Iliana stood before the wrought-iron gates for a brief moment, looking up at the great house, then she silently slipped to and over the side wall with a nimbleness that belied her age.

The place was far too like the house she remembered, the one she'd called home with downcast eyes and a tremble of fear in her voice. Overly grand, large, and overly ornate, it screamed greatness in a shrill demand for recognition and respect. She felt a sense of trepidation as she approached it; not nervousness per se, more a subconscious danger alert that set her nerves a little more on edge than usual.

She had debated her method of entry somewhat, but had ultimately decided on her usual approach, admitting to herself that she needed all the advantage she could permit herself if she was going to keep her nerve. She bypassed the security without difficulty and entered, no more intrusive than a shadow.

Iliana had purposely chosen an unlit room for her entry, and her already-adjusted eyes guided her quickly and quietly through obstacles . She paused as she noticed an object on the floor, and knelt by it for a closer look. A small smile touched her beak for an instant before she stood again and went to the door, cautiously peeking into the well-lit hallway. She wondered for a moment if there was any point in being cautious, since she really intended to be seen anyway, but dismissed the thought rather quickly. If she were going to be seen, she was the one who wanted to determine where, when, and by whom.

She felt rather exposed in the hallway, but maintained her calm as she drifted silently down it. Iliana paused every now and then, listening, but moved on each time.

Finally she stopped and took a deep breath, laying her hand on the doorknob. Inside was a voice she recognized, one that she hadn't heard in over thirty-five years. Iliana opened the door, the picture of calm, and stepped inside.

She wasn't surprised at the look on his face. Viewing it from his perspective, it must have been rather odd and more than a little disturbing. Even more so when she looked him in the eye and gave a measured smile. "Hello, Marcus."

He stared at her, standing quickly. The slender woman with him stood as well, looking back and forth between them. Marcus gave her a suspiscious look but didn't appear to feel threatened at all. Good. Iliana had not wanted to appear dangerous, and so had worn a long dress rather than her usual garb. On a rare impulse she'd left her silver hair loose, as she'd worn it in her youth. Her saber hilt still hung at her side, however. She hadn't come to hide the truth of what she was. Iliana stood quietly, meeting her brother's eyes.

"Who are you?" The woman demanded, "Mark, do you know her?"

"I--" he paused, looking confused. "I don't think so."

"He does," Iliana said softly, holding his gaze. "It will just take a moment for him to realize it. We've not seen each other for quite a long time, and I've changed much in the past thirty-six years."

Realization slowly dawned on him and his eyes widened. "You're dead."

"You're misinformed."

"Iliana?"

"Hello, Marcus."

He went to her and peered into her face, as if he couldn't believe it. "Where have you been? How did you get here? And why come back after you've been gone all this time?"

Iliana chose the final question as the more important of the set and ignored the other two, for the moment. "I heard about Father. I've come to say goodbye."

Marcus's look grew accusing. "You never felt the need to say it before."

Iliana's gaze was steady and she made no answer. Marcus backed down first. "He's not going to be happy to see you."

"I didn't come to make him happy. I gave that up as impossible long ago. I have some things to say to him, and I would not have him leave this world without knowing it, as distasteful as he may find it to speak with me."

Marcus frowned. "He's weak enough, I don't want him upset by accusations he--"

"I did not come to accuse, Marcus, I came to forgive."

Her brother reguarded her. "Not to be forgiven?"

"No."

"You've done nothing wrong, is that it?"

"No. I've done nothing for which I am sorry. I will not beg forgiveness for actions I do not regret." She held his gaze. "It is not your place to judge me, Marcus, nor mine to judge you. Let me see my father."

"Mark, what's going on?" the woman broke in insistantly. "Who is she?"

"My sister," Marcus said grudgingly. "She disappeared years ago, I'd thought by now she was surely dead."

"But she lives," Iliana said evenly, "And she would like to see her father."

***

"You have children," Iliana observed quietly as Marcus lead her through the house.

"And grandchildren," he said, a touch of pride coloring his voice faintly, even through the brooding expression he wore. "Had you not left you would have been here to see my marriage and their births."

"Had I not left I would have joined my twin in oblivion long before it came to that. Par saved me, Marcus."

"Ah," Marcus' face twisted in an expression best described as a wry smile, but far darker. "Our illustrious, noble uncle. A pity I missed seeing him ride up on his great white pack. That does tend to happen when one slips in, uninvited, in the middle of the night. I suppose you're a thief too then."

"You suppose correctly."

A sneer curled her older brother's beak, but Iliana gave him a hard look that stole his superior air. "Ask Elena what she thinks of my choice." Her voice was soft but steel.

Marcus did not speak again.

***

Iliana had vaguely known what to expect from the news reports, but her stomach still twisted in undeniable shock when her eyes found the wraithlike form tangled in the sheets. Her father had never been a particularly broad man, but he'd stood tall and straight, with steel grey eyes that matched his slate feathers.

Now those eyes were sunken, and his face was hollow. He was hunched and drawn, and looked as if he might break at the touch. He was, in short, a pitiful shadow of the man she had known--

And feared.

Iliana came to the foot of the bed and stood there, hands folded in front of her, gaze respectfully cast downward.

He peered at her, his face screwed up in a scowl came quickly and easily to his craggy visage. "Who are you? What do you want? Marcus!! What's this woman doing here?"

His oldest child took a small picture compact from the inside of his jacket and opened it, showing him a pair of perfectly matched faces that he'd not seen in decades. His scowl turned more viscious. Iliana spoke before he could release the invective she knew was coming.

"I've come because I have something to say."

"Say it, then, and be gone," he sneered. "And once you have left I will forget you ever existed."

Iliana seemed unperturbed by the promise. "I forgive you."

The old man's face went livid. "I did not ask for your absolution!" he cried hoarsely. Once it would have been a thundering bellow. Now it was little more than an indignant squeak.

"I do not offer absolution," Iliana returned, her voice low and dangerous. "Be assured, Father, if there is one who will relieve you of responsibility for your actions, it will not be me. You are accountable for every wrong you have ever committed, and if you continue to deny that you may find that you will soon learn otherwise.

"But I will not destroy myself with hatred, or bitterness, or anger at you. You have no power over me. Know this, and know that I still love you, and for all that has passed I am grateful for those things which you did give me. All the lessons I learned from you--no matter how painful--have served me well, in one form or another."