In Which Searle Gives the Only Gift

September 2, 1182

It wouldn't be long now.

Searle was alone, but that was as it should have been. Who would he want here, anyway? His wife was dead. His mother was dead, half his siblings were dead, the other half and his father a kingdom away. He'd seen the baby before Morgan put her down for the night, saddened not to have more time with her, relieved that she would not remember losing him. His uncle and aunt and cousins had seen him as well, but none sat with him and he didn't blame them for it. Time would go on with or without him, and so would the toils and patterns of daily life. They were needed elsewhere.

His uncle had taken the liberty of summoning his children. Tivie had called to make some last attempt at peace--still not at arm's length, but if the tear in her eye hadn't just been a speck of dust, more grieved than he deserved. Landus had tagged along; he hadn't spoken more than he deemed necessary, but that was probably for the best, as was Cladelia's last parting mutter of 'Goodbye, Uncle Searle'. Neither would ever know, and they were better off for it. The poor little baby would be better off too.

No one would miss him much.

But he hadn't expected to die having remembered what joy was, and Viridis had given him that. She'd given him eight happy years. She and the baby, her little namesake, had given him ten happy days. She'd even gone with a peaceful smile on her pale face, hand squeezing his until she lacked the life to hold. Though she'd hoped otherwise--and he never thought anyone would hope such a thing about him--he'd known then that he would join her soon.

So he'd given their daughter the only gift he could, the only gift he could give Viridis before reuniting with her. His daughter would not know him, but one day, maybe she'd know that he'd spent his last days escorting her out of lonely, sickly Carvallon and into Naroni, where she would grow up in the care of her doting grandfather, with no shortage of aunts and uncles to spoil her and cousins to play with. Viridis had given him happiness.

The least he could do was pass that along to their baby.

She'll be all right, Viridis. His cloudy eyes drew strength from the thought, the multicolored blur of a room taking shape as they cleared. If he squinted, he could almost see her.

She'll be all right. She'll be happy.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Viridis Begins Another Birthday

August 10, 1182

A sharp pang and the weak first light bade Viridis welcome to her twenty-fourth birthday. Given her medical history, not one member of her family had expected her to live so long, herself included. Twenty-four wasn't old, nor was it an age that was somehow remarkable, but it was a milestone for her.

Not the milestone, though--no, that asserted itself with another jolt of pain. Viridis clenched her jaw, grinding her inner cheek in a vain attempt at distraction. After her entire life, she was no stranger to random aches, but certainly nothing of this magnitude. Was this... labor?

But how would she know? She'd never carried a baby to term before. Yes, the miscarriages had stung, physically as well as emotionally, but surely labor...

Searle snored. Figured--something wrong, and the only person around was asleep and wouldn't know anyway. She wished one of her sisters were here, or her stepmother. Or hell, while she was dreaming, her mother. Surely her mother would have known. What mother didn't?

Only Viridis wasn't a mother. Not yet, at least, if she dared hope 'yet'. She didn't know if this was labor. She'd never labored before! How would she have possibly--?

"Holy fuck!"

No. No, whether she recognized it or not, it was definitely labor. "Searle..."

"Mmm?" He stirred, coughing somewhat. A nasty sickness had been making its rounds through the area lately, and Viridis feared he was coming down with it. Come to think of it, she'd had a bad bout of a cough just that afternoon. She was sick, her husband was sick, and she was in labor. On her birthday. And she hadn't even worked up the courage to tell her family back home that she was pregnant.

What would become of the baby if they both died? And that was assuming that the baby was all right in the first place...

"Searle, I'm sorry, but I need you to get the midwife."

"Now?" The blankets rustled. The baby answered its father's question in a way its mother didn't much appreciate.

"Yes, now!" Not to be outdone, the baby sent forth another shockwave. "Please hurry!"

"Of course." He grabbed his coat off the footboard and hurried off, not even bothering to dress the rest of the way. Viridis cringed. If he wasn't sick now, he certainly would be.

But it would never occur to Searle to worry about himself. Sick or not, he wouldn't leave her alone for long.

Not that she would be in any case.

God, she prayed, a worried hand to her middle, a surging agony in her thighs. Whatever happens to me... whatever happens to Searle... please let it...

It. No, she couldn't think that, now that it was so close to being here. They? No, that only made it sound like twins. She couldn't handle twins, not with her health! She'd have to guess. She hadn't dared guess before, but she'd have to. Her baby was not an 'it', not any more.

Another pang came and went. She closed her eyes and her mind took over, an image of a little blonde girl playing by the river under her grandfather's watchful eye.

Her. Whatever happens to us, please, Lord... please spare her.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Viridis Does Not Presume

February 3, 1182

That had been Viridis's sixth run down to the privy that morning. She'd woken to a burst of nausea that she'd barely managed to contain before she was safely downstairs, and then her breakfast had been delayed twice. Just as well, seeing as she hadn't kept it down anyway. At least Searle had only been around to see the first two. Sweet of him, though, rushing out to get something from the herbalist.

Days like this had been rearing their ugly heads since some time in November. That sounded about the time her monthly had disappeared. On a logical level, she knew what that was supposed to mean, but she didn't want to think that. She didn't want to hope it. She certainly hadn't told Searle, for all he might have been wondering himself.

That damn crib still hadn't moved. Seven years of no babies and it hadn't moved. Still there, taunting her. And now she was sick and her courses were gone and the second she started feeling comfortable with the stupid thing, that would be when that telling red stain showed up on her sheets again. Why hadn't she had it chopped down to kindling years ago?

Oh, right. That would have been giving up.

But hadn't she given up already? If she hadn't, wouldn't she have been over the moon about not having bled in three months? That was a third of a baby right there! Some women had named theirs by that point.

But if she named hers... hell, if she even dared guess as to whether it was a boy or a girl...

Or if she even acknowledged that it was either a boy or a girl, and not just some horrid, deceptive stomach flu...

No. Not 'acknowledged'. 'Presumed'. Yes, that was it. She would not presume. Unless there was a red, screaming, perfect infant in her arms come August, she would think it nothing.

But if it was nothing, then why was she still thinking about it?

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Neilor Learns a New Smile

March 17, 1180

"Well," groaned Tivie as she finished her resigned descent from the second floor, "I'm pretty much grounded forever."

Huh. From the shocking lack of noise over the course of the hour Tivie and her mother had spent up there, Neilor wouldn't have guessed Lady Danthia would have been so angry. Then again, perhaps it was possible to discipline without resorting to screams and curses? He couldn't say. He didn't recall his own mother ever disciplining him, shouting or otherwise. No matter what he did, she could never be bothered.

Lady Viridis pulled herself to her feet, and for that, Neilor was relieved. It was hardly as if they had been talking. What would there have been to talk about, after all? Her willing marriage to a noted flight risk? His deflowering of her stepdaughter? Surely there was no point. He didn't dislike Lady Viridis, nor did she dislike him, and the best way from keeping things that way--so they'd both figured, it seemed--was to remain politely aloof.

Not that Lady Viridis was the person who most concerned Neilor just then--or that Neilor was the person who most concerned Lady Viridis. "You're all right, though?"

Tivie nodded. "Yes. Mother always gives her reasoning."

"Whether she needs to or not, I see." Her stepmother shot Neilor a glance and he made a point to not notice; she'd resolved similarly as she walked past, trailing skirts brushing against the hardwood. "I suppose it's getting close to lunch. I suppose I ought to tell the cook we have two more guests."

She left without a verbal response from either of them. Perhaps Tivie too had decided that silence was the best approach. "This is embarrassing."

"What? Being scolded?"

"No." She strode over the couch and sat down in Lady Viridis's vacant spot, snickering in spite of the immediate past. "I've been scolded hundreds of times. Never while you were in the same building, though."

"I didn't hear a thing."

"Maybe not, but you still knew what was going on, didn't you?" The side of her slippered foot tapped against his leg. "Just from your understanding of normal punishments for wayward young adults?"

Oh, there were so many things he could say to that! "I'm not sure I have the best idea of what 'normal' is."

"Who does? But I guess if that's the case, this could be as normal as it ever gets." She grabbed him by the wrist and lifted his arm pulling herself beneath it. He took care to drop it gently as she let go. "Thank you, again. This didn't turn out like I'd planned, but I think I got what I was looking for."

Neilor smiled. He didn't smile all that often--not for anyone who wasn't Landus, or Ellona or her children--but Tivie seemed to be well on her way into that exclusive set. Possibly an even more exclusive one; if the unpracticed muscles of her mouth had anything to say about it, the smiles he gave Tivie were a new stretch entirely. "Glad to hear it."

A pair of firm, moist lips caught him on the jawbone, not particularly fussed about the scruff of his stubble. "Just to make us even, though, you let me know if you ever get the urge to chase your feelings through three different countries and I'll be glad to come with."

Chasing feelings. He didn't think he'd ever chased a feeling in his life before now. To chase them would require letting them escape, and his heart was as fortified and well-guarded as any other prison. So he figured, at least. "I'll get back to you on that."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Viridis Sees the Purpose Served

March 16, 1180

"So..." Searle began, no doubt out of a desire to say something but an inability to decide just what. "I hope the trip wasn't too tiresome."

Viridis fought to keep from cringing. Whatever a man said to his estranged daughter--or his estranged son, depending on how much Landus knew--after so many years of silence, it certainly wasn't that. Some self-centric corner of her mind mused that he might have been keeping his distance for her sake, to avoid any further reminder of her own lack of a child. If it was that, she wondered if she ought to leave the room, but Searle's hand was cold and trembling around her own under the table. He wasn't distant. He wasn't uncomfortable or guarded or cautious.

He was scared.

Tivalia, though... not so much, not if her face said anything. But perhaps that was by her own design. Her mother had been stoic too. "It wasn't."

Other than, Viridis guessed, the fact that it had been made at all.

"I, uh... I wanted to speak with you at your grandmother's funeral." A segment of Tivalia's lip disappeared behind her tooth. Both of the girl's grandmothers were dead, both in her lifetime. She may have been wondering which one he meant. Viridis didn't have the heart to point that out to Searle. "Your mother--"

"Don't blame it on my mother."

Searle let the thought drop and relapsed into the silence. There was little anger in Tivalia's voice, but that might have been half the effect. It was too easy to dismiss the anger of a sixteen-year-old. Whatever the tone was--whatever emotion for which Viridis had no name--was not so easily brushed aside. "Just... I'm tired, all right? And my mother is tired too."

"Your mother hasn't seen me since--"

"No. She sees you every time she looks at me." Landus glanced over at Neilor and Neilor himself scowled in confirmation. Tivalia, however, let her eyes drop to her lap. "She sees that you're not there. She sees everything she ever had to do on her own, everything you should have been there for. And she sees a need to make it up to me somehow, and she sees that you'll never make it up to her. Don't tell me when my mother last saw you. She's seen you a thousand times for every time you've seen her."

Viridis glanced over at her husband. He had nothing to say to that, because there was nothing to say to that. It couldn't have been whatever long-winded, heart-wrenching speech Tivalia had spent the entire journey preparing--that had been forgotten at the sight of Searle, if Viridis knew anything of such things--but nonetheless the purpose had been served.

"I... take it you'd rather not talk just now?"

It was a weak offering and everyone at the table new it. Nonetheless, Tivalia took it. "Not now. I need to think."

Searle closed his eyes, likely in agreement. None of the three visitors spoke, but no one made any move to leave. Not sure what else to do, Viridis caught Landus's eye. "I take it you're all hungry. Should I tell the housekeeper to start on supper?"

Landus looked to Neilor for an affirming grunt before nodding. Tivalia managed a grimace; it was, as any of Viridis's sisters would have called it, 'fake as hell', but it was still an effort. "That would be nice. Thank you."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Searle Asks the Polite Thing

January 28, 1179

Searle had five sisters. Four of them were dead. It figured that the last of them was the one he'd always guessed would make the worst companion for his quiet, thoughtful young wife. Lileina had always been friendly and accommodating, as had Cladelia and Learianna in their softer, shyer ways. Riona, all awkwardness aside, had been a social shape-shifter; she may not have enjoyed Viridis's company, but no one ever would have known it.

Celina, though... well, she was the tricky one. She wasn't brash or loud like their parents, but Searle almost wished otherwise. Celina left nothing unconsidered. He never knew what she was thinking until it was too late, and for a sensitive girl like Viridis, such a thing was never pleasant.

But today, pleasantness was hardly an expectation from anyone.

"Son."

Searle fought the urge to look back at Viridis. "Mother."

He hadn't seen her in a nightgown since he'd been a little boy, and he couldn't remember her hair ever unbound. She was thinner than the last time he'd seen her, paler, a little puffy in parts of the face. She might have been a stranger if not for the eyes. "Good of you to come."

The fire behind him cracked as his father jabbed at the logs. His father had barely said a thing since they'd arrived. His father always had something to say. The letter had said she was ill, but his father's quiet had been the first hard-and-fast proof that something was amiss. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." Searle flinched. His mother laughed, so much as a gasping breath could be a laugh. "Physically, that is. I've come to terms with it. Never saw the appeal of living too long anyway."

He wondered if that was what she told herself when she thought about his sisters. "You might live."

"The doctors say not to count on it. Or are you a doctor now?" It was sarcasm, but he shook his head anyway. His mother sniffed. "I thought so. And I know you; if any part of you thinks this won't be the last time you see me, you never would have come."

It would have been barely consequential, but nonetheless he struggled not to wince. He hoped he'd changed since Viridis. He thought he had, but his mother would have read a wince as an admission otherwise. "I came because I was invited and I hadn't been home in a while."

Another log fell from the lift of the one beneath it. His mother's eyes darted amongst the other three, his father and his sister and his wife. It must have been a full minute before they were back on Searle. "Don't worry too much about everyone here. Your father's an old fart, but he's survived worse. Tarien can run things around here if need be and Jadin can keep him laughing. Celina will keep him in check; Lord knows she gets enough practice with that idiot husband of hers."

"And you?" He wasn't sure if he was hopeful, or if it was just the polite thing to ask.

"Me? I've been doing all that for one hell of a long time." She flipped a wavy lock over her lace-clad shoulder and sighed. "I'm tired."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Searle Expands on What Every Man Wants

July 25, 1177

"Good book?"

If he was honest with himself, Searle just wanted to talk about Landus, but not at the risk of making his wife uncomfortable. She did know he had a son--and two daughters, one of which had been conceived even more scandalously than the boy--but he wondered at times if she wished she didn't. If he hadn't had any children at all, she might not have resigned herself to thinking that her own lack of them had to be a problem with her.

Poor darling. He didn't care whether or not she ever bore him a child but he couldn't tell her that because she'd take it to mean that he doubted she could. And yet, his silence was read as an expectation--or worse, some sort of endless patience that set a guilty storming brewing in her mind. Almost three years they'd been married and they hadn't discussed it at length, but there were certain problems that thrived despite lack of acknowledgment. Searle knew that all too well.

"Mmm... it's all right." Viridis flipped the page and folded over the corner, then closed the book and let it drop to the floor. "Xeta's books are a little heavy for my taste."

Searle snorted. Viridis wasn't the only one who'd spent this trip at the mercy of Xeta's library. "Mine too. I wonder if she knows that people read for pleasure."

"In terms of 'pleasure' in this household, heavy philosophical drabble is second only to sex." She shifted uncomfortably as the last word dragged from her mouth. She still thought he didn't know about her latest miscarriage. If it helped at all, he would let her go on thinking that. "I spoke with your son at the banquet, you know. I know you said his mother is horrid, but he seems like a nice enough boy."

Searle sighed. She'd only brought it up because she'd sensed he'd wanted to, he was sure of it. What was less certain was how to proceed--if to proceed--now that she had. "His father is decent enough."

"You're his father."

"You know what I mean." It was the one way in which Searle envied Sir Kaldar; a pity for the poor fellow that Landus and Elarys were a package deal. "The man he thinks is his father." And he didn't know how Landus felt about that, but it was a bitter thought for him.

Viridis sighed. "You want to get to know him, don't you?"

Searle grimaced. He loved his wife more than anyone else alive--and over the past years he felt increasingly that he loved her more than anyone gone and buried--but when it came to his children, she turned every question into a trick. "Of course I do, but we both know that's not a possibility. It would be kinder to let him go on thinking that Kaldar is his father. Besides, he's staying here with his brother and we'll be heading back to Carvallon right after your birthday."

"Well, you could call on him while we're still here," Viridis muttered, picking at the lace of her nightgown. If she was trying to sound casual, it wasn't working. "I wouldn't mind, you know. Every man wants a son."

"And every man wants the best for said son." He had three known children and it had been years since he'd seen even the publicly-acknowledged one. Perhaps Elarys was not the most horrible parent a child could have after all. And perhaps Viridis didn't quite know what she was thinking, wanting a child with him. "My distance will give him that."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Raia Doesn't Think Things Through

July 20, 1177

"So. Vera." Riona flopped back onto the mattress, catching herself on her fingertips and tapping the bedpost with her foot. "Now that we know Blind Boy can talk, out with it: what else can he do with his tongue?"

The color in Vera's face drained through her neck and vanished beneath her nightgown. Raia wasn't sure whether to laugh or fight back on her little sister's behalf. Maybe this sleepover hadn't been one of their father's better ideas. "Riona!"

Riona swung her legs toward the edge of the bed and smirked. "What? Is it so horrible for us married old hags to take an interest in our baby sister's love life?"

"Baby sister?" Vera gaped at her, disbelieving. "You're eleven months older than me!"

"And old hags?" Raia snickered, sending a wink Vera's way. Falidor would get a kick out of that comment when she mentioned it later. "Speak for yourself, Ri--right, Viridis?"

"Mmm? Oh, right."

It was quite possibly the first thing out of Viridis's mouth since supper, and only if this definition of 'thing' expanded beyond words to include pieces of cutlery. And already she'd turned away again, reemerged in her own little world, so much like their mother with that sad look of faraway longing. It was unnerving. Viridis had always been the quiet one, but at least she'd been happy. "Viridis..."

Beside her, Vera followed her gaze and flashed their sister a sympathetic smile. "Maybe it's just the pork? Riona spent twenty minutes hurling after that, remember?"

Raia laughed. Trust Vera to hand her the opportunity to make Viridis smile. "That's because Riona's as much of a pig as the meal was!"

Vera nearly choked. Hopeful, Raia shot another glance toward Viridis; the corners of her lips seemed to twitch a little, but it was hardly the reaction she'd wanted. "You did eat more than the rest of us combined."

Pushing the curtain back with her toe, Riona sniffed. "Who says the hurling had anything to do with the food?"

Behind her, Viridis's head sunk further into her pillow. So that was the problem. Poor girl. "You don't mean--?"

"Mm-hmm." She raised one hand and gave her stomach a quick rub while Viridis rolled over to stare at the wall. "Kind of annoying that it had to be so soon--but I guess I can't complain in front of you, right Raia? You with your two kids in the same calendar year. But seriously, I might need some of those herbs you keep talking about."

Viridis shifted again. Uncomfortable, Raia swallowed. "Riona--"

"Oh God... they didn't stop working, did they?"

If only Riona would turn around and take a look at the sister behind her. Then again, what did Riona know? She was Viridis's younger sister; nice as it might have been, maturity and sensitivity weren't expected of her. That was the older sister's job.

"Say, Riona... I heard one of the maids say that Lucien said Vera feels pretty."

Riona's brows perked up and Vera's face scrunched in embarrassment. Sorry, Vera. "Oh really?"

"Really. Have fun with that." Raia pushed herself off the bench and stepped around the bed as Riona readied her taunt. She'd deal with her later, after the more immediate issue had be addressed. "Viridis, honey, can I have a word?"

Nodding, her sister heaved herself off the bed and followed her to a small alcove at the room's far side. They probably didn't have much more than a few minutes before Riona grew bored with the topic Raia had flung at her; if nothing else, she hoped it would be enough time to assure Viridis that there was nothing wrong with her and there was no use worrying.

"I'm sorry if she's upsetting you."

It was an insufficient start and she knew it. Viridis frowned. "Raia..."

"No, I... I hope you don't think she's doing it on purpose. You know Riona. She's not very good at thinking things through." Viridis tugged at the cuff of her sleeve. Shit. This little talk was probably just making it worse. She'd have to think of something better to say. "And you shouldn't give up hope just yet. A lot of women go a few years without having a baby--and then once they start, some of them can't stop."

"Easy for you to say, if you really have to take herbs to space them out."

It was true. She couldn't understand--not really, even if she did believe things would work out for Viridis eventually. But who could she suggest that her sister talk to? Camaline? No, she'd probably be cynical and pessimistic about the whole thing. Jeda? Well, knowing that neither her nor Ellona had many kids considering the length of their relationships, that it was more likely a problem on Ietrin's part. The only face that came to mind was their grandmother's, and that was iffy at best; if their grandmother hadn't wanted to get pregnant before their father had somehow defied her barriers, she would've known how to prevent it.

But she was a herbalist, and a midwife--and she'd had their Aunt Aerina quite late in life. Maybe she had some tricks to the contrary. "Have you thought about asking Grandmother for help?"

Viridis shook her head. "You know Grandmother. She'd just try to figure out what's wrong with me."

"She would not." Grasping at straws, she pulled her sister into a hug. It wasn't much. It was hardly anything. But what else was she supposed to say? Everyone else in our family practically shoves them out holding hands, so it's only a matter of time? Even if she could guarantee it, Viridis wouldn't believe her. "And there's nothing wrong with you, all right? Don't ever let me hear you say that again."

Sighing, Viridis propped her chin up on Raia's shoulder. It might have been nice to be useful as something other than a standing aid, but it had been a doomed cause from the start. Apparently Riona wasn't the only one who couldn't think things through. "Can we just go back to the bed and bring up some of Riona's embarrassing childhood moments?"

For her sister's sake, Raia forced herself to laugh. "I've already got a few in mind."

NEXT CHAPTER: