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Author’s Note: So Carson is a bit paranoid. He’s also a leg guy. Go figure.

A Few Minor Repairs

Carson would have been relieved not to feel like someone was watching him—since that seemed to have happened every time that he was out in a crowd—if he didn’t think that they were all watching Mackenna instead. He knew he kept staring, and he didn’t think he was the only one who was. How could they not? Everyone could see her legs out from underneath the car, and they were a much finer set of legs than he’d realized when she wore pants.

Trouble was, she wasn’t wearing pants right now. He’d thought that her fixing the car in a dress would be something to see, but now he wished she’d stopped to change into her overalls. She hadn’t been joking about protecting her dignity. He didn’t think he’d managed it, not when there were so many people around. He could try and block their view, but he wasn’t enough. He didn’t even manage to cover her with his shadow.

It didn’t help that he kept looking at her legs.

He was pretty damn jealous, too. He should have known that he would be after the way he’d reacted to Larry flirting with her, but it was at least ten times worse knowing that everyone was getting such a good look at her legs.

He knew why she had to take off the longer part of her skirt—at least, he did intellectually; she needed to be able to crawl under and move around underneath the car—but he wished she hadn’t done it. He wanted her legs covered so they’d stop distracting him and anyone else that might walk by.

“Are you almost done?”

“This is sensitive work, you know. You could try and be more patient.”

“There’s patient, and there’s I’m going insane because your legs are very visible underneath there and it’s driving me crazy in more ways than one.”

She laughed. “I didn’t know you were a leg man.”

“Frankly, I didn’t know I was, either, not until you did this. Then again… Everything seems to be changing now that you’re in my life. That sounds so corny, but I’m getting my memories back, I’m joining clubs and driving historic cars, and then there’s… us. That’s got to be the biggest change.”

“I would imagine it would be.”

He knelt down next to her. “You’re done, aren’t you? Now you’re just milking this. You heard me start babbling like an idiot, and you decided to let me go on like an even bigger moron. Admit it.”

She crawled out, a smirk on her face. “You do know me well.”

“I’d hope so since you’ve been hinting around about marriage.”

She frowned. “I never said—well, I did, but you don’t need to act like I suddenly turned into one of those clingy, commitment demanding girls that no man wants to date. I was just—I wanted you to know I wasn’t leaving you. That’s all.”

“So now, if I did ask, you’d say no?”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

He forced a smile. He still wasn’t asking, not until he was sure that he hadn’t killed his father, but if the idea of someone else looking at her legs bothered him this much, he didn’t think he’d have much choice. No one else was going to be touching them. “Ready to get up?”

“Yeah,” she said, accepting his hand and pulling herself up to her feet. She started dusting herself off, and his eyes went right to that torturous hemline of hers.

“I swear, I have to be drooling, and I know I wasn’t the only one,” he told her, and she laughed.

“I know, not the most ladylike look ever, and if not for what I had to do under the car, you’d never be seeing me in such a scandalous way,” she said, continuing to dust off the shorter part of her skirt as she walked around to the back of the car, taking the longer skirt off the side. She slipped it on again, putting herself back in order. The legs were covered. He should be relieved. “You gonna kiss me now or what? I honestly didn’t think I’d manage to get away without one, not with the way you were drooling.”

He rolled his eyes, about to catch her against the car and make her regret egging him on, but then he felt it again. He stopped, turning around, frowning as he tried to find the source of that damned feeling. He didn’t understand—had she just distracted him that well, so much so that he didn’t even notice it before, or was he really going crazy? Why had that feeling come back the moment he was going to kiss her? He’d blame it on a fear of intimacy, but he had been able to kiss her without the paranoia doing this to him, so it wasn’t that. Or not just that. Something else was going on.

“Carson?”

“I’m sorry. I feel like someone’s watching me again.”

She cursed. “Come on. We’ll go get the others and get back on the road.”

Author’s Note: It was hard to know how Robert would react to what he had done in the last part. He’s not really sure about it, either.

Lost in Contemplation

Robert felt… strange. That was the only word he could think of for his current mix of emotions and behavior. He had sat alone in the local park, not seeing the people pass by or the scenery around him. He did remember a vague thought passing through his mind that this place did not compare to Violet’s garden, but on the whole he noticed little of his surroundings or the passage of time.

He did not know what to think of what he had done. His words to his father echoed in his head, and he did not think that he regretted them. They should perhaps have been said sooner. Or never. That was what he was having trouble deciding.

He knew the practical thing was to go back to his father and beg forgiveness. He knew that was expected of him. He was supposed to honor his parents, and he’d tried to do that all his life, despite the fact that his mother did little that was not expressly dictated by his father and his father was unreasonable at best. Of course, like any child, he’d had his moments of impudence, of mischief and rule-breaking, but he’d never been so defiant before.

He was no longer a child. As he’d told his father, he’d lost the last of that innocence in the war. He had been old enough to fight and die for his country before he left, and what little exuberance he’d showed as a child—the beehive, the pies, the trickery—all of that had seemed to spoil on him the summer before he was drafted, when he was preparing for college. He had been readying himself to take on the mantle of his father’s business affairs, to learn all that was necessary for the role in management that he would be expected to fulfill. He’d considered running, but he had not. He had gone to school, he had taken his courses, he had passed them, he had been dutiful, and then came the war.

His father hadn’t wanted him to go. He would have paid to have Robert exempted or found some poor boy willing to go in his place, but for some reason, that did not happen. He’d gone, and he’d fought, and he’d lived somehow when he knew he shouldn’t have. When he’d learned the state of his arm, he’d been relieved to know he had that position in his father’s company to sustain him. He’d been fit for little else, not that he felt fit to run the company, but he had that as some small comfort.

Now he did not have it. He did not know what would become of him. He had no money now, and the room he’d rented would no longer be an option. He could not afford to pay for the time he had already spent there, and he doubted that his father would settle any of those debts for him. He had said he didn’t want the money, and he’d meant that.

He had not given enough consideration to those that he should pay, though. He had responsibilities or at least obligations, and he had to find a way to fulfill them.

“Your father left.”

Robert’s head jerked up, and he looked at the innkeeper with a frown. “He… I am surprised. I would have thought he’d wait a bit longer, expecting me to apologize.”

“Perhaps he means to have you do that at your own home.”

“I should not think myself welcome there, nor would I wish to be.” Robert let out a breath. He cast his eyes down to his hands. “You do not happen to know of someone in need of a temporary worker who is half-useless, do you? I am afraid I have no other way of paying you what I owe you. I had not thought of that before I angered my father, and I… I am sorry. My actions were heedless, and I should have given more thought before I spoke.”

“Considering what that man said about Mrs. Winston, I do not know that there is anything else you could have done.”

“Oh. You heard that, did you?”

“The whole town knows of his behavior.”

“I… I must apologize. I have long known he was… intolerant, but I’ve never seen him behave quite so maliciously before.”

“I don’t need the apology.”

“I did speak to Mrs. Winston already.”

“Good. Come with me, then. We’ll get you back to your room for the night, and in the morning, you can see what might be done about the rest of your situation.”

by

One Popular Kitty

Author’s Note: So most of the time, when I think of popular, I think of it in a negative light. The popular kids picking on the social outcast, the quote about what is right not being popular and what is popular not being right, all of that.

So I was going to skip Sunday Scribblings because I couldn’t be nice about it, but then for some reason, this came to me. This is just a simple moment with characters from The Consultant and the Cat, a book I am planning on releasing soon.

One Popular Kitty

“You’ve become popular all of a sudden,” Persephone said, frowning at the stacks of mail that cluttered the office. The room wasn’t big enough in the first place, but the more of Randolph’s papers and case notes that appeared, the less this felt like a business and more like a dumping place for all of his junk.

“Not me. The leopard.”

Persephone blinked, not certain if he was joking or not. Sometimes with Randolph, it was difficult to talk. She’d blame that on the accent, but everyone knew he was not as foreign as his speech patterns might suggest. “The leopard?”

“Mmmhmm,” he murmured, pointing to the first stack of mail. “Those are the ones who want to sue me for damages incurred via leopard. These are probably not legitimate offers of consulting jobs since they are addressed to her. Those there are the ones that want Katya to appear as a spokesperson or celebrity or trained monkey.”

“Trained leopard.”

Randolph nodded, an absent yet deferent movement. His shoulders slumped, and she stepped close to him. She hoped he didn’t have another one of his migraines, though she’d bet he was close to one. “How bad is it, honestly?”

He shrugged. “Oh, taking one or two of the endorsement deals would likely cover any damages, should the suits be won.”

She whistled. Based on what she thought people would expect to get out of any lawsuit against the leopard, those had to be very lucrative endorsement deals. “That much?”

“She is an infamous leopard.”

Katya growled from behind them, bumping Randolph’s leg. He reached down to pat her head, a vague half-smile on his face. “Yes, love, your reputation is well-earned. I know. You are a most deserving leopard.”

“You’re going to give her a big head.”

Randolph laughed, moving his fingers back to scratch the cat’s ears. “You do realize she already has one, don’t you?”

“In comparison to other cats or in attitude?”

“I think her head is proportional to her body, and it is not fair to compare Katya to some pet store kitten. She has never been anything less than… extraordinary.”

Katya yawned, pretending to be bored. Persephone knew she wasn’t. The leopard loved to hear them talk about her. Randolph might even do it out of self-preservation. “You know that she is quite capable of being smug. She is far too proud of her role as a matchmaker.”

“Marcie never complains.”

“About his wife, no, but I worked with the man a lot longer than you did. Marciano can be very vocal about his opinions.”

“I’m sure.”

Randolph grunted. She knew he knew he was being baited, but he still went for it. “He considers himself my babysitter.”

“I don’t think he needs to do that anymore. After all, you are protected by a notorious crime-solving leopard. A heroic one who saves lives.”

Randolph looked down at the purring leopard. “Now who is giving her a big head?”

Author’s Note: So… I had planned on sending Agache off to meet with the other resistance leaders, but he decided he had to be there to help the queen again. I guess he has to do it after this. I’d say I feel sorry for him, but… I don’t.

He did need to be here for at least one part of this, though. He needed to tell the queen that because she needed to hear it.

Closer to the Breach

The crowds’ noise was overwhelming near the gates, and she found that reassuring. Silence might have meant that the soldiers had begun to attack the civilians. She did not want this to turn into the slaughter that she knew it could be. Beyond the wall led to chaos, and she should be considered a great fool for trying to get there. She could order the gates open, but she knew that command would be meaningless. No one listened to her, even if she was the queen. The soldiers had orders to keep her inside the castle walls, and she could not be certain that they would not kill her if she managed to get outside.

“You should have asked Anokii for a way out of the castle.”

“I did. She refused to tell me of any others besides the one to the catacombs, and that would trap me away from where I need to be.” She turned around, not able to tell Agache from any of the other shadows in this section of the courtyard, though they would not conceal him for long. “Are you going to help me, then, or do you have the same opinion?”

“I should tell you not to do anything, or at least not to put yourself in the position you’re thinking of. The crowds might kill you, the soldiers might kill you, and if they do not, then you might not survive the king. You cannot be certain that you will help any of them. Those you want to aid might hurt you instead.”

“Did they ever do that to you?”

“My position was different,” he said, and she heard something she thought was rocks shifting. She frowned, trying to locate him. There. That shadow had moved, hadn’t it? “If you are determined to go, give me your hand. I cannot tell you the path to follow. I must lead you through it.”

“And get yourself killed?”

He laughed, and she felt his hand take hers. That had been his shadow, then. She smiled as he pulled her close to the wall. “I am a dead man, after all. You need not worry about me. You are the one risking your life now.”

“They lost hope when they lost you.”

“And you wish to give it to them?” He asked, helping her through a small gap in the wall, one that she did not think he should be able to fit in, not after the trouble it gave her. He was larger than she was, but perhaps his people possessed another quality that made Malzhi call them worms, the ability to squeeze in and out of small spaces.

“I do not know that I can give them hope, but I do want to try and stop them before the soldiers do. If they act, people will die. I do not want that to happen.” She stumbled after him, trying to keep pace without getting caught on the stones. The passage was as cramped as it was dark, and she knew now why he said he’d have to lead her through it. She did not think she could have found the entrance, and she did not know if there were any side passages amongst the jagged edges. “How did you find this place, and how do you know how to pass through it without injury?”

“Practice. I had many reasons to escape from the castle when I was a child. I would think you could learn it if you try, but if you do, try and use one of your other dresses.”

“Had I known that this was the way I’d have to use to get outside, I would have. I had thought it best to appear as the queen, but I could not get anywhere where I could speak to the crowd.”

“A good plan if not for the circumstances that require use of this passage to reach the outside.”

“Oh, I am so glad you approve, Agache. Let me test every one of my plans with you in the future.”

He stopped, and she caught sight of his face as the cloak fell back. “I assure you—if I thought you were incapable of acting on your own, I would never have revealed myself to you. You would be a poor ally if you could not think for yourself. We must all do that or none of us will accomplish anything.”

She nodded, and he started on again, his hair illuminating stains upon the walls that she thought might have been made by blood. His blood? From all his attempts to escape?

“Here,” he said, rising from his knees and helping her into a wider gap. “This is… This hollow will allow you to make choices, should you need it. I found, sometimes, that it was a good place to overhear the guards. They will discuss things without realizing that there is not solid stone behind them. That path there will lead you out, and that one there… That one leads to where my former rooms were.”

“Did you make this passage?”

“And compromise the wall? I am not an architect. I would not know what was right to collapse and what wasn’t. This is… It is older than me. Some say it was built to try and free the betrayed princess, but I doubt that legend. I do believe he killed her as soon as his efforts to secure the dragons proved futile, and when he did… the last of the good in him died. The true oppression began.”

“How long ago was that? I know it has been several centuries since the land that once was between ours and this one fell to him, but your people were taken before that, weren’t they?”

“Yes. Had your land been available as a refuge before, we might not be in the state we are now. I believe there are only a thousand or so of us left.”

“You can rebuild if you are given the chance. Let us try and make that opportunity. First, though, I must try and quell that crowd before anyone dies.”

He nodded. “Let me go first.”

She shook her head. “No. When this is done, when the king has lost his power and ability to hurt these people, they will need someone to trust to help lead them. You were their minister before, and you will be again. You are far more valuable to them than a false queen.”

“Jis, I do not know if you have quite realized this yet, but what you are doing for these people makes you anything but a false queen,” he said, ducking out through the stones. She frowned, not sure how there was any kind of exit there, even after he’d pointed it out the direction to her. She’d assumed it was farther away.

She saw his hand poke through the gap, and she took it, stepping out into the light, hoping she had enough strength for what she needed to do.

Author’s Note: Carson’s brothers, even with all their habits that annoy him, really do care. It’s good to have a supportive family when there’s a crisis, and he’s got one.

Lunch Time

“How many of those have you had?”

Larry laughed, passing Nick a root beer float, making his wife roll her eyes. He went back to sucking down his own, and Mackenna could only smile. He was a big kid, a good guy, and she liked him for all that he was. If not for her knowing Carson first, maybe she could have gotten closer to him, but she did have Carson. He was all she needed and more than she thought she’d ever want.

He handed her his bag of chips, and she smiled. She hadn’t even asked for one, but he’d offered them without thinking. That was sweet. She took one, biting into it, and he set the bag down between them.

“I needed something to keep me company while I waited for you,” Larry said. “I will have to get another one.”

“Like you needed company. Jim, Natalie, and Nate were all sitting here when we got here. What happened to them anyway?” Nick asked before he bit into his bison burger, much to his wife’s dismay. So much for the diet she’d tried to put him on.

Larry smiled, scooping up more ice cream. “Well, I think the arrival of their conversation topic of choice might have scattered them a bit.”

“What?”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “Carson and Mackenna, Nick. Larry’s saying they were talking about the two of them before we got here.”

Carson groaned. Mackenna put a hand on his back. “Hey, at least this whole romantic thing is keeping the focus off your flashbacks. It’s not like you want them involved there. Not until you have them all back. You need more information first. You did not kill your father.”

“Are you on that again? Mackenna’s right. You didn’t. You couldn’t have. I don’t believe that,” Larry said, reaching for Carson’s arm. “Listen to us: none of us thinks you could have done that. I know you think he was shot, and yeah, maybe an eight year old could have pulled the trigger, but I still don’t see why you would have. You’re not a killer. Remember all those hunts you refused to go on?”

“Maybe I refused to do that because I couldn’t stand repeating what I did to Dad.”

“Don’t be a bastard. You are not allowed to talk like that. Stop trying to say you did when you didn’t,” Nick told him. He pointed a finger at him. “You did not kill Dad. Maybe Grandpa did. Maybe Uncle Tim did. Not you. I don’t believe that for a second. Dad wasn’t… he wouldn’t have done anything to you to scare or hurt you that badly, and he didn’t let us handle guns when we were little.”

“You were three, Nick. The hell do you know about it?”

Larry shook his head. “He might have been three, but that doesn’t make him wrong. Dad was a decent guy from everything I remember, everything everyone told us about him when they weren’t talking about how much he ruined by leaving. We had hunting guns all through our childhood, Carson, and no one treated them as a joke or a game or a toy. There is no way that you were goofing off with one and killed Dad. It’s also not like he would have put one in your hands. Something is missing in those memories of yours, and you need that part back before you accuse anyone—including yourself—of killing Dad.”

Carson looked at his brothers, torn between being grateful for them standing up for him and wanting to argue with them, and Mackenna figured she’d better intervene one way or another. “I need to get out to work on Shadow. You want to keep me shaded while I do? Give me tools and something to drink and pretend you’re not trying to peek up my skirt?”

“What?”

She laughed. “Well, I am going to take part of it off so I can get under the car, so I might need someone to—”

“To keep everyone from staring at you?”

“Not exactly, but I do need some help, and Mac is looking more peaked than I’d like so if Larry and Nick distract him, you and I can fix the car quickly enough. You can even… protect my dignity while I’m at it.”

“Uh…” Carson shook his head. “Not sure I want to know, but you know where you go, I go. That’s just how it is with us.”

“Grab your water. We’re going to want that.”

Author’s Note: Um, in simplest terms, Robert’s father is a jerk.

A Confrontation Between Father and Son

“I suppose you believe that I am responsible for that woman’s condition.”

Robert glared at his father. He did not understand how that man could have sired him, and the more time he spent with him, the more he despised him. He needed to find a way to end his financial dependence on his father. He could not continue this way. His father would bully him if given even the slightest chance, and if he allowed it to happen, even one more time, it would not be him that suffered, just as it had not been today.

Violet should never have been exposed to RJ, and if Robert had been independent, it would not have happened. If he had been able to take care of this situation on his own, if he lived in his own home without his father to open his mail—Or, perhaps, if RJ was not a meddlesome, controlling bastard, everything would be different now.

“You are responsible. Do you have no comprehension at all? Did you not see her face when you said those horrible things to her?”

“She is a liar.”

Violet had said his father would say that. Of course, Robert didn’t need her words to know that would be his father’s reaction. He had known what RJ was going to do before he left the inn, and he should have stopped it. His father had no business here. He thought it was all a lie, so he needn’t have bothered coming. He’d said he wouldn’t pay her, so why come? He was convinced that he was right, and he never altered his opinion.

He had come to stop Robert from listening to her. He’d come to make sure that Robert didn’t believe her or pay her—or worse, marry her—and now he’d gotten that much, at least. No, he’d gotten more. He got to drag his son home in shame as well. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

Angry, Robert focused on his father. “I begin to think that you are. I suspect you kept her letters from me when they first came. I think you know who this man is, and I think—”

“I think you have turned into a foolish as well as ungrateful child. How dare you accuse me of anything? You would rather believe some whore—”

“Violet is not a whore.”

RJ snorted. “So you would defend a woman carrying a bastard child and say that she is not the loose sort? You think that she is some kind of innocent? Truly? She is a careful sort of schemer, and she is better than I thought she would be, though it would not take much to fool you. You are ever so willing to believe what is not true.”

Robert stilled. “If you are referring to my nightmares—”

“You could not handle the war, and you are not capable of dealing with this situation, either. You are incapable of coping with life. Still a child in almost every respect—”

“Damn you. What innocence I might have had died in that war as I fought and killed and came close to dying. I am not a child. Just because you disagree with my decisions does not make me somehow idle-brained. I am aware of my limitations. I have an arm that may as well have gotten cut off for how well I can use it. Half the time, I can’t use it. I know that I will never be whole again. I won’t be that child that knocked over beehives or the young man who ate too much pie, not again. I’m… I’m a shell, but I am not a child. I knew what I was doing when I came here. I didn’t need you to come ‘rescue’ me. I didn’t need you to embarrass both of us. Your actions were the shameful ones, not mine. Even if she were lying, she deserves the respect of having you listen to her before you make your accusations. You don’t know what she claimed, so how could you know she was lying? At least I was willing to listen. All you did was yell. At a pregnant woman. Where are your manners? Where is your sense of decency?”

“The woman does not need manners. She needs someone to make her admit the truth.”

Robert’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “Go. Go home. Go back to your little castle and your business empire and rule that, but do not think that you can do so here. You cannot and will not hurt her again. You will not speak to her.”

“And you think you are the one who will force me to obey that edict? Have you forgotten who you are? What you are?”

“As if I could forget that.”

“You are Robert John Winston the third. You are my son, not the other way around. If you do not cease this at once—”

“You’ll disinherit me?”

“Yes.”

Robert looked at his arm, hanging lifeless at his side, aware that he couldn’t feel it. He tried to flex his fingers and was unable to move them, but he lifted his head, meeting his father’s gaze. His words should terrify him given his condition and what he could reasonably expect out of the rest of his life, but he did not care. He had come too far to let himself be browbeaten again.

“Go ahead. I don’t want your money—or your name.”

Author’s Note: So I debated and debated for a bit, wrote a couple of scenes out of order, and since I knew that I needed a bit of plot between the story time scene and the next few, a gap that the new scenes I really want to share could not fill, I tried to find one. It came to me while driving (it is amazing how many ideas come to me while I’m behind the wheel… I think it’s because writing would love to get in the way of anything responsible that I might do, not that there isn’t a plot running in my head almost constantly, and it is a good thing I can multitask.) I think this is a good direction for the story to go, but I still wish I could share the other scenes.

Waking to Chaos

“What is that?”

“I fear it is a riot,” Anokii said, and the queen could hear the worry in the other woman’s voice as she rose, silently cursing her ankle as she crossed over to the balcony. She could not think about that when the crowds below had been worked into such a frenzy.

“Those are… They are Biskane, aren’t they? Why are they here? Why would they do this?”

Anokii’s hood jerked toward her. “You think that we Nebkasha are the only ones with cause for complaint against the king?”

“Of course not,” the queen said, stung by the accusation and the foolishness of her earlier words. She did know of many grievances the commoners had, she had listened to them, powerless to change anything about their lives, even when she knew that grave injustices were being perpetuated. The poorest of Biskane citizens, while not forced into near slavery as the Nebkasha were, had little better status or means. They could not hope for better with such a cruel king—he demanded tribute from them and gave nothing in return. “I just thought… Are they so foolish so as to be in open revolt like this? What would make them think that this was any sort of answer? The king just killed his own troops—”

“The public may not be aware of that.”

“Still, only the most ignorant person knows that the king is cruel. That his armies are taught to be merciless. Those people… They will all be slaughtered.”

Anokii sighed. “Perhaps that is all they desire. Their lives lack hope, and perhaps it seems easier to end them now rather than prolong their existence.”

“What of your cousin? Is he not hope?”

“He was, but most people believe he is dead, taking with him their only relief from the constant and unreasonable demands that the king and ministers put upon them.”

“And he must remain dead if he is to help anyone.”

Anokii touched the wall next to her, betraying her fingers for a moment before they reddened and she had to withdraw into her cloak. “I do not know if that is true. He would be hunted, all of our people would be harassed as they searched for him, no place that we might have used or might provide shelter in the heat would be left unguarded—he would have to run. However, he could go. He could say that he was alive, and then run, causing great confusion and perhaps offering some hope of his return…”

“Would you want him to leave? Now, before the truth is known? Would you like to send him into my homeland?”

“He would never go. He can’t.”

The queen nodded. She wondered where Agache was, where he was watching from, and how much this tormented him. Was he as helpless as she was? Did the resistance have anything they could set against this, or would they simply allow it to happen? “Help me dress.”

Anokii’s cloak jerked, and she shook her head. “No. You do not want to do this.”

“Of course I don’t,” the queen said, turning away from the balcony and lifting her nightgown over her head as she walked toward the wardrobe that held her things. She stopped, lifting out one of her simpler gowns and shaking her head. While she would like to wear it, to have the freedom of movement that it would allow her, she could not. She needed to convey the right sense to the people, and what they would consider false modesty was not it. She must appear as the queen.

She sighed. She did not know when she’d lost herself, but she knew that she had been thinking of herself by her role and not who she was for far too long.

“This one,” she said, taking out one of the ones her mother had given her. Perhaps that connection would give her enough strength to do what she must do. Then again, her mother had only pretended to be a queen.

“It will be ruined.”

That made her smile. “I think that would be quite appropriate under the circumstances.”

Author’s Note: I think Nick’s right. If you’re going to go on back roads, do it in an antique car.

Almost Halfway There

“If you ever wanted to learn your way around these back roads, this is how to do it,” Nick said, shifting his spot in the backseat. He leaned back, having the time of his life in the natural air conditioning. Carson rubbed his elbow, glaring at his brother. The back felt too crowded now, though he knew that wasn’t real. They all had plenty of space. He was just annoyed because he wasn’t with Mackenna. It was stupid, but he hadn’t wanted to be separated after that whole feeling of being watched, and now he was less comfortable than ever. He wanted out of the backseat as soon as possible.

He was a bit tempted to grab the papers from Mackenna so that he could figure out how far they were from the next stop.

Mackenna set down the book, shaking her head. “It’s a good thing we’re almost to Buffalo.”

Carson didn’t like that tone or her expression, at least not what he could see of it. “Why?”

“You can’t tell; you wouldn’t hear it or feel it, but I can. Mac can. Shadow’s acting up. I’m gonna need to get a better look at her when we stop for lunch.”

Carson grimaced. That didn’t sound good. Both of them knew the car well enough to know if something was wrong, and from the tight line of Mac’s mouth, it wasn’t something little. “You think it’s bad enough to keep you from finishing?”

“It’s not because of the extra people, is it?” Carrie asked, frowning as she leaned forward to make sure Mackenna could hear her. “I hope we weren’t a problem.”

“Of course not. It’s not an issue of weight or anything like that. Shadow is over a hundred years old. She needs to be handled gently and babied a bit when she gets finicky.”

“The car is not finicky,” Mac said, and Mackenna smiled at him. They were funny together.

He acted like such a grump sometimes, and she’d just laugh it off or needle him until he smiled. The way they argued over the cars was the best part of that, though.

“We usually stop for gas before we go to the high school. They’ve got that built into the route, actually, since this is about the halfway point.”

“How big of a tank does this thing have?” Nick asked. “I didn’t even think about that before, but we didn’t stop for gas before, and I don’t remember you filling up any other time, either.”

“We did after the lake tour and before the parade, but you were busy getting your shirts,” Mackenna told him. “The tank’s six gallons. We don’t drive more than twenty-five miles an hour, so don’t get too happy thinking we’ve got the best gas mileage in the world.”

“Has to be better than Larry’s truck, though. That thing has a leak somewhere or something because he’s always having to fill it up.”

“It’s not just the truck,” Carrie said. “It’s the way he drives, too. If he didn’t have to take off from every light or stop sign like it was a race, he’d save on gas, too.”

“Larry always wanted to be a race car driver.”

“Yeah, I remember that. Even when he’d long since stopped playing with them, he wouldn’t let me use his track,” Carson said, shaking his head. “Oh, that reminds me. Do either of you know what happened to my old car collection? I used to have hundreds of toy cars, and I don’t know where they are or what I would have done with them.”

“Um… Well, you said you never had one of those battery cars, so this can’t be right, but I thought… Mom packed them all up and gave them away after that crash of yours. You’d flip out when you heard the word car, ran screaming from her and Grandpa, and you refused to go in anyone’s car for a while. Larry did offer you his track then, trying to help, but you freaked out. Mom said we weren’t supposed to discuss cars with you again, not unless you brought it up, and she kept you home from school for a bit. Think everyone was told you had mono or something.”

Carson shook his head. “I don’t understand how this all got so screwed up. It…”

Mackenna leaned over the seat. “If your father brought Phantom to your grandfather’s farm the day he died and he did it, supposedly, to start rebuilding the trust he’d broken with you and your family, because you asked him to and told him the toy he gave you wasn’t enough… Having him die by it, having that bullet hit it, that would have made it hard for you to deal with any of your toy cars, and we have to assume that your grandfather locked Phantom away after it happened, knowing that it was somehow tied to your father’s death but not necessarily why. He just knew it upset you so he put it away. He probably thought he was doing it for the best.”

“Grandpa would have done it to protect you.”

Carson nodded. “I know. That part fits with me being the one that killed Dad.”

“Only you didn’t, so don’t say that.”

Author’s Note: The original post of this (and this version is unchanged from that one) is in the Kabobbles’ Choice section. I left it there because putting it in here would mean changing things and breaking links and since I shared it for a Carry On Tuesday prompt, I thought I should leave it where it was just to be on the safe side.

So here is where it belongs in the story, in place and in order, and now it’s in two spots on the site, but that is okay by me. I like this scene. It’s one of my favorites in this story.

The Queen’s Story Time

“Tell me about your people,” the queen said, not opening her eyes. She thought she was coming to learn the sound of Agache’s footsteps, the slight differences between his movements and Anokii’s, or perhaps that was just a foolish notion that she was comforting herself with since she was once more driven to her bed. If only she had not stumbled as she had…

“Again with the questions. I thought you were not happy with the way that I left you so ill-prepared for your audience with the king. Now that I am here to speak with you again, you want to hear about my people?”

The queen nodded. “After what I did to my ankle, I cannot think properly, so I think it best that you do not discuss anything that means either of our lives right now. You can tell me about your history, about how you became oppressed servants in this land and what happened to your homeland, things that do have a connection to what we are fighting but do not mean my life the next time I am forced into an audience with Malzhi or the king.”

“I could get Anokii to treat your ankle.”

“She already looked at it. I think she thinks I am complaining too much about it. She must be all too used to you—the one who refuses to admit he is in pain.”

Agache laughed. “I suppose that is true, though I have never known Gekin to admit to pain, either, so it is not something that only I do. You know this. I think you were told not to complain when you were training as an esibani.”

“I do not want to discuss my training. Tell me of your people. Tell me a legend if you refuse to be truthful. I do not care.”

He put a hand on her forehead. “You are not feverish, but your mood is rather altered. What did the king say to you to distress you so much?”

She shuddered. “I will not repeat it. Just speak to me of things that have nothing to do with him. Please. I will not be able to sleep if I continue to recall my humiliation.”

Agache sat down on the edge of her bed. “As long as his threats are words, you do not have to fear him. When he starts to act against you, that is when you should worry. It does not take long for one bruise to become many.”

She opened her eyes and glared at him. “If you are going to talk that way, you may go. I do not wish to hear it. I asked you to distract me. I do not want to hear what the king will do, don’t you understand that? How can you not? You were tortured by him.”

“I… I am sorry. Sometimes I think I expect too much from you.”

“Just because I was raised esibani does not make me immune to fear or pain or even despair. I am tired. I cannot force myself to be strong. All of my energy was consumed when I met with the king, and so if you will not let me sleep… I think I shall have to stab you.”

He slid his hand under her pillow, taking the dagger from its hiding place. “Can’t have you doing that. I am a terrible storyteller when I’m threatened with a blade.”

She snorted, not wanting to laugh, but he managed to make her do so. “You are so—”

“It is said that the Nebkasha had a land without any light at all. That the suns did not cross that place, never rose or set, and that when we were left there, we were cursed by whatever had created us. However, it is hard to think of it as a curse when we adapted so well to what the land gave us. It also does not fit with the idea that we rose from the ground. I do not know what our origin was—no one does. Most of the older ones were killed when our land was conquered, and with them was lost much of our history and our legends. What little we have is most likely inaccurate.”

She nodded, reaching to take the dagger from him. “Inaccurate or not, tell me.”

He lowered his head, letting some of his hair fall free, and she wondered why he’d taken off his hood and when, since it was not that dark in her room. “For many centuries, we lived in peace. No one wants a land of perpetual darkness. No one besides us, of course.”

“Someone did.”

“I believe what the king’s ancestors wanted was a path toward the land next to us, one where they said the dragons still dwelt. I do not believe that there were dragons there, or you would see trophies of them or them being used as slaves here. No, that king did not get what he wanted. Supposedly, that is what he blamed his queen for, since before then their union was supposedly quite happy, blessed with many children, and she was considered the most beautiful in all the lands.”

“Well, with that glow thing your people do, I imagine that she was.”

Agache shook his head. “It is not so beautiful. It is, in fact, rather irritating at times. Here, it is nothing but a burden. Being able to reflect light at night means we cannot be exposed to it during the daytime, and we are so easily burned by the sun…”

“Why are you not covered then? Do you not worry about exposure here?”

He reached up, frowning as he failed to feel his hood. “I… I had not realized that had fallen off. I should have, but you distracted me.”

She laughed. “Well, that is only fair, I suppose.”

He grimaced. “I do not know that I agree with that sentiment, but I know I cannot argue with you. Neither of us manage anything when we do that, and we should not waste our time in such futile discussion.”

“You are a terrible storyteller, you know. You can’t seem to stay on topic no matter what that topic might be.”

“That is your doing.”

“It is not.”

“Yes, it is. You distract me.”

“Oh.” She smiled. “Did you know your nose wrinkles up when you’re annoyed? Your eyes get all narrow, and it’s like someone just pinched your whole face. It is a shame that no one sees that under your cloak.”

“I am never telling you another story,” he said as he rose, pulling the hood over his head. She leaned back against the pillow, laughing, knowing that from now on, when she needed something to smile about, she’d picture his face as it had been then, and she didn’t care if she never got another tale out of him. That memory was what she’d truly needed all along.

Author’s Note: Having Violet stuck in her bed is kind of problematic, but there’s still stuff going on around her, I suppose.

Everyone’s temper is a bit short, too.

Cramped and Confined

“Would you bring me some pen and paper?” Violet asked, trying to adjust her position on the bed. She could not seem to find a good position to sit to alleviate the pain in her back, and she would much rather not be in her bed at all, not that she was certain that she had the strength to walk around. Still, she had come to despise this place over the course of her pregnancy, and she needed a distraction if she couldn’t leave.

Her aunt shook her head, making no attempt to rise from her chair. The knitting she’d brought with her would appear to be more important than her niece’s wishes, but Violet was not so foolish as to think that her actions were done out of preoccupation. She knew her aunt. She knew how much Beatrice disapproved of all the choices she’d made, and since Violet was still making the same choices, her aunt was still annoyed, perhaps even angry.

“You are supposed to be resting.”

Violet sighed. “Do not scowl at me so, Aunt Beatrice. I did not… I have already been punished, do you not think so? I did not ask for Mr. Winston’s harsh words, nor am I feeling… well, but I do not need further censure. The discomfort in my back is plenty.”

Her aunt’s fingers moved her needles in quick progression, her mood showing in her stitches. “Then rest.”

“Beatrice, let her be.” Violet’s mother came over her side with the pen and paper, handing it to her. Violet smiled at her mother, who sat on the edge of the bed. She let out a breath, reaching out to touch her hand. “So he is leaving, is he?”

Her mother understood. Violet was not surprised. “He said that it would be necessary to get his father to go. That, and he feels that he had upset me too much. It should be a relief, I suppose, to have him go. It should help with my confusion, should make it easier for me to know what is real and what is not, shouldn’t it?”

Her mother touched her cheek. “Oh, yes, I imagine that it will, and yet it will not be easy.”

Violet closed her eyes. “Why should I miss him already? He is still a stranger to me.”

Beatrice snorted. “Hardly.”

“You are bitter, but you need not treat your niece this way. Violet did not do wrong, and it is unfair of you to treat her that way. You cannot fault her for hesitating before a second marriage. I do not recall you encouraging me to have one, and I was a widow.”

Beatrice grunted. “Your circumstances were different. A widow is not the same. You were unmarried by circumstance. She is unmarried by choice.”

Violet glared at her aunt. “You cannot force the man to marry me, and had someone not taken his name, there would be no need of it. I would be married now if Winston had not lied when he signed those papers. It might even be argued that I am married to that man regardless of his name.”

“I sincerely hope not,” her mother said. She patted Violet’s hand, reminding her of the pen. “Write to him if you like. If you can help him find the man who deceived you, then you should.”

“You do not think it is foolish to try and remain in communication with him, do you?” Violet turned over to her aunt. “Do not say it. I know what you think.”

“Do you? Perhaps he will realize what a fool he is and do the honorable thing yet. You need to remind him of what that truly is.”

“Oh, if only I could sin and get pregnant and convince him to marry me to save my honor,” Violet said, getting a look from her mother as well as her aunt for that mockery. She smiled. Beatrice rose in a huff, taking her knitting with her as she departed.

“You should not provoke your aunt that way.”

“I hate how everyone tells me that I should marry him. I don’t know how I feel, so why should I be pressured into marrying him? It’s… He doesn’t want me, and I do not know that it would ever be wise to push a man who is not ready for marriage into it, no matter how I might feel about him.”

“He seems to be a very decent man.”

Violet sighed. “We both thought Winston was a decent man. He was not.”

“We may have been fooled, yes, but still, I do not think writing to Robbie can be harmful. You may help him, and he may come to feel differently than he does now. I do not think that he does not care at all, or he would not have thought he should go to spare you pain.”

“I know, but do not hope for too much. He is not going to fix everything that Winston did wrong even if he marries me.”

“As long as he makes you happy and takes good care of the child, the rest will not matter.”