In Which Renata Bids Farewell

June 7, 1181

"Your grandchildren won't be in any danger from Frandred, will they?"

"Abrich's children?" Renata shook her head. Thank God for technicalities. "No. Abrich inherited the debt, but not the status of the debtor; his girls are safe because Arkon was never their guardian."

"Good." Octavius took her hand and held it to his lips for a brief parting kiss. It was such a tacked-on formality, so strictly business in nature, but it was better that way. His life was complicated enough without having to deal with hers as well. "If you do end up needing some more money, let me know."

"Thank you, but that shouldn't be necessary. Abrich should have enough by the end of summer." Earlier, with the contribution Searle and Valira had insisted on. Searle had also insisted on accompanying her to Tetran, though she couldn't fathom why. Perhaps she was too old to have married again, but he knew full well that she'd had her reasons, damn good ones--and he understood that. And he knew that she and Alina wanted to be on the road before noon, so this would be nothing but a brief farewell.

She could flatter herself by thinking he simply wanted a little more time with his mother, but she doubted it. More likely he was just trying to wrap his head around the thought of a new stepfather at his age. Abrich and the twins would be in similar shock upon her return, for all Abrich had already known of the plan, but if they loved their sister at all--which she knew they did--they would hold their peace.

"All right. I suppose I'll see you at my daughter's wedding next month?"

"In Sarona? Naturally. The groom is my great-nephew." Never mind that the bride was her stepdaughter now. She wondered if Octavius had told Thallie and her siblings yet, or if he planned to at all. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't.

"Still a strange thought, isn't it? Having great-nephews and great-nieces old enough to marry. I'm just glad my grandchildren are too young yet."

Renata smirked. "Don't get used to it. But at least neither of us are being roused in the night by newborns any more."

"No, I can't claim to miss that at all." Octavius's eye wandered over Renata's shoulder to Searle, a sly teasing twinkle not unnoticed. "Of course, you'll be putting up with that again come October, so perhaps it's unfair of us geriatrics to boast."

"Oh, I don't sleep much as it is," Searle muttered as Renata turned her head. The claim may have had merit, but he looked like he planned to do little today apart from lounging about in bed as it was. "With all due respect, Mother, I seem to recall you wanting to leave early?"

"That eager to get me out of the country, are you?" She shot him a wink, which he countered with a frown, then turned back to Octavius. "But I do suppose I ought to be going, or at least let you get on with the rest of your day."

"Very well." It was the right answer, but some part of her might have preferred some hesitation beforehand. Again, though--for the best. "Have a pleasant trip. I'll see you next month."

She smiled. "Until then."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Garrett Does Not Have One of Each

October 21, 1180

Red Severin--both dark-haired little boys on the floor were named Severin, and both were called Sevvie by their fathers, so Garrett had taken to distinguishing them by the color of their shirts--was Valira and Searle's younger son, the only child they had brought with them as their other three were plenty old enough to spend the night with only the nurses about. He and Karlspan were less than a year apart and played together well; Red Severin was by far the more outgoing of the two, but while many children his age might have been frustrated by quieter playmates, the boy had nothing but patience for his shy, mild cousin.

Blue Severin was Lonriad and Asalaye's eldest. He wasn't mean, but he seemed to prefer animals to other boys, if the plight of poor captive Sheba was any indication. His little brother, scared of the bigger boys as year-old children often were, clung instead to his father's tunic.

Garrett couldn't be sure what he might have done with little Karlspan if his brothers-in-law hadn't had the good sense to bring their own sons along. He would have done what he could for the boy, of course--what sort of horrible father wouldn't try to comfort his son when the only mother the kid had ever known could very well be in mortal peril?--but if he'd been the one distracting Karlspan, wouldn't that bring further emphasis to his own worries? Karlspan's preoccupation with his little cousins and the presence of the other men were the only things holding Garrett's own sanity in place.

Not that the men were doing the greatest job of it.

"Maybe Nanalie's at an advantage? You know, being a midwife and all." Searle's suggestion was a misguided attempt at reassurance where distraction would have been preferred. "She knows what to expect, and how to best compose herself. And she's not the sort who's prone to panic if something goes wrong, so extra stress shouldn't be a problem."

As if to punish him, Lonriad didn't only nod in agreement, but apparently felt the need to contribute. "Plus you know how everyone listens to Nanalie. She's probably nagged the kid out already, no problem."

Garrett glowered at them both. At least his father-in-law had the sense not to make such comments. But then he remembered that Nanalie's mother had died birthing her youngest and suddenly that wasn't any better. "Er, so... surely you've heard my uncle's thinking about throwing a tournament? Planning on entering?"

He drummed on the desk, fighting to keep a grimace in place as his brothers-in-law took their sweet time answering. Too much time.

And after all that--two shakes of the head.

"If I'm going to get that messy, I'd hope to have a better reason than some vanity contest of brute strength."

"And you think I'd risk this pretty face? What does that leave my poor extended family to refresh their eyes with after a glimpse at my sister's husband?"

His father-in-law's forehead collided with his open hand. Garrett could relate to the sentiment. "Really, nobody likes winners' purses any more?"

"What's the point? It'll just go to Casimiro or Ashe or Neilor anyway. Or Isidro, if he forgets his helmet and the mere sight of his ugly face scares his opponents right off their horses." Lonriad shrugged, planting a kiss on his little son's head before steering right back to the conversation Garrett had been trying to avoid. "What about you? Is your new little mite going to be able to see his daddy fight before he has the chamberpot figured out?"

For Christ's sake, if the next phrase out of your mouth isn't--

"Oh, hello Valira."

That hadn't been quite what he was thinking. Regardless, Garrett swallowed back some misplaced nerves and turned his head. His sister had indeed emerged from the birthing room.

And not unaccompanied.

Whatever the hell they'd been talking about forgotten, Garrett scrambled to his feet. "Nanalie--"

"She's fine." Valira gestured for him with a jerk of her chin. "Get over here."

Relieved and grateful beyond the point where disagreement was possible, Garrett did as he was told. Not that he needed to be told.

A little face stared at him: tiny baby lips in a half-imagined smile, a nose far cuter than whatever horror he'd braced himself for, eyes that were his own but somehow better. He hadn't expected this calm so soon. He'd been caught off guard. He was in love.

"Hello." He stepped forward and ventured a small wave; hazel eyes followed his hand. "I'm your papa."

The baby blinked. Valira propped up the little bundle for a better look at Garrett's face; this one had missed out on big brother Karlspan's newborn fear of large noses. "You're just adorable, you sweet little... uh, what--?"

Valira smirked. "She's a girl."

"A girl!" His heart somersaulted. Not sure how he wasn't bouncing off the walls, he glanced at his little son on the floor. "Here that, Karl? You have a little sister."

Karlspan dropped his doll, beaming. "Yay!"

"'Yay' indeed! Did Nanalie name her, or...?"

Valira nodded. "She wants to name her after her mother, if that's all right with you."

"Of course! Isn't this great, everyone? Now we have one of each." And he cemented that fact with a kiss to his daughter's brow. Nanalie was alive. Karlspan was glad to be a big brother. And the baby--his little Honora--was the sweetest little girl he'd ever seen. It was nothing like Karlspan's birth, what ought to have been a celebration marred by poor Elhina's fate, what he'd kept trying and trying and failing to tell himself would not happen to Nanalie as well. He did not think he'd ever been happier. He did not think he ever could be happier. Surely this was the pinnacle of happiness. How could it not be?

What could possibly make him any happier?

"Um... Garrett?"

It was his father-in-law--still quiet but no longer tense, calm and perhaps a little amused. But of course he would be. He had a new granddaughter, after all. "I'm not sure that's quite correct."

Eh? "Sorry, I don't quite--" Behind Adonis, a mischievous Searle gestured to the door.

Huh. Perhaps it was possible to be happier. "She didn't look that big."

"She is a tricky one, my sister." Mindful of Garrett's third child--holy shit, he had three children!--Asalaye kicked the door shut behind her. "You're lucky that they don't look the same."

Garrett took a minute to glance back and forth between the babies. It was true that they weren't identical--or even alike, really, despite being equally beautiful. They both had his eyes and they both wore them better, and they both had a few wispy strands of similarly brown hair, but that was where the similarities ended. There was the tiniest hint of a bump in the bridge of Honora's nose, and perhaps slightly more definition in the other's chin, and maybe some difference in the overall shape of the face. That would be more than enough.

Well, except... "So, this one--"

His sister and sister-in-law shared a giggle before responding in time. "Girl."

"Then we'll name this one for my mother. Hear that, Karl?" Garrett didn't have to look at his son to know the little mite was smiling. "You have two little sisters!"

"Yay, yay!"

And if ever Garrett needed two words to sum up this day, he couldn't think of any more fitting than those.

Yay, yay.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Rifden Is Not Immune to the Flames

December 9, 1173

In their younger days, Rifden and Searle had been friends--best friends, even. They were the same age, both neat and finicky and neurotic as far as young boys went, and Rifden's older siblings had been employed at the castle where Searle had been a page, so it had been a convenient arrangement. They got along--better than either of them did with most other boys their age, certainly--had similar interests and lived in close enough proximity to visit whenever they pleased.

But life had a funny way of tearing people apart. Jothein had been killed and Rifden had assumed full responsibility of the shop; not too long after, Searle had been knighted and married and off having babies. They'd tried to keep in touch, but there were cabinets to build and lands to manage and there just weren't enough hours in a day or a week or a month to keep up with old friends of a different class. They'd grown apart. That was that.

But suddenly, they were back in each other's lives. Figured that it would happen under such tragic circumstances. "I thought I'd come by to thank you for making that coffin on such short notice."

What could he say? It didn't take long to make such a small coffin. "Least I could do."

Poor man. In comparison to the rest of the continent, child mortality in Naroni was most fortunately low, but the occasional young death was inevitable and Searle's youngest had drawn the short straw. From what Rifden could gather, the little girl had come down with a sudden, brutal sickness and had expired in a matter of days. This was some weeks ago now and the coffin was far back on his mental list of most recent projects, but it was the first time he'd seen Searle since the incident. This was probably the first time the poor man had left his castle since the funeral; the time they'd found that dead kitten seemed such a small matter now.

"Well... I should be going." Searle turned around without so much as an obliging wave. "I'd rather not leave Valira and the girls alone for too long."

"I understand."

"No--you don't." Already halfway out the door, his former friend looked back it him for a couple seconds, his somber aqua eyes weighed down by lids too heavy to lift. "But thanks for the sentiment."

He was quick to leave, but the remnants of the December draft lingered. Rifden grabbed a nearby flint and sparked the fire, holding his hands so close he thought they might melt. Or maybe they couldn't. There was something sinister about hands that made caskets for year-old children; perhaps they were immune to the flames.

Someone else knocked on the door. Rifden shivered; irrational as it was, he couldn't shake the feeling that every customer who walked through that door was in need of a baby grave. He was a good man, or so he made a point to remind himself. He did not display coffins. He didn't care to sell coffins, make coffins. Certainly such small coffins had no fair reason for existing. "Yes?"

"Rifden?"

His spine snapped to an upright position as Laveria's pretty young daughter stepped inside. Aerina was only fifteen, but she'd recently proven old enough to catch his eye as she strode past his shop on her morning walk. He knew her fairly well--she was his next-door neighbor, after all--and he'd always found her pleasant, and rather interesting even if she'd only just achieved such status in the physical sense. He'd considered courting her, but he'd made a point to restrain himself since Searle's daughter had died. Young women of Aerina's caliber deserved better than a man who fashioned coffins for babies.

And yet, he couldn't help but look at her. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

She closed the door and approached him, a grimace on her face but something else entirely in her eyes. She was a lady--she was trying to be cordial--but there was a reason she was here and it was no laughing matter. "I could say the same of you, actually."

Rifden's brow raised as Aerina's mouth fell. What did she mean by that? For all he admired her, he doubted she'd given him a second thought in that regard. "Sorry?"

"I just locked up my mother's shop." Her trembling hands interlocked if only to steady themselves; the attempt was in vain. "She had to leave on a call."

Odd. Laveria was as competent as ever, but she was getting up in years and wasn't widely trusted in any case. She was the last resort. If someone had sent for her, then it was urgent. "What sort of call?"

"I'm not allowed to say." Her arms folded and her shoulders hunched, her entire frame collapsing inward, shaky and unsteady all the while. She wasn't a small and helpless girl, or at least she never had been until that moment and maybe she never would be again. Whatever this was, it disturbed her; whoever it was, she was frightened. "I hate to ask this, but... can I stay here until she gets back? I don't want to be alone today."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Searle Gets a Last Chance

May 7, 1173

Searle squirmed his way out of his brother's embrace and looked him over. It hadn't been quite two years since the royal wedding and he appeared rather the same as always, save for one notable difference. "I'm taller than you."

"Perhaps, but you're still my little brother." Abrich stood on his toes and ruffled Searle's hair; he pretended to be annoyed. "And, as such, you shall always be known as 'Shorty'."

He felt his nose wrinkle, but he chose to otherwise ignore the comment. It was so rare that he got to see his brother that he didn't want to ruin the occasion with an argument. "Anyway, what brings you to Naroni?"

At once, his brother's face fell from levity to an unfathomable seriousness, as though he had just been reminded of some terrible mission. A moment or so passed, the tension growing with it. The pit of Searle's gut turned to stone. "Abrich?"

His brother nodded toward the couch. "Let's sit down."

Not giving Searle a chance to reply, Abrich lowered himself into the far seat with the pained, sloth-like movements of a man four times his age. Not sure if he wanted to hear the sort of news that could make a geezer of a man only four years his senior, Searle hesitated for a moment before joining his brother on the couch. "What's this about?"

Abrich sighed. "It's Father."

The stone within his core shot up to Searle's throat, its jagged edges etching scars into the tissue and its frigid surface turning his very spit to ice. Was his father... dead? Dying? Surely his mother would have written if--

"It came on so suddenly," Abrich muttered as if reading Searle's thoughts. "There was an outbreak in the castle. Father got sick. So did Odette, and Ramona and Delia and a handful of servants. The girls are fine, and the servants as well, but Father..." He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

Searle pulled himself out of his slouch and locked eyes with his brother. The details were sparse, but he had just one question. "Is he alive?"

"Yes, but the healers don't think he'll make it to June." Abrich's fingers shook as he fiddled with the strings of his pouch. He looked frightened and anxious and alone, much like a lost child. Searle wanted to make it better, but he couldn't. He was a lost child too.

"Abrich..."

"I've already been to Armion for Conant," his brother informed him, not giving him a chance to finish the thought--not the worst thing, considering he had no thought to finish. "And to Veldora for Karlspan. Jadin and Xeta said they'd take care of your lands if you and Valira and the girls wanted to come back to Dovia and see Father one last time."

One last time. He was not sure how he would pass this news onto his wife. He was not sure he could take his three young daughters on a long journey and expect them to understand that they'd never see Grandpapa again. He did not know if he had the strength to sit at his father's bedside and watch him die.

But then again... this was his father. He'd scarcely seen him since he'd been sent to Naroni at five, but they'd written, exchanged gifts, laughed and cried whenever they visited. There would be no more letters and no more gifts, but if there was a chance for a last audience, then damned if he didn't take it.

It was the last chance. It was his father.

"We'll leave first thing tomorrow."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Searle Anticipates Yesterdays and Tomorrows

April 7, 1167

"Look, I know you aren't too keen on the idea," Searle's uncle sighed, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed, "but please try to keep an open mind in regards to Valira. You must realize that she has just as little choice in the matter as you yourself." He raised the crook of his elbow to his face and coughed; a brief spell of illness had spread throughout the east side of the kingdom, and only Searle and a handful of servants had remained unaffected out of all the castle residents. Fortunately, the others seemed to be on the mend.

Or unfortunately. Maybe if they'd still been ill enough--and if the baron's family had still been ill enough as well--then he would have been able to sneak off to the pond to see that girl again. Never before had he been kissed just like that, as if their two pairs of lips had been molded for each other, their tongues fibers of the same tight thread. She had been willing, but not easy; when he had reached for her laces, she'd smacked his hand away, giggling as she told him, "Not yet, you silly boy!" Yet--that betrayed an intention.

What if this 'yet' had been meant to happen today? What if she was waiting for him at the pond right now? If he didn't meet her there, would he ever see her again?

His aunt gave him a quick hug, then stepped back and looked him over. "You seem a little edgy. Nervous?"

That seemed like a safe explanation. "I guess so."

In the next corner of the room, his cousin Jadin snickered. "Oh, come off it, Searle. She's just a girl--it's not like you've never seen a girl before."

Searle groaned; Jadin was not quite at the age where he should have started discovering girls, but much to everyone else's misfortune, he was rather precocious in that regard. "And if you really don't like her, just picture her naked. I know that always makes me feel more comfor--ow!" He cringed as his older sister delivered a swift kick to his shin. "What the hell was that for?"

Raia tapped her foot impatiently. "Stop being such a pig--unless of course you want me to tell Camaline you've been undressing her with your eyes?"

"And why should she have a problem with that? It's not like she's the only girl I--"

"Jadin, do yourself a favor and stop talking," urged his father, an unimpressed frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Miraculously--or perhaps with the help of a threatening glare from Raia--Jadin shut up. Satisfied, Searle's uncle turned back to him and offered a brief twitch of a smile. "She really is a spirited little thing; I'm sure the two of you will have a lot of fun together if you give each other a chance."

He wanted to believe him, but since he hadn't seen the evidence himself, he found he could barely even nod.

"Papa?" asked Viridis from the couch out-of-the-blue, Vera squirming beside her. "Will I get a party when my betrothed comes to call?"

Searle's uncle smirked. "Got anyone in mind at this point, angel?"

The eight-year-old nodded, her pin-curled hair bouncing about every which way as her head bobbed. "A prince!"

Shaking her head, the girl's mother laughed. "Ah yes, of course--a prince."

Searle caught sight of Riona and the two younger boys making faces on the couch--the idea of their sister's prince was quite the object of ridicule for them, no doubt. He glanced to little Vera to see if she shared their sentiment, but she only stared at the floor, the heel of her slipper rising and falling as she moved her little foot. Was she all right? She wasn't usually so quiet. "Vera..."

Before he could say anything else, someone knocked on the door. "We're here!" came the lilting voice of the baroness from the front room. Searle swallowed; his imminent doom had finally arrived.

"Come in," his uncle bade her and her party--this was it. Searle counted the seconds in his head: one, two, three...

The door swung open and in stepped the pretty baroness, little Thallie in her arms. The baron followed with Pandora, then Sparron and Jeda entered at his heels, flashing smiles around the room before proceeding to Raia and Jadin. "Sorry we're late," the baron apologized. "Holladrin had a bit of a coughing spell just before we left."

Searle's aunt frowned, her head tilting in concern. "Are you all right, Holladrin?"

"Oh yes, thank you," the baroness assured her. "It was just a slight delay--nothing to worry about at all, really."

Thallie writhed in her mother's arms, grabbing one golden curl in her fat little fist and proceeding to gum it. It was a rather nauseating sight; was this what he had to look forward too? Restless babies with nothing better to do than ruin his hair? What sort of a future was that?

His contempt must have shown, for as soon as the baroness turned away, his uncle cuffed him across the arm. "Be nice."

Defeated, Searle put on the largest, most obvious grimace he could muster and waved to each of the newcomers. His uncle didn't look amused, but he was past caring at this point. What did it matter what anyone thought of him? His life was effectively over anyway.

After a minute or so, the baron's squire trailed in, sending a nod Searle's way. "Searle."

Searle squinted; he normally got along fine with Garrett, but right now he was not so much his friend as he was the brother of his betrothed. "Garrett."

"My sister will be here in a second," the younger boy promised. "She's just looking at the tapestry in the front room."

She can take her time, Searle thought to himself. "I see."

"Oh, I'm sure you do."

It wasn't Garrett's voice--or even a man's voice--but it was familiar, and coming from near the door. Searle peeled his eyes from the other squire and glanced toward the source of the sound. He didn't expect his gaze to linger much longer than a minute, but...

Oh my God!

"What's the matter, Sailor? Feeling a little green around the gills?"

He could not believe it. He simply could not believe it.

"Searle, Valira; Valira, Searle," his aunt introduced them hastily before crossing the room to her younger two sons. "Lonriad! Stop purposely bouncing into your brother!"

That was probably the last thing he heard from anyone else for the rest of his stay in the room; whatever else was going on, he found he could only focus on Valira as she made her way toward him. "You knew it was me, didn't you?"

"That I did," she insisted, gesturing to her brother. "Garrett met my father and I at the border, and we rode back to my uncle's castle in a carriage. You and your cousin Raia were riding nearby and we could see you through the window, so Garrett pointed you out. I was out for a ride myself yesterday when I caught sight of you, so I decided to follow you for a little ways and not introduce myself."

In spite of himself, Searle couldn't fight the small smile any longer. "And what a non-introduction it was. Would you like to talk in private?"

She nodded. He took her by the hand and pushed past the crowed, leading her into his uncle's study and closing the door behind them. The exit probably hadn't looked good from the adults' point of view, but as far as he was concerned, they could think what they wanted; this was his betrothed, after all.

As soon as they were alone, Valira's features came alight with a blend of ease and relief. "I hate parties."

"Me too," agreed Searle.

"They're so stifling."

"And intrusive. When we have our own castle, let's never throw a single one."

"Agreed."

She leaned toward him, her white teeth revealed as her grin widened. "I don't see how so many people like them. There are much more effective ways of having fun--take yesterday, for example."

Was she reading his thoughts? "Yesterday was certainly the most fun I've had in some time."

Had that been the right thing to say? He got a wink for a reply--that was a good thing, correct? "Well, I suppose we're just going to have to make a whole hell of a lot of yesterdays, then."

Well, at least one of them knew what to say. Desperate to prove himself, Searle wracked his brain for something clever. "You know... we could make today a yesterday."

Valira blinked. Twice. Thrice. Perhaps it had not been the wittiest thing he could have come up with.

Then again, perhaps it had.

"You know what's got me even more excited than all the yesterdays?" he muttered as they parted after several minutes.

Valira raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He grinned. "All the tomorrows."

Her hazel eyes dazzling, she opened her mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by the frenzied, nervous arrival of Searle's youngest cousin. "Vera?"

"Are you all right, honey?" Valira asked the girl, turning around, her brow furrowed.

The little girl gave neither of them any heed--they may as well have been back in the other room with everyone else. She skitted a few feet inward, then let out a soft cry, shaking uncontrollably. "It's everywhere..."

"Vera?"

Her sister Riona had rushed in, the door swinging shut behind her. She too seemed oblivious to Searle and Valira, but for a completely different reason. "Vera, are you all right? I saw you come in here, and you're all shaky..."

She trailed off, as if expecting Vera to fill in the blank--she didn't. "It's all over everywhere. I can't see anything else--"

Thud!

The aftermath of the crash--for Searle, at least--was made entirely of sound. A woman's scream. A man cursing. A girl muttering the phrase 'Oh God' over and over. Voices blurred together--'What happened?'--'Check for a pulse!'--'Someone go for Laveria!'

Someone had fallen. On the other side of the wall, someone was lying on the hard floor, and Searle's boots would not move. All he knew of the scene was the sound.

His eyes, meanwhile, rested on Vera, wailing as her frightened sister tried in vain to soothe her. She lifted her head only once, and only slightly--just enough so that Searle could see her mouth the words "It's everywhere."

NEXT CHAPTER: