The footlights and stage lights were lit and the drumming murmur of the audience punctuated by musicians tuning their instruments had fallen into hushed anticipation. Sylvia sat in the first row of the lower balcony. She preferred its view when she was not able to find seats close to the stage, such as on this evening when impulse had called her out to the concert. It had also presumed on her to wear appropriate attire, and she wore the dark green formal gown of velvet and silk, its sleeves long and flowing, the leaf embroidered bodice showing her regained figure, and the skirt kissing the ground when she walked.

Sitting alone, the theater not overwhelmingly filled in the balcony area, the ticket purchasers had spread out among the seats. The lower level was filled, though, and the random chair here and there was not to be sought. None wanted to give up the luxury of the extra room, and the performance would be heard just as well up there due to the masterful acoustics of the architecture.

Polite applause as the conductor of the orchestra arrived to the podium and gave a curtsey to the audience. She turned to her orchestra, raised her baton and as one they prepared to play their instruments. Sylvia felt the increased pounding of her heart in wait for that first note. The piece was familiar, even to her, and if she stretched her mind she could draw up its name. Symphony No.6, Beethoven.. It was a composer of another world, another time, but most composers were in Rhydin.

The gentle beginning, so evocative of a pastoral journey, sweetened a serene curve of her lips. The simple cantor of horses, the strolling people, the floating trills of birds, the voice of the wind in the trees were brought to musical life by the instruments. It gave such sincere pleasure, and she was glad of her going out.

It had been a long time since she had gone to the theatre, and that had been with Ewan. Even longer since she had gone alone, but Ewan was out of town. Lucky, well, she had to let the man have a life; she could not run to him every moment. Kiema was still tending the Sedlaral. Miriam needed to look after the children if Sylvia was to be out. Sylvia had gone down the list of friends, and of those who would accompany her, and it was the conclusion that she would go alone. She needed to get used to doing things alone, so she braved the theatre.

It had been a fortunate thing spying that poster announcing the concert. Its edges were tattered by weather, and days in the sun faded the printing, but it had been legible. Now, she sat in the darkened theatre, felt the emptiness of the seats around her, and listened as the fourth movement, the storm, hinted its power and the swelled into the fury of instrumental thunder and rain. She breathed in deep the thrill of the sound.

Sylvia had joined up with Kiema, Gaerwyn, and Ewan at an old haunt of hers, The High Beam Tavern. It was where she and Kieran had first had their long talks, and with her years of favoring the establishment, she had come to be treated as any other guest without the trappings of her station. It was a sweet indulgence in being just herself once again, and since she did not indulge too often, the staff was more than willing to play along.

The four were sharing drinks and news, when Kiema made a joke at Ewan?s expense. ?What, you did not enjoy being a stuffy priest of The Twelve? Did it conceal too much of your dashing figure??

Emerald eyes rolled at the jab, Gaerwyn laughed in a hearty undertone to both Sylvia?s and Kiema?s feminine chuckles. It had however, brought something to mind to Sylvia. ?That does remind me, Ewan. I had a visit from Pentar Rhiordan this morning. It seems one of his priests was walking by your mother?s home the other day and he swore he heard a ?witchlaid? tongue singing.? It was amusement brightening her smile. Sylvia had more than a good idea of what the priest had heard.

?The Pentar came to see you?? Ewan questioned, though he too was smiling at the insanity of it.

?Yes. It seemed to have put his priest into quite a state.?

Gaerwyn laughed once more, a bold hearty sound. ?Gaelic singing, no matter how lovely, would put any educated priest into frenzy. Tell me, my lady, did the priest want to do rituals and cleanse the house??

Kiema was near to fits, being, like all three of the others, not a practitioner of The Twelve. ?Was it evil spirits he thought come to consume Ewan?s family??

Sylvia gave them all looks to quiet down as she explained. ?Pentar Rhiordan felt it was only right he warn me that there might be foreign invaders. In light of recent events, he was probably overly zealous in hunting out the unusual.?

Ewan gave a more sober nod. ?I would rather have them inform of the unusual than not.?

?I agree, but I assured His Grace, that they were visitors coming to tend to your mother, and they spoke an ancient language of their homeland. I also assured him that I would attend a service soon to keep him from asking further questions as to the guests? homeland.?

All three of the others groaned, but Gaerwyn spoke up. ?I will do so as well, along with the children, just to keep the suspicions at bay.?

Kiema had to laugh, ?Who would have thought bringing in foreign friends would spark a sense of religious zeal in us??

All four exchanged amused glances.

Sylvia shared a smile with the men working on the raising of the walls around Yearling Brook. Light snowfall did not keep them from working diligently in the rhythm of brick and mortar. After some haggling with Ewan, he and Sylvia had agreed upon walls just above six feet. There was, they both agreed, no keeping everything out, but it would give it a more finished, separated look from the rest of the forest. Ewan had chuckled at the requirement of aesthetics, and only made sure the wall did not draw too much unwanted attention.

The yipping of a puppy behind her drew her head around. The boys were playing in the freshly falling snow with Lucky-puppy, alternately trying to train him and laughing at the results. Rosy cheeks and noses above warm scarves and beneath woolen caps, she watched them as she moved their way. They were more resilient than she. Melancholy came on Cian from time to time, and Aidan would feed into that. Those were the nights they came to seek the comfort of their mother. But laughter was a spring that they drank from often. Each catastrophe they faced made them stronger, and Sylvia feared they might also become too accustomed. Would there be a time when losing a loved one or their danger would no longer mean something? Cian could become tyrannical if he lost his perspective of hurt.

A yelp drew her from her thoughts. Exuberant play on Aidan?s part and he?d lost his footing to land on the puppy?s paw. Cian scooped up the puppy, hugged it close, and looked at the paw giving soft voice, not too different from when his mother comforted their scrapes and bumps. ?Mum!? he came running over, poor puppy jostled on the way. ?Aidan fell on Lucky?s paw. Is it broken??

The moment eased her worries as no words or self reproach could have done. She examined the paw, and shook her head. ?No, I think he?s fine.?

?Will you kiss it and make it better?? Cian looked up at her with expectation.

She quirked a brow as kissing a puppy?s paw was not high on her list of things to do. In fact, it would never make her list. So, she kissed two fingers and patted it to the paw. ?There, all better.?

Taking her at her word, Cian set the puppy down, and the puppy went scampering off, glad to free to tackle the snow again and goosing Aidan on its way. Sylvia laughed in bright measure as she turned for the orchard and forest beyond. The days of past and the future blended to its line of trees calling for her to walk its length awhile.

With two of the children napping and Cian getting another riding lesson on his pony, Sylvia sat outside near the orchard trees, looking up at bare limbs fuzzing their hope for new blooms and growth. The coming weeks would steal away the easy, carefree moments again. Spring Festival, while not as large a festival those that come in the latter part of the year, it had its own traditions and demands to be met.

After that would be Aidan?s birthday, and in light of the issue of her being foreign and bringing foreign ideas to Yransea, it was thought best to celebrate it at Yearling Brook. It would make things easier on the staff as well.

Ewan had made the trip up to Yearling Brook to check in as he did at least three times a week. It was nice to take some time in that walk and ground his senses in the sounds of awakening nature. Past the care of cobblestones and other measures to keep roads passable in town and on its blended outskirts, the road became more troublesome with mud threatening to steal his boots. He made sure to avoid the deeper threats of mud that might disjoint knees and ankles in the rescue of footwear. It was a welcome thing to arrive at the gravel mixed paths of the manor grounds.

While the weather as not wonderful, it was not the gloomy chill, and in some manner, Sylvia regretted it. A fondness for snow, cold, and grey skies kept long winters bearable, but she could not deny the anticipation of running streams, birds in the backyard, and the green of leaves and budding fruit. It was a simple pleasure in seeing nature don her yellow-green cloak and place the pink of new life in her cheeks.

Returning the hails of those moving along the grounds and in particular to young Cian upon the pony in the paddock with his trainer, Ewan made his way to the main house. ?Mum?s out back!? Cian yelled across the way. With a smiling nod and lift of his hand, he indicated he had heard and went around the back to find Sylvia. Spying her among the trees of the orchard, he approached, ?Good day, Your Excellency.?

She smiled at Ewan?s approach, ?Good day, Ewan. I think we?re safe enough to drop the titles still, unless you are here on official business.?

?No more official than any other day,? he grinned with a hint of sarcasm. ?No, nothing official, but came to see how things were here and if you needed aught from me.?

Sylvia motioned for them to walk together. ?As you mention it, I was wondering if you could check out a place called Mount Yasuo.? A sidelong glance to catch his initial reaction, if he gave one which would be a rare sighting.

The reaction came in a narrowing of emerald eyes. ?I have heard rumors of it. May I ask to the reason of this investigation??

?Hudson mentioned perhaps further our trade out to that place, and I would like you opinion of it as well.?

?Though what my opinion will be is unlikely to sway you.?

Her steps slowed to a stop. ?That statement is suspect.? Her frown was severe. ?I would not send you if I did not respect your judgment, Ewan. What is it you question in truth??

When she stopped, so did he. ?Nothing. It was ill spoken. I think I am feeling a bit restless and looking for trouble.?

?Stop looking,? Sylvia suggested and began to walk again, ?as there are enough that will find us in due time.? She still watched him, feeling there was something more than being restless to his words.

A nod of agreement, he said, ?I cannot deny that. So, Mount Yasuo ? do you want me to go before Spring Festival or after??

?That depends on how quickly Hudson means to act upon his suggestions. I should think after Gaerwyn and Lenika?s wedding. How are they?? An eager smile for news of the couple, and hoping they are happy in their coming celebrations.

At the turn of the conversation, he grinned and nodded. ?They are well, though I suspect Lenika may be stewing in unspoken stress over it. You know how she is. Hard to tell there is trouble until the point breaks.?

?Well, I will be there for Spring Festival, and try my best to help her and Maeve in what way I can.?

?Thank you,? Ewan bowed his head and grinned as they continued their walk.

Sylvia watched with a well humored smile as one of the sailors tied a safety line around Cian. At Cian?s insistence, the sailor gamely put a life line around Lucky-puppy, too. The dog squirmed and yipped, a lick of the sailor?s nose set a chuckle in the man, until the task was done. It would not take long, Sylvia thought, for that line to be in a mess. Cian was playing with the dog while his brother and sister slept. The two younger children had easily fallen to sleep at the rocking of the boat.

?We?re running low in the water, my lady,? the Captain smiled as he approached with a bow of his head. ?You have us full up in cargo.?

It was years of sailing back across the sea with the man which allowed the easy exchange of light teasing. A merry trio of notes, ?Aye, so I do. I did not realize how much had gathered in that house. I did leave some behind, though you might find that hard to believe.?

?I do at that, though I did notice not much by way of furniture came along.? He watched the men working the rigging but spared an inquisitive glance her way.

?Can you imagine how much furniture has collected at the manor only to add my own odd bits and pieces?? Her hand touched his upper arm in the familiar gesture of old friends. He shared her laugh. ?It can be dealt with at a later time.? She said as much to herself as to him.

A grunt and nod, he clasped his hands behind his back. ?Spring Festival day after we arrive. I will be looking forward to it myself.?

The hint could not be mistaken, and Sylvia echoed his sidelong glance. ?I see no reason why you could not have the day free to enjoy it. The other vessels can make up the change, and we?ll have volunteers to the crew.?

?Kind of you, my lady,? he tapped his finger to the brim of his hat, and with a nod went on his way to speak with the helmsman.

Left to her own thoughts, Sylvia felt the impulse to look back over her shoulder even stronger. There had been nothing decided in any precise measure. Ewan knew, of course, her intentions, but he had questioned them just as her friend Sid had over a year ago. Had she been fighting the inevitable and now just embraced it? Or was she running from something?

It had kept her from feeling any urge to eat, though she admitted her sleep was a welcome place to escape. Even now the thought of food was unwelcome and sleep a siren?s call. Cian?s laughter and the sharp yip of a young dog focused her again and she went to sit on the deck, her back up against the railing and tried to keep her son, the dog, and herself out of the men?s way as they crossed the ocean, the strange portal, and into the harbor of Seansloe.

?Come on, Lyana, again,? Sylvia urged as she took stance once more in the sparring ring. It had been a day bright and cool that greeted her when she went outside to the gardens with the children. The chance at some sword work appealed to her wandering thoughts, and so she had caught her sister-in-law in the hallway to encourage a practice. The younger lady was eager for the match, and they struck upon the time.

It had been some time since last Sylvia practiced with a sword and not her dagger, but the sword was easily found in a chest beneath her bed. Her armor was in a far chest in the corner of her room. It had been treated regularly enough to keep in good order, and the rich scent of oiled leather and the clink of chain and arms drew forth a smile. Her fingers followed each line and curve of the crafted greaves, and without assistance she set each piece in place. Straps pulled, laces tied, and buckles clasped, until the entirety of her gear was on. It felt odd and familiar. Her arms swung out and she tested the measure of her maneuverability. Creaking and clinking of the armor, mostly leather with bits of plate at vital joints, whispered its delight in being free of the chest.

With sword girded on, helm under her arm, she walked the corridors and endured the raised brows or warm smiles. Each had their sincerity of concern, some thinking she was too far gone and others that she was finding her way back. Sylvia felt she was just moving. Just enduring and going forward with some activity would help that endeavor.

Several of the guards were leaning against the rails of the ring. Their interest in the match was support for fellow fights for the most part. It was not to be denied, and Sylvia had no interest in assuming their thoughts, that some probably had some fantasy of their own watching the two women swordplay. Both Lyana and Sylvia had spent years, Sylvia more than her sister-in-law, in the unequal company of war bands or freelancers. This would be no different now. It was be a bold and stupid man, someone like long dead Corwyn, to act on his fantasies. None of the warband was that stupid.

Lyana raised the long sword, its hand and a half leather grip already dark brown from the sweat of her hands. Sylvia, too, could feel the sweat behind her ears and down the center of her back as well as other places. They did not walk in circles, but swayed back and forth on their feet. There was a rhythm to this dance as much as any folk reel. Sylvia brought her sword across and back to block Lyana?s testing thrust to her middle.

A flurry of exchanges, blocks and slim advantages that tossed from one lady to another, until Sylvia, finally, just punched Lyana in the shoulder sending the woman back with the blow. ?Sylvia!? she gaped. A low murmur of laughter among whispers passed among the spectators.

Sylvia pointed her sword at Lyana, ?You think your enemy is going to play pretty? Be glad I didn?t clock you in the jaw.?

Lyana was a good sword fighter, and Sylvia had never really thought herself much more than average. Maybe the dagger fighting training had improved her sword play. She did fight a little dirtier. Her sister smirked, ?Master Corinsson has influenced you too much.?

At the next joining of blows, Sylvia found herself turned about out of position and felt the hilt of Lyana?s sword crash on her shoulder. ?Blazing pyres,? Sylvia twisted away and winced, ?deserved that one. Good mark.?

A saluted of the blade, Lyana smiled. ?Even then? Shall we call it a day??

?Tired, little sister?? Sylvia smirked and brandished the blade again.

?Yes!? Lyana laughed but matched the stance. If the lady was tired, the next engagement of swords did not show it. Blocking measures were swiftly followed by advances that drove Sylvia back a few steps, but were countered quickly.

Her breath was labored and burned in her lungs, but she could hear Lyana breathing just as heard when they locked in close quarters. With a twist of her hips, and the placement of her foot, she pressed Lyana back to trip to the ground. Sword to the woman?s throat, Sylvia smiled, ?Now we will call it a day.?

Lyana grumbled and took Sylvia?s offered hand up from the ground. ?You have the advantage with those hips.?

By any other, Sylvia might have taken offense, but she just laughed and nodded. ?Use every advantage, Lyana.? As the two ladies walked back to the manor and inside, Sylvia cast the lady a glance. ?Speaking of advantages??

At the roll of eyes, Sylvia gathered Lyana knew just what she was going to say. And she did, beating her to the speaking of it. ?Lord Keefe is not taking any advantages, well, none that I am opposed to him taking,? Lyana laughed.

Shaking her head, Sylvia cautioned, ?Be that as it may, Lyana, try not to have him take advantages in the corridors. Either have the affair or don?t, but if you are going to, his quarters or yours, please.? She gave her sister-in-law a bump with her hip.

A step to the side, and Lyana gave a warning look. ?Fine, but you will have to deal with the talk that Keefe is trying to claim the throne through me.?

?As long as he isn?t, I can take care of the gossip.? Sylvia gave a wary look.

?He isn?t,? Lyana spoke with confidence. ?I wouldn?t let him anyway.? She gave a saucy grin. ?I want him in my bed, not on my nephew?s throne.?

?Then enjoy it,? Sylvia wiggled her brows as she walked backwards a few steps further down the hallway to her own quarters. Lyana blushed and laughed before disappearing into her room. Sylvia sighed at the delight she felt on Lyana?s behalf living in the moment and enjoying its delightful uncertainties with the faith of youth.

Sylvia felt her stomach twist in knots. There were too many errors in judgment, her own mainly, that hammered their claxon warnings in her mind. Edges crept closer as she walked her crumbling path, and light played with shadows unceasing in her thoughts just as a bubble floats upon the rise and fall of the ocean.

Morning light sliced into her room through the slit of dark curtains drawn not quite closed. She rolled over in her bed and stared at the motes of dust that sparkled in that ray. They too rose and fell on the currents. Her mind jumped to bizarre questions that forced her to jolt from the bed and ready for the day. She could not keep still, lingering in that room and thinking of the many ways she might too abandon her children. She had to live while she was living.

Like hounds the threats and dangers chased after her thoughts as she dressed. They pressed her onward into action, and without a word to the staff preparing for the morning meal, she raced by them to the door where fresh dawn caressed her cheeks with moisture. Her steps did not halt at the garden or orchard, but went on to the woods.

Fingers slid along birch bark smooth and rough in turn. Morning birds fell silent at her approach and then sang their heralding melodies once more when she caused them no harm in her passing. The braying hunt of the ravenous thoughts fell back with each creaking tree in chorus with the breeze cast along the top limbs. Without pixies, fairies, or any other such mystical beings, the woods had always held a magic for her.

Even long ago when she first purchased the land from the funds saved as a sell sword protecting richer men?s warehouses and ships of trade, the woods had been her companions. Rocky land that tended to flood had brought purchase price down, though dear enough for the acreage. Never had she seen then what it would become. It had been her refuge then. A solitary home fit for one who accepted being alone. It was her sanctuary now. A sanctuary without solitude except in the woods.