Tag Archives: fiction

Author’s Note: This revelation did get delayed by Robert being injured, but I thought it was a rather intriguing twist, one that worked well with what I’d already written.

Closer to Clarity

“Something someone else did? Someone like… my father, you mean?”

Violet licked her lips. Of course, she did not feel right making that accusation, no matter what that man had said about her or her child. She would not think herself ever inclined to forgive him for those comments, but she did not know that she could use them as a reason to say that he was the cause of all of this. “I don’t know. I suppose with his general attitude and demeanor, he seems the most likely to have inspired such a strong hate, but I do not know that I am right—if it was because of your father, why would they do this to you? To me?”

Robbie shook his head. “I do not know. I think we are back where we started from again, unfortunately. We know so very little of what is happening, even as it is centered around us. I don’t understand why he came here and picked you, though. I mean—you know what I mean, don’t you? I’ve said it before—it is not that you are not a very admirable woman, one who any man should be fortunate to have a chance to spend time with, but if he intended to cause me or my father harm, why come here? Why do this to you?”

She let out a breath. She knew that was the question that she wanted answered more than any other. She had been asking it since Winston left her, wondering what had made him go and why he would do any of that to her, an answer that became all the more important after she learned that he was not Robert John Winston the third, not the man she’d thought she knew, not at all.

“I do not—wait. There was something yesterday, before you came in and distracted all of us—”

“I did not mean to upset you. I was not trying to—the only place I knew to go was here.”

“Oh, no, I did not mean that,” she said, shaking her head. She leaned forward, wanting to take hold of his hand. She did not mean to make him blame himself for anything or think he should not have come to them. He should have. Here was where he was best looked after, and she rather thought that here might be where he belonged… forever.

She forced herself not to think about that. She was still a mess of emotions when it came to him and to Winston, and she did not know if she would ever sort them all out.

“Violet?”

She held out a hand to him. “Will you… Would you mind moving closer? I would have liked to have taken you hand just then, but I am afraid I cannot reach you.”

“Of course. I am sorry—I just took the first chair I came to without thinking of being close enough to see to anything you might need.”

She laughed. “Robbie, you are the one that has a concussion. You do not need to take care of me. I am not incapable of caring for myself. I am just… pregnant. I almost offered you this chair after what you went through—”

“I do not need or want to lie down right now.”

“Neither do I.”

He smiled, rising and taking the few steps over to the closer chair. She watched him, waiting for a sign that he was struggling due to his concussion, but she did not find any. He sat down, and she took his hand. “Was that what you wanted?”

“Yes, actually.”

He turned his thumb over her hand in small soothing circles, and she thought what he was doing was not too dissimilar from what she found herself doing to her stomach when the baby grew agitated. “This is—”

“Rather inappropriate, I would think, coming from a man who refuses to marry her.”

Robbie dropped her hand, stiffening as he withdrew from Violet. “I think there’s—”

“I don’t see how you can act as though what we were doing was all that inappropriate when you have been lying all this time.”

“Lying?”

Violet nodded, rising to face her aunt. She did not know if she was right about this, did not know that she should do it, but at the same time, she did not think she could ignore what she’d realized yesterday. She could have tried to confront her aunt sooner, but with Robbie injured, it seemed a poor time. Now that he—and her mother—were here to hear it, she had to act. “You said we’d all be better off if no man by the name of Winston had ever come into our lives.”

“You wish to argue that point? Look at you. You would not be unwed and pregnant now if not for a man claiming to be a Winston, and this one—well, he is not much better, is he?”
Robbie frowned. “Excuse me, but I do not think that you can compare the two of us—”

“The man who jilted you was a Winston,” Violet said, her voice more confident than she was. “He was Robbie’s father, wasn’t he?”

Author’s Note: Carson finally has all the pieces.

What Really Happened

“Where’s the money? You spend it on this piece of junk?”

Carson looked behind him, not sure who the other man was, but the way he was talking made him feel like he should try and hide inside the car. He didn’t know what else to do. He was scared. He didn’t want to be scared, not a little crybaby like Nick called him, but something was wrong. His dad shouldn’t be here, the car shouldn’t be here, and the man shouldn’t be here.

“I never had any of the money,” he heard his father say. “All I did was drive the car, and I paid for that mistake. I served my time. I’m done.”

“Oh, yeah? And where’s the money, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you don’t. These things aren’t cheap. You didn’t get it for free. Where’s the rest of it? I might just let you keep this junk pile of yours, but I want the rest of it.”

“You’re not listening. I don’t have any of it, and I never did. I got this by putting all the money that I earned since I left prison together and traded my other car for this. It’s not in the best of shape—guy says it needs a complete overhaul, that’s why I got it so cheap.”

“Shut up. I know you’re lying. All I want to hear is where the rest of the money is. You’re going to tell me. Now.”

Carson swallowed. “Dad, he’s got a gun.”

“Smart kid you’ve got there,” the man said, and Carson drew back as the gun faced him for a moment. He was gonna get shot. He was scared. He wished his dad hadn’t ever come back. He didn’t want to die. “So what you’re going to do, unless you want this smart kid of yours dead, is give me the money.”

“Stay away from him,” his dad said, moving toward the man with the gun, and Carson thought maybe his dad had a gun, too. He ducked down in the seat, hoping that he wouldn’t get hurt. The man grabbed him, though, and Carson squealed when he did, but it was too late.

The shot echoed around the barn, and still Carson didn’t realize that it had hit him until a full minute had passed. He couldn’t think. He didn’t know what to do. He knew that he’d heard a gun—no, it wasn’t the same as Grandpa’s hunting rifles or Larry’s BB gun—but he did know the sound of a shot, and in that instant, he’d frozen.

The pain made him come back to himself, and he stared at his side and the blood and didn’t understand that, either. A gunshot. He’d been gunshot. No. He’d be dead if he got shot. He remembered Grandpa and Uncle Tim lecturing his brothers and him, too. They had to be very careful with the guns and never play with them. Hunting was not playing. They had to know that they could kill every time they took a shot, and they had to respect what the gun was.

He always hated those lectures, but then he didn’t much like the guns, either. He didn’t like seeing what his family brought home when they hunted. He’d lock himself in his room and cry later after everyone else was busy cleaning up the game.

Wait. Was he game? That couldn’t be right.

“You bastard,” his father said, and Carson heard another shot, louder than the first, so loud that he couldn’t hear anything else. He felt dizzy. Sick. Where was the gun? Why was he in the air? He kicked, trying to get down, but he couldn’t get away from the arm holding onto him.

The man walked forward, laughing as he leaned over Carson’s dad. “I told you you’d get your son hurt if you didn’t tell me. Now you’ve gone and shot him, and you’re shot, too. You got about a minute before I put another bullet in the kid. Where’s the damn money?”

“I told you—I don’t have it. You’re a fool. Even if they’re way out in the fields, they’ll have heard that shot. They’ll be coming. My wife’s father is an expert marksman. He can bulls-eye a buck like no one’s business. You won’t get away.”

“Oh, they won’t be looking for me. And if you’re telling the truth about the money, well, I’ve got no use for you now,” the man said, and Carson tried to get free even as he forced the gun into his hand. “Daddy shot you, so you can shoot Daddy, okay?”

“No!” Carson screamed, but the man pushed down on his finger and the gun went off. His father’s body jerked, but then it was so still that even Carson knew he was dead. “No…”

“Don’t cry now. It’s not like he didn’t shoot you first.” The man started to set him down, and then he stopped. “I wonder if that’s enough. You think they’ll understand why you did it? Why you killed him?”

Carson tried to shake his head. He hadn’t killed him. Only… He had, hadn’t he? The gun was in his hand, and he’d fired it at his dad, and he knew what that did. It killed.

“Huh. I think we’d better make it look a bit more convincing.”

“Don’t,” Carson said, but the man didn’t listen. He yanked at the tear in Carson’s shirt, ripping it wide and then right off. Carson shivered, not liking the way the man kept touching him. He heard himself muttering that word over and over again as the man tore away his pants.

“There you go,” the man said, ruffling his hair. “No one’s going to think anything of you shooting him when he did that to you, huh? Sick bastard. Poor little boy…”

“Don’t.”

The man laughed again, reaching for him, and Carson bumped into the car, whimpering as he huddled against it. He shouldn’t be cold, but that man made him feel all sick and wrong, and his father was dead, and he’d killed him, and he couldn’t think.

“You know where the money is, kid?”

“Don’t.”

“Yeah, you’re really screwed up now, aren’t you? Well, I tell you what, kid. Just forget it all. Forget what Daddy did to you, forget he shot you, forget you shot him, and most importantly, forget all about me,” the man said, grinning. He gave Carson’s cheek a pat, and Carson backed against the car, shuddering.

Author’s Note: On another post, I said I felt sorry for the queen and the position I put her in, that it was a very tenuous balance between how terrible her situation could be and what it was, that one mistake could tip that balance. It did.

Not that she made the wrong choice in helping the people. She had to do it. It just wasn’t something she could do without repercussions, and well… it could have been worse. I wasn’t willing to write that, though.

As I went to post this, all I could think of for the title was that quote, “all that glitters is not gold.”

All That Glitters

“I have neglected this for too long,” the king said, stepping to the edge of the balcony. His lips twisted into a smile with too much malice in it, turning back and raising his hand, gesturing toward her. “My people, your queen.”

The king pulled her forward, and she tried to keep herself still, to fight against the instincts that told her to run or to fight. She did not know what would be worse. She might kill the king—though if what she had been told about the king were true, then perhaps all she would do was kill herself. She would reveal her training, and then they would not uphold the treaty. She could not run, either, for that would surely condemn her people. She had to stay, she had to endure whatever he was about to do, and she could not let herself falter now.

She had chosen to intervene, had decided that she should be the hope of the people since Agache must remain hidden, and if she faltered, she would take that hope away once more.

“I believe you know what she has done for you, and now it is time to do something for her,” the king said, and she watched him, almost convinced that he would throw her off the balcony despite the treaty and everyone’s assumption that he would use the necklace as his mark. He leaned close to her ear. “I hear you would like to fly. Should we see if you can?”

“If you wish. Perhaps I will turn into a bird and fly after all.”

“Is that what you do in death?”

She would rather hope so, but she did not think there would be anything after that fall. The king laughed, and she tried to prepare herself for the end. She could accept it as darkness, sleeping forever. Yes, that would be fine. Almost peaceful.

“A queen deserves a mark worthy of her status, do you not agree?” He asked, looking at the crowd, and she was rather dismayed to hear them clapping. They agreed, but they did not understand. At least, she hoped that they did not.

One of the Biskane attendants moved forward, carrying a box in his hands, and the king waved another over to it. He opened it and bowed as he backed away. The king lifted the necklace out of the box, holding it up for the crowd to see. The silence that met it told her enough—as much as the metal and stones gleamed in the light of the suns, as beautiful as the necklace would seem to be, they knew what it meant.

He carried it over to her, and she could feel the bands tightening around her neck even before he brought it close. The metal felt as though it had been stored in the catacombs until now, cool as it settled against her skin, a sense of what was to come, even as contact with her and the sunlight heated it. She thought perhaps it would burn—no, she knew it would if she remained out here for much longer. The sound of the clasps locking in place made her shudder, and she would have run if she thought she would have made it more than a few steps away.

The king tugged on one of the chains, smiling down at her. “How does that feel?”

She choked, trying to fight against the way the bands cut off her voice. She could not breathe. Her hand wanted to reach for it, to try and rip it off, but she knew she wouldn’t get it off that way. Her fingers closed over the fabric concealing the blade, and she almost ripped it free, ready to plunge it into him, ready to take him with her as she died.

He loosened the chains, and she drew in a breath, desperate, aware that he was laughing at her. Agache was right. The king’s face betrayed his intent, just as it had before, when he kissed her, and she felt her stomach turn as he stole another, crushing her lips and robbing her of her breath again.

She thought he’d tell her to expect him in her chamber tonight. That made her sick.

He stepped back, his finger touching her forehead and down her face, along each of the bands, making her think he would go all the way to the low point of her neckline, but he stopped at the final band. “You should be happy.”

“What?”

He smiled at her. “Now, with those jewels, for once in your life, you can feel beautiful.”

She choked. “Bagquin.”

The bands tightened again, and he leaned close to her. “You will learn silence. Now go.”

She glared at him. “Not… before… you… release… me.”

“You expect me to take it off? That will not happen. You have your reprieve. Go or I will throw you off this balcony.”

She swallowed, not doubting his words. He would do it, even if it meant war. She could not be allowed to defy him, not in the smallest of ways. If she stayed, he would ensure that she suffered, whether it was because of the necklace or his threat to make her fall. She should take what she could and run. She didn’t have much choice.

She forced herself to bow before she left. She did not know that she could make it all the way back to her chamber, not without stopping to rest several times, and even then, she might not be capable of it, not when she could not truly breathe.

Author’s Note: I went ahead to their next opportunity to talk. I considered doing a flashback for Robert, but again, I could not find one that connected to the story, so I didn’t do it. I also considered his conversation with the police, but I didn’t know that it would be all that useful to extend that when Robert covered the pertinent bits here.

New and Old Questions

“How are you feeling?”

Robert could not help smiling at her question, easing himself into one of the other chairs. He did not know how his head would fare today, since he had not been allowed much rest. He knew why they woke him every couple of hours, but he did not enjoy the experience and could not pretend otherwise. “Should I ask you that?”

Violet smiled. “I think, other than yesterday’s upset, the need for me to rest has been greatly exaggerated. I am not so much of an invalid. I don’t think I should have to be confined to bed, just that I must be careful. It is so frustrating to be pregnant.”

“I would not know.”

She laughed. “No, you wouldn’t. Though that would be quite interesting if that were possible.”

“So you like to imagine the impossible?”

She frowned. “I am not certain that is accurate. It is not like I enjoyed being compared to a sprite or a nymph. Those things are impossible, yet I dislike them. They are not the only things that make me uncomfortable to contemplate, either.”

“The man who deceived you…”

“He is, I think, one of the more difficult subjects to dwell upon,” she said, letting out a sigh. She lowered her head, her hand turning over her stomach. He winced, realizing that he had brought up more pain for her. That was all he ever did. “Did they… Did the police talk to you at all? Do you know if they found anything?”

He grimaced. “I rather felt as though they did not think I had heard anyone at all.”

“You mean they think you injured yourself? That you did that to your head? Why would you? That is absolutely absurd—”

“Is it?” He reached up to touch the wound, wincing again. “I’ve known men to suffer wounds far more grave than that, and even I know that there’s no good reason why he didn’t hit me a second time. If he wanted me dead, it would have been so easy…”

She shook her head. “No. I refuse to accept that. I know that he lied to me, that he betrayed me, but he is not a killer. I did not fall in love with a killer. I couldn’t have.”

Robert let out a breath. He didn’t—couldn’t—say much to that as he would only hurt her, but he couldn’t help thinking that she hadn’t known the man she’d married at all. He’d told her things that were Robert’s, not his. He had not given her much of his own truth, and that made him capable of anything, in Robert’s opinion. Still, he did not think she would want to hear that. “It may not have been his intention to kill me. I don’t know what he wanted to do. I don’t think he accomplished it because he left me there and I woke up not long after I’d been struck, but I don’t have any way of being certain. If we knew more of why he did what he did, then we would perhaps know why he might do this, but he is not going to tell us that.”

“Unless he already did and I don’t know what it is in what he told me. I don’t know what is significant there. The stories? The way that he sometimes referred to himself like a separate person—which makes sense when we consider that he was talking about you, not him. Perhaps there is something else that I should have noticed, but I do not know.”

Robert nodded. “That is still possible. Did he ever speak of a reason to hate my family? I suppose he spoke of hating my father, but that only leads me to ask who doesn’t hate my father?”

“I did not hate him, though he did his best to make me do so.” She shifted in her seat, looking toward the door as though she expected someone to enter, and he had to wonder where her mother and aunt were. Listening through some other door, perhaps? Or were they out in town, permitting her to leave her room and speak to him? They would not be pleased, then, when they returned.

“Nevertheless, unless he spoke of despising himself—me—or some other member of my family, I cannot see why he felt that he must do this.”

“Because he attacked you.”

“If he attacked me, yes,” Robert said. He sighed. “I wish I understood this. If that was him, then what did he want? To make me suffer? If he does hate me, then yes, I suppose he might, but why does he hate me?”

“I do not know.”

“I’m sorry. I did not expect you to have the answer. I’m only trying to think of it myself, and I spoke aloud when I should not have.”

She shook her head. “Of the two of us, it would seem that I should have that answer. I did know the imposter, and it seems that you did not.”

“Yet, as we have said so many times before, it does not make sense that it is someone who does not know me. Or that I do not know. I should know him.”

“Unless, of course, he is not punishing you for something you did but for something someone else did.”

Author’s Note: I wanted to have this moment happen after they crossed the finish line. There were other things that almost got delayed to this point, and this almost happened after their lunch, but it felt better to have it here, at the end of the run.

At the Finish Line

“Congratulations on another successful run,” the man at the finish line said, grinning as he shook Mac’s hand. “Your car’s looking a little full this year, Mac. Care to tell us about that?”

Mac grunted, looking back at the others in the back seat. Carrie seemed uncomfortable, but Larry and Nick at least smiled for him before he turned to face the man with the microphone. “Guess you’re looking at family.”

“Family?”
Mac pointed to Carson and Mackenna. “You remember my granddaughter. That’s her future husband. Those are his brothers in the back. Family.”

Carson stiffened, not liking this very much. Why had Mac said that? He swore the man didn’t like him, so why would he do that? Why bother? It wasn’t happening. Shouldn’t they all know that by now?

“Well, that’s exciting news. When’s the wedding?”

“Never,” Carson muttered, and Mackenna elbowed him. He sighed. He thought they’d been over this already, but now he was going to seem like a jerk in front of everyone because he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t understand. They knew he was a killer. Why would they be pushing this idea? It was ridiculous.

“They haven’t set a date yet,” Mac said, giving Carson a warning look. He slumped down, not sure how he could fix this. This marriage idea was the worst possible thing right now. He’d killed his father. He shouldn’t get married. He couldn’t get married.

The man with the microphone grinned. “Well, we’re glad to hear the good news. Let us know when they do.”
Mac nodded, putting the car in gear again and driving forward into the lot. He parked the Maxwell in one of the open spaces, letting the engine die. Carson bumped Mackenna as he climbed out, needing to get away from all of this—all of them.

“Carson?”

“I need air.”

“We’ll go get us some turkey legs,” Larry said, exchanging a look with Nick. Carrie grimaced, but she didn’t object. “Come on, Mac, let us treat you. Least we can do after all you’ve done for us.”

Mac gave them a slight smile. He turned to Mackenna, giving her a pointed look, but she waved him off. He grunted, walking away with the others toward the building. Mackenna watched them for a moment before touching Carson’s arm.

“You okay?”

“Not really. I know that I—that we—we’re in this awkward state because of how we feel and what we’ve started, but… I can’t marry you. I just can’t.”

“Carson—”

“No. I can’t do this. I like you a lot. Maybe even love you, but no. I don’t… You can’t—shouldn’t—want someone who killed his father—”

“You know I don’t believe you really did that.”

“I did.”

She shook her head. “No. When the rest of your memory comes back, you’ll know you didn’t do it. You’ll understand why you thought you did, but you didn’t. Stop trying to force me to believe something I know isn’t true. You didn’t do it. I know that. I know you.”

“Mackenna—”

“Marriage, huh?”

Mackenna winced as she turned around to face Nate. Carson shook his head. They didn’t need this, either. “It’s complicated, Nate, and a few people have jumped the gun on that just a little. We’re still figuring things out right now.”

“Uh huh.”

Carson figured Mackenna would have her hands full dealing with her “friend,” and he took advantage of the opportunity to slip away, not wanting to hear any of it. He just needed some space. He didn’t want to think about marriage, didn’t need the pressure of everyone’s expectations. They hadn’t even started dating yet, not really, and with his past… The whole thing was just a bad idea, and he should never have kissed her. He had ruined everything.

He walked out of the lot and over to the cars parked on the grass. This run did seem to bring out all the other collectable cars, with everything from a thirty-eight Ford to something called a Nash that he’d never heard of before, either.

“Koslow.”

Carson jerked, looking up from the Nash’s trunk. He figured that Mackenna and Nate could have caught up to him by now, but the man standing there was not the nosy would-be shrink. Carson swallowed, feeling sick.

“Damn. You do look a lot like your father. Almost thought you were his ghost there for a second.”

“I… How did you know my father?”

“Oh, come on. I know you remember,” the man said, stepping closer. Sunlight reflected off the bit of metal in his hand, and Carson realized he had a gun. “Tell me where the money is, kid, and maybe I’ll let you live. Again.”

Author’s Note: Gekin has a point. They should have thought of it sooner.

No True Option

“She sleeps?”

Anokii nodded, glancing toward the queen. “She does. She did not for a long time, but she did still after several hours. Did you speak to the jeweler, then?”

Gekin nodded. “He agreed to help, but I fear it is not the solution Agache hoped it was or that he led her to believe. Such a device cannot be replicated without considerable time to study it. Even if he managed to get it to the jeweler now, I do not believe that the man can prepare a copy good enough to fool the king in one night. No, I must correct myself—I know that he cannot. It is simply not possible.”

Anokii winced. She shook her head. She did not like this. Legend said that the bindings of the betrayed princess were the cause of her death. The king had lost his temper one time too many, and she had died at his hands. If this queen were to be made to wear them, then she would almost certainly reenact the legend. “Gekin, if the king puts that thing on her—and he will—he could kill her in an instant. Even if he does not kill her, he can torture her. He will.”

Gekin put a hand on her shoulder. Anokii turned into his embrace. The queen was not her friend, nor were they the best of allies, but she did not know how any of them could watch this happen. They needed something more than what Agache had suggested. They could not place their hopes on the jeweler alone. “What will we do?”

“I can offer to take her to the border. It is the only thing that will stop the king. Otherwise, she will have to endure the bindings until the jeweler is finished with his copy. I do not know of any other option.”

“That is no option. Her departure would mean war. She will not do it.”

He let out a breath, turning toward the inner chamber. “She is too much like your cousin, then. Too much like you.”

Anokii snorted. “She is a queen. I am little better than a slave. Nevertheless, we must wake her. She must be informed of the situation, and once she is, she will have to choose. We cannot decide for her. Nor can we cannot assume we know her answer.”

“You wish me to stay?”

“Of course. I always do, even though the circumstances will not allow for us to have time to ourselves. Yet I cannot ask you to remain when I know that you must have other duties. You need the queen’s answer, of course, but you cannot spend all your time here.”

He touched her cheek. “I would, for you, but you are correct. I must see to more than the queen. I must stay to hear her answer, though, since if she is to leave, she must do so now.”

Anokii took his hand, leading him over to the queen’s side. “My lady, I am sorry to wake you, but Gekin has learned something that you must hear.”

The queen stirred, her eyes opening. She blinked, confused. “Anokii? What—What is it I need to know?”

“The jeweler cannot forge a copy of the bindings—”

“Not at all?” the queen asked, sitting up. “You mean to say that he refused?”

“No. He was more than willing to help, but he cannot make it overnight. The king may put the bindings on you before the fake can be made. He may put them on you today, before the second sun rises.”

“That is not much time.”

“No, it is not, and therefore you must make a decision immediately—I can take you to the border now. I know the best routes, safe and fast.”

The queen sighed. “No. I cannot do that. My people would suffer if I did. I will not abandon them to the king’s ire. I made the choice to go out to the crowd here, and if that means that I must suffer, then I must accept the pain. I… I did not come here in ignorance, nor did I intervene thinking that there would not be repercussions.”

“Agache did not tell you that the queen those bindings were made for died wearing them.”

“I must hope, then, that he remains unready for war,” the queen said, rising. “I will ask only that we get the forgery made quickly.”

“We will do all that we can, but I cannot promise that it will be ready within days or even weeks. If we had only thought to make it when you were first brought here—”

“That is not something that can be changed. If you do not mind, I should like to begin my preparations for the day. You may… take what time you can and spend it with each other if you like, though it is not for me to order you about.”

“You will need me to help you with your dress.”

“Yes, but not right now.”

Gekin touched Anokii’s arm. “I think what she truly desires is to be alone. Come. We will give her that time—and take some for ourselves.”

She knew she should not smile, but she believed he understood the situation correctly, and she did not think they could be blamed for wanting to say goodbye before he went to attend to his other tasks. She turned to the queen. “Is… Is there anything you need? Are you certain that we cannot assist you in any way?”

The queen shook her head. “No, not now, thank you, Anokii. I will… Should I need anything, I will ask.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Author’s Note: It’s always interesting when both the main characters should be resting. They never want to do it, and there’s always too much going on around them.

Too Much to Discuss

“I think,” Robbie said, still huddled over the bowl, “assuming this is the work of that man is… premature.”

Violet put her hand on his back, wishing he was not in so much pain. She did not care for seeing him this way, and she had to think that she was part to blame. She had drawn him here, hadn’t she? She’d got him to come with her letter, one that had said too much. Of course he’d come to her instead of forcing her to go to his home. He was a good man, a gentleman, and he’d been willing to listen to her even though he knew he was not married. He’d come to see her, to hear her side, and she valued that. Still, if not for her, he would still be safe in his father’s home. He would not be here to be attacked, not by Winston or anyone else who might have done this.

“Who else would it be?”

“It is possible that my father did not leave. Or that someone thought I had his money and tried to take it.”

“Or they might have done it because he hasn’t married you.”

Violet sighed. She had not thought of that, but it was another reason for her to hate the part she had played in him being injured. “Oh, Robbie, I am so—”

“This might have nothing to do with you. We don’t know why I was attacked. It could even have been about the war.”

“I doubt that,” her mother said. She rose, walking over to the door. “Thank you for coming, Doctor. We’ve done what we can for him, but neither me nor my sister is a nurse.”

“You should be in bed, Mrs. Winston.”

Violet grimaced. “I am not the one you need worry about. He could have more than a concussion, and if that’s true—”

“Come now,” her mother said, taking her arm. “Let’s get you out of the way so that the doctor can examine Mr. Winston. You just sit over here for now, and we’ll get you in bed in a few minutes.”

She groaned, sitting back on the chair. She would rather be with Robbie, but she was not a doctor. He needed treatment. They also needed the police. She wondered if they had been searching the park for the man who had hurt Robbie and that was what delayed them. They should have been here by now.

“Mrs. Carpenter?”

“Officer. Thank goodness you’ve come. Mr. Winston found his way here after he was attacked, and I think he was quite fortunate to make it this far.”

“I don’t think whoever it was that hit me expected me to wake so soon, nor did I. I think the worst of it has passed. I already vomited.”

“You’re going to need to do more than that to recover, Winston.”

He grimaced. “I suppose now I have to rest in bed.”

Violet laughed. “At least I won’t be alone with those orders. If it were not completely inappropriate, they could put us in a ward together—or just a room—and let us spend our confinement together. I’d be more willing to stay in bed if I knew you were safe.”

He reached up to push the doctor’s hand away. “I doubt that I would be attacked again the minute that I tried to leave. Not that I would object to having company while I am recovering. I think that the worst part of it of being wounded were those long, horrible hours where I could only lie there, alone. I had nothing but my thoughts, and those thoughts were dark.”

“Then we should not leave you alone this time.”

Beatrice frowned. “Mr. Winston has much to discuss with the police. You can leave him to do that. He has plenty of company. You need to get back to bed.”

“Aunt Beatrice—”

“She is right. Both of you need your rest. Mr. Winston can tell the police what happened to him, and you will lie down again so that the baby does not come too soon. Remember, as much as a child is a blessing, this is a dangerous time for you. Things could—It is dangerous.”

Robbie turned to her, trying for a reassuring look. “I will be in a bed of my own soon, and I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you or the baby because of me. I’m sure that we… We will have a lot to discuss when this is over.”

They already had plenty to talk of, she could not help thinking, but she nodded. She would have to trust that he would tell her whatever the others were trying to keep from her. She would rather stay and watch over him herself, but she knew that was impossible. Not only was it inappropriate, her body and the baby objected to her behavior, and if she was not careful, she’d lose consciousness right here. She had little choice but to let herself be taken back to her room to rest.

“We will talk as soon as we can, Violet. I promise.”

She smiled at him. “I know. I look forward to it.”

Author’s Note: As much as I keep saying that I should help out with the driving on the run, I have trouble stopping at stop signs and lights, and I do not like driving in the Twin Cities in a regular car. In an antique… Well, it’s kind of neat to ride in one, but I don’t know that I’ll get brave enough to drive one in the cities. Ever. 🙁

Over the River and into the City

“We’re crossing the Mississippi now,” Mackenna said, trying to draw Carson’s attention away from his thoughts and back with her. She wouldn’t have thought it was that hard—she was sitting almost completely on top of him thanks to her “brilliant” idea of sharing the front seat with him. They didn’t have a lot of space, but she figured that they could all be there for the finish line and she wanted to stay close to him, so this was the best way of having both in her opinion.

Not so much in his, at least not that she could see. He’d been distant ever since they left Crystal.

“This is great,” Larry said, sounding like a big kid. Mackenna smiled at him, wishing that she could get that same kind of enthusiasm from Carson. His brothers had pushed too far when everyone started in on the wedding talk, and she’d made the mistake of going along with it. She should have known he wouldn’t be okay with it, not even in teasing. She had to get him past this idea that he’d killed his father. None of them believed that he had done it, and even if he had, he didn’t do it without a reason. She knew that. He wasn’t that sort. He didn’t like hurting anyone. Why was it so easy for him to think that he’d killed his father?

“You don’t think that it’s great?” Larry asked, shaking his brother’s shoulder after the silence from Carson. Mackenna got bumped, trying not to hit her grandfather, knowing he was already annoyed by her crowding in on him. When she’d suggested letting all the others take the back, Mac had looked at her like he thought she was nuts, but that was not that unusual. He’d let her have her way, like always.

He wouldn’t agree to this again. This was the hardest part of the trip, the end of a long day and in the middle of the Twin Cities. She shouldn’t be distracting him.

“Larry, please, let’s just… You enjoy it, but don’t try and force me to do it. I’m not… I’m here, but don’t expect crazy enthusiasm from me. I’m not really up to that right now.”

“You didn’t have another flashback, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. I haven’t gotten anything else back. I’m just tired, overwhelmed, and even a bit smothered at the moment.”

“I do not weigh that much.”

“Next time we won’t all be in the car. This is just because it’s the first time any of us have come along,” Nick said. “I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be along next year anyway. Someone’s had about as much of us as he can stand—and I don’t mean Carson.”

Mackenna rolled her eyes. “Even if Mac seems a bit gruff, next year it won’t be an issue. We can bring a second car to have plenty of space for everyone.”

“Phantom only has two seats.”

“True, but even then—”

“Mac won’t want us in the car with him, and you two will take the other, so we’re still out a ride.”

“I won’t get to keep Phantom anyway. Dad probably stole it, so I will have to give her back when we figure out where he got it,” Carson said, shaking his head. “Honestly, am I really the only one nervous about driving by these highways? That was the interstate back there, wasn’t it?”

“We’re not on it; we’re on the back roads and side streets,” Mackenna said, putting a hand on his cheek.

He frowned at her, and she smiled back. “Look, that hill back there was the worst of it. All the rest of this is pretty tame. We will be to the end very soon, and then we can wander around the fair a bit. Larry, Nick, and Mac can have their turkey legs, and Carrie can go shopping in the booths if she wants.”

“I’m surprised that you didn’t offer to take him back to the hotel,” Larry said, and Mackenna frowned as she turned back to him. He held up his hands. “Not like that. I am not saying you two are going off to… um…”

“Damn, that’s something I don’t want to think about my baby brother doing.”

Carson rolled his eyes. “Like I haven’t had to see you do that in the past. When you and Carrie first got married, nowhere was safe.”

“And Larry—”

“No discussion of Lynda. Ever.”

“We need to stay around for the driver’s meeting, which they wait to have until as many of the drivers in as possible, so probably about six thirty. You three can take off a bit earlier. We’ll be at the same hotel tonight, and we can possibly go for dinner or drinks or something after the meeting if everyone isn’t asleep before then.”

Larry nodded. “Sounds good.”

Nick leaned forward. “Are you two going to kiss when we get to the finish line?”

Carson groaned and slumped down in his seat. Mackenna shrugged, snuggling in next to him. She didn’t care if they did, just so long as he stuck with her. That was all that mattered right now.

Author’s Note: So… the conversation between the king and queen just before this is one that’s… hmm, unpleasant, I guess, and so while I did post it, I wasn’t going to draw extra attention to it. Still, I figured I’d better explain why there are two parts to this serial today.

It’s Wednesday, and to include the words from Three Word Wednesday, trample, vigilant, and helpless, I am putting up two sections. This one was already set to follow the last one, it just needed a bit of editing first.

To Define a Mark

“I thought you would have been listening.”

Agache lifted his head, his eyes betraying a hint of anger at the queen’s accusation. She had not intended to speak in that manner, but her encounter with the king left her distressed. She could blame Agache in some sense, and perhaps she did.

He shook his head. “I am not someone who spends all his time skulking in shadows and prying into other’s conversations. I was not… I could not stay close when I knew you were with the king.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“He may well already know that I am alive. The blood we share… It stirs in the company of another who possesses it. He would have known that I was there. I could do nothing, not even listen, without him knowing. I… Anokii was there for part of it before she came to advise me and Gekin of the conversation’s direction and ask what we could do, what we would do.”

The queen glanced toward the others. Anokii lowered her head, not looking at her, and Gekin put his hand on her shoulder. The queen did not know what to think of them. “Oh. Then… You were not there for the end.”

Anokii shook her head. “No. You appear unharmed, which is both a surprise and a relief. Unless I am mistaken. Did he harm you?”

The king should have, and they all knew it. The queen did not know why he had not. “Not yet. He says he wants to put a mark on me. What does that mean?”

The queen heard Gekin curse first, but he wasn’t alone in doing so. Agache did as well, rising from the rock and pacing with agitation. Anokii folded her hands together, looking like she might be praying, but to what deity and why, the queen could not guess.

“I should have anticipated this. He knows now that you can sway the people. He must show that he controls you even if you control the people.”

The queen would not say that—she had only asked them to leave. She did not control anyone. She almost regretted asking, but how could she let that happen? Those people would all have died. “He would have trampled them with his soldiers.”

“Yes, he would have. It is because of you that they live.” Agache stopped, leaning against the wall. “You should not have had to go out there. I should have done it.”

She did not want to discuss this again. “You know why you could not. I accept what I have done and the consequences of my actions. I am not helpless.”

“No, you are not, but the mark he will put upon you will not be easy to bear.”

“You sound certain of what it will be.”

“It will be a jewel. A necklace.”

“That’s a mark? He made it sound like he’d carve up my body or… Well, I don’t think we need to discuss the other things I was thinking of.”

Agache shook his head. “Do not think of it as a respite, Jis. It isn’t. If he does what I believe he will, he’ll give you the bindings of the conquered queen. They… It is several bands that go from the base of your neck to your chin, ones that can be tightened and loosened as he sees fit. Yes, it is a beautiful piece, with several rare and valuable stones as well as the metal that it is fashioned from, but it is a cruel device that he will use to choke you whenever he pleases.”

She sat down, shaking her head. “What am I supposed to do, then? He made it clear that if I refused him, he’d hurt me, but if I don’t refuse him—”

“We can attempt to have a copy made, one that will not allow him to choke you, but you will have to learn to watch for when he expects it, and if you do not make him think that it works properly, he will be far angrier and unmanageable.”

“That’s your solution? How am I to know when he’s doing it if the device isn’t working?”

“You learn. He has a certain look to his face.”

She felt her stomach twist. “Did he use this thing on you?”

“No. I would have looked quite foolish with that around my neck, but I know him well enough to know when he wishes to inflict violence. I was not a favorite for that—since I had to wear the cloak, I did not show the marks he left behind as he wanted.”

“Agache—”

“I told you that I would not ask you to kill him. Do not suggest it again.”

She let out a breath. “I was not going to, but all the same, I don’t understand. We all know it would be simpler if he died, and even Malzhi getting the throne cannot be worse than him, can it?”

“Legend says that his people killed dragons and used their blood to give themselves longer lives. Whether the legend is true or not, the people of this land do not die easy.”

“Omamhi did.”

“He is not of royal blood. The royals can live for centuries.”

“How old are you, then?”

Agache laughed. “I am more of a child in comparison. Do not worry so much about my age. I am old enough to do what must be done and to know what that is. That is all that matters.”

“So you say. Why should I trust anything you say? You never answer with any sense of clarity unless it might mean someone’s death.”

He smiled. “You do tend to provoke that response in me. It is remarkably easy and endlessly entertaining to annoy you like this.”

She glared at him. “This is not funny. We were discussing an instrument of torture that the king wants to put on me just a moment ago, and now you’re going to—”

“I have seen the king at his worst, and I know full well how grave a matter that is. However, I have learned—we all have learned—to take our small moments when we can. Why do you think that those two are always disappearing when we start talking of matters that do not concern them?” He gestured to Anokii and Gekin, who frowned, though the queen thought perhaps they felt guilty as well. “They take the time they have and use all of it as best they can. There are things the king can do that can destroy you—in body and in mind—and I think part of what frustrates you so much is the aftermath of what he did do to my mind. I am not what I was. My humor is… not kind, and I worry about what that means for me and what I might become.”

“Perhaps you should become a lantern full time. That cannot harm anyone, now can it?”

Agache laughed. “Very nice, my esibani, but for all that I glow down here, out of the catacombs, I’d be of no use at all, and that is not something I can allow myself to be. Gekin, find that jeweler and see if he will cooperate with us. I will go for the necklace myself.”

Anokii turned to her cousin. “Agache—”

“I know the castle better than anyone. It was my home. I was raised there. I can do this. Anokii, help Jis back to her rooms. It is possible the king will return for her tonight. He will want to see her fear keep her from slumber. We must be vigilant. I may be mistaken in his intent, and even if I am not, there is Malzhi to consider. He may feel it is time to move against the queen.”

She shuddered. Anokii touched her arm. “You will not be alone tonight. We will watch.”

“Is there anything you can do if either of them comes?”

“Anokii is capable of much more than you think.”

The queen nodded, ashamed of how she had treated the other woman. Agache pulled his cloak over his shoulders, and she forced herself to speak. “Thank you. For the necklace.”

“I haven’t replaced it yet.”

“I know. I appreciate your willingness to try.”

He shook his head. “Considering that you are in this position because of me, this is the least I should do. Do not thank me. What I might do is nothing compared to what you have already done.”

She thought he looked different somehow. His glow had faded, and not just because he had covered himself in the cloak. “Agache—”

“Let him go,” Anokii advised. “We must return you to your room before anyone looks for you.”

Author’s Note: So this scene is one of those ones that manages to tear me in two directions. It’s not that I don’t like it. I actually do. That’s what bothers me. It’s dark and hints at terrible things, and I shouldn’t like it. I almost didn’t want to post it. Still, it is a part of the story and unfortunately for the queen… necessary.

The Threat of Punishment

The king said nothing as they walked back to her room. She did not know what to think of the silence. He had not gripped her arm as Malzhi did, but that did not mean that he was not angry. The king could—would—hurt her.

He pushed her into her room, and she was, in part, relieved to see that it was empty. At the same time, she was not. She would have liked to know that Anokii or one of the others was nearby. She did not expect their intervention, but she would have preferred not to be so alone now.

The door shut behind the king, and she tried not to shudder. She did not want to be isolated, shut away with him. He could do anything to her here, and no one would see. No one would help her. She could not expect any intervention, and she would have to rely on her training, hoping to do better than she had with Omamhi.

She felt her stomach twist. She did not want to kill. She did not know that it could be avoided, but if she killed the king, what would that do to this land, to hers? Would Malzhi gain the power? Would his obsession with her save her people or condemn them?

She did not think they could remove the king from the throne without removing Malzhi as well.

“I heard that Malzhi has been most attentive in my absence.”

She stilled. She did not know when the king had reached her and Malzhi, and she did not know how long he had watched her, but she could not help worrying all the same. True, she had done no exercise that might betray her training to him, Malzhi, or the crowd, and she had been dressed in her full court attire, but she still felt vulnerable, and she did not care for it. “He has been persistent, but his attentions were not necessary. I had no interest in his offers.”

“You didn’t?”

She considered making comments about no woman wanting Malzhi, but she did not think that the king would appreciate them, nor would he believe them. She faced him. “Would you like proof?”

The king took hold of her arm, dragging her forward until she was right in front of him. His eyes studied her face, and she forced herself not to flinch, willing herself not to recoil from his breath. He’d eaten raw meat or worse before he came to the gates. He might have been enjoying the spectacle, waiting in gleeful expectation for the crowds to be slaughtered. She had spoiled his… fun. He would hurt her for that.

“How strange. I think you are telling the truth.”

“You thought my offer of proof was a bluff?”

He grabbed her by the hair. She gasped but did not cry out. “I dislike your attitude. You had almost earned yourself mercy, but you ruined it.”

She needed his mercy, as much as that thought galled her. “I do not appreciate being called a liar, especially given what that lie implied. I was not unfaithful. I do not treat the oaths I have taken—as your wife, as the queen, as a part of peace between our lands—as things that can be broken.”

He glared at her. “You are too proud. I should break you.”

She wanted to laugh and tell him to try, but she knew that this was only a small part of the evil she saw in him. She knew he would do more than try, and she also knew that she would break. She was not strong enough for this. “Please. Don’t.”

“That is better.” He let go of her, and she let out a breath. She had only just closed her eyes before he had hold of her again, bruising her arm. “I think you are not the only one who needs a reminder of who you belong to. Malzhi and the people must know that you are mine. Mine alone.”

“What are you going to do?” She hated asking, but the ideas she came up with scared her. She had to know before panic overwhelmed her. Perhaps it would not be as bad as she thought. She knew it would hurt, that much seemed certain. A public beating, perhaps, or worse…

“It is customary for the wife to bear the mark of her husband.”

She ran her tongue along her lips, fighting against the dryness of her throat. Her voice did not want to come. “A mark? Like… a brand?”

He smiled at her, and she winced. Agache and the resistance had some sort of plan, but at the moment, her fear wanted to destroy her confidence in it and him—in all her allies. She would give almost anything for one of his interventions, though. She knew she could save herself, but that would mean killing the king, and she knew they were not ready for that.

“Each man decides what his mark will be, but once he has made it, no one can deny it. The mark is plain and visible and known to all.”

She thought of the scar on Agache’s arm and wondered if she would have something similar. Still, if it was one that would have to be visible, it would not be on her arm. “I think I’d prefer that you put it on my wrist. My woman’s vanity does not want it on my face.”

The king laughed. “Is that so? Perhaps I want to mar that face of yours. What then?”

She sighed. “What am I supposed to do? Refuse? Or would you rather that I beg again?”

“I have something special for you. A woman who cannot hold her tongue might just learn how to do so… if she is properly taught.”

She shuddered, watching him walk away rubbing her hands over her arms. Despite the fact that both suns were out, she felt a chill she could not escape.