Iliana loved music. She took joy and pride in creating it, and found release in it when she needed to be away from her thoughts for a while. It was a shared interest with her young apprentice, providing some common ground during those early weeks when they were still getting used to each other.

It was a link to a past only she remembered.

She sat straight, her feet tucked under the chair beneath the skirt of one of the long dresses she favored when she was out of uniform. There was sheet music on a stand in front of her, but she barely glanced at it as she drew her bow across the strings to spin the tune. Her serious face had lost some of the stern edge it had a tendancy to carry when she was working, contentment softening her features even in her state of focused concentration. At the moment no one was present to witness the change that she was only mildly aware of, but it was always present when she played, whether it be in the middle of a feast hall or alone at home as she was now.

Her fingers began to ache. Regretfully Iliana finished the piece and set the violin back in its case, running a hand over the polished wood. He's dying.

She shut the case with a sigh. Playing had cleared her head, all right, but her heart had pounced on it the moment it was free again. She went to her mirror and stood there, looking at her reflection. He wouldn't even recognize me. It's been too long. She removed the clip that held her hair back and shook her head, then looked back in the mirror again. That little difference softened the forty-eight-year-old woman looking back at her enough that she could almost see the girl she was looking for. There, around the eyes, and if she smiled a little, and tilted her head just so. Yes, there was the reserved eighteen-year-old, hiding behind a curtain of silver hair until she needed to make her voice heard. And if she looked a little deeper, she could almost see the dark-haired, near-reclusive twelve-year-old that had made the decision that changed her life.

***

Marshall sighed when he noticed the light was on the kitchen. Who could be up at this hour? He himself had been unable to sleep, and had been hoping for a warm drink.

He was surprised to find Iliana there, pouring a cup of hot tea. She was wrapped in her robe, her silver hair loose down her back. She held the cup in both hands and stared down at it, lost in thought. Marshall went to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. She didn't jump, exactly, but she stiffened, and Marshall knew he'd startled her.

"Sorry," he appologized. "What brings ye up here so late?"

She poured a second cup for him. "Old dreams."

He took the cup and sat down at the small table. Iliana made no move to join him, still facing the counter.

"My father is dying."

Her statement was so soft he could barely hear it.

"I wasn't aware he was alive," he responded carefully.

"He is. He and my mother are both living with my sister, in DuCaine Metro."

"Ye've kept track of them."

"No."

Marshall reguarded her for a moment and said gently, "Ye either wish to talk about it or ye don't, 'L'ana."

She turned to face him but her eyes were still on the cup in her hands. "It's been a long time."

"I know." He stood, pulled out a chair next to him, and offered her a hand. She took it and sat down.

"My...family," she said softly, as if the words pained her, "is rather well-known and wealthy. They get a fair amount of media attention. My father's health is failing, and it was announced on the news. He's not expected to live for more than a few weeks."

Marshall waited, wondering where she was going with this. Iliana was wondering that herself. She sighed.

"Ye want to say goodbye," Marshall said after a moment. It wasn't a question.

"Perhaps," Iliana didn't raise her eyes from the table.