9. The Next Day

The next day was much like the previous, only, Charnarion awoke to a cluster of maids huddled in concern over him. They dispersed without so much as a squawk upon the morning maid's arrival. A series of dark looks set them scurrying, and Charnarion found himself fixed with a long, deep frown. Before he quite understood how, she pressed the back of her hand to his brow, clucked to herself, and was about to give him an earful, or so he suspected, when Skie appeared. Rubbing her eyes, she stifled a yawn, the heavy folds of nightgown alone in covering her from neck to ankle. He caught the morning maid's look of disapproval. It would appear that both he and Skie had a penchant for forgoing slippers and dressing gowns.

He decided it was better not to ask how Skie knew where to find him. Instead, the morning maid took her presence to mean their breakfast order awaited, though, Charnarion noted, that neither Skie nor himself ever got as far as mentioning what they wanted before the morning maid took off at a brisk march, her skirts neatly in line with her step. The open door joined its partner with a soft click.

Skie met his eyes, her own more than a little fragile. Before she could ask, he patted the couch and mentioned, as if in passing, he was speaking with their father. At the use of the word 'their', a beautiful, brilliant smile erupted, her dimpling cheeks suddenly radiant. Reaching down, he brought his lips to hers, their first married kiss chaste, tender. Her arms slid around his neck and somehow, she was in his lap, and though she blinked to find herself there, she didn't protest. Lacing his fingers through her sumptuous locks, he cradled her as though she were the most precious thing in the whole of the realms. To him, she was.

"What did you and Daddy talk about?" Skie ventured, after a natural still had settled. Taking her cheek, he held and kissed her, as an inward war raged. Was this really how he wanted to start their marriage, with such a dark, incomplete tale, or did he want to keep it from her, to shield her, protect her? Or was it to shield himself? No, that moment in the glasshouse happened because he entrusted her, because theirs was a relationship of equals. But was now really the right time? Who knew who might be listening? The morning maid would be back at any moment. If he said nothing, or said 'later', she would feel he was brushing her off. He needed to answer.

Skie spoke his name.

Inhaling deeply, Charnarion took her hands in his, stared deeply into her eyes, and saw himself reflected back. His ripe wheat-hued hair was mused, he looked a mess, but his gaze held a sincerity, a calm he didn't realise he possessed. Warning her it was not an easy tale, perhaps one best saved for later, he nevertheless outlined the key points of the conversation the night before. His words were low, intense, and his eyes never left hers. He spoke about Brilla, the expedition, and when it came to Aliana, his face contorted, but Skie simply replied, 'Oh'. Then her face brightened. "You have a sister!"

Then it struck him that somewhere, out there, he really did. Somehow, in all of the grimness and reflection, he missed it. Pressing her lips together, her head bowing just a notch, Skie added, "Thank you for letting me sleep last night. I understand why you didn't…" Her eyes darted to the side. Lifting her chin, he apologised, and actually meant it. Shaking her head, she replied she understood why he hadn't, then considered for a moment, adding that if she had heard all that, she wouldn't have wanted to sleep either. Then she smiled, and added they still had some time before they had to head out. Desire flared, filling him, but his sense of duty and responsibility kicked in, and he offered a clipped headshake. By the time they shared breakfast, they would need to prepare for the day, but as disappointment gripped both of them, he invited her to walk through the gardens with him. Her face lit.

A moment later, the morning maid arrived with their much-needed kaeth, a tray of sweet pastries, strawberries and more besides. There was something wonderful, so deeply sublime in sharing these simple delights with Skie. To see her smile that way, that glasshouse was priceless. For all its books and untold wealth of knowledge, Charnarion decided that he did not miss Candlekeep at all. None of it compared with feeding his new bride freshly plucked strawberries, hearing her giggle and seeing the sheer joy that filled her face. Against such simple pleasures as these, arcane lore seemed irrelevant.

Outside, the street parties had died down, somewhat, or at least, had taken on a more subdued presence. Which is to say, as Charnarion and Skie's carriage drove by, those not partaking in the all night festivities, having not drunk to excess, namely mothers, some fathers, and their children, were delighting in a brunch, while the majority of the Gate were nursing heavy hangovers. For the newlyweds, their afternoon consisted of formal dancing, avoiding polite chitchat wherever possible, and bracing themselves for the banquet that followed.

Representatives of the powers that be and everyone who was someone made themselves known, as the evening mirrored and picked up where yesterday's left off. It was clear to most present that the banquet had nothing to do with the wedding, and was merely an excuse for power brokering, and anything less would be in poor form. So, as the various mages of high ability with a penchant for politics graced the Ducal Palace, making conversation with those from the Merchant League, of whom a remarkable number hailed from the Iron Throne, and only a handful from the Seven Suns trading company, Charnarion avoided those attempting to make eye contact. This included one Jhasso, a director of the Seven Suns, who seemed fairly reasonable but hinted at an investment opportunity, and another less savoury fellow who insisted on talking about his hunting exploits in Cloakwood. Charnarion didn't need Skie's hand on his forearm to know to decline the invitation. Wyvern hunting seemed like pastime for the foolhardy, those like Gorion. The mere notion of resembling the sage made the wine in his mouth curdle, so it a curt look was all he could manage. Skie, however, slipped in a murmuring of thanks, and while breathing in his ear the remainder to at least try to be courteous, he could feel her vexation the invitation was offered at all. When he muttered back that the hunter seemed the disreputable sort, Skie made no attempts to hide her eyeroll, and somewhat pertly informed him that 'Aldeth Sashenstar' was a 'braggard' and a 'brigand in silk' who stood to lose everything.

Charnarion himself brushed off the whole encounter, Duke Entar already briefing him on the Seven Suns' rapidly fading fortunes. In fact, the duke had spent a good hour reminding them both of who to avoid, how to behave, and who to be especially gracious to. It got to the point where Skie had exclaimed 'Daddy!' and stamped her foot, not quite bewailing a 'We know!'. Still, it worked, and Entar allowed a 'See that you do', in spite of her theatrics. His brow was far too furrowed, and not even his daughter's kiss to his cheek raised his visible demeanour. If Charnarion had to hazard a guess, as Skie has demanded with a particularly exasperated sigh in the carriage, it was Entar was preoccupied with the coming summit with Reiltar and the Knights of the Shield in Candlekeep. Instead of waving it off, as she would have a few years back, Skie simply frowned, nodded, and fell silent. Then she kissed him. It was as well the carriage drapes were drawn, or the broadsheets and pamphleteers would have a field day.

In the next lull, he wondered how Skie knew of Sashenstar, as she had always avoided economics like the plague, which, he instantly realised, was a rather unfortunate and insensitive comparison that he must never voice aloud to her, lest he bring up painful memories of Brilla.

The various nobles and daughters of nobility, milled around, and a few of them, of both sexes, made passes at both him and Skie, more than one all but offering a 'menagerie', which Skie coldly correctly as a 'ménage à trois' and told each of the three men, of whom two were close in age and one was old enough to be their collective father, and two young women, that neither of them held any interest, and perhaps they should direct their inquiries to the Undercellar. Bringing up the Undercellar in public was clearly a faux pas, but those who might have insinuated a liaison backed off. One dark haired woman, perhaps of Cythandria's age, made a comment that being locked away for so long had left her wondering if he and Skie actually existed. Charnarion felt that it was his turn to restrain Skie, and were it not for the fact it was their wedding day, some of the remarks should have led to duels, not that Charnarion had any intention of being baited.

Perhaps the most obvious absence was that of Cythandria, Sarevok and Reiltar Anchev. It might be considered a snub, but for the fact they had put in an appearance yesterday, and Cythandria wrote a letter in a flowing, elegant hand making her excuses. It arrived that morning, right before they set off for the Ducal Palace. It seemed, without being too indelicate, that the shellfish was less than agreeable, and as Sarevok was unable to attend, it would be crass not to care for him. As if to soften the blow, she also confided that their announcement would have to wait, but both Skie and Charnarion were invited for dinner at the next available opportunity, and perhaps they could attend the theatre in a few days, once their honeymoon was concluded.

It was a nice enough letter, but Charnarion wondered aloud what announcement Sarevok and Cythandria could possibly make. Skie rolled her eyes and informed him in a particularly patient tone that obviously they were announcing their betrothal. She also wondered how he could be so dense. Ignoring this, he continued to vocalise his thought train, pondering if perhaps, Cythandria was with child. Skie frowned at this, and nodded slowly, as if she were reviewing their past encounters for any subtle shifts. Somehow, he just didn't quite picture Sarevok as a father. Then again, he didn't picture himself as one either, but such things happened, with time, usually. Assuming, of course, he and Skie ever got their wedding night.

Her foot pressed against his toe, bringing him sharply out of his thoughts. Glancing around, he wondered why she roused him. Then he saw. Duke Entar's face was deathly pale, a messenger whispering furiously at his side. Their father's whole face crumpled, and despite his curt dismissal, and attempt to regain his composure, many eyes in the hall turned to him. Standing tall, he met the stares until each bowed away, and the festivities resumed, though the tone of the murmurings altered. Charnarion began to stand, but Skie gripped his arm, and addressed his frown with a visible eye roll. Now clearly wasn't the time, but as the Duke excused himself, he couldn't help but wonder what was going on.

A few hours later, he found out.