Chapter II. "Hearthfire"

The birds sung to their return. Even as the garden came into view from the trail, their hands remained held. Leanne’s warm laugh eased Shaniera so much that she had almost forgotten about the hare she’d spotted here. Almost. But when she looked to the spot as they passed, she saw no sign of it. A scavenger must have claimed it, she reasoned, and thought no more of it.

“There it is, my father’s new love,” Leanne said as they came by the pumpkins. They had all been tiny sprouts on the vine during Last Seed, but now the largest of the bunch was a swelling mass too wide around to wrap one’s arms around it. “Father is going to bake a hundred pies out of the smaller ones, and then he and Gro’shuba are going to cart them down to Tigonus for the festival along with that great big one. They’ll smash it open and bake the seeds for snacks for the children. Of course, that depends on my father being able to part with his beloved gourd. He calls it his ‘prized darling’.”

Shaniera stifled a chortle, trying to sound sympathetic. “It sounds like you’ve been replaced.”

“No. I’m still his wonderful daughter, but I’m all grown, so he’s already calling me a job well done. Now he needs to raise new things. Though the place of his wife has been vacant for as long as I can remember.”

“Quick, we should marry them before they leave. That way, he won’t be able to kill her.”

Leanne’s laugh was like the soft patter of summer rain on stone, and it affected you differently sometimes; when Shani was holding her hand, like now, hearing her laugh felt like that rain was landing on her, running down her back and sending a rush straight through her body. “Perhaps we should. Perhaps he’s already named it after mother. He has said that she was a plump woman, so I guess it would be fitting.”

“Well, he is going to have a few days alone with Gro’shuba...”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Those two couldn’t be more unfit for one another. It’d be as if...”

“As if I were to court her?”

Leanne’s face grew red. Shani couldn’t help the laugh. It was all too easy to tease the woman. She’d once mentioned how attractive she found Gro’shuba’s muscular form, and Leanne had seemed almost eager to prove how jealous the notion made her, going so far as to shirk her other duties in favor of working the mill. Her soreness had paid off, though, and beneath that cotton shift she had arms that would make many a Breton man jealous. “Hush yourself,” she grumbled. “You are such a brat.”

A few thoughts suddenly occurred to Shani. “That sounds like a lot of trouble to go through, carting that thing down if all they’re going to do is bake the seeds.

“Because the pumpkin is an attraction, too. People will come for pies, but more will come to have a look at a vegetable bigger than they are.”

That seemed to make sense. “If he’s baking the pies before they leave, how will they keep warm?”

“That’s ... generous of her.” Now this was unexpected. Shani’s father had been a hunter, but not the sort that hunted wild game. He went to strange and far places after otherworldly creatures, mostly Daedra from Oblivion. The fire salts were part of a grand collection he had amassed, the tray of black granite used to display them needed to resist the heat and keep it from setting fire to the rest of the cabinet. That collection was her father’s achievement, and no one had touched it since he passed away—until now, apparently, and at the word of her mother, which was all the more surprising.

“Shaniera.” Her voice came from straight ahead. Had she slipped from the house just now, or had she been standing there this whole time, and they were too distracted to notice?

“Mother.” Shani slipped her hand from Leanne’s. “Beautiful morning.”

“To you as well. I trust that you enjoyed your little stroll?” She was clutching a white linen sheet. Her fingers, long and slender, sank into the folds like black talons in cream. Shani could see where a few threads were fraying loose from the fabric, and though she wasn’t joined with Leanne anymore, she could feel her wince at her side.

As if she could read their minds, her mother turned to the servant. “Leanne, dear, I could not help but notice this torn sheet on the clothesline. Would you kindly see to this?” Those words were never warm when mother spoke them. It was how you knew that she wasn’t asking.

“Yes, mistress.” Leanne bowed, then took the sheet and her leave, stealing a quick glance at Shani. Don’t worry, she wanted to tell her as she left.

“Shaniera,” her mother repeated, turning back to her. “I hope you have energy to walk a little more.”

“Where to, mother?”

“Just around the house. Come.” Always dressed in flowing silk with rippling patterns, her mother looked like one of the fabled blade-dancers of old Yokudan legend. Her hair billowed in thick black waves down her shoulders and around the sides and top of her head, like a great curly lion’s mane. She was always luxurious, never allowing anyone to look upon her in a state of disarray. Dignity was everything with her. But under the stern layers, there was something different there this morning. Most would not have been able to see it, but Shaniera knew the woman better than most.

“Mother, is there something the matter? You look troubled.”

Her mother’s frown only deepened. “You are a grown woman now, and I see no point in hiding the truth from you. It would appear that Renoa has left us.”

Shaniera was stunned. Left us? Had she suddenly died in the night? “Has she...”

“She was seen leaving the manse late last night, and she hasn’t returned. No one has seen her since. Her sword and her mother’s necklace are gone, as well.”

Shani walked blindly, her thoughts consumed with attempts at rationalization. Why would Ren leave? When she last spoke to her, she seemed content enough. She was a cousin from her father’s side, who came to live with them after her mother had died. She taught Shani how to dance when her mother was too busy, and liked to play knights in the garden when they were girls. She was kind to her, and she was happy, and now to just leave...

“For what purpose?”

“I don’t know, and frankly I don’t care. I’ve sent out Mikhael and Boros to search the woods to the north, and Rodar and Hasan to the villages south. If she still lives, she won’t be too far. In any case, we have more pressing matters to attend to.”

What could be more pressing than my cousin running away? Shani wanted to ask, but knew better. If anyone could find her, it would be those men. Rodar and Hasan were friendly faces amongst the villages in their area of the mountains, and Mikhael and Boros were experienced with traversing the highlands, being the only other Bretons in their service. They had come from High Rock to the north, captured in some factional border conflict years ago, saved by Shaniera’s father and given employ at the Farúk.

Her mother continued, not waiting to be asked. “The king of Sentinel has agreed to our proposal.”

The morning’s nervousness was gone, and in its place was the dreadful sort of nervous that came with the end of something good. Your proposal, you mean. “Truly? That’s ... wonderful news.”

“You don’t need to feign excitement. I know you haven’t taken a liking to the idea, but trust me when I say you will warm up to it. It is a bright future for both you and your children. And I am certain you will like the prince, too.”

“Will I get to meet him before we wed, at least?”

“Yes. On the morrow, actually.”

“The king of Sentinel is coming tomorrow?”

Her mother was seldom amused, and when she chortled it was a short, hard noise that was nothing like laughter. “The king is not coming. If he were, I would have given you a fortnight’s notice. The prince is his second son, not the prince next in line for the kingdom, to be sure, but close up the ladder. The boy is travelling with his uncle. When they arrive, however, you must act as if you were meeting with the king. You will wear your most beautiful dress, the red and gold silk and velvet, I think. Yes, that one. It will show just enough of you to please the prince, but not overly salacious.”