Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

The hatch flopped opened. Accustomed to guardsmen coming and going, Matrinka paid it no heed until she recognized her oldest child, Marisole, poking her head through the opening. Gracefully, the nineteen-year-old swung up through it to join her mother on the rooftop. Placing a hand over her eyes to shade them, Marisole peered into the dingy daylight. "You can't see him from here, you know."

"Who?" Matrinka asked innocently.

"Who?" Marisole struck a distinctly adolescent pose, one hand on her hip, her brows arched. "Mama, if you could see King Tae from here, the folks on the ships could see him, too, couldn't they?"

Matrinka sighed. Years had passed since she could hide anything from Marisole.

"You love him, don't you, Mama?"

Matrinka tore her gaze from the ocean. She had long ago stopped really looking, only stared in mindless habit. "Of course, I love him, Marisole. He's been a close friend for many years, long before either of us became… rulers."

"So how come you and he never…?" Marisole made a gesture that Matrinka could not fathom.

"Tae and I never… what?"

"Never courted. Never married." Marisole's dark eyes demonstrated a sincerity Matrinka would never have expected for such a foolish question. She had to remind herself that Marisole had not lived the youthful interactions between her parents and their companions, had no personal experience with love and true commitment. For all her knowledge and study, Marisole did not yet understand relationships.

Matrinka remained patient, as usual. "Marisole, I love Tae like a brother, never like a lover. He adored my closest friend, and I was in love with-"

"-my father," Marisole finished.

Matrinka would not lie. "No, not with your father. I didn't even know Griff, then."

"I'm sorry. That came out all wrong. I meant with my blood father," Marisole said matter-of-factly. "With Darris."

Matrinka stared as her blood grew gradually colder in her veins. She knew this day might come, but she had always hoped to avoid it. "Marisole," she said carefully, "why do you say that?"

Marisole raised one shoulder. "Because it's the truth, right? You loved Darris."

"I did," Matrinka admitted. "I still do. But why are you denouncing your wonderful father?" She took a closer look at her growing daughter. Marisole looked more like Darris with each passing day: the generous nose, the streak of green in her eyes, the full and sensuous lips.

"I'm not denouncing him," Marisole said defensively. "He's the best father in the world, and he's made some extraordinary children." A smile tugged the corners of her mouth. She tipped her head up to Matrinka, and she clearly wanted the truth, obviously needed it.

Over the decades, Matrinka had found peace in understanding Darris' drive to know everything, had come not only to accept his need to use song when imparting knowledge, but to revel in listening to it. Marisole, she knew, suffered the same affliction.

"But I've studied enough to know the bardic curse is passed through blood, from bard to oldest child, through eternity. I can't speak for Arturo…" Marisole choked on her brother's name. "Nor for Halika. But I know for an indisputable fact that I am the blood child of Bard Darris."

Matrinka said nothing.

Marisole pressed, "Aren't I?"

Matrinka could not lie to her daughter. "You are."

Marisole continued to study her mother, speaking slowly. "Have you and Papa ever… shared… a bed?"

Matrinka turned away. "That's an awfully personal question."

"Mama!" A hint of anger entered Marisole's tone. "I have a right to know."

Matrinka shook her head, not looking at her eldest daughter. "You have the right to know about your bloodline. Not about my… bedroom."

"Mama."

When Matrinka continued to ignore her, Marisole continued. "All right, then. Here's what I know and what I believe based on the facts I've studied. Papa's parents were exiled from Bearn because they had an illegal relationship. They were too closely blooded for marriage, but they had sex anyway."

Matrinka whipped back around. "Marisole, language!"

Undeterred, Marisole continued, "Papa's worried about that; he thinks he's flawed in his head. He's never had proper faith in his cleverness. He believes he's 'slow-witted,' and it's due to his close-blooded parents. So, when the populace demanded he marry his Cousin Matrinka, he was afraid to make babies because they'd be closer-blooded even than him. And they might turn out like… Ivana."

"Marisole!" Matrinka could not believe her daughter would dare say anything negative about Griff 's unfortunate elfin daughter.

"Well, it's true." Marisole did not back down. "I love Ivana, Mama; I really do. But let's be honest. No one deliberately sets out to create a child like her, do they? I mean, no expectant mother in the history of the world ever said, 'I hope my baby is unintelligent, drooling, and incapable of speech.' It's not like Papa and Tem'aree'ay have tried to make more offspring."

Matrinka found it impossible to argue, though she still refused to support the point. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying I believe Darris fathered Arturo, Halika, and me, with Papa's blessing." Marisole's stance softened. "That's right, Mama, isn't it?"

Matrinka finally understood Marisole's consternation. She did not want to think her mother was a wanton woman who had deceived and cheated on her father. "Every bit of it." Matrinka sighed. "But I wish you wouldn't tell your little sister yet. I'd rather she never knew, like…" Tears flooded Matrinka's eyes before she could stop them. She had not realized her grief remained so raw. She forced herself to choke out the name, "… Arturo."

Marisole wrapped her mother in a hug. "I didn't mean to bring that up."

Matrinka nodded, returning the embrace and trying to regain control. It came easier each time. "You didn't do anything wrong, Marisole."

"What about… Barrindar?"

Their closeness muffled Marisole's words, and she had also spoken unusually softly. Matrinka was not sure she had heard right. She released her eldest daughter and took a step backward. "You mean Prince Barrindar? Your brother?"

"He's not really my brother, is he?"

"Half brother," Matrinka conceded. "But that's close enough, isn't it? You're all siblings; halves shouldn't matter. I don't think you should treat him any differently than you did…" She still had to force out the name, "… Arturo."

Marisole pursed her lips. Apparently, she was not getting the answers she wanted. "Princess Xoraida wasn't consorting with the bard, too, was she?"

The coarseness of the question surprised Matrinka. She made a mental note to have a serious discussion with Marisole regarding her decorum, but not now. Matrinka did not want to stifle the current conversation; she suspected something important and not yet uncovered lay at the heart of it. "Of course not. But as far as anyone is concerned the king is your father. And Barri's, too."

Marisole's expression turned grim with frustration, and she blurted out, "But Mama, we're not siblings by blood at all. Not even half siblings."

Matrinka wondered why so many people placed such an importance on blood relations. Best friends often grew closer than siblings, and one's truest deepest love rarely shared any blood at all. In fact, the less the better. "Marisole, bloodline's not important. You love him like a brother, don't you?"

Marisole kicked at the stone flooring. Bearn Castle was carved from the very mountains against which it nestled. "No, Mother, I don't. Not… like a brother… exactly."

A light dawned suddenly, and Matrinka understood. She felt like a fool for taking so long to figure out her daughter's need. "You and Prince Barrindar? Barrindar-"

"-and me, yes, Mother."