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October 14, 1203
"So." Business as usual, Riona didn't bother with a greeting, which suited Searle just fine. They'd been practically raised as siblings, and they saw each other frequently enough that formality was superfluous. Some thought Riona cold, at least if not compared to her sister--but, frankly, those same people might have found her to-the-point manner admirable had she been a man.
Of course, if she had been a man, who was to say that her sickly mother would have chanced any additional pregnancies, such as the one that had produced said sister? And if said sister hadn't existed, Riona--man or woman or whatever--couldn't have possibly been the person she was today.
"I take it this urgent summons of yours means that our suspicions were correct?"
"Indeed. My contacts within the Retribute itself confirm that they received Danthia's request." Searle fought the urge to roll his eyes. His cousin Danthia, at least, was far too stupid to further her own regicidal plots. It was rare enough that the Retribute risked its own cover on the assassination of a monarch, never mind if her sisters, nephew, and three-going-on-four children were also included in the contract. Selfishness was useful if not necessary to a degree, but it defeated its own purpose if it failed to acknowledge the agency of others, their ability to act counter to the selfish aim desired.
"Dear Lord. Don't tell me: some elaborate scheme to push Roderick closer to the throne."
"Exactly that. She didn't mention Farilon, but I don't doubt she'd smother him in his sleep shortly after if he did end up making her a queen. I don't even think Roderick would be safe, now that he's old enough that he wouldn't need her as regent; she could push for his early marriage and dispose of him once a malleable grandson was in the picture."
Riona sighed. Little as she liked being Danthia's minder, she was the only one left with any shred of affection for the woman. That didn't mean that she couldn't see beyond that love. Searle had once had a beloved brother, one who had become something twisted and irrational to the point of cruelty, one whose death had been a mercy to more than just himself. Danthia would be her own undoing one way or another, but Lord knew who else--what else--would be undone in turn if her demise kept solely to her own hands. "The Retribute isn't fool enough to murder a popular queen."
"Especially without anyone they'd deem deserving of being framed." A Retribute assassin, so Searle had heard, would introduce themselves to their mark in one of two ways: 'My name is Justice', or 'My name is Mercy'. "They see themselves as judge and jury where judges and juries fail. They won't take a contract for the sheer point of being paid, even if someone like Danthia could offer them enough coin to eliminate seven or eight royals."
"And a less scrupulous lone assassin would have lacked the resources to pull off such a feat. A fortunate thing for you and the other puppet masters of the world, such chaos trapped in its own brand of order." Riona clasped her hands together, as if in prayer though Searle doubted she had much prayer left in her. "The Retribute now have Danthia herself on their radar, don't they?"
"Likely. She didn't put her name to her letter, but they'll make efforts to trace a request like that one. They won't kill her unbidden, but if a client marks her as a target, she won't be in the clear."
"'My name is Justice'." Riona bit her lip. Her mother, Searle remembered as well as he did his own name, had often done the same, often when dealing with Danthia. "It may be a selfish thought, but I believe I'd rather my sister die at Mercy's hand."
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 23, 1196
"It's natural to worry, son--but I think Celina will be fine. Her mother birthed nine babies and survived to be in that room with her right now. Her grandmothers had no problems either; one of them is still alive, and the other died of unrelated causes."
There was as much logic as could be applied to the dangers of childbirth in what Searle had to say to the nervous father-to-be, but Lorn couldn't quite manage to tell himself the same.
It was Searle's son... but it was Lorn's daughter. Thinking logically couldn't calm a man in regards to his daughter like it could with his daughter-in-law.
All he could do right now was be thankful that he and Leara had managed to get to Dovia for Celina's time. All he could do was hope that this wouldn't be the last time they saw her.
And maybe try not to flinch when his son-in-law turned to him. "Leara's births all went well?"
"Er... from what I've been told, yes." Any complications she might have encountered had never reached his ears. Maybe it was selfish, but he thought he preferred it that way. "Leara's been healthy her entire life. Same with Celina."
"So was my Aunt Ramona--but she died. My Aunt Elhina too."
There stood the limit on the logic applied to childbirth. "...That's true."
"Lorn. She's fine."
Lorn jerked his head toward the door. Ren's voice. Ren's figure.
Ren, with their newborn grandchild in her arms. "Celina did very well, and I'm sure she'll want to see you once she's had a chance to rest."
Thank God. Lorn sighed. Funny, how a person could go from being unable to stop worrying to being unable to stop smiling.
"God, I'm so relieved!" Karlspan rose from the couch, grinning like an idiot. Babies did have that affect on men. Lorn didn't doubt he'd looked twice as stupid when Celina had been born. "So this little one is...?"
"She's a girl. Celina wants to name her for her mother."
"Little Learianna. Little Learianna Minara," Karlspan cooed as Lorn and Searle shared a nod. They had a mutual granddaughter now. Odd how the world worked.
Odd... but at least his daughter had survived.
And he had a granddaughter now.
A beautiful, perfect granddaughter.
NEXT CHAPTER:
August 26, 1187
"There's a man here to see you."
Dania glanced toward the stairs, lip curling inward. She was the only one of Fred's siblings who knew exactly what it was he did, though he was sure the other two at least suspected something unsavory by this point. It was very rare that a client managed to trace him physically in person, instead of arranging a meeting through one of the usual channels, but on the off-chance someone did, Dania knew damn well just what sort of person that client was likely to be. Fred knew how Dania hated being kept in the dark, and he supposed that her knowing made them all just a little safer. It didn't make him feel any better about the worry he caused. "Are the children around?"
"No. I sent them out for a few things. They were here when he came, but he didn't seem much interested in them, though. Or me."
"Good." Fred never left a job unfinished. But if he did, there were those who would seek to punish him for his failure. The usual channels prevented such people from finding his family, but there was little he could do to conceal them from such parties who came to the home. But if this man hadn't made a point to study them, then he wasn't that sort. "Where is he?"
"Upstairs. He said he didn't intend to stay longer than he had to."
"All right." If that was the case, he'd want to be sure the man was gone before the children returned. If he knew Dania, she'd told them to call on their aunt or uncle while they were out--buy some more time.
He crossed the room and ducked into the stairwell, climbing at what he hoped was an assertive pace. He stepped onto the landing and met the face of his client: a man of slight build, fair complexion, and most inscrutable eyes.
"Yes?"
"Curt. Good. You'd like to get this over with just as much as I do."
Fred doubted it. But at least this would be quick. "How did you find me in person?"
"Let's just say we have some mutual friends." The man untied a pouch from his belt and spilled the contents to the floor. The amount was that of someone with considerable incentive. "I come on behalf of someone who has no issue paying so generously."
A nobleman. Or a wealthy merchant. Or a crime lord. Regardless... "And someone with a high profile mark."
"My sources tell me that won't be a problem for you." After King Roderick... he supposed he couldn't protest that. "I have no interest in making your life miserable. If you'd rather not, I'll leave right now and won't bother you again. But I'll have to take that money with me."
"No need. I'll take the job." Fred nudged together a couple of coins with his boot. Perhaps he could buy the children a horse. "Give me the details."
"All right." The man's mouth curved--not smiling, not frowning. Considering. "My employer and I have worked out the details of the procedure. If there's a part of it you can't do, don't be shy about it. We'll figure something out."
NEXT CHAPTER:
April 23, 1187
"Another tax hike in Tagrien?" Oswald scowled. There wasn't a king alive who didn't understand the importance of taxes--they were a good portion of a lord's salary, after all. But in exchange for their taxes, the lord was to provide his subjects with protection, maintenance of infrastructure, support... perhaps even the occasional service. With higher taxes, one was to expect improvements to those aspects.
But since Felron had succeeded his father as count, since he'd driven the tax rate up more months than not, not one Tagrien denizen had reported any such improvements. Indeed, Searle's network had intelligence indicating the opposite. The only purpose those extra coins served was the further weigh down Felron's pocket. "Tell me he's at least put men to work on some new docks at the lake."
"I've had no reports on any construction in that area. Or any other, for that matter."
"Damn."
The worst part of it was that technically, Felron had broken no laws, so Oswald could not punish him. The Shire Autonomy Statute of 1056 gave the lords of Dovian shires the right to do as they pleased with their tax money, with no attempt at policing from the king. It also prohibited a king from deposing a lord unless said lord had been found guilty of a crime by a jury of his peers. If Oswald intervened, even if they understood his reasons, the other lords would grow wary. Threatened. And he wouldn't be able to blame them.
However...
"Poverty in the region is increasing. The people are having to choose between feeding themselves or paying their taxes--and Felron's brutish collectors make it an easy decision. Some of the lords have confronted Felron about it, but he says that if his people want to eat, they ought to work harder. Of course, it's difficult to work when no one's willing to pay."
"Tertius never would have stood for this." But Tertius wasn't around to change anything. And as long as Felron kept to the law, Oswald's hands were tied if he wished to remain a just king. Yet, this was getting out of hand. "The people won't take this for much longer. There will be riots. Felron will squash them. That will lead to more riots. The shire will become a cesspit of violence and chaos, people stabbing each other in the back for a loaf of bread, crowds howling at the castle gates day in and day out. They're my people too; I don't like sitting idly by while Felron drives their home into ruin."
"I wouldn't either, in your shoes." His son-in-law's hand twitched. Some days, Oswald wondered if Searle had been too obvious a choice for the role of spymaster, but at his core, Searle was an honest man. His talents lay in using that honesty in dishonest ways--but never so dishonest as to be treacherous. To those he liked, at least. "Perhaps it would be in our best interests to... move Tagrien along in the line of succession. Make Arkon the count. Nearina would make an excellent regent while he finishes his schooling."
"Searle, if I could have deposed Felron, I would have done so some time ago."
"Indeed. But what if he were otherwise eliminated?"
Oswald clenched a fist. Of course. Searle knew the law as well as any. He hadn't meant that Felron ought to be simply stripped of his title. "You mean if he were assassinated."
"Well, it wouldn't be common knowledge. Natural deaths can be faked. Murders too. There's a whole shire full of people who want Felron dead, after all."
"Searle, I'm not framing one of my subjects for murder."
"And I'm not saying that you have to. I have a plan, and I know of just the man to execute it."
Was this what it meant, to be a just king? Pulling strings in the background, plotting covert assassinations of his own noblemen to avoid doing wrong by the others, to avoid violating his forefathers' own laws? It left a sickly taste on the roof of Oswald's mouth.
Nonetheless, he stepped forward. "I'm listening."
NEXT CHAPTER:
September 3, 1186
"What's this, then? Queen Lara has no need for doors?" Mona teased her daughter as the doll left the castle by means of an apparent two-story leap.
"No." But Lara offered no further explanation.
"She can fly, then?"
"No."
Mona sighed. Not that she didn't enjoy playing with her daughter, but she ached for the day that Lara would be ready for a little more complexity--a simple story, maybe, or at least consistent physics. When had Telvar and Avirelle outgrown the nonsensical? Had Avirelle, fully?
But she had to curse herself for her hypocrisy; Lara hadn't gotten her sense of whimsy from Zareth, after all. "All right... the prince is jumping out of the castle too."
"No."
"So boys don't get magic."
"No."
'No' no, or 'Yes' no? Damn it, Lara knew more words! "All right, then..."
Knock!
No second wasted, Lara dropped her doll and pointed. "Door!"
"Yes, sweetie. Door." Was two and a half a little old for stating the obvious? She guessed she'd worry about that later. "Zareth? Is that you?"
"No." Huh. That sounded rather like... "It's your brother. Sorry, the steward said you wouldn't mind."
"Of course I don't." Mona ran her hand along her daughter's hair, then scrambled to her feet. What was he doing here? He'd visited before, of course, but never without sufficient notice. "Come in."
He did as she said, sweeping the room with his swift eyes, the usual hint of a smirk in place. He never did change much. "Is that little Lara? Not so little any more, is she?"
Mona grimaced. Everyone always said that about kids. Was she the only parent in the world who wouldn't have minded if they grew up just a little faster? "That's what her papa always says."
It was in Lara's best interests to just let her be for a while, free of Mona's less-than-motherly thoughts, so she took the chance to greet Searle with an embrace before he could further the discussion of growth. "It's good to see you."
"You too. Sorry that I didn't give you any warning. Ren thought I ought to write, but I didn't want you to worry before you had to."
"Why would I have to worry?" Surely her family had endured enough tragedy in recent years, what with her dead father and her two dead brothers and her dead niece? Any God worthy of the name ought to have drawn the line somewhere. "No one else is dead or dying, are they?"
"No, this is a different sort of worry." The embrace parted, but contact resumed when he took her hands--not squeezing, more consistently firm. "Mother wants to pay you a visit."
NEXT CHAPTER:
April 3, 1185
Where did I put them?
Camaline ran a finger along the spines of the books, as if its presence would change a title to one she wanted. Aydelle's daughter Hanna was earning a little extra pocket money at university tutoring other students in math, and Aydelle had asked Camaline if she had any remedial texts to spare. She could have sworn to the presence of at least a couple in her office, but damned if she could recall exactly where she'd placed them. If Aydelle hadn't asked, no doubt she would have caught sight of them front and center every time she approached the shelf.
But... well, she could do a friend a favor, and she would. Their romance had been over long enough that awkwardness had little right to linger--and even if it hadn't, denying an innocent party valuable materials would have been a petty act indeed. She'd find those damn books even if she had to tear her office apart trying.
But she wouldn't have to tear it apart just yet, or so the knock on the door told her. She'd have to deal with whoever it was first. "Yes?"
"It's me." Xeta. Strangely, after a year in her position and with three of the four teachers having been there from the beginning, Xeta was the only one familiar enough to get away with 'me'. "May I?"
"Of course." She backed away from the bookcase as her friend entered, unsure what exactly she wanted. Xeta had come to her a few times about her pregnancy anxiety, but the last time had been some while back, and their frequency had been on the decline before that. Not that they never talked about anything else, but surely she would have gone to Rona first for any other concerns, and waited until the end of the day for mere visitation... "What do you need?"
"Uh... well, it might be a bit of an awkward favor, but I won't make a fuss if you say no."
"All right." In the interests of tact, she opted not to point out that discussing pregnancy was as awkward as it ever got for her. "What do you need?"
"It's about my part in the masque." Of course it was. Could anyone talk about anything else these days? Camaline had declined the offer of a part herself, having less than zero interest more than maybe--maybe--watching the thing. She hadn't expected to be alone in that regard. "I'm playing Lady Morgause's daughter-in-law, Lady Dindrane. I had a chat with Morgan about her character, and I think I can relate to her on most levels, but there's one thing that, um..."
"That what?"
"Well..." Xeta's lips broke into a sheepish smile. "Apparently Lady Dindrane... has an affinity for the female of the species."
"Oh." That explained why she'd been the choice over Xeta's sister. "Uh... well, I'm not really sure if I can tell you how to play that. It's not a personality trait."
"Ah, yes--sorry. But that's not quite what I wanted to ask." Her friend grimaced again, a not-insignificant red in her cheeks. "I just thought that maybe I could get in her head a little more easily if I, uh... had some experience in that regard."
And that really explained why she'd been the choice over Xeta's sister. "You don't mean--"
"Oh, no! No, I don't want to do that! Not that there's an issue with... that..." Her blush swelled, apologetic. "I just thought maybe a kiss?"
"A kiss."
"Just one. It's not totally inappropriate to ask you that, is it?"
"No, I don't mind." At least... she didn't think she did? It had been a while since her last kiss, and Xeta was not devoid of charms. If she was to develop some sort of fondness, a good friend was not her first choice--and nor was an employee. "It would just be a one-time thing, correct?"
"Yes, of course."
"All right, then." All right. Was it all right? Probably not if she was wondering what Xeta's breasts looked like beneath the shapeless work robes... "Um. Now, or...?"
"Now is fine."
"Oh. All right." What had been the first step in that kissing lesson of all those years ago? A hand to the shoulder? She put her hand on Xeta's shoulder. And Xeta's was on her...
...side? That was rather forward for a first kiss. More-so if it wasn't supposed to mean anything. But if Xeta had only ever kissed Jadin, then forward was all she knew.
Stop thinking about it so much. Just lean in and give her a kiss. She drew a little closer, caught between wanting to and not wanting to want to. Stop it. You've done this hundreds of times. Just get it over--
"Ow!"
And that was the problem with over-thinking. "Shit! Sorry."
"No, it's fine." Nonetheless, Xeta massaged the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "Really."
No, it wasn't fine. But it was probably for the best anyway. "Look, if you don't want--"
But apparently she did.
Huh. A few more seconds than anticipated passed, but Camaline hardly noticed. Strange, how a kiss could bring all other thoughts to pause like that, how time stopped for the brush of lip on lip. Strange, and nice.
Perhaps a little too nice.
And over as suddenly as it had begun. "Well, that ought to do it. Thanks, Cammie."
Oh. Right. "Uh, no problem. Anything for a friend and all."
"And you're the best friend. And just so you're reassured--when I tell Jadin that I actually went through with this, I won't tell him it was you."
Right. Jadin. "All right. Um... thanks."
"Any time."
Someone else knocked--a man from the sounds of it. That would do well to quell the tingling between her legs. "Come in."
"Camaline?"
Well--there was no one quite like her stepbrother to bring the mind back to speed. "Searle? What are you doing in Naroni?"
Was there ever a good answer to that question? "I have some bad news."
NEXT CHAPTER:
December 25, 1183
Merry fucking Christmas.
It was only a little past dawn, and that was the sole thing for which Searle was grateful at the moment. The steward had woken him a few hours prior and given him the news in the study while Ren and the children still slept, all the while not knowing that anything was wrong. Searle dreaded having to tell them, especially his nieces.
Those poor little girls knew they didn't have a daddy any more. But how could he crush the hope that one day, that might have changed?
He should have known. He'd been shocked, sure... but he hadn't been surprised. Some part of him must have been expecting that some chambermaid would one day walk into his brother's bedroom to find him dangling from the rafters. Ietrin just hadn't been the same since Ramona died.
The steward had brought the will. Ietrin had no sons, and his daughters were very young, so he'd left almost everything to Searle, with a portion set aside for their mother and half-siblings and instructions for his daughters' dowries. Or, Laralita and Ramona's dowries, at least. A brief footnote gifted Ramona's twin to a nunnery.
Not "Renata". Not "Ietrin's third daughter". Ramona's twin.
The elder Ramona had died giving birth to the twins. The first twin, who would later be named for her mother, had been an easy delivery, but the second had been breached. The baby had barely made it out alive, and Ramona herself had not been so lucky. Ietrin had never gotten over that, nor had he ever forgotten his grudge against his youngest, despite the fact that she hadn't done a damn thing.
Searle remembered the day he and Ren had ridden out to Ietrin's to take the girls into their care, when everyone from Ietrin's mother-in-law to King Oswald himself had agreed that his intervention would be for the best. The twins had been about a year and a half. Ramona, while sweet-natured, had been plump and spoiled, dressed more finely than Searle's own children, Ietrin's choice staff at her every beck and call for all she could not yet beck and call; Renata had been a scrawny, near-mute little bundle of loneliness, every cry she dared venture falling on deaf ears. If the girl's grandmother and aunts and uncles would have stood for it, Ietrin probably would have let her die.
The girls had been in Searle's care for over two years now. They received the same levels of care and attention, and as a result, were now more or less developmentally equal; Renata was even a little more clever than Ramona was, though he wouldn't have felt right saying so aloud. Both girls seemed happy, or as happy as they could have been with a dead mother and a deadbeat father. The issues only arose when Ietrin visited, when he doted over Ramona and Laralita while Renata's older cousins tried their darnedest to make up for her father's disinterest.
Perhaps it was wrong to disrespect the wishes of the dead, but Searle had told the steward to pass along the will to his head secretary, who had once earned a dubious living as a forger. He'd provided instructions to duplicate the will exactly, except for the part about the girls' futures; that was to allot an equal dowry to each daughter, with no mention of any nunnery. If Renata--or either of her sisters--chose to take the veil, then Searle would support that decision, but if she didn't, then he could and would dower her himself.
He would not see his three-year-old niece more or less exiled from the family, cloistered away to forever atone for the apparent sin of her birth. If that was what Ietrin would have insisted for her, then perhaps his suicide had been for the better. Searle would not mourn the man Ietrin had become, the bitter, useless wreck who blamed all of his problems on a toddler.
He would mourn his little brother, as he had now for years.
Searle stood, making his way out of the study and toward the stairs to the stables. The untroubled of the continent would be waking soon, and he supposed he'd best break the news to his mother himself.
NEXT CHAPTER:
February 10, 1182
"I'm not--"
"I know." If only because she was a recent widow for the second time over, Searle strained to ignore the fact that his mother had seen Ren nudge him back out the door to brace him for a minute in the hallway. What had she supposed they were talking about? The weather? "I know you don't intend to stay here."
She nodded--not that he didn't trust Ren, but the source was dubious. Nonetheless, it was a relief to know firsthand that his mother did not expect that of him; however deep the reasons he had, his contemporaries would not have stood for it if she had asked and he'd refused. "I just... there was no reason for the children and me to stay in Naroni. They're having supper in the kitchens now."
"I see." So she'd remembered her children this time. It was petty to be bitter, but old agony never bowed to circumstance, and his mother would never know the difference anyway. "Have you considered asking in Valcria?"
"No. I couldn't do that to my parents, not with the state of things there." His brother must not have told her about the state of things here. "I will find somewhere else; I just need some help. It's been a while since I've lived in Dovia."
"No one is more aware of that than I."
His mother's head drooped, her blond braid dangling across her chest with the same limp, alien resignation that lurked about the rest of her. That might have been too much. "Searle..."
"No. That was out of line. I'm sorry." Sorry for saying it, at least. For saying it today of all days. But it was a mistake for which he could atone. "I shall have a house built for you. It won't be as luxurious as what you're used to, but it will be large enough and comfortable enough for you and the children. I'll send for an architect first thing tomorrow. I suppose you'll have to stay here tonight, but after that..."
After that what? What had he been about to say? He'd probably been about to tell her to stay with Ietrin, but Ietrin was in no state to be housing grieving relations--not when Ietrin's own daughters, as of three months prior, were officially Searle's wards. And Laralita was in no state to hear about that.
Then again, she would find out anyway. The girls' presence here would not go unnoticed long. "Would a distraction be helpful?"
"A distraction?" Her lips pouted, as if she were somehow unfamiliar with the concept. Then again, when had she ever been swamped? That required depths he'd never glimpsed in her. "What sort of a distraction?"
"Ietrin needs help. Running his lands, I mean. And his household, and everything." She blinked. Sure enough, that had never made it into Ietrin's letters. Perhaps Searle should have swallowed his pride and written her himself. "He hasn't be the same since Ramona died."
"Oh."
In his own head, Searle winced. What an idiotic thing to say. Clearly, the Laralita standing before him knew exactly how Ietrin felt.
But whatever blow-up or crying fit he braced himself for, it didn't happen. His mother only swallowed. "I suppose I could help him with the household, and it might be a good experience for Farilon and Conant to help him with the lands. I do owe it to him, don't I? I did miss his entire life."
"Well... that is neither here nor there." It wasn't. It was here and there and everywhere. For now, though, he'd have to set that aside. He didn't need that on top of everything else. "But he can use all the help he can get, and it might be good for you to take your mind off of things while your new house is being built. I'm sorry if that isn't as convenient as you'd hoped."
She sighed. "Nothing in this past while has been convenient."
Searle nodded. "I know."
NEXT CHAPTER:
