The Manse of the Late Ollo Tregario

[brigida]

"Mm," Tristeza said again, her gaze still locked on the ground, "I am," she said, indistinctly.

[Horas]

"Then why...?" Horas trails off, looking at Tristeza with concern.

[brigida]

"I..." Tristeza began, at a rare loss for words. Her movements were hesitant and unfomfortale, and with each passing moment, her eyes filled more with sadness, and her lips pressed tighter together, as though they were the last barrier against words better not said, "I love you very much, Horas; but I have made mistakes...many of them--the victims of my errors have been sundry, and many in numbers--I fear you are among their ranks...but I...I am shamed too much to make the confessions I seek to make...and I feel more unsure than ever in this moment that I am able at all." Her voice shook slightly, though her eyes were yet fastened to the floor; her tone was low, and meek.

[Horas]

Horas watches her, his pale blue eyes never leaving her face. "Tell me what you have done," Horas says quietly in a voice that betrays no anger, but offers no comfort either.

[brigida]

"You make this no easier, Horas Blackwood..." Tristeza muttered, rubbing her eyes; she mentally traced her steps, thinking her way out of the conversation if it came to a point where she could not ultimately confess.

A long moment passed, during which the silence grew more and more tense--Tristeza's heart sank slowly as it raced, and her nervous energy drained from her body as the blood drained from her face, sunken, though it was, into her smooth ivory hands. Her throagt seemed somehow obstructed, though she made no effort to clear it, for she had no desire to speak.

"...There is a child," she murmured, "A girl."

[Horas]

Horas' eyes narrow slightly, but they do not move from her face. "Whose child?" He finally utters.

[brigida]

"My child..." she said, though she sounded as though she had almost choked on the words.

[Horas]

A flash of some emotion passes across Horas' face. Could it be hurt? No, it must have been a trick of the firelight; such emotions do not belong to men like Horas Blackwood.

"Who?" Horas asks. "Why?"

[brigida]

She knew him well-enough to recognize the faint note of panic in his voice, but she kept her eyes averted--she would not look towards his eyes for fear what she might find.

"She is Delinal's daughter--it was...not intentional."

[Horas]

"Not intentional," Horas repeats. His voice sounds hoarse, his normal eloquence of phrase deserting him. "And," he retraces their conversation, his mind racing ahead, connecting dots, "Vikary?"

[brigida]

"Vikary..." Tristeza said the name as though it were a a very tragic, if long-forgotten memory. She sighed deeply, her brow furrowed, and her eyes pressed shut as she pressed her fingers to her temple; "He had...some...just cause to wonder over the child--the Sea Lord..." she took a breath... "He...demanded that..." here, she pressed her face into both her hands, almost as though she were hiding, "He...wished to...reward Vikary for having killed Felryn...I asked that he give Timm the dead man's blade...he...had a different idea..."

[Horas]

Horas closes his eyes. "I will kill him," he says, "I will turn everything he loves to ash, and before he dies, he will know who has undone him, and why."

[brigida]

Tristeza shifted again in her seat, and muttered, "That would be ill-advised..."

[Horas]

"Why?" Horas asks sharply, looking at her again.

[brigida]

She shrugged, her eyes still glued to the floor, "He is nearly as difficult to contend with as you are--and you have more important goals towards which to direct your efforts."