In Which Severin Is of the Lucky Few

September 6, 1200

"Still willing to visit your old stepmother after all these years. How sweet of you to come all this way."

Severin tried to return the smile as he sat down on the empty half of the bench. It wasn't like the last time he'd seen his mother, when he'd been shocked and unsettled by the sight of her so suddenly fallen--nor was it like the last time he'd seen his father, aware that it was least possible that he was dying, but still not quite believing it.

But now, with Viridis... well, it made sense that the death of the second parent would be faced with more grounding than that of the first. That trend would only continue for those lucky few who had a third. This was the last time he'd ever see her. There was no way he couldn't have visited.

"You were always more than a stepmother to me. You're more like a second mother."

"And you're more like a son to me than a stepson. My feelings toward both your parents were complicated at the time, but that was never the case with you; I loved you since the day you were born."

She had. And he'd always known that. He took hold of her hand and squeezed it. It was cold now, old and shaking, but it was still the same strong hand that he'd grasped by the finger as he'd figured out how to walk. "I think I loved you since the day I was born too."

"Possibly! You were such a happy baby. That was a nice change of pace for me after your brother."

A nice change of pace. For a woman who'd had no obligation to even acknowledge his existence. And she thought his mere being here was 'sweet'.

"I've known a lot of good people--some of whom I didn't really recognize as 'good' until it was too late for them. But I always recognized you as good." How could he not have? A person didn't love a spouse's bastard as their own if there wasn't some goodness in them. "You're the best person I ever knew."

"Oh, I don't know if that's true." She laughed her same modest laugh, the one she always used when she couldn't take a compliment--no matter how sincere that compliment was. "But I'm glad to hear I never did you wrong."

She couldn't have. She'd had no obligation to do him right.

And yet she thought it 'sweet' that he'd visit her in what were likely her last days.

"Not many people are lucky enough to have three parents. Thank you for letting me be one of them."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin Assigns Luck to the Comparative Sense

September 30, 1197

"It was good of you to come," Severin's stepmother commended him from the couch, though he didn't find his mere presence a praiseworthy event. The stubborn fire at which he prodded seemed to agree. "I know you and your brother aren't close, and I know your grandson is graduating today."

"Dalston took his vows at the beginning of the month; I was there for that, and he said that was the more important thing." And, in essence... well, that was probably true. But, beyond wishing the boy the best, he didn't much want to think about Dalston's situation.

Nor did he much want to think about Rudolphus's, but at least this one, he could understand.

"The doctors are saying that Rudolphus probably has a good month or so yet; I don't think either of us would have blamed you if you'd waited."

"I might have, though; Naroni isn't so near that I might have rushed over had he taken a sudden turn for the worse." Severin pushed one log off of its balance upon the other, a shower of sparks surging as it hit the metal below. He may not have been close with his half-brother, but they weren't so distant that a lack of goodbyes would have been bearable. Besides--Rudolphus wasn't the only denizen of his keep. He had always been close with Viridis, closer than most were with their stepmothers; if she had to bury her firstborn, the least he could do was stand by her side as Rudolphus took his place beside their father in the crypt. "There's no sense on my visiting Dovia without staying at least a couple weeks. Rudolphus and I weren't always brotherly, but I should like to remedy that while we have the time."

"I think he would like that too--and though perhaps I shouldn't be thinking of myself, it would mean the world to me." Viridis stood, her age apparent in the shaking of her joints as she rose. Eighty-five years were more than most dared wish for; if his attempt at bonding with Rudolphus could fulfill one of her last remaining wishes, then Severin wanted little more than to see it through. He would be at her side when Rudolphus passed. He would not leave until after the funeral. Nora would serve their shire well in his stead, as she always did during his absences--and she would understand.

Severin put down the poker and picked at a splinter in his left forefinger. That could have very well been a message from his father, earned by first picking up the tool with his left hand in his childhood home. It hadn't been until after his father had died that he'd learned he too had been born with the left hand preference. What would he learn about his brother, after his death? "You're allowed to think of yourself. Rudolphus is your son; a parent shouldn't bury their child."

"And you've buried two, and Rudolphus buried one." Viridis sighed. "Perhaps I've been lucky in that sense; I doubt I have many years left myself, and Rudolphus at least lived to be a grandfather several times over."

Lucky. Perhaps--but only in the comparative sense. Severin shook his head. "There's no sense in counting down your own years yet. You're still in good health."

"Yes, perhaps--and I still feel young at heart." Her smile backed up that sentiment as she rubbed him on the shoulder--like she had when he'd been a child, only now reaching upward instead of down. If she still felt young at heart, then Severin envied her. "But I won't delude myself about my mortality at my age. Your father was healthy as a horse until he wasn't, and same with my brother. Same with Rudolphus."

"Hmm. What you and I have to look forward to, I suppose."

"You not for a while yet, I don't think; I know I can't imagine Naroni going on without Severin of Veldora."

"Then it's fortunate that my grandson is also Severin of Veldora." Though here, with his beloved stepmother and her dying son, it was a painful reminder that there ought to have been Jadin in between. "I suppose we both ought to just keep living for now."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Morgan Doesn't Notice

June 25, 1189

"Mama!" Viridis sprung from her bed, her plush cat hitting the floor as Morgan approached. God, how she loved her daughter--and how her daughter loved her. She couldn't let her down. "Mama, how was your day?"

"It was good." I think. She'd made the right choice, waiting to tell Viridis first. She thought she'd known that from the start, but her daughter's eyes confirmed it now. "But I need to talk to you."

"Oh?" Viridis frowned. "Am I in trouble?"

A girl of her age would ask that! Morgan chuckled. "Of course not, sweetie.

"You see... your Uncle Lonriad has asked me to marry him."

"Oh!" Viridis strained her neck, feet raised to her toes. "What did you tell him?"

"See, that's it: I told him I'd have to check with you first."

Her daughter blinked. "Me?"

"Yes. I know I didn't give birth to you, Viridis, but I am still your mother. My first priority is what's best for you. I've grown very fond of your uncle, but if you have any objections to our marriage, or to the two of us going to live at his castle, I will listen."

"What objections?" Viridis grinned, more of her teeth visible than Morgan remembered ever seeing. Inside her chest, her heart matched her daughter's mouth. "I love Uncle Lonriad! And Alina and the others."

Thank God. "You do?"

"Yes! Please marry him!" Her daughter bounced, but caught herself just in time. "If you want to, that is."

"I do want to." Morgan scooped Viridis into her arms and twirled her about. Her little girl was getting rather big for such a gesture, but this time, she didn't notice. "I'm so glad you agree."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Taimyra Takes a Cue

February 15, 1183

"Mother! Father!" Taimyra heaved herself out of her father-in-law's desk chair and greeted her parents with successive embraces. In her haste to send off that reply to Jeda, she'd almost forgotten that they would be visiting. "How nice to see you! How is everything back home?"

"Not bad. Celina's due in less than a month--and that's not the only new grandchild we can expect within the year, I see." Her mother winked as she pressed one hand to Taimyra's firming stomach. She was barely showing yet, but there was no hiding a pregnancy from Viridis of Luperia. "You and Farilon sure didn't waste any time."

"Yes, well... we love the girls, but we do still need an heir." But unlike a certain other royal, from what she could figure from Jeda's letters--they'd only briefly met in person, but once Taimyra had married, she'd struck up a correspondence, crown princess to crown princess--Farilon did not pressure her for sex, nor did he disregard the possibility of his brothers inheriting should he die sonless.

And he certainly never faulted her for any perceived infertility! Yes, they had been married for ten years now. Yes, they only had two children, ages six years and eight-and-a-half months, to show for it. The people could think what they thought, but Farilon knew full well that it was hardly Taimyra's fault if he preferred his stepmother's brother to her.

"Well, either way, we'll all be delighted." Her mother drew back her hand with a smile. Her father's mouth didn't move--for once--but a twinkle in his eye told her that he agreed. Taimyra's mother only had three children, two of which were twins who were decades younger than their older brother, so her father had not been a man of King Ietrin's variety either--not that he'd had any right to be, what with her numerous half-siblings. Regardless.

Her father gestured to the couch by the wall. "Why don't you ladies sit down?"

"I can stand if you prefer, Father."

"Now, now. I must consider the comfort of my future grandchild--and while I may be old, I'm hardly dead." He stepped between Taimyra and her mother and offered them each an arm, then led them to the couch. Her mother sat, then after a nod of insistence from her father, Taimyra did the same. "So, your brother Severin tells me that your friend Jeda has given birth."

"Yes, to a little boy. Prince Holden."

"Holden." Her father smirked. "I would have guessed Roderick--or Searle, based on sheer statistics. Where the hell did Jeda get an original name like Holden from?"

"Her stepmother, maybe--Holladrin. They were very close. If she'd had a daughter, I bet you anything her name would have been Holladrin."

"She may yet have another daughter," her mother mused. "Now that the stress of providing an heir has been lifted, it may be easier for them to conceive again."

Taimyra nodded, though she couldn't be sure. From the sounds of it, Ietrin had a curiously low number of suspected bastards for a man of his age and reputation, but had never realized this himself. The midwife in Naroni had also examined Jeda multiple times and found nothing abnormal. Did stress affect male fertility as it did female? No one ever spoke of male fertility. As far as most saw it, it was a given that a man could make sons, never mind that every other aspect of health varied from person to person and that it took two to make a baby.

"But you know..." Her father grinned, and she couldn't help but respond. Her father may have been a notorious cad, and while she might have wished otherwise, there was no denying the love there. "Call me an old fool, but your pregnancies seem to take cues from Jeda's. She has a girl, then you have a girl. She has another girl, then you have another girl. Maybe you'll have your boy too."

"Maybe." Somewhere inside her, a tiny limb tickled. "But we'd love another little girl too."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Nora Removes the Other Ears

April 29, 1177

It was clearly the same illness that had stricken Riona months prior, but whatever it was had affected Severin somewhat differently. He'd been a lot worse at the onset, and that initial phase had lingered longer... but now that it was past, he seemed to be recovering much more quickly than his daughter had.

In fact, Nora suspected that the only thing keeping him from being up and about was the resulting influx of overbearing company.

"You do look a lot better than the letter led us to expect, dear."

"You should have seen him last week."

"Falidor said the same, yes."

"Are we sure the pretty young wife isn't just wearing him out, if you catch my drift?"

Nora groaned. To think, she'd very nearly gone there once. "Your grace, I'm right here!"

Her father-in-law chuckled, earning him a smack on the arm from his wife. Nora half-expected Laveria to say something clever--Lord knew she always did when Lonriad was around--but her whole world seemed to consist of her son. Not that that was any surprise, seeing as that was how it had been since he'd fallen ill. "I thought I told you not to let him touch you."

"You said nothing of the like." Severin shut his eyes, his bare toes twitching in an annoyed wave. However he'd hoped to recover, it obviously hadn't been like this. "Besides, I already told you what happened. It's not as if I went in for a handshake or anything."

"I did tell you to stay away from him. You should have left it to Falidor. Or Nora; he couldn't have done anything to her."

Oy. "Again... right here."

Beside her, Severin sniffed. "So it's the bloodline, then."

"I never said--"

"But it's what you meant," Viridis concluded. "First this Remiel character does this to Riona, and now Severin. And since Lorn's family seems to be safe, it must be something on your side."

Laveria's heavy eyelids dropped, but she said nothing. Instead, it was Lonriad who took the opening. "You never did tell me anything about your family."

"There's nothing to tell."

Severin coughed. Efficient, really--clearing his lungs and calling bullshit with a single sound. But this wasn't going anywhere. Laveria wasn't about to budge. Not around Lonriad and Viridis, at least. Maybe not even around Nora herself. There were some truths meant only for certain ears.

Trying not to squirm beneath her best grimace, Nora peered over at Lonriad and Viridis. Oh the things people did for love. "Say... you two haven't met all of the children yet, have you?"

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Viridis Discovers a Cruel Irony

November 14, 1161

It had been three months, Viridis found as she counted off the days in her head. Three whole months. She hadn't been stressed, nor had she been ill, nor had she slept with her husband within that period of time.

Three months. At this point, it was unlikely that it would ever return--not at her age. She was forty-nine years old, and she knew for a fact that there was no way she could be pregnant; now, she knew she never would be again.

Perhaps her son would see fit to give her another grandchild soon, she mused as gently bounced Camaline up and down. She loved the little girl like she would have loved a thousand of Rudolphus's children, of course, but she did hope that her son would, at the very least, stop abstaining from his wife at some point; she did not want Rudolphus to imitate his mother's mistake.

In the mean time, however, the twins were only four, only a year older than her granddaughter. It wasn't as if she no longer had the privilege of being a mother, she knew full well having believed for twenty-five years that Rudolphus would be her only child--she simply no longer had the chance of ever becoming a new mother again.

The twins, she assured herself, would be enough for her--and if they proved otherwise, then there was always Lonriad's year-old daughter. Viridis was already her mother in practice, as the girl's own had fled shortly after recovering from the birth, and she had to admit, she had become quite attached to the little girl. She had already raised and come to love one of Lonriad's bastards; why not do the same for another?

But in spite of it all, she did have her regrets. Maybe she should have eased up on the man, for her own sake; she had been young at the time, and had not known exactly what it was she wanted. It was cruelly ironic that now that she did, she was too old to aspire to it.

Ah, but such was life, Viridis supposed--just a collection of cruel ironies.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin's Fear Is Realized

WARNING: The first part of this chapter might be somewhat ooky (and poorly written). If you wish to avoid ookiness, you may want to scroll down to the bottom, then scroll up to where the scene changes from the lighter room to the darker room. The first part isn't particularly important anyway.

January 16, 1157

Severin had been alive for exactly twenty-four years, three months, and ten days, and not once in all that time had he ever come across such an unusual sight, nor had he ever expected to if he lived to be a hundred.

His father and stepmother were being affectionate. Not just the ordinary suggestions spewing from his mouth and her blatant refusal--they were actually kissing and touching, rolling around on the bed in the very same room Severin had caught his father and Geneva in earlier.

The nerve of that man, taking his wife to the very same chamber in which he had met that whore of a queen mere hours before. Never before had Severin felt his father so unworthy of even the slightest glance from Viridis--and that was saying something.

And then there was the cuddling. Lonriad had never cuddled anyone or anything in his life, Severin could have sworn it--and yet, here he was, his arm around his wife's shoulder, resting his head against hers. Severin couldn't decide what shocked him more; the fact that Lonriad was actually bothering with this precursor to sex, or the fact that Viridis was allowing it.

But as he ventured further into the room, he saw that the woman on the bed wasn't Viridis at all.

It was his mother.

He should have been relieved. Anyone else he knew would only ever want their father touching their mother. Of course, he loved his mother, and if Lonriad had to be sleeping with anyone other than Viridis, he did feel more comfortable knowing that it was her... but Viridis had raised him, and Lonriad's other son. All of those kisses and cuddles should have been reserved for Viridis and Viridis alone.

Then, to his utmost horror, he realized that Lonriad's mistress wasn't his mother.

Oh, his sweet Alina! His darling, his princess, in the arms of another man--his father, no less! How had this happened? Did she no longer love him? And of all the men in the world, why had she chosen this one to run to?

The way she smiled at that old lecher... hadn't those smiles been reserved for him once? Why must she flutter her lashes at such an unworthy creature? The sight was nothing short of heartbreaking; There is no possible way, Severin decided, that this could be any worse.

He was wrong--not only did it get worse, but it also got downright sickening. Did Lonriad not have a single decent fiber in his entire being? Did he not have any discretion when it came to choosing sexual partners? Clearly, age was nothing more than a number to Lonriad--and blood was also meaningless.

Grown women, young girls--even his own granddaughter! To Lonriad, they were nothing but holes, all of them, and would never be a thing more. This was beyond wrong, beyond disgusting--even beyond blasphemy and sacrilege. There was no word that could begin to capture even the idea of this; what Lonriad was--and how strongly Severin loathed him--could never be voiced, or even thought. No, they could only ever be felt.

Oh, those eyes! Since the day she was born, he'd always known it was only a matter of time before those eyes would gaze upon man with such fondness; if only that gaze would fall upon someone--anyone--else!

Patricide was suddenly not such a horrible crime--not compared to this. He was take his father by the throat and squeeze until the man was begging him to stop, wheezing, gasping for that final breath... but oh, it would be too quick! He would kill him slowly. Perhaps he would hang him, or set him on fire, or...

On second thought, he would murder him quickly; he would not wait a moment more than necessary to see that man dead.

They sure as hell weren't making a fort under those blankets.

"You monster!" Severin shouted. "You vile monster! Don't you realize just how terribly wrong this is, you disgusting old pervert?"

"Sorry, son!" laughed Lonriad from beneath the covers. "It's just my nature, that's all!"

He had to act now. He would storm over to that bed, tear them apart, and rip that despicable old satyr to shreds.

Yes, he was unnarmed, but it was suddenly clear to him that one didn't need a weapon when one had such anger. Emotion was the most powerful weapon in the world--no man in the world was as well-equipped as he. All he had to do--

"Severin!" called Alina's faraway, panicked voice. "Severin! Oh, God... Severin! Wake up!"

"Princess!" he addressed her as his eyes flickered open. "Raia... my father..."

"Raia's in Naroni with your mother, stupid, and last time I saw your father, he was feeling up a maid in the wine cellar, but... oh God! Severin! It's--it's horrible!"

It had only been a dream. Thank God; Alina was still his, Raia was a year old and safely away in another kingdom, and his father was not--as far as he knew--an incestuous pedophile. Never had Severin imagined that he would one day be thankful that his father was exactly what he had always been--at least he was not any worse.

Struggling to calm himself at the sight of her distraught state, he pushed back the blanket and stepped firmly onto the wooden floor. "Alina, are you all right? Did someone hurt you?"

Clearly trying to hold back tears, she shook her head, her lower lip quivering until she caught it between her teeth.

"It's not me," she insisted, "but he--she--they..."

She couldn't dam her tears any longer; from her eyes spouted the beginnings of a flood.

"Now, Princess," breathed Severin as he gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders, "do you want to tell me what happened? Or should I not bother you about it?"

"Just--just one second," Alina choked.

Severin nodded. "As long as you need."

"Oh, poor Celina!" she gasped suddenly, jerking slightly backwards. "That woman never did anyone any harm a day in her life, and now--now--"

She was cut off by her own sobs. It worried him, seeing her so beside herself--never in her life had the usually collected Alina been so hysterical. Whatever had happened was something significant--and something disturbing.

"What about Celina?" he inquired, unsure as to whether or not he could remain calm for the two of them. "Princess...?"

"I'm sorry!" squeaked Alina, burrying her face in her hands once more. "I'm sorry. I'll tell you, just..."

"I know," Severin assured her. "You need a moment."

"Yes..."

He raised his hand to her face and softly brushed away the tears from her eye; he thought that for one brief moment, he saw a faint hint of a smile on her face. "Alina..."

"All right," she whispered. "I'll tell you."

Slowly, she leaned closer, her face level, but her eyes turned downward. "When I was coming back from Renata's room..."

"Yes?" he acknowledged, hoping he wasn't prying.

"Well," continued Alina, "you know how the hallway outside is also a balcony that looks into that bedchamber?"

He nodded once more. "That always struck me as strange. It seems like the sort of thing only my father would have in his castle. Anyway, go on."

She took a deep breath, then locked eyes with him, tears wavering in that brilliant blue once more. "Well... it turns out that's Dalston's room, and he was in there... with Geneva..."

That name told it all. After mentioning Celina, all Alina would have had to say was that woman's name, and he would have understood entirely.

"I thought Celina was her friend," he growled; did that woman have any sense of decency? If his father had a soulmate, then surely it was Geneva--each deserved only the other. "And Dalston... how could he do this to her? All that sweet girl ever did to him was love him--a hell of a lot more than he deserves, it turns out!"

"He's my cousin," Alina whimpered. "I thought I knew him, Severin; I never thought he'd do something like this. I know what she's like, but he... and Celina..."

"Alina?" he addressed her. "I have to ask you something."

She was a woman--she would know better than he what was best for Celina. He only hoped he could find the right way to ask her.

Alina nodded. "Yes?"

Oh, how would he word this? "Alina... if I ever... er, did to you what Dalston did to Celina--"

"Oh, you wouldn't!" she exclaimed in protest. Then, a fearful look on her face, she met his eye and mouthed the question "Would you?"

"No!" he immediately answered, attempting to reassure her with an embrace. "No, Princess! Never!"

At least, he hoped he never would. Maybe it was in his blood to be that sort of man, he realized suddenly. Occasionally, he did catch his gaze lingering on the hips of a passing woman, his eyes drawn to the partially-exposed cleavage of the landlady at the village inn... was that natural? Or was it only he who did that?

No... there was at least one other who did, one other who walked this path, many years ahead of him. Perhaps it was an animal instinct, a migratory pattern known innately for generations to come... was it possible that he too would end up in that same final resting place?

This was his greatest fear--becoming his father.

"Never," Severin repeated in a whisper, desperately praying that he would not be lying to her. "Just... if you were Celina right now... would you want to know?"

She raised her head slightly, then lowered it once more--a yes.

"Then I shall send a messenger to Celina first thing in the morning," he promised. "Now, you're very upset, and I don't doubt that you're tired, so--"

She didn't give him a chance to finish.

NEXT CHAPTER: