Tag Archives: fiction

Author’s Note: It wasn’t easy to find an answer to this particular legal question. Most of what I did find ended up being lawyers saying to consult with them if this were the case (that is, if one party married under a fake name.) I did find that it was probably a question of divorce or annulment, though some people insisted that the marriage wasn’t valid at all. I have no idea what they would have said about it back around the first world war, though. It was hard enough finding a modern answer.

Legalities and Other Hard to Answer Questions

“I have a confession to make.”

“I didn’t know that you were Catholic.”

“What? No, we’re not. I…” Violet shook her head, wringing her hands together. He’d had to say something like that, didn’t he? She didn’t know how to compose herself again. She’d been walking with him for long enough, trying to gather her courage, and now, when she needed it the most, it would not come. “That wasn’t what I meant, and even if it was, you are not a priest, so it does not matter.”

“True. I should make a poor priest, I would think, and I do not want to try. Religion has been difficult for me since the war.”

“I understand. I admit, I have struggled to have much faith since Winston left. I thought I had done the right thing, behaved as I should, and yet he left anyway and—”

“That was his mistake, his wrong, not yours. I don’t know why he started this, but I do know that he was a fool to leave you,” Robbie said, touching her face. She blinked, aware that she was very close to tears. If he did not move his hand, if he kept speaking that way, she would cry. “He was. If he was out for revenge, if your aunt was… It doesn’t matter. He should have given it up and stayed with you forever. Your love was a gift, one he did not deserve. He should have stayed and held onto it with everything he had. You gave him your heart, and you will give him a child, and I don’t know how he could think to turn away from those things.”

She frowned. “I am not sure that you should say that. It’s not like you were one to rush in and say that you wanted those things.”

Robbie lowered his hand. He let out a breath. “Violet, you were a stranger to me, and you loved a man that was not me. I have been reconsidering, and it is possible that some would consider you still married to him. Even if the name he put on that paper was a lie, the rest of it could be binding. It’s not the sort of thing I can be free to ask for, and I am in no position to, being rather… poor at present. I have nothing to offer you.”

She swallowed. He almost sounded as though he would offer something if he could, and yet how could he do such a thing? She did not understand. This whole thing had gotten so convoluted, so out of control. She didn’t know what to think or feel all over again.

“I suppose no response came from the lawyer, did it? Do we know what the legal standing of the marriage is? We should contact a local lawyer, one here in town that knows the laws of this state and see what he can tell us about the situation. I guess I thought waiting for your family’s lawyer was best. I don’t know why.”

“It seemed best to me at the time, but you are right. We should go speak to one tomorrow. I think that you need to know your options.”

She frowned. “My options?”

“If they determine that the marriage is valid because you did marry him even if he lied, then… you may need a divorce or an annulment to separate you from him. You’d have to decide if that’s what you want or not. I mean, I think he doesn’t deserve you, but that isn’t necessarily a good reason for a divorce. Yes, he’s lied, and he’s abandoned you, and it’s possible that he’s even been unfaithful to you while he was gone, but he’s the baby’s father and perhaps his reason for this deception might earn him some leniency. I don’t know.”

“Leniency. You mean… forgiveness.”

Robbie nodded. He took her arm, leading her over to the bench. “Were it me, I do not think I could forgive him. What he did was cruel and so unnecessary… If he didn’t want to be married, he didn’t have to be. If he didn’t love you, he should not have said so. If he didn’t want to be himself, he should have made efforts to be a better man, not steal a name. A name doesn’t change who he is or what he was. It doesn’t make him me, and goodness knows that I don’t know why anyone should want to be me.”

“I think you a better man than you believe.”

“I don’t know that it would be that difficult to achieve such a state. I have a rather low opinion of myself.”

She knew that. She didn’t understand why, not truly, unless it was the war or possibly something from his father—not standing against the man’s behavior sooner or perhaps allowing that man to make him feel less than worthy, as he had tried to do to Violet. “That should improve with time. Perhaps with guidance.”

“Guidance?”

“Yes. Well, no, perhaps love is a better word for it. We need our friends and family to help us see reasons to love ourselves when we cannot summon those reasons on our own.”

He studied her for a moment. “I… I almost wonder if…”

“What?”

He shook his head. “No, it is—it does not matter. It was a foolish fancy. Would you like me to go see the lawyer now or at least arrange for an appointment?”

She wondered if he had been close to thinking that she might love him, that she might offer him reasons as a friend or more, and she wished he’d not stopped himself from saying so. “Robbie, if I were free, if there was no Winston and no baby, would you want to marry me?”

Author’s Note: So every time this scene was playing out in my head, the jeweler was present and asking about the metal and stones for the necklace. He didn’t even enter into this version, but I don’t think he needs to. This way seems better.

On the Subject of Being Alone

“No. Do not ask me to…”

“No one is asking you to do anything but lie still, Jis.”

She opened her eyes, frowning, not certain how she’d gone from her room back in her father’s castle to this strange small room. The roof was thatched with long reeds that should never have grown in the twin suns, ones she thought perhaps had been taken from the border near her homeland. Was that why she had remembered her father’s last visit?

She grimaced. She did not need to think about that right now.

“Where am I?”

“The jeweler’s,” Agache answered, shifting beside her. She became aware of her hand’s dampness as it clutched someone else’s. His. She had his hand, and she did not know how long she’d been grasping it, but she had to let it go. “I suppose you don’t quite remember that part, do you?”

“The necklace.”

He nodded. “The king left it tightened around your neck, and we had no other means of removing it. Since he took it off, he has been studying it—creating molds in order to replicate it. The others went back to your room in case someone might look for you.”

“You stayed?”

“You were unwilling to release my hand despite your lack of consciousness. I decided that I may as well remain with you.”

She withdrew her hand. “I have not done that since the first time I was knocked unconscious in training. I did not release my mother’s hand for almost a day. I am sorry. I did not think it would happen or I would not have taken yours.”

“It is nothing. I was not harmed.”

She turned over onto her side, hating the confining fabric of her court dress. “I wish I had made it to my room. Ridding myself of my other torture device would have helped.”

“Other torture—Oh. The dress. Yes, I imagine that is most uncomfortable. I don’t suppose that one has any removable pieces? You might be able to take one of the layers off—indeed, you might have to in order to have your cloak cover your dress.”

“You carried me here without a cloak?”

“I did not carry you anywhere.”

She grunted. “So Gekin did. That is not what I asked. Do not be difficult. I am not—I almost died earlier, didn’t I? Why should I have any sort of… tolerance or humor at the moment?”

“I cannot give you any reason to have either. Oh, I suppose I might be able to tell you a story should you desire one, distract you as you wait and recover from earlier, since you will need that necklace back in place before we leave, but that is no guarantee of your mood improving. The sort of despondency that comes with an attack from the king is not easy to remove. It does not wash off like dirt might. No, it is a stain. A dark one that forever reminds us of what was done.”

“What did he do to you?”

Agache shook his head. “That is not worth discussing. You need not learn the details of torture for I hope you never repeat such acts, and sympathy, too, is a waste, for I have need of none. We must continue our efforts to end matters, not think of what was.”

She closed her eyes. Was Wikan married yet? Would he have chosen someone else if he thought she’d never return? He knew her to be married, so he must assume that she would never be free to accept his offer, and he had been frustrated long before her departure, thinking she would never say yes even if she’d been able. The idea of a future with him was even more impossible now than it had been when she first contemplated it. Even if the king died, she would not be free.

“Jis? Are you hurting? I have no skill with herbs, but my cousin assured me that I could give you some without causing any harm.”

She looked at him. “It was… I thought of the past. I shouldn’t have, but there was… I had hopes of things that seem so foolish now. I had thought maybe I’d… Did you ever want a family?”

“Me? Oh, no. No, I… There was always too much risk. Passing on the Gichikane blood would have been deterrent enough, but Nebkasha marriages are forbidden, as I told you, and even were they not, the king would have more people to hurt if I cared about anyone. I’d have condemned my offspring or my wife to a life of fear and pain until the release of death.”

“You must be very lonely.”

He let out a breath. “I… I do not think I feel it the same way that you might. It is, I fear, the Gichikane in me—I do not believe I am capable of such deep attachment. I felt very little when my sisters were murdered, and though I am… close to my cousin, she is not… she is not reason enough to want to live.”

Jis frowned. “That is horrible, Agache.”

He touched her hand. “I am your ally. You are not alone. Not that my company should be counted as any great blessing, but you have it nonetheless. I will go see if the jeweler is done with the repairs, and you may alter your garments if you want.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“This was my doing, remember? My inaction caused this. Stop thanking me.”

“Not for that. For being my ally. For telling me I am not alone.”

“Oh. That. Well… Then… you are welcome.”

Author’s Note: It was hard to know how everyone would react to Beatrice’s omission and later revelation, but I had to try and show it.

Reactions, Worries, and Requests

“I have been trying to decide how I feel all morning.”

“About my aunt’s admission?”

Robert nodded. “Yes, about that. It has been plaguing me since yesterday afternoon. I lay awake contemplating its implications. I should not have accused your aunt of anything, and yet, with her refusal to discuss such a thing over—what, her embarrassment? Is that truly her reason? I know my father is a cad, but what she did… She should have told you when that man was here. Perhaps if he had left quickly there would have been no reason to tell you, but he did not leave immediately. He stayed. He courted you. He asked you to marry him. That’s when she should have said something, and her silence is…”

“Reprehensible?”

He let out a breath. “Isn’t it? Why would she hold back something that important? Why should she let you go forward with something that has caused this much pain? She knew there was a chance he was acting just as my father had, didn’t she? Unless she’s lying about what my father did, and if she is… Why is she doing that? Why now?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t come down at all today. Mother is out of sorts, and she won’t talk about what my aunt did. I…”

“What? What is it, Violet?” Robert asked, leaning forward and taking her hand. She glanced down at it and then back up at him.

“It’s just… I always thought the man that threw my aunt over was my father. If he was, then it might make sense for her to allow me to suffer this way, only why would she use your father or Winston to do it? Why would she lie about that?”

Robert frowned. He did not know that he should say what he had been thinking. He glanced toward the door, let out a breath, and decided that no matter how painful his words might be, he did not think that they should keep secrets, not after what her aunt had done.

“Your aunt might not have been hurt by my father alone. What if it was both of them, not just my father but yours as well?”

“Then I suppose I could see some reason for her allowing me to be hurt, but then I don’t. She… I don’t understand. I thought she cared about me. She never seemed to resent me or my mother. She has been our loyal companion for so long…”

“That could have permitted plenty of resentment and bitterness to fester in her heart over the years. I don’t want it to be that, Violet. While I have never been your aunt’s favorite person, nor she mine, I do not want to believe her so cruel, either. I don’t want to believe she could do that to you. To anyone. It is not something that anyone should be capable of doing to another.”

“They have just had a war they say should end all wars. They have used terrible things in it—you know that better than I, you were there—and so I think that we have proved that we humans are more than capable of doing terrible things to each other.”

“Yes, we are. I worry for the child. This world it is about to enter into…”

She put a hand over her stomach, wincing. “I rather think that the baby will have a hard life no matter what comes in this world. The way that we—that I—came to have this child seems a very difficult place to come from for anyone. I do not think that I could stand it.”

“I’d disagree. You seem quite capable of enduring anything. What you have already been through proves that. You have not given up, and you seem stronger than before.”

She lowered her head. “I do not know that we can say that. I am still the same as I was.”

“Which is stronger than you know.”

“Speaking of strong… How do you feel now?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” he answered, a bit confused as to why she was asking. He supposed they had skipped discussion of that, ignoring his recent injury and her temporary confinement for the matter most on their minds—her aunt’s omission. “I think the concussion has passed. My headache is gone. Why do you ask?”

“I… I should like to go out to the garden. I know if I tried it on my own, everyone would be upset, and I do not want to upset anyone, but I should like to go outside again, be out in among my flowers, and also I… Well, that is to say, I think I should tell you something, but I would rather not do so here, where we might be… interrupted.”

He thought it unlikely that her aunt would do so today, but her mother still could. He nodded, rising and offering her his hand. “I think I should like to see your garden again, and I am always interested in what you have to say.”

She blushed as she took his hand.

Author’s Note: So I’ve always liked those suitcase racks on the old cars. I had to use that detail somewhere in the story.

A Handy Suitcase

“Where’s Carson?”

“He was just here,” Nate said, frowning, taking a look behind him. Mackenna grimaced, not liking the way her stomach was twisting up. She’d felt this way before, when Carson wandered off before the parade, and maybe that meant that it was nothing, but maybe not. He had supposedly been watched, and he did think he was a killer—to her, that might even be more dangerous than him being watched. She knew what feeling that way had done to her uncle, and the last thing she wanted was history repeating itself.

“I have to find him.”

“Why don’t you calm down and think about—”

“Shut up,” she snapped, stepping away from Nate and trying to think. She had to remember what she knew of Carson and make that work for her. She could find him. She knew enough of the way he thought that so long as he’d wandered off on his own, she could at least narrow down where he went. She had to figure he’d just taken the opportunity to slip away when Nate distracted her with that whole marriage thing—she wished people weren’t pressuring Carson about it when he was like this. She didn’t need a ring. Well, she’d kind of like one, but she could have gone on being his friend forever, and that was all she really wanted out of marriage anyway. She figured the rest of it was bonus—or disadvantage, depending on the circumstances.

The other cars. Mackenna’s eyes went to the side lot where the locals would park their classics, sure some of the Model A club would be here again this year, and that was a good place for Carson to go if he thought he needed space. He could wander around there, look at the other cars, not talk to anyone unless he had to, and that was what he’d needed.

She started toward the grass, wishing she knew for sure that something was wrong. The crowds were out in full force for Stockyard Days, and it was hard to tell anyone from the other, even with Carson being in costume. She should have made him wear the hat. Then he would have been easier to spot.

She almost missed seeing the two men by the Nash, but the blue shirt made her stop and look back, and when she did, she cursed. She didn’t know who that other man was, but he couldn’t be a friend. Not with the way Carson’s body was all tensed up like that.

He was in trouble. The other man had to have a weapon.

Damn.

If the guy had a knife, that was one thing. She’d learned a few tricks from Granger that could help with that any day, but if it was a gun, there was a good chance that anything she did would end up getting Carson shot. The other man was standing way too close to him for her to risk it.

She let out a breath. She knew she’d seen cops around on their way into the park, but that was back over by the bridge, and she didn’t think that she’d make it back there before something happened to Carson. They were bound to have others down by the entrance, maybe even a booth up in among the others, but both of those locations left her with the same problem. They were all too far away.

“I see you found him.”

“Nate, go get the cops. Now.”

“What?”

“That man killed Carson’s father. Go get the cops, now.”

“Mackenna, you can’t—what are you going to do?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m trying to think of something, but I know that me going for the cops will take too long. You’re pissing me off by asking questions. If you don’t go now, I’ll hurt you myself, and so help me, if anything happens to Carson, I won’t forgive you.”

She turned back to the car, wondering if there was something on one of these classics that she could get her hands on. She didn’t care how much she’d have to pay the owner when this was all over. She’d make it right, but she couldn’t let anything happen to Carson. Not now.

Not ever. She was in love with him, after all, and for her to have reached that point… Well, that had always seemed impossible in the past, but now that she knew it wasn’t, she couldn’t lose the man who’d managed to make her feel that in spite of all her issues.

She rounded the Model A, almost smiling when she saw the suitcase resting in the rack. She doubted that there was anything in there if she could get it open, but with enough leverage, that thing could work like a vase going over the killer’s head, right?

Okay, so it was a terrible plan. She could accept that. She didn’t care if it was perfect, only if she managed to make it work. She lifted it up off the running board and tested its weight. She could do this. She had hoisted greater weights than this when working on the cars. She just needed to make it count.

“…You can spare her that if you cooperate.”

Mackenna frowned, wondering if that bastard was talking about her. Carson shook his head. “Honestly, if I knew, I’d tell you, but I don’t think there is any money.”

“Liar.”

She thought that the guy might have shot Carson just then, and she wasn’t sure if she’d known that when she raised the suitcase, but she followed through with it anyway, hearing the wood crack as it impacted with the man’s head. The gun went off, and she dropped the remains of the suitcase, rushing toward Carson, glancing back to see that the killer had at least stumbled forward. He might get back up in a minute, she might not have knocked him cold, but if she got Carson away from him, that was what mattered.

“Mackenna?”

“I owe someone a new suitcase. Are you okay?”

“Um… no… I…”

She cursed, kneeling down next to him. She could see the stain starting to soak his shirt, and she didn’t know how to react to that. She had to keep herself calm. “You’re bleeding. Tell me that is just a graze and not something worse. Please.”

“I think so. I don’t…” He looked down, his eyes bulging a little, and she thought he might be dizzy, too, since he wavered a little before he spoke again. “Oh, hell. He’s moving.”

She should have gone for the gun. She’d been too focused on Carson and made a stupid, stupid mistake. She knew it was the heat of the moment, but she didn’t feel like that was much of an excuse. “Come on. We have to get you moving, get you to safety.”

“He threatened you. You’re not safe, either.”

“I sent Nate for the cops. They’re here. He won’t get away, and people will have heard that shot even if it was muffled and there’s so many around right now—”

“He killed my father.” Carson leaned against her, and she didn’t like how weak he was. “He… I thought I did, but he… He killed my father.”

She shifted her position, trying to drag him back with her. Getting hit by that old suitcase had at least slowed the bastard down, and he wasn’t able to scramble up and threaten them again, which was good, because she was pretty sure that Carson was in shock, and it wouldn’t be easy to get him away in this state. “I know, Carson. I know. It’ll be all right. We’ll get through this.”

“There never was any money.”

“Shh.”

“He made me pull the trigger. He said I did it.”

She closed her eyes. Damn it. That had to be why he couldn’t remember it. He’d been too young to know that it wasn’t really him, and his mind had forced him to forget until now. Poor Carson. She wished she’d done more than whack that bastard with the suitcase. She should have grabbed the gun and shot him. Of course, she didn’t know that she could have, no matter what he’d done to the man she loved.

“It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Author’s Note: I wanted to write this scene, wanted to give a glimpse of Jis before she became the queen, and this was one of the most important moments in her life before she left her homeland.

This has to be a memory that she went back to often after she became queen, too.

The Assignment

“You must pack your things.”

Jis blinked, lifting her head from her book and frowning. She had not heard her father enter, nor did she know why she had not. She was not that interested in her lessons, nor did she lack training, and her father always entered with such a procession as to make everyone aware of his every move. She glanced toward the bodyguards waiting behind him, the two in official robes, the others hidden as servants, and she swallowed. He did not need all of that in her quarters, and that he had come with such a retinue worried her.

“I had not realized that the negotiations had ended. Is it to be war, then? Is that why you wish me to pack?”

“Yes, the negotiations have ended. There will be peace for a time.”

She set down her book. “How did we manage that? I thought that the Biskane were unwilling to stop their conquest once it had begun. Of course, we are somewhat fortunate in that the conquest has not begun, but that does not mean that they would have wanted a treaty.

“It has been settled.”

“Settled? How do we know that they will honor the terms?”

“Zaze has been pledged to marry the king.”

Jis stilled. That explained it, then. They expected her to go into the Biskane land and protect her half-sister. She didn’t know how they thought that would work. The tricks that could be accomplished here, where the people did not see the princesses much, would not fool the king. He would know his wife—or at least he should.

She rose. “I am surprised that Zaze agreed to those terms.”

“She didn’t.”

Jis turned back to her father. “What? How can she not agree to—”

“You are going in her place.”

She reached for the post of her bed, drawing in several breaths before she could face her father again. She didn’t know how to answer him. She knew what was expected of her. She was to go there and fulfill her duty, as she had always done. She had taken Zaze’s place before, she was the princess’ personal guard whenever the other woman left the palace, but she had not thought they would ever take that this far.

She had been foolish. She had come to hope that when Zaze at last married, she’d be free to have things that she had been denied before. She could finally accept Wikan’s offer, could let him court her. They would both be esibani for the rest of their lives, but Zaze’s marriage was supposed to free Jis from the same role as always. She would not have to pretend to be Zaze, she would still guard her, but it would not be as it was.

“Don’t do this. Please. I have been loyal all these years, but do not ask me to do this. You don’t know what you’re asking. I have pledged to defend you and the rest of the royal family with my life, but that life is meaningless if I have nothing to live for. You promised me that if Zaze married, I could—”

“Jis. You know this is more important than you, than any of us. This is about our land’s survival. Our people’s. You know what you must do.”

She lowered her head. She would go. She didn’t know why she’d bothered to ask for leniency. She’d known he would not give it, and she knew she would not have been able to accept it even if it had been offered. “Yes. I do.”

“I have something for you.”

“Father, I do not want any trinkets or… bribes. I am going. Leave me alone to accept my fate.”

“This is not a bribe,” her father said, placing a dagger in her hands. “This is for the king. You know what you must do.”

She stared down at the blade. “No. It’s not… I’m not an assassin.”

“You will do what you must for your people. You always have.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “You are my daughter. You are esibani. You will do what is necessary.”

She shook her head, not able to speak as he walked away from her. She heard the door shut behind the last of the guards, shuddering as it did. Her eyes closed, and she tried not let any tears fall. She was not an assassin. She could not do this.

She could not refuse.

She could not run.

She did cry.

Author’s Note: So I was up late last night finishing this story. I knew what was supposed to go in there and what needed to be done, even had bits and pieces of it written. I added what was missing, edited what I had, and I think it is now finished. Of course, I won’t put it all up at once just in case an issue might arise, but I should be able to have it up first thing every day until it’s complete.

Disquiet, Distrust, even Accusation

“I… Of course not,” Aunt Beatrice said, shaking her head as she backed toward the window. She let out a breath and leaned against the wall, her hand going to the beads around her neck. She turned them around in her fingers. “That is not—why would that matter? It doesn’t. That was so long ago that none of it matters at all.”

Violet could not agree with her aunt on that point, and she doubted that Robbie or her mother did, either. Beatrice should not have held that information back. She could not hide behind any sort of excuse. Perhaps before Winston left, silence might have made sense. After he left, after Robbie’s first letter, all of that should have been told to both of them.

“Why should he need revenge upon Beatrice, though? That is absurd. Beatrice did not marry your father. I cannot see why anyone would want that man, personally,” Violet’s mother said, sitting down in one of the other chairs. She seemed as upset by her sister’s admission as the rest of them, and Violet had to wonder if this would be the final strain, if it could force the two of them apart after all these years. The secret had been kept for too long, even from the person Beatrice was closest to, and it had caused Rose’s own daughter pain. That might prove too much even for their bond. Or perhaps Violet was making too much of it.

“I agree with you that no woman should want my father. My mother is… She married him for position and money and because it was expected and because she is a dutiful woman, nothing more. I have never known her to defy him in anything, but I would never claim that she loved him. I am not certain I can claim that she loves me,” Robbie said, looking at his hands. He let out a breath, shaking his head. “That is not important. I don’t even know why I said that.”

Beatrice studied him. “Your mother is…?”

“Is what?”

“It is hard to say because she was understandably distraught at the time when she confronted RJ, and perhaps you are correct about him wanting me to break it off instead of him, since I assume your mother had a much better… dowry than I could have hoped to have—but that woman was by no means meek.”

Robbie nodded. “My mother’s family is… rather affluent. They always have been. Not quite like my father’s. His grandfather built a company and turned it into an empire, and that made it possible for them to enter good society—to a certain point. My mother’s family elevated ours further.”

Violet grimaced. “I have always thought that the most distasteful part of marriage arrangements these days. Why should social status have so much impact upon them? People do not suit each other simply because of how much money they have.”

“It’s supposed to give them the same sort of values and certain level of understanding.”

“Did you feel you had that with RJ?”

Beatrice lowered her head. “We met on a train. I was coming home from visiting relatives, and he was on his way west for business. He was not the sort that… Our other companions fell asleep, and we began to converse. We had a pleasant conversation about a great many things, and he decided to stay in town that night. He said he wanted to keep talking. It was… I thought it very romantic at the time. He did not linger, though, and I had thought it was over. He surprised me by writing and asking to continue to court me. At first it was just letters. Then when my aunt became ill and they asked me to be her companion and nurse, he was able to court me in person. I thought we had something truly special. It had lasted despite distance and grown deeper with his return to my side. He had just placed that ring upon my finger when that other woman came up, her stomach about the same size as Violet’s, and demanded he do right by her. He did not deny having fathered the child. He did not offer me or her any sort of apology. He showed a side there I had never seen before. I realized I’d seen nothing of the real man at all. His son appeared to be the same as him.”

“I am not,” Robbie said, rising. “You have no right to assume that about me. I don’t know what lies my father told you or how he could have passed himself off as a kind or generous man. That’s not him. He was… He’s always been a hard man with little sympathy in him. I almost think—were it not for the fact that Violet is your niece and I would hate to believe you capable of that, I would think you arranged this so that she would see men as you do, be betrayed the same way you were.”

“Robbie!”

He put a hand to his head. “Forgive me. I did not mean to upset everyone. I don’t—my head hurts, and I am not controlling my temper as I should. I fear I have not been able to restrain myself, not after what your aunt concealed from us. This whole situation makes me so angry. I do not understand why it has happened, and I feel as though everything has been ripped away, that I have nothing of what my life was before I came here or even before the war. My name was taken and misused, allowing someone to hurt plenty of people, and then I quarreled with my father and lost my home and now this is my father’s doing? It is because of him and his past with your aunt? I feel as though there is a nightmare here that I cannot wake from, not for a moment.”

Violet reached for his hand. “I admit, I have had similar thoughts. Yours are perhaps more distressing after your injuries, though.”

He looked at her hand and smiled. “I do not think I can argue with that. I think I should go. Maybe with more rest or even just some fresh air…”

“Of course,” her mother said, glancing toward her sister. “If there is one thing that I believe we could all use now, it is some time to think, to rest and stabilize our thoughts and emotions. This has been a rather upsetting couple of days, hasn’t it?”

“I am not certain that upsetting is the right word.”

“Let us not debate that,” Beatrice said. She shook her head. “I, for one, would like to be alone. Excuse me.”

Violet bit her lip. She did not want to ask her aunt to stay. Having Beatrice make that admission had done more than upset her—everyone. Her faith in her aunt had been shaken. What else had Beatrice failed to tell them? Was she lying now? Was that terrible accusation of Robbie’s right? And yet, if it was, why do that to Violet? To Robbie?

“I think it best we continue tomorrow,” her mother said. “You both need rest, and all of us must have time to consider what we have discussed today. Tomorrow we may be able to have all the answers.”

“If that is not too much to hope for,” Robbie said. He rubbed his head. “Nevertheless, I would like to believe that. I want to know that this nightmare will end and that things will finally make sense again.”

“We all would,” Violet said, giving his hand a squeeze as she tried to prepare herself for his departure. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then, Mr. Winston?”

He smiled. “Yes, Mrs. Winston.”

Author’s Note: Now that the past has been clarified, time to go back to the present.

Always About the Money

“You’re not going to shoot me here. There’s too many people. You won’t get away with it,” Carson said, swallowing. He wished he felt more confident about that. Having the last if his memories come back had distracted him, allowing the other man to get close, and now the gun was jammed up under his ribs. He didn’t know if there was a silencer or not—what little he knew about guns was because of hunting—but he didn’t know that it made any difference.

“Don’t push your luck, kid. I’ve had plenty of time to think over what I did back then and plenty of time to reconsider leaving you alive. Sure, if I’d killed you, too, they might have hunted me down, but then again, I wasted a lot of time chasing down your father’s lies. He had to have taken the money. There’s no one else left, and believe me, when I got done with them, they were talking.”

Carson didn’t doubt that. He had a feeling that he was in for the same kind of torture. “Look, I don’t know anything about the money. Dad never said he had any. He… The only thing I can think of is the car, and he swore he bought that outright.”

“He was lying. Should have known better than to think the driver would ever tell the truth. He was pretty smart, getting himself caught and serving his time. He made sure the cops never thought he was the one with the money. He even turned on the rest of us, the rat.”

Carson shook his head. He was glad his father had cooperated with the police. He didn’t want to think of the man as some hardened criminal. He just wanted to believe there had been some good in the man. “I don’t think my dad was that smart. None of us are. We’re plain, simple people. You certainly fooled my grandpa, and he was the one that should have known better.”

“He was an idiot.”

His grandfather had been a good man. Misguided, maybe, but still a good man. He’d fallen for the ruse that the killer set up, he’d been willing to believe that Carson had killed his father and that his father had done terrible things to him, but that didn’t mean that the man was an idiot. He’d jumped to a conclusion, the wrong one, and Carson had kind of paid for it, but Grandpa had done what he thought was best, had tried to help and protect Carson the only way he could—by helping him forget.

“So was my father. Face it, there is no money. Or if there was, but it got spent a long time ago. The car is all I’ve got, and it’s a wreck.”

“Liar,” the man snarled, and the gun jammed deeper into Carson’s side. He didn’t look down, though he doubted that he could see anything if he did. “I should kill you right now.”

“There are too many people around, and it still won’t get you that money.” Carson wished he was braver, that his words were true. He didn’t think there was any money, not now and not then. That didn’t mean that he would live, though.

“Take me to the car. Maybe that bastard hid something in there.”

If he thought he’d survive the trip to the Woodsman, he would have tried taking the killer there, but he knew better than to walk away from the crowd—and, more importantly, he didn’t know where the truck and the trailer were. “Mackenna went through and documented it for the restoration. She didn’t find anything. There’s nothing to find.”

“Ah, yes. The girlfriend. She doesn’t leave you alone much. Me, I can’t stand them clingy types. Then again, that rack of hers almost makes it worth it. Who’d have thought those mechanic overalls hid a body like that?”

“Shut up.” Carson would kill the bastard just for talking about her. He was not getting anywhere near her. That would not happen. She could handle herself, probably better than he could, and she’d be fine without him trying to protect her, but he still wouldn’t encourage that idea. If they left the crowd, he’d try and lead the killer in the other direction, but he was still hoping to use the fact that they weren’t alone to save himself.

“Sensitive, are you?” The other man laughed. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, then she might be worth using, but you can spare her that if you cooperate.”

“Honestly, if I knew, I’d tell you, but I don’t think there is any money.”

“Liar.”

Carson winced as the gun poked him, convinced he was going to get shot again.

Author’s Note: So… In case anyone was at all wondering, this one is drawing close to an end, and they are very close to answers.

An Important Omission

Robert stared at Violet, not certain that he had heard what he thought he had. Perhaps he was still concussed. What if he had never woken up at all, and this was all delirium? That was not impossible. He could still be thrashing about in his bed, unable to know what was waking and what was dreaming—he’d been there before, after he’d been shot, and he always thought that he would fall there once more if he made the slightest misstep, and he feared it. He feared it more than anything.

Damn it, why was he such a coward? Why did he have to be locked inside his mind and the war when he needed to be in the present? He had other concerns now. He didn’t have to fear bullets or armies, and this one man should not scare him so much.

Perhaps it was that small doubt, deep within him, that there was a Winston at all, that he hadn’t done this and somehow twisted it away and forgotten it, but that was impossible. He did not know how he could have—and she had not acted as though he had, not since he came, but yet… The stories were the same, weren’t they?

How shell-shocked was he? How badly was his mind destroyed?

“Are you… You must be mistaken. It is not possible. It could not have been my father.”

Violet’s aunt snorted, a derisive look on her face before she turned to her niece. Taking hold of her arms, she sat the younger woman back down, almost forcing her into the chair. “You are being foolish. At least sit if you must be difficult.”

“Difficult? I am the one being difficult?”

“You are upsetting everyone—and perhaps for no reason,” her mother told her, crossing the room to her side. “You need to sit and allow us to handle the subject with as much decorum as is possible.”

Robert frowned. “I don’t know that decorum is an option at present. This seems like something out of—I am not certain if my concussion has worsened or if any of this is real. It does not seem… How could it have been my father? Why was this not discussed before?”

Violet nodded. “Yes, exactly. Why didn’t you say anything when he was here, Beatrice? Why didn’t you say something when Winston was?”

“I said plenty when Winston was here.”

“Yes, but not that,” Violet said, shaking her head. “If Robbie’s father was the one who threw you over, then why didn’t you say that in all your warnings? Why didn’t you know the man that was pretending to be his son to be an imposter?”

Beatrice stiffened. She glanced toward Robert, shaking her head. “Your Robbie said it himself—there is a resemblance. That first one looked enough like RJ to be his son, and had I told you that his father was a deceitful rake, you would only have insisted that he was nothing like his father and ignored me anyway.”

Robert leaned back in his chair, feeling ill. He did not think it was the concussion only that caused him distress. He did not understand how this was possible or why it was happening. Who was this woman that she had concealed such an important detail? How had she known his father, and why had even his father failed to mention it?

Violet lowered her head. “I didn’t know that I wouldn’t have said that, but I might have taken more time before I agreed to Winston’s proposal, might have been more cautious than I had been, and perhaps he would not have wanted to wait long enough to marry me. I do not know. I wish you would have told me. Even if I had been headstrong about it, I should have known.”

“You always called him John in the past,” her mother said, her eyes watching her sister with hurt and suspicion. “Why should I think now that this is the truth? Why would you not speak of it before? This has become a disaster, and it does seem to me that you could have prevented part of it if you ere only honest.”

Beatrice sighed. “I have no desire to dwell upon those days. I behaved as a fool from the moment I met him to the moment I discovered him with another woman who carried his child. Mercifully, I had not compromised myself so much, but he could not have married us both and yet he asked me after he had already acquired a family for himself.”

Robert frowned. “I don’t understand. I was born years after my parents married. Perhaps that was an act, a way to have you break off the engagement so that my father didn’t have to, but that child was not me.”

Violet rubbed her hand over her stomach, and he couldn’t help thinking the child was as upset as the rest of them were. “Are we now to think that the reason that the false Mr. Winston pursued me was because he knew that RJ Winston had almost married you?”

Author’s Note: For me, it wasn’t enough to have Carson remember what happened when his father died. He needed to remember what happened afterward as well.

Rushed Assumptions

“Carson? Carson, where are you—No! No!” His mother stopped, dropping down next to his father’s body, tears pouring down her cheeks as she touched his face, pushed open his shirt, trying desperately to convince herself that he was alive. She shook her head, pleading and begging through them, not wanting to accept what she was seeing even as she confirmed that her husband was dead.

Her father touched her shoulder. “Leave him.”

“Dad—”

“Your son needs you now. Don’t waste your tears on him.”

She bit her lip, looking back at Carson, cursing. “Oh, baby, what happened to you?”

“What do you think happened, Nancy? Take a good look at him and tell me what you really think happened.”

Her head shook, fast enough to where she should be dizzy. “No. Absolutely not. He wouldn’t. I know you hate him because he left, but you’re wrong. He would never do that to Carson. Not to any of the boys. He’s not like that. You know he’s not.”

“He’s been gone for years. You don’t know him anymore.”

“I don’t care how long he’s been gone. I don’t care where he went. I don’t care what he did. I know him. I know what he was like. He wouldn’t do that. Not to his son, not to any little boy.”

Grandpa shook his head. He pointed to Carson. “Stop defending that bastard. Focus on what you should be doing. Your son is crying. He’s covered in blood. You need to take care of him. I will take care of the rest of it.”

His mother blinked. “The rest of what?”

“The body and the car.”

“What? Dad, no—”

“Your son had to kill his father. His father hurt him, he… Damn it, Nancy, look. Look at what he did to your boy. We’re going to get rid of this body and everything that goes with it. No reminders. No memories. We’ll hope that he forgets about all of this.”

“That’s not a solution. He can’t forget—”

“He’s eight. Eight. He needs to be able to live a normal life. He’s too young to cope with what his father did. What he did. When he’s older, when he’s ready to remember, when he can handle it, then we can tell him, but do you honestly want him going through life with the guilt? The shame? You know better than that. Think of what’s best for him. Right now, we can only hope and pray that he’s able to forget.”

She bit her lip, looking at his father’s body before stepping close to Carson. “Baby, can you hear me? You going to let me get you cleaned up?”

He looked at her. They wanted him to forget. Everyone wanted him to forget. He lifted his hands, and they shook, but he didn’t have any words. She lifted him up into her arms. “Oh, honey, I am so sorry. So sorry that you were hurt and scared and… It’ll be okay now.”

Carson shook his head. She turned back to his grandpa. “Can you carry him inside for me? I’ll start a bath as soon as we’re inside.”

“I’m going to need time. Larry and Nick don’t need to see this. We’re going to need to keep them out of the barn for a while.”

“I suppose you’d better tell Tim. He can keep the boys busy while we… while we take care of the rest of this.” His mother combed her fingers through Carson’s hair. She sighed. “I don’t understand. This shouldn’t be possible. He wasn’t that kind of man.”

“He became one, then. Stop trying to deny it and think about your little boy. He’s the one that matters. Take care of Carson. Don’t worry about the rest. I’ll handle that.”

His mother sighed before she kissed Carson’s forehead. “I still think you’re wrong.”

“Don’t you dare go pushing him to tell you. He’s in no state for that. Let him forget. Just let them all forget. They’re better off without him.”

Carson heard her crying as she carried him into the house. “I don’t ever want to know, Carson. I don’t. I won’t believe it. I won’t listen. Your father… I don’t believe he did that. I never will. I don’t know… You couldn’t… I don’t believe it.”

He closed his eyes, hoping his grandpa was right and that he could forget all of it.

Author’s Note: I wrote a version of this scene, hated the ending, and then reconsidered it. I did not like the way they’d talked about the queen as though she was not there when she was, so I moved that conversation to a point before they found her. That seemed better to me, but I am still a bit iffy about the ending.

An Awkward Sort of Rescue

“He let her go, but she is not here in her room,” Anokii said, almost disappointed to find the bed empty as well as the rest of the rooms. The queen was not hiding—she would perhaps have been tempted after what the king had done—not in this place, at least, and she had no other available refuge.

No, wait, there was one. Anokii had almost forgotten about it.

Gekin nodded, pushing back his hood as he looked around the chamber. He should not risk the sunlight, but the queen’s curtains were drawn, as she preferred to keep them. “I came from the catacombs. She was not there. She would have been able to make it there, not if what you say is true.”

“He did not loosen the bands before he told her to go. She would have struggled to make it this far,” Agache said. He moved toward the other door. “Come. We must find the path that she used—perhaps she became disoriented and took the wrong one, though I would not have taken the same one as her. I needed to be less… overt.”

Gekin pulled his hood back over his head. “Grab her cloak. We will need it.”

Anokii did, frowning as she picked it up and folded it over her arm. “Even if we are able to dress the queen in one of our cloaks, our party will be stopped and questioned by the guards. We cannot explain her condition or the fact that Gekin will have to carry her.”

“I could carry her—”

“You know you cannot. Do not suggest it again. She may be a small woman, but your arm will not permit you to be so foolish.” Anokii stepped through the door as Gekin opened it for her. She could not help worrying. This could expose everything, including Agache, but they could not allow the queen to die even if she were not their ally. “I do not like this. You know we are not allowed to treat our wounded or our ill, not within the castle. Those old lies about us, about the Nebkasha being full of disease, a contagion waiting to kill the entire population… We will be thrown out of the castle grounds and left in the twin suns to die.”

“You do not have to come with us. With me, even,” Agache told her. “I will do this alone. It is my responsibility—I let her take my place and she suffers for it.”

“You would drop her before you took two steps. I am going.”

“I will also go. Perhaps I can do something for her before we move her.”

“She will have need of your skills once we get that thing off of her,” Agache said. “Until then, there is little that can be done. What she needs is to be able to breathe, and none of us can give her that. We must take her to someone who can.”

Anokii did not think her cousin understood the situation. He needed to believe they could save the queen or else the guilt would consume him, but he could not afford to deceive himself now. “If the necklace is destroyed, the king will hurt her again, and it will be. Only the king has the key to that thing, and he will not give it to anyone. He would rather have her his prisoner, locked up in that so that he could torture her at any time—if he does not kill her first. If you wish to prevent that, then… perhaps we should take her to the border.”

Agache’s head jerked back toward Anokii. “You told me you asked and she refused to go. Now you would send her without her consent?”

“She could die. We might not get her to the jeweler in time.”

“And we would have no chance of getting her to the border. That is much further, and if you are worried about her health, you would not suggest such a thing. Do you, then, believe she must be saved not only from the necklace but from herself?”

“Her decisions seem only to do her harm.”

“Nevertheless, they are hers to make, not ours. You can no more choose her path than you can mine or Gekin’s. Not that you would have to choose his—he would join you anywhere.”

“Of course I would,” Gekin said, “but that does not mean that she is wrong about the queen. The woman would seem to have more of an inclination to place herself in the way of harm than you, and that is not something I would have believed possible.”

Agache laughed. “I am not the only one with those inclinations. You and Anokii have risked your lives in foolish ways as well. Jis is no worse than any of the rest of us. Well, considering how she was raised, this is nothing.”

Anokii would have questioned him, wanting to know what he knew about the queen’s childhood and why he called her Jis, but they could not have that discussion now. They should not be talking at all, not here, not where anyone could hear Agache’s voice and reveal his survival.

“There,” Agache said, pointing to a small alcove in the hallway. “Quick, Gekin, lift her up. We do not have much time.”

Gekin stepped forward, stopping beside the huddled mess that was the queen had become when she collapsed. He knelt beside her, lifting her into his arms. Anokii would have thought that the queen was dead until the woman started to squirm in Gekin’s hold, shoving at him. “Let… go…”

Agache reached for her hand, wrapping his around it. “Calm yourself, my esibani. Gekin is here to help. We must take you to the jeweler. He should be able to loosen the bands, even if he has to break them, and if he does, he can repair them. It will also give him an opportunity to study the necklace in order to make the copy. We cannot steal it to take it to him—we must steal you instead.”

“Oh.”

“Just rest. We will help you. I promise, and when this is over, I will meet with the other resistance leaders and find a way to end this for good.”

She closed her eyes again, holding tight to his hand. Gekin looked at it and frowned. “This may not be possible if she will not let go.”

“I think you should try,” Anokii told him. She lowered her head. “We cannot deny the woman what little comfort she can have at present, and she may become agitated if she is unable to hold onto you.”