a secret fetish for chickens. "...I see."
"Oh, yes: three nuns at once in the bell tower, a chambermaid in the armory--made him wear a helmet--a tavern maid in the milking room, a milkmaid in the tavern, you name it. An' lots of women in that pond some people think is magic!" He had to laugh at that last one. Or cry, maybe. Any of the wishes he'd wasted there would have kept the other half of his heart alive and well. "He even got your mother there, back before anyone else even suspected she might be kinky. Hell, he tol' me once he thought they might have conceived you in that pond."
"Um... good to know?"
In a strange way, it almost sounded like she thought it was. But again--the strangest of Jadin's children. Except for maybe Dalston.
"Huh. Maybe that's why you're the odd one."
Their family, at least--odd or not--had a reliable history of thinking oddness a compliment. "Uncle, I'm only saying this because I know you're too drunk to remember anything I tell you right now, but you have no idea just how odd I really am."
He thought he saw her face stretch briefly--thicken somewhat. Her neck too, maybe. Yes, must have been the veil. The veil, which he could have sworn she'd been wearing at the back of her head earlier, which for some reason was in front of her face now.
What an odd duck she was, his favorite brother's first-or-second-strangest child! "Young lady, I'll 'ave you know I've a memory like a tapestry! Say, could you help me find my room? These halls are twisty."
NEXT CHAPTER:
July 28, 1194
"I'm glad you don't mind my showing up early."
Lettie bit her tongue as she took a seat on the other bench. She supposed she didn't mind, exactly--if she'd minded, she would have sent her children over to their father's for dinner with him rather than have him here. But none of the children were home yet. Rennie and Arkon were only a short walk away and no doubt hadn't even thought about leaving their residences yet. Alina and Severin were off with their cousins Adonis and Rio respectively, both in Veldorashire proper rather than on the university lands. They knew that their father was coming for dinner and had confirmed that they would be home on time, but Lettie hadn't counted on Searle being early.
"I don't mind. I just hope you're not too disappointed, missing that extra hour or so with them."
"Well... to be honest, I thought I'd arrive early to talk to you."
"Really?" They'd made a point to stay on as good of terms as possible since the divorce, but they hadn't had a real 'talk' since... well, probably since Jadin had died. At least this pulled her away from yet another indulgent letter to Tarien Andronei. God, what was it about her that made emotionally needy men flock like flies to honey? She knew she'd be better served to just stop responding to him, but she felt sorry for the sap.
Then again, why else had she stayed married to Searle for so long? "What about?"
"I thought I owed it to you to tell you myself: I'm getting married."
Lettie raised an eyebrow. As far as she knew, Searle hadn't shown any serious interest in anyone since Sparron. "To whom?"
"Melria Lowan--Asalaye's stepsister. It's a match of convenience for both of us, in truth, but we're on the same page."
So were we when we were married. She'd never felt the need to be the great love of Searle's life, but she had expected him to give as much as he could take. But perhaps this Melria needed less, or had more to give.
Or... well, maybe Searle had matured somewhat.
"When is the wedding?"
"In five days."
Or not. "That's... quick."
"We're both tired of living alone. And we've each had a proper wedding before." Fair enough, she supposed. There were worse reasons for marrying quickly. "It'll just be small ceremony. Immediate family, and close friends. You'll attend, won't you?"
She nodded. After all these years, 'close friend' was the best she and Searle could hope to do for each other. "Of course."
"I'm glad." A tight, but true smile broke on Searle's face. "Thank you for understanding."
NEXT CHAPTER:
July 25, 1194
"Melria!" Sir Searle--mostly a mere acquaintance, what with her late stepfather's ties to his family and her late stepsister's marriage to his brother--probably wouldn't have greeted her with such enthusiasm had he not heard how poorly she'd been. Though King Ietrin had treated her as well as she supposed someone like him could possibly treat another person, he had made no effort to endear himself to the point where she would mourn him, and though Queen Medea had maintained her living allowance, her ties to the former king had done nothing to quell her isolation. Not many wanted much to do with a former mistress after all.
But she would have been able to live with all of that had it not been for the death of her daughter.
Riala Wythleit, of all people, had become her most steadfast friend after all of it. Her son Falidor had been Ivy's suitor, and Riala herself had enough of a reputation that befriending a former mistress meant nothing--never mind that Melria and her husband had once been an item in their youth. Cord, as a result, was more than a little awkward around her, but Riala wouldn't put up with any protest.
Searle, come to think of it, probably got much of his news of her from Riala these days. Riala was stepdaughter to his eldest sister. "Sir Searle. I trust you are well?"
"No need to bother with the 'sir'--but yes, I've been well enough, thank you." She noticed that he didn't mention his eldest daughter's betrothal--probably because he knew full well that her own hadn't had the chance to become betrothed. "What brings you to Veldorashire? Stopping by on someone?"
"Yes, actually. First Had and Winter, and then my in-laws." All people who would help her, who'd offered her money and lodging and sanctuary--but why couldn't she take it?
Because she'd already taken enough from all of them.
"Ah, good. I saw Had's brother Congren last week; I trust Had was more pleasant?"
In spite of herself, Melria managed a small grin. She'd learned from Nanalie some time back that Had had tried to strong-arm Congren into asking for her hand--but it was hardly a secret that Congren had less than no interest in marriage. For that, Melria could only be relieved. "Oh, yes. Seems that Congren got all the insufferable genes in that family."
"He said that Had wanted to set the two of you up, but he'd have none of it. Between you and me, I believe you dodged quite an arrow there."
"I agree--though, between you and me, it would be nice to marry again while I'm still young enough to possibly have more children, even if it's only for the sake of convenience." She had always wanted more, but Nedrir had died before they could make a little sibling for Ivy, and of course Ietrin hadn't managed to impregnate her. Of course... "Not that it's likely to happen, at this point."
Searle, apparently sensitive to her gloom, shook his head. "I don't think you ought to count it out just yet."
NEXT CHAPTER:
May 15, 1188
Searle couldn't take it any more.
Sparron had been gone for over a year. Sparron, gone, without any warning, without any closure. The love of his life, out of the world forever.
And then, only a month ago, his older brother had died too. Jadin, his protector and champion, the one person who'd indulged his weakness without thinking him weak. Jadin was gone, and he'd taken whatever stability Sparron had left behind with him.
Searle had been a burden to Lettie and children, his father and stepmother long enough. His remaining siblings were there, but he'd never been particularly close to any of them. Lonriad was the closest, maybe, but he had problems of his own. At least Lonriad still had his champion in Raia. Raia would indulge Searle if he dropped in on her, but they'd never had much in common. Lonriad had always been the more worthy project there.
As for his younger siblings... well, shouldn't he have been the one looking out for them? Not the other way around?
What the hell was wrong with him? He was an adult. Sure, losing loved ones was difficult, but why couldn't he take care of himself like everyone else? Was he not a complete person on his own? Was there some part of him missing--
Yes. Yes, there was. That was Sparron. And now every loss since and to come would be that much harder.
He didn't think he could lose anyone else.
But the only way that could happen was if he was next.
Maybe that was why he'd left the castle, wondered off into the woods. His feet knew he was a waste of space, and his head had just caught up. Maybe he'd call out for Deian. Beg that creature to put him out of his misery. Surely Lettie and the children would be better off without him. And his parents and siblings, maybe it would be easier if they lost two close together. Maybe it was the kindest thing he could do for--
"Searle!"
"What are you doing out here?"
NEXT CHAPTER:
January 1, 1188
Searle had meant to go to bed at some point.
He'd declined his father's invitation for New Years'. The children had insisted on going, so Lettie had taken them and made an indulgent appearance herself before heading back, leaving them at the keep for the night. He'd wanted a quiet evening to himself, a plain dinner and an early bedtime, sleep well underway before he began a year when Sparron wasn't in the world.
But he hadn't gone to bed. He'd just sat down in his study and, somehow, it hadn't occurred to him to move. It had to have been nearly morning. There was little point in retiring now. When the children returned, wakefulness would be expected.
So, he would sit in solitude, his great enemy and only friend. He'd sit until he forgot he existed.
He'd sit until he forgot that it didn't matter.
But knuckles on wood, and the solitude was gone. Searle sighed. "Yes?"
"I didn't hear you leave." Lettie pushed through the door with her usual forced concern, and once again Searle cursed himself for not insisting she take a bedroom outside earshot of the study. "You haven't slept at all, have you?"
Searle shook his head. God, the poor woman, stuck with him. She'd known going in that their marriage wouldn't be ordinary, but it wasn't her natural state to have to be the grounded one. Perhaps it would be kinder to cut her loose and let her fly.
"How was Jadin tonight?" Asking after his dying brother was about the least selfish thing he could do to her.
"No worse." But no better. Nothing ever got better. "You should visit him some time this week."
He grunted. He guessed he would. If he no longer cared about himself, then he'd care about his brother instead.
"Look, I should tell you that I've had an offer."
An offer? Fair enough as far as he was concerned; they were barely married anymore. But whoever had done the offering must have had something else in mind. "What sort of offer?"
"Now that Nythran's married Cherry, his and Haldred's old house is empty. He said it's mine if I want it, but I'll stay here as long as you need me."
"Oh."
Did he need her? He supposed she was his only friend left, for all he didn't have it in him to treat her better. She needed him like she needed an arrow in the head. "Do you want to leave?"
"Honestly?"
He shook his head. He didn't want to know.
"I did love you, Searle." Lettie stiffened, the pale silk of her nightgown liquid on her rock. "For a time."
"I know."
"But you never did love me, did you?"
He'd thought he could, once. He wished he cared enough to lie. "I tried."
She tore at her lip with her teeth. Sad, sure--but not surprised. "I thought so."
NEXT CHAPTER:
December 9, 1186
"It's kind of nice--you turning up unexpected." Nice... but out of the ordinary. Sparron was quite possibly the least spontaneous person Searle knew, and he'd long ago figured something a change there would require something monumental. So, much as he appreciated the visit, the question of just what monumental event had occurred gnawed at the back of his brain like a dog with a bone.
"Camaline said something that made me want to see you."
That seemed a bit weak. "That's all?"
"All that matters."
All that I'll say, Searle translated in his head. Damn it, Sparron.
"Just sit with me, all right?"
Searle put down the poker and made for the couch. Sparron may have needed a 'why', but not all people did. Searle himself didn't, not usually--unless it was where Sparron was concerned. But sometimes, Sparron needed Searle to just go along with it, and Searle guessed it was the least he could do. "I can't object to that."
"I hope tonight wasn't inconvenient."
Why would it have been inconvenient? "It isn't. The kids are in bed, and Lettie doesn't mind."
"If only everyone was like Lettie." Sparron's right hand reached across his lap and took Searle's. His palm was rough and raw from too many white knuckle nights of mental assaults, but Searle thought it fine as silk. When he was an old man, he'd take to grasping at any new material he came across, in continued vain attempts to recapture the feel of Sparron's touch.
He'd never managed to picture Sparron as an old man.
"Well... not quite like her. But I know what you mean." He thought he did, anyway. If there were lives after this one, he hoped Lettie found a better lover than him in the next. Someone who loved her properly, like Searle had always loved somebody else. "What did Camaline say to you?"
Sparron shrugged. "It's not important."
It was. But Searle let it go. "Well, I'm glad you're here."
Sparron's hand left his and instead flew to his side, guiding Searle's legs atop his own. Searle's head spun as he was dipped to the arm of the couch. Spun, but not alarmed.
"I'm glad I'm here too."
Spun, but still gnawed.
Why?
NEXT CHAPTER:
June 8, 1186
Not for the first time, Sparron wondered whether it was good or bad that he was losing the will to care.
Not about everything, of course. He loved his son. He loved his father and his siblings and Camaline, and even Renata for all the relationship with a stepmother who had only become such after he was a father himself was unlikely to be intimate. And he loved his daughter, even if he could only do so from afar. If he stopped caring about them--any of them--that would be the end.
But the details were slipping. All the circumstances, all the things that had bothered him in the past... they were all so small now. So inconsequential.
Or not quite inconsequential, but getting there. He wasn't about to climb the highest tower and sing the loud praises of Searle's perfect, pinchable ass. But he hadn't minded leaving his father's castle, treading slowly and clinging to walls as always, but nodding to any servants he passed, telling Florian he was in the mood for a nighttime ride and that he'd sleep at an inn if it got to be too late. He'd fed Lonel some cock-and-bull story about some shady figure creeping around Searle's castle wall, then Lettie had greeted him with a hug and a wink and a whisper that she was keeping separate quarters these days anyway.
As for Searle...
...well, it had been nice, not worrying.
He couldn't sleep. He didn't mind, he guessed, just listening to Searle's snores, the occasional mutter in his sleep. At least, he hoped that was Searle muttering. That was the nice thing about having another person in the room--telling himself that any voice he heard was theirs.
And he supposed he liked the added bonus of that voice being Searle's.
A pity that he couldn't have appreciated that before. Back when there had been time to spare.
I'm sorry, Searle.
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:
December 31, 1184
"Well." Searle finished smoothing his cowl, then reached for Sparron's hand and squeezed. Sparron tried not to think too hard about the possibility of having forgotten to lock the door. "That's one way to relax before a party."
"Tell me about it." It was Sparron's father's turn to host the New Years' Eve party, which had inspired even more anxiety than parties usually did--and that said something. Jeda and the girls had been around all week, which helped somewhat--and getting Hollie away from Ietrin for a while put one source of stress on hold entirely--but that did nothing to change the fact that every lord and lady and knight and all of their children would be here tonight, drinking and dancing and making noise, and maybe even engaging him in conversations he wasn't itching to have.
But Searle and his family had stopped by early. Lettie, of course, was visiting with her mother and Camaline and Jeda. Dea and Rennie got along quite well, so they'd gone off to library, leaving the pesky little siblings and cousins to play in the yard. And of course Sparron's father was still going over the preparations for tonight with Florian.
That left Sparron alone with Searle.
And that? Had admittedly not been the worst way to start the end of the year.
"It's odd to see you smiling."
So that was why his mouth ached. "Yes, it feels strange."
"Then stop."
"No." Who knew when he'd get another opportunity? "Last I checked, it wasn't illegal."
"Perhaps it ought to be." And yet, Searle couldn't have possibly looked less happy than Sparron himself must have. How was it that his laugh had commandeered his voice? The sound was halfway to song. "That looks painful."
"Not the basis by which legality is determined, Searle."
"I know, I know." Lips settling to a twinkle-eyed half-grin, Searle let go of Sparron's hand and took a step back. "It's just strange to see you in a good mood."
"Good strange?"
Searle shook his head. "Wonderful strange."
Wonderful. Even if things had been well for the past while--with Searle, with his mind, with his family for the most part--Sparron found reluctance in throwing around such words. His solace had always been in caution, and what merited caution more than the crushing force that was optimism, that most treasured agent of disappointment? 'Wonderful' risked too much.
But he supposed the past months had been... 'nice'.
"You know, I never thought I'd say this--" God, his own voice didn't sound right. How did people speak while smiling? "--but this year wasn't awful."
NEXT CHAPTER:
