In Which Renata Is More Annoyed than Offended

July 13, 1201

"All right, I get that you don't like me," Renata snarled as Lady Odette waited in self-righteous fury for her to bow to the juvenile request. "But your son asked me to marry him. I agreed to marry him. Your husband's will stated explicitly that Arkon find his own wife. You have no right to tell me to take back my answer."

"I have every right! I am his mother. I am widow to the previous Lord Beretrin, and cousin to the King of France, and my son shares both my pedigree and his father's. Arkon can--and should--marry much higher than the unwanted orphan daughter of a disgraced knight."

Renata rolled her eyes. It always, always came down to rank and connections with Lady Odette. She doubted the woman wiped her ass without conscious deliberation of how a cousin of the King of France ought to do so. "If pedigree is the issue, I'll remind you that my paternal grandmother was both Countess of Bandera and Queen of Naroni--and that my mother was sister to your own late husband."

"That changes nothing! Your sinful father took his own life, and you were deemed unworthy of even his trivial attention. If your own father cast you off, why should you be worthy of my son?"

Because your son is a hell of a lot better a man than my father ever was? Because even Uncle Searle--who loved my father best--believes that my father was wrong? Not that Lady Odette would accept any of those answers. "Your son is Lord Beretrin, is he not? Don't presume to know what's best for Lord Beretrin better than Lord Beretrin himself does."

The woman gasped, spiteful eyes those of a vengeful beast. "Are you mocking me?"

At least that was proof of some sense of reality. "Is it that obvious?"

"Why you horrid, impertinent little--"

Whatever Lady was about to call her--there was no shortage of possibilities, Renata was sure of it--she didn't get a chance to say it before the door swung open and her aunt stepped into the study. Renata bit her tongue in relief. Nobody was better suited to dealing with people like Lady Odette than Aunt Ren: princess, countess, and having none of it.

"Might I ask what's going on in here?"

"Ah, your highness." Lady Odette bade Aunt Ren a quick curtsy, then glared back at Renata. "I was just expressing to this girl how inappropriate her betrothal to my son is."

Aunt Ren crossed her arms over her chest. "'This girl' being my niece?"

"Well, your husband's niece. But surely, your highness, you must admit--"

"That 'this girl' is practically a daughter to me and I see no reason why a mere lord should seek to do any better than someone I love as my own?"

"Your highness, surely--"

"Surely you wouldn't presume to doubt the judgment of a princess." To that, Lady Odette had no reply. "My niece will make her personal decisions as she sees fit, and so will your son. Now, I must request that you leave my castle."

"Your highness!"

"Leave--before I call for the hounds."

Lady Odette shot on last glare Renata's way, then turned back to Aunt Ren. If that sour expression lingered as she turned around, that would not be forgotten by the recipient. "This isn't over."

"It had better be," Aunt Ren warned as Lady Odette stormed passed her. Once the furious tread had faded, Aunt Ren shook her head. "Dreadful woman. I'm sorry you had to put up with that."

Renata shrugged. "I'll survive. She's so ridiculous that it's difficult to feel more offended than annoyed."

"Regardless, if you find you can't stand living under the same roof as her, don't hesitate to tell your uncle and me." Her aunt stepped forward and pulled her into a hug, arms still so strong and loving even though Renata was now the taller of the two. "If there's any dirt on her that will force her to run back to her cousin in France, you know your uncle will find it."

"Tempting! But, Arkon had no more say in who his mother was than I did about my father." For the sake of their own children, at least, they had two solid examples of what sort of parents not to be.

And some examples of how best to be as well. "Though, for the record, I would have picked you and Uncle Searle in a heartbeat."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Lorn Is a Grandfather

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:

In Which Ren Is Pressed for a Warning

May 23, 1186

"My cook wanted me to ask when she could expect this year's first batch of vegetables." And Ren would have probably asked of her own accord had the cook not mentioned it. She didn't much care for vegetables in general, but whatever Laralita was doing to eliminate their inherent bitterness, she did it damn right. If they hadn't added the garden to the house, she would have gone to her grave never having guessed that her snobbish, luxury-loving stepmother had such a green thumb.

Laralita sighed. "Soon, hopefully. The house has been so quiet with just me and Lily and Marsden here. It would have been nice to have some in time for Conant's return, but I suppose I can still send some back with him for the journey. Of course, once he heads back, the growing season will be almost over, so then the waiting starts again."

"I'm sure you and Lily and Marsden will find something to do."

"Oh, I don't know. Fall is such a gloomy time." It would be, for a gardener. Restless, Laralita looped a finger beneath her braid and flicked it. "Say, this is a little early, but would you mind hosting Lily and Marsden if I go to Carvallon to visit Ramona in November?"

"Ramona?" Oh, no. "As in... Queen Ramona of Carvallon?"

"As in my daughter." Her mother-in-law laughed, apparently having found nothing suspect in Ren's tone or phrasing or body language. Somehow. "Though I suppose she is Queen of Carvallon, isn't she? I should very much like to see her thriving. And to meet my two little Carvalli grandchildren!"

Unless Mona had left out some crucial details in her last letter to Searle, Laralita had only one Carvalli grandchild. Ren doubted she'd react well to learning otherwise--especially if it came with the knowledge that Mona was not, in fact, a queen. Mona would have to be warned. "That's rather a long trip to make unaccompanied, isn't it?"

"I was thinking I'd take Farilon with me. Give him a nice break from that wretched girl he married."

"Ah... yes, of course." Weak attempt as it was, why had she even tried? There was no discouraging Laralita once she made up her mind. "Will you write to her first, at least?"

"I considered it--but I think I'd rather surprise her. She probably thinks she'll never see me again, after all. What better way to be proven wrong?"

Ren could think of about a hundred. At least November gave plenty of time to send word to Mona. Though, was such a message something safe to be put in writing? Searle would be making a trip to Naroni with Karlspan in the summer; perhaps he'd head to Carvallon after bringing the boy back. It was hardly ideal. Ren would have gone to Mona herself, but now that her latest bout of nauseousness and lack of course had been confirmed for what it was, that was out of the question.

But poor timing aside... surely they could still give her a few months' notice?

"Of course..."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Laralita Rediscovers the Buried Beacon

July 16, 1182

"...and this will be the kitchen." Ren dropped Laralita's arm as she dragged her into the last room, a spacious square in the back corner of the first floor. "Not that you'll be spending much time in here, since you'll have a cook and a housekeeper both, but everyone ought to know the layout of their own home."

Laralita agreed--and having memorized three castles, this little house would hardly be an effort.

Oh, but perhaps she was being too harsh! True to his word, Searle had designated a stretch of land and hired an architect less than a week after Laralita's arrival. Throughout the rest of the winter and much of the spring, she'd been summoned frequently from her temporary home at Ietrin's manor, all for the sake of being an active part of the blueprint's revisions.

Searle, of course, had set a budget, but there had still been room for customization, and the architect had been thorough in seeing that through. Did she plan on remarrying, having more children, he'd asked when the question of bedrooms arose; that was a resounding 'no'. Any pets? Over her dead body. How many servants? Well, Searle was stingy enough to think that three would suffice, the two Ren had brought up plus a maid and nanny rolled into one, and Laralita had opted to pick her battles. Searle was already paying for the construction and the furnishings (and had given her free reign on the latter! Within the budget, of course); if she needed any more servants, Roderick had designated her and the children a not-insignificant amount that would more than suffice.

"So?" Her daughter-in-law grinned--a little falsely, but that could have been expected. Ren was firmly in Searle's camp. "What do you think?"

"Well... it's a little cozier than I'm used to." Was 'cozy' the diplomatic word? She didn't want to lie, but she didn't want to be an ingrate either. "But I'm sure we'll be quite comfortable here. Thank you."

"You're sure you that your youngest two don't need separate bedrooms? We could easily divide the tower."

"That won't be necessary. By the time they're old enough to need their space, their siblings will be gone and they'll have the pick of all the bedrooms." Well... except for hers, of course. God willing. "Has Searle given any thought as to who will inherit this house?"

"Conant, most likely. Searle would prefer for Farilon to be knighted sooner rather than later; he says he has his reasons." Ren likely knew them. Laralita wouldn't press. Searle was Farilon's lord now, even if Farilon was a prince, and Farilon would do as Searle said. He was a good boy--and a knight could still become king if a certain other half-brother failed to produce a male heir. "By the time Conant marries, Farilon will have left, and possibly Lily as well; it's a large enough residence for a knight, and there should be plenty of room for his wife and any children they have, even while you and the younger ones are still here."

That would do. Conant had always been the child with the simplest taste. "Very well. Is there anything else?"

"The yard, if you care to see it. Though I should mention that it hasn't been landscaped yet."

Very well. She supposed she'd want a say in that anyway. "All right."

She let Ren lead her through a plain door in the corner of the room--easy outside access for the servants, no doubt, though Laralita couldn't recall ever using such a door herself. Ren hadn't been lying when she said it wasn't landscaped. There were a few trees that hadn't required clearing when construction had begun, and then grass of course, but there wasn't a shrub or flower to be seen.

There was, however...

"Dirt?"

Ren nodded. "Well, soil. I thought it might be easier for your cook if she had access to a vegetable garden. You'd have to hire a gardener, though, or else see if the cook isn't averse to doing it herself."

"Doing what, exactly?" She struggled to recall a childhood indiscretion, pestering her father's gardener--Lord only knew why--back when she'd been too young to realize that servants weren't for fraternizing. Hadn't he told her what he did? "Just... putting seeds in the ground and waiting for them to grow?"

"Well, yes. But you'd have to water them too, of course, and tend to them once they sprout. And, uh..." Ren blushed. "I've heard that... dung helps them grow."

"Dung?" Laralita wrinkled her nose, practically smelling it already. On second thought, though, it was oddly poetic--the foulest sort of waste giving itself for the sake of something beautiful, or something essential.

"Yes, I can't imagine it's pleasant." The pink still in her cheeks, Ren swayed about, little shoots of grass springing as her skirts swished. "But no matter. It's not as if you'll be doing any of this yourself, right?"

"God forbid."

And yet, even with the talk of dung, there was something about that bare brown earth, just as it had been the day she'd imposed on that gardener--its loose particulate nature, or its untouched scent of outside--that made her finger twitch against the fabric of her gown, as a buried beacon beckoned it to touch.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Ren Is Shown the Luxuries

February 10, 1182

Upon entering the study, it was no longer a mystery why the steward had fetched Ren instead of Searle. Searle was already up to his eyeballs in the stress of his brother; there was no sense in adding his mother to that as well.

When Ren had first heard of her uncle's death, it had occurred to her more than once to wonder what might become of her mother-in-law. She didn't know her cousin Ietrin, but Searle said he was an ass and every less biased piece of evidence she had seemed to agree; the best she could have hoped from him was a private wing of the castle for Laralita and the children, but if she was here, then he'd failed to grant her even that.

But surely she would have been offered lodging in Naroni? Laralita had never been popular, but surely at least one lord or lady or knight would have found it in their heart to take in a grieving widow and her orphans, especially after they'd been so cruelly betrayed by a man who never would have known another mother?

If she thought that, though, then perhaps she was a hypocrite. Searle was not the sort of husband who made his word law, and for that and so much else, Ren could not do this to him, not out-of-the-blue. Until he was made aware, she would have to be conservative in her charity. "Your highness. My condolences."

"Thank you, daughter." Laralita's voice was half its usual volume, and none of its usual air. "Though you needn't waste your breath, calling me 'highness' still."

"You still have a right to your title."

"But not the obligation." Her mother-in-law sighed--not something Ren ever thought she'd witness. "I thought I'd miss being queen, should the worst happen, but I was wrong. It means nothing without Roderick."

If there was a right thing to say to that, it wasn't in any language Ren spoke. Even if the worst had happened to Searle all those years ago... well, surely life wasn't meant to be lived for someone else, alive or dead? But she might have felt differently if Searle had died, and if it had been sudden. Searle had lived--and Ren had braced herself for otherwise. Laralita had neither luxury. "I'm sorry. Uh... where are you staying?"

"Nowhere. I had offers in Naroni, but I couldn't take them. There didn't seem to be much point in staying there." So that explained why she was here. At least she'd had offers?

"I'm glad you came instead of Searle. I'm not going to ask to live with you--I know Searle wouldn't allow it--but if the two of you could help my children and me to find some place to live, I'd appreciate it."

Ren nodded. A basic human need was never an unreasonable request, and if that was all that Laralita--Laralita!--asked, she would oblige. So would Searle, though he wouldn't be happy about it. Searle wasn't Ietrin. Searle could be grouchy, he could be bitter, maybe even mean to some... but Searle wasn't cruel. "Yes, we'll help."

The subtle curve on Laralita's mouth had to have been the closest she'd been to smiling all year. Poor woman. What a way to begin anew. "Thank you."

"Ren?"

The door bounced back lightly as Searle pushed it to the wall and narrowed his eyes at the sight of his mother. Laralita wasn't the only one Ren ached for today. "That explains why he fetched you instead of me."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Searle Is Stuck on a More Complex Puzzle

May 26, 1178

Under otherwise ideal circumstances, Searle's wife and sister-in-law were not the most natural of companions. They were both clever women, rather quiet women, but they were clever and quiet in different ways. Unlike Ren, whose social reservations sprang more from a reluctance to waste her voiced thoughts on anyone who wouldn't appreciate them, Searle suspected that Ramona was at least a little shy--not surprising, as she'd grown up with a rather boisterous triplet sister. But Ramona was like Lettie in terms of her cerebral, theoretical nature; Ren's smarts tended to be focused on more immediate, practical things like logistics and politics. They didn't dislike each other so far as Searle knew, but they certainly didn't seek each other out.

Under less than ideal circumstances, however...

Well. Sometimes, people didn't really need to speak.

"How?"

If the eyes had their way, Ietrin's question was directed at the empty hearth. How many times had they watched their uncle light fires in this room? Searle had to turn around. "Suicide, it seems."

"Would he have really done that to the children?"

Searle sighed. He loved his brother, but Ietrin could be so frustratingly naive. "If he didn't love them quite enough. Really, Ietrin, you'd think you'd understand the concept of parental abandonment by now."

"But he did love them enough, and you know it. And he loved us enough too." A gangly hand grazed Searle's shoulder and steered him around. "You're angry with him, aren't you? He was the closest thing we had to a father."

"But he wasn't our father." Not that it made much of a difference in the long run. "And why should I be angry? I'm simply being rational. It's not as if he'd been the same since Aunt Eldona passed. If you ask me, he's been planning this since she died; he was just waiting for a point at which he could commit the act guiltlessly."

Frowning, Ietrin cocked his head to the side. "Guiltlessly?"

"Well, he couldn't have guessed how long his parents would live, and with both Ovrean and Tarien out of the country I can't imagine he would have wanted his children raised by Vulcran and that sanctimonious bitch of a wife of his; to ensure that they'd be in good hands, he had to wait until Riona was grown and about to be married so that her husband could provide a stable home for the rest of them."

"A stable home? With Uncle Haldred and Aunt Cladelia?"

Searle sniffed. "Perhaps he just grew sick of waiting. Besides, for all Primus's grandparents might be a little volatile, his father is a decent fellow."

"A decent fellow with his own motherless hoard, yes."

"Riona and Primus can look after them."

"Riona and Primus are children." Ietrin wiped back a tear, causing Searle to stiffen. Crying brought him enough discomfort even if it was his own brother. "Searle, I don't think you can puzzle this out."

Ren glanced over from the couch, giving him a reprieve from the sight of his brother's watering eyes. Ren's own were dry, but inscrutable; if only for the sake of his sanity, he'd assume that she agreed with him. "Don't be absurd. He must have had some reasoning for what he did."

His brother just stood there, rocking back and forth slightly as Ramona looked on with a nervous frown and Ren took to staring at her lap. "Well, you can think what you think, and I'll feel what I feel. Will you write to Mother, or should I?"

Searle closed his eyes. He'd never written a letter to their mother in his life, whereas Ietrin wrote her at least once a week. But no doubt she'd grown tired of those letters and most of them were filed away unread. If it was written in Searle's hand, then it was a rarity, an urgency--something to be heeded. If people were puzzles, then even his mother could be solved; why was his uncle such a struggle?

"I'll write to her. Perhaps you ought to head to Valcria to be with our cousins; you always were better with the little ones than I was."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Lorn's Boots Are an Ill Fit

July 12, 1177

"So... wanna go play at the tournament grounds?"

It really said something when it fell to the five-year-old boy to break the awkward silence. Then again, five-year-old boys were... well, five-year-old boys. As far as Ricky was concerned, Auntie Rona had every right to refuse to come out of her room. In fact, it probably didn't make sense that Auntie Rona might view having to leave her room as a punishment, considering how many times Ricky's own room had been a place of exile. It meant nothing to him to just let it be and go about his business.

Similarly indifferent, Karlspan shrugged. Searle's son was a little older than Ricky was, maybe a little meaner too, but that didn't make him any less of a kid. "Fine."

The boys gave their parents a quick wave and hurried off. Maybe they had the right idea, not letting Rona's lack of cooperation get in the way of a good visit.

Sighing, Lorn let the doorhandle drop and took the seat next to Leara. Decorum stated that he should have offered it to Searle, but if Searle hadn't seated himself yet, then he probably didn't care. "It seems my sister will not be gracing us with her presence just now."

"It's all right," Ren dismissed, in spite of Leara's lingering frown. "We'll see her at supper."

At her side, Searle sniffed. "Assuming she deems hunger less tolerable than our company."

Was that a hint of offense? Surely it would be from anyone else. Then again, this was Searle. Then again, maybe it was preferable to err on the side of caution. "Sorry. She's usually quite polite. It's me she's angry with, not any of you." Well... maybe you, Searle. It was your idea, after all. Remind me why I went along with it? I told you she'd be upset!

Not that such a thought probably occurred to Searle. No... every thought occurred to Searle. "No matter. Many girls get upset over their betrothals. To hear King Oswald tell it, Ren here was none too pleased to hear that she was stuck spending her life with me."

"Searle!" The back of Ren's hand landed lightly on his arm. "You're three years younger than I am. That was a big deal at the time."

"Well, fortunately for Rona, this tournament has a strict lower age limit of sixteen." He pushed back a lock of hair. Lorn had tried that in front of the mirror a few times and found that the gesture only made him look feminine, but Searle somehow pulled it off. Maybe it was the complete lack of a soul made all the difference. "Speaking of which, how many competitors can we expect? Anyone notable?"

"Uh, well..." More than I was prepared to accommodate, at any rate! Not that he could push the words out of his mouth.

Thankfully, Leara was a bit more coherent. "We have about fifty competitors. Most of them are gentlemen looking to raise their status, but there are a few seasoned fighters with some connections here that have expressed interest. Casimiro de Cervantes has done quite well in some of the Galician tournaments, and Neilor del Marinos has a reputation in Catalonia."

"Del Marinos?" Searle raised an eyebrow. "Any relation to your brother's mistress?"

Lorn nearly choked. He was trying to be civil, and he realized that people's standards of what was and was not acceptable could vary, but bringing up the fact that Leara's brother had a mistress? And with the girls playing in the corner of the room, no less? "Searle--"

"No, it's... it's all right." Leara didn't sound quite 'all right', but Lorn shut up anyway. She was trying to compose herself, and--honorable intentions or not--his causing a scene would be counterproductive. Thank God for Leara. One of them had to know just what the hell they were doing. "But yes. He's Ellona's brother."

"Interesting." And yet, he looked like he was stifling a yawn. "Well, I imagine you can cross off most of the obscure names straight away. These tournaments do tend to go to the regulars." Searle stepped away from his wife's chair and set himself in front of Lorn while Leara exchanged a glance with Ren. "Of course, it's best to wait a few rounds before putting any serious money on the line. Are you a gambling man, Lorn?"

Lorn's toes curled inward, his boots oddly vacant, more like his father's boots whenever his sisters had bullied him into joining their dress-up games than any pair Lorn himself had ever owned. These were a man's boots and he'd never felt more like a boy. "No. Not particularly."

Searle laughed. "A pity. I was hoping you were. I imagine you'd be terrible."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Ren Ends a Damn Good Year

December 24, 1174

"Sure hates his blanket, doesn't he?" The silly boy had only been in bed for about an hour or so and already he'd kicked his covers to the side--never mind the fact that it was Christmas Eve and winter's chill was at its peak. But he'd done so for most of his young life, regardless of the weather, and had always been a model of good health--a fact which, given the boy's paternity, came as a great relief to Ren.

Not that she didn't have enough to feel relieved about, even all these months later. "His papa does that too."

"It's the insulating factor." Searle took her by the hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as he stared down at their sleeping son. In spite of her mounting fatigue, Ren found herself smiling. It hadn't been all that long ago when Christmas with her boys had seemed out of the question, but here she was--with Karlspan, with Searle, just the three of them.

All three of them. "Never die."

Smirking, Searle turned to face her and ran the side of his free hand down her face. His skin had once been dry and rough, but now it could have been their son's hand if not for the size of it. "I won't if you don't."

"Fair enough."

Her husband chuckled, then shot one last loving glance their son's way. The little mite fidgeted; Searle gave a sigh of content. "You know... except for the first bit, this has been a damn good year. I'm glad it's almost over, though. Next year will be even better."

It was like Searle to think he could will such things. Ren reached forward and pushed a strand of hair out of his face. It was nice to see his eyes so bright. "You think so?"

"I know so."

NEXT CHAPTER: