Tag Archives: fiction

by

Things to Regret

Author’s Note: So I was supposed to be getting additional prompts to help me fulfill the ones for Sunday Scribblings or Carry On Tuesday, and I guess I could stretch this one into working for Carry On Tuesday, but I’m not really sure I want to link it since I’m a bit… hesitant to share the second part. I might take it out since it is too… overt for what I was trying to do with this story.

Still, I could say it uses all of these pictures as prompts. One, two, and three. Maybe four, if one squints.

Things to Regret

“You ever think about soulmates?”

Enya frowned, looking across the table at him. That was an odd question coming from him, but then again, the whole evening was weird. He’d asked to meet instead of talking on the phone, and when she got there, she’d been surprised to see he’d picked a bar. She was even more surprised to see him actually drinking. “You have got to be drunk to be asking me that, and I thought you water ones could just… shift that right out of your system. How can you be drunk?”

Cress shrugged. “Can be if I want to be, and right now I want to be.”

She frowned. That wasn’t like him at all. “You had a bad day, then?”

He shook his head, lifting the glass to his lips and finishing it off. “Not discussing that.”

“So you’d rather discuss soulmates?” Enya grimaced. She didn’t like this. She had a feeling something bad had happened, and it might be wise if she got away from the window and anything else that might hold a reflection. “You are in a weird mood. What happened?”

Cress made a point of staring at his empty glass, letting his eyes cross. “How do I convince Occie to leave, Enya? I can’t stand in the way of her happiness forever. Her and Stone… They are soulmates. She won’t admit it, and I know it’s my fault. How do I get her to go?”

Enya almost snorted. He wouldn’t get that to work. Occie would never leave him. If Stone couldn’t get her to do it, nothing could. “Beg her in tears like you did me?”

“I didn’t cry. I never cry. I’m immune. I’m water.”

She did snort that time. “Sure you are.”

“Don’t mock me. I don’t want to be mocked. I want another drink,” Cress said, getting up. She didn’t think he should have made it to the bar and back in one piece, not with the way he’d been acting, but it was possible for him to have shed just enough of the liquor to regain his equilibrium for a moment. He came back with two glasses, but he didn’t offer one to her. “I don’t know why I’m doing this. I never wanted it. Why did I drag everyone else into it?”

“You’re a good leader?”

“Not amusing. I’m terrible at this. They should revolt.”

“This isn’t a dictatorship. It never was. They could walk away at any time. It’s not like you’d kill them if they tried to go. You let me leave, after all.”

He nodded. “Sometimes I think… I think if I could just be that much better, that much more in control, if I could… I want to send them all away. I don’t want to force them to do this anymore.”

“You never forced them to stay.”

He grunted, emptying another glass. He set it down, swallowing without a reaction to the burn of the alcohol. She hated that he could do that. He pissed her off so much sometimes. He turned the glass over and shook his head. “I think I killed someone.”

“Oh, hell.” She reached over and took his hand. No wonder he was drunk. That kind of guilt could destroy him. She knew it liked to kill her. “What happened?”

He didn’t look up from his glass. “You heard about the fires?”

She cursed. She’d thought as much, she’d wanted to be wrong, but she knew that she wasn’t. “I was wondering if that was a rogue. I take that it was?”

Cress jerked his head, just one brief nod. “Moira had to sedate him. I couldn’t keep him calm. He set something on fire the moment he came around. Tried to make it one of us most of the time.”

“Did anyone get hurt?”

“Terra got pretty burned. Occie and I had a hell of a time calming Stone down after that.”

Enya had never liked Terra that much, but even so, she didn’t want the other woman hurt. “Is she okay now?”

He shrugged. “You know us. We heal faster than most. Accelerated genetics and extra dimensions will do that to a person.”

Damn it. The rogue hadn’t only hurt Terra. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

He lifted up his full glass, toasting her in a mocking way. “Cress is fine. Cress is water. He’s powerful and untouchable, and nothing ever hurts him. Nothing bothers him. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t get hurt, he never loses his calm. He can’t be burned, and he can’t—”

“Get drunk?” She couldn’t help mocking him, but then again, she shouldn’t. This wasn’t funny. None of it was.

“That, too.”

“You are such a liar. Everything bothers you. You care about everyone, all of the team, and you’re an empath. You don’t get the luxury of not feeling anything. You are cursed by feeling too much. You always have been,” she said, thinking of all the times her moods had drawn him right to her even though it was the last thing he wanted. “You’re hurting now, or you wouldn’t be drinking.”

“No one else thinks that. They think I’m some kind of… robot or alien or something. I’m impervious.” He gave her a gleeful smile when he came up with that word, polishing off the last of his drink. “Yes, that’s what they think I am.”

“You’re not.”

He stopped, frowning at her. “How is it you know me so well?”

“You show yourself to me. You always have.”

“Damn,” he muttered, and she almost hit him for that one, drunk or not. Then he leaned forward and puked all over her. All she could do was groan.

“Cress, you bastard. I’m covered in—are you alive over there?”

He didn’t answer, and she sighed. He had to have passed out. She should have expected it after seeing him drink that much. She grimaced. She couldn’t send him back to the team—she didn’t know where they were, and he was in no state to tell her. She’d just have to take him home with her, then. He could sleep it off on her couch.

“Come on, Washburne. I guess after all those times you spent taking care of me, I can take care of you for a change.”

********

Cress opened his eyes with a grimace, blinking at the sunlight and groaning. He could not believe what an idiot he’d been. He knew better than to drink—or at least he knew how to flush the alcohol out of his system if he did drink—but he’d done it anyway.

Of course, that wasn’t his biggest mistake. He knew that the pain of the hangover didn’t compare to how much he’d be hating himself for dragging Enya into his mess. He had no business calling her, and to drink like he did, in front of her, acting like such a fool… He hadn’t wanted to sedate the rogue, he knew what it would mean for him, locking him away and cutting him off from his element. That was death for someone like them. Maybe Cress hadn’t used the water in the man’s body to kill him, but he might as well have considering what constant sedation would do to the bastard.

He shook his head, walking down the hall. He would wake Enya and apologize, and then he’d make it up to her somehow before he left to rejoin the others. Occie would be pissed at him for leaving without telling anyone, and he wasn’t looking forward to dealing with that, either.

He pushed open her door and leaned in, but his voice caught in his throat before he could say anything. She was all tangled up in her covers, hair wild and spread across her pillows, the red highlights threatening to overwhelm the browns of her hair, asserting themselves more as the light crept in from the windows. He had to smile, though he shouldn’t. Even in sleep she didn’t get much peace, did she?

He could help her with that. He knew that. He wanted to. He could calm her, make it so that she slept better than the proverbial baby.

No, he couldn’t.

He closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. He’d seen it there, one instant like they said life flashed before a person’s eyes. He could see himself with her, living the life normals did, waking up next to her and lying around in bed all day. If he took it far enough, he could see their whole lives—growing old and gray together—and that he couldn’t allow himself to think about.

He had to go. Now. He’d condemned the team to a life none of them wanted, and he could not abandon them, no matter how tempted he was. Tempted. Damn, he was an idiot. She’d never given him any reason to think she felt anything for him besides friendship.

He let out a breath, forcing himself away from the wall. He should help her clean up, but if he stayed—No. He couldn’t stay. He knew that. If she hated him for leaving, then… Then she hated him. It was what he deserved anyway. He shouldn’t expect anything like forgiveness from her, and he wouldn’t. Not now, not ever.

by

Choices and Chocolate

Author’s Note: So I was supposed to be getting additional prompts to help me fulfill the ones for Sunday Scribblings or Carry On Tuesday, but I managed to be inspired in ways that didn’t have anything to do with the prompts from those sites. Oops?

Anyway, this picture led me to this brief exchange.

Choices and Chocolate

“You know what irritates me?”

He looked at her, not sure why she’d bothered talking to him since most of the time she was content to pretend he didn’t exist. It didn’t matter if they were alone together or not. She could do a better job at the cold shoulder than his sister, and that said something. “Everything?”

“Shut up, Sherwin.”

He shrugged. “You asked. It’s not my fault you’re a brat, you know. That’s your choice.”

Terra gave him a thin smile. “Does that mean that being an airhead is your choice?”

“Very funny.”

She grinned. “I thought so.”

He grunted. She was living up to her reputation as a brat right now, but he was too tired to let her bait him. Not this time. “All right. What frustrates you?”

“With all the things that I can grow, I can’t grow chocolate. I’m earth. I’m plant girl. I can make gardens sprout and blossom in ways that defy nature,” she said, gesturing rather wildly, and he ducked so that she didn’t take his head off. “Still, I can’t grow chocolate. I love chocolate.”

He laughed. She smacked him. He smiled even though it hurt a little. She could be amusing sometimes, and he liked seeing her—the real her—show through. So she was a chocolate lover, was she? He knew a thing or two about rare, expensive chocolates, and he bet that would cheer her up. “Would it make any difference if we got you some cocoa seeds?”

“I tried that. It didn’t make a difference. They wouldn’t grow.”

He shrugged. “Then I guess we’ll just buy you all the chocolate you can eat.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

She smiled—a real smile this time, not a smirk, not one that mocked him. “Maybe you’re not such a jerk after all.”

Author’s Note: Robert was ready to go. Really, he was.

Not Quite out the Door

“Are you certain about this, Mr. Winston?”

Robert let out a breath. If he was honest, he knew that he was not at all certain. He did not want to go, and he feared to admit the reason why he hesitated. He had no true reason to stay. He had let Violet talk him into staying for the reply to his inquiries, but he had to believe that he was not helping anyone with his actions. He had not come any closer to identifying the man who had taken his name, and another sleepless night had not brought an explanation for how that man knew him and why he had done this—why he hated Robert so much as to steal even his childhood from him.

“I think it is time.”

“Have you learned all that you needed, then? I know you spent most of your time with Mrs. Winston—”

“Are you suggesting that I was remiss in not speaking to others?”

The innkeeper blinked. Robert regretted his tone, the sharpness of it and his own pride manifesting itself in the way he’d spoken. He did not want to be told that he was wrong, did not want his own doubts reinforced, did not want to let those thoughts win and cause him to stay.

“I… I was just hoping that you had what you needed, sir. That is all.”

Robert sighed. He shook his head. “I do not know that I do, but I do not believe that I can stay any longer. I have not accomplished much since I arrived—it would seem the most I manage is to upset Mrs. Winston. If leaving makes her burden easier, that is what I must do.”

The innkeeper nodded. “If that’s what must be done, then it’s what you should do. It’s not for us to speak on it. You know the situation better than we do.”

Robert reached for his suitcase only to have it slip from his grasp when his bad arm went numb. He cursed as it hit the floor, tumbling open. The innkeeper came around to help him with picking it up, and Robert sat back, cradling his useless arm. Everything seemed to be determined not to let him leave, and he did not want to accept that. Perhaps it was his cowardice showing itself again, but he knew that he needed to leave.

“Would you like assistance to the train station?”

Robert looked at his arm. “I want to say no, but that is my pride talking. My more practical side knows that I am not always able to do as I please, as I want and expect myself to be able to do. I need assistance. It just galls me to need it.”

“You are still a very young man, and you expect to be able to do what young men do, to have that body that defies limits and has yet to feel age and infirmity. Unfortunately for you, your youth was taken by a war, and with it went your health. It won’t ever be the same.”

Robert nodded. He tried to accept that, but on most days, he wasn’t that good. He rose, about ready to ask for his suitcase back when the door to the inn opened, and both of them looked over at it. He was the one that cursed, though, again, and the innkeeper gave him another look even as he stepped forward to stop the other man before he got started.

“Father, what are you doing here?”

“I came to put an end to this foolishness.”

“I was about to return home. I had just—”

“Then she has dropped her claim?”

“No, she—This is no claim,” Robert said, shaking his head. Frustration was overcoming him far quicker than usual, and he did not want to fight with his father in front of the innkeeper. He had already disgraced himself enough. “She is not lying or trying to extort anything from us, and as I already said, I am leaving—”

“Nonsense. You are coming with me, and I will end this now.”

Author’s Note: It is a very thin line between the ugly reality of the queen’s situation and the horror of it. I have tried not to descend too much into that realm of horror and balance that with a realistic look at what she would be facing. Unfortunately, the balance could tip so easily if she made even one mistake, and I almost regret placing her in this position, but it was one of the original premises of the story, her marriage to the king, so I don’t know how I’d have a story without it.

Still… I feel a bit sorry for her, as I should, since I put her in this position.

Once More with the King

“I think Agache is too easily distracted. He said we should strategize, but I do not think he offered any real solution to anything I am about to face. Again we talked of matters unimportant to this meeting or of things that I already knew,” the queen said, her head low as she walked toward the throne room. She did not want to speak at a volume anyone besides Anokii might hear, and she knew she’d already misspoken, having used Agache’s name when she should not have.

“One could believe that he is still feverish,” Anokii suggested. “Or that he is a poor leader. Or perhaps he expects you to know what he intends to discuss.”

“When you return, will you make him rest again? I do not think he is at all well, and he does not seem to want to heal. I know that what happens now with the king will mean a great deal in what is to come, but if he is not willing to stop long enough to let himself recover, he will not be there to see it if the king does happen to fall.”

“I know.”

“I suppose now I am telling you things that you already know.”

“I appreciate your concern for him. Most in your place would not care.”

The queen glanced at Anokii, hidden and suffering under that cloak in this heat, and shook her head. “You are used to the Biskane. They have no regard for anyone but themselves, at least those that I have seen. I think the commoners may have more heart than those of court, but I assure you, it is not like this in my land.”

“Would you know? As a princess, surely your reach there was as limited as it is here.”

She frowned, uncertain why Agache had not explained to Anokii and Gekin who the queen was, what being esibani meant. She did not understand his reasons for a great many things, though, and she would have to learn more of him if she hoped to guess at the way his mind worked.

Anokii moved forward, opening the door, and the queen turned her eyes to face the throne, holding her head up as she started down the carpeted path—of course the king could not tread upon simple stone, not ever—but she could only like the padding for the way it stopped the sound of her shoes from echoing. She hated making a lot of noise, since she was meant to be quiet and unobserved—at least, that was what the esibani were trained for, being the queen was something else entirely.

She stopped near the end of the carpet and dropped to a curtsey, bowing her head before the king, and she heard him laugh as she rose. She tried not to react to his mockery. He was the sort that demanded those displays and yet refused to acknowledge them with the same respect that he demanded they be given.

He grabbed her arm as she finished. “So, you have learned a bit of deference since I have been gone. Do I have Malzhi to thank for that?”

She glanced toward the minister, and he grinned at her. Bagquin. He was trying to get her killed, was he? She glared back before addressing the king. “No. His instruction was unwelcome and unnecessary.”

“And yet you wear a new trinket.”

“An old one. From my mother. The underside of the metal betrays its age if you should like to examine it.”

The king studied her, taking hold of her face in such a manner that she thought he might crush her jaw with only a few fingers. “There is still much defiance in you, isn’t there? There, in your eyes, I see it and not fear.”

“I suppose if we had been closer allies before this treaty, you would have heard many tales of the pretty princess Zaze and her prideful ways. It was quite the talk in my land.”

“You are considered pretty in your land?”

“No.”

That made him laugh, and he let go of her face, moving his hand down so that she could take his arm. “Come. Those that remain of the new troops are to swear their oaths today, and you will be at my side when they do.”

She bowed her head, and he covered her hand with his, the grip almost as crushing as the last one had been. He wanted her to cry out, was that it? She did not know if that was what he expected—no part of her wanted to give that to him—if she had been able to get more out of Agache, perhaps she would know if she should be more docile and submissive, but if she was, would that matter? She did not know that it would fool the king one bit if she pretended to be scared.

She was scared, but she didn’t think it showed as much as he felt it should.

“You do not plan to have them swear loyalty to me, too, do you?”

The king frowned at her. “Now why would you ask me that?”

“I assume you to be a man that expects to be the absolute sovereign, and I think we both know why the treaty was made, don’t we? Surely such an oath would conflict with both of those goals.”

He reached up to put his hand on the back of her neck, leaning in to her, his breath hot against her skin. “I assure you—I shall take great pleasure in killing you when the time comes, my dear.”

She believed him. He would delight in it, since he seemed to enjoy killing as well as creating fear in all around him. He reveled in his cruelty, didn’t he? She knew he must, if everyone feared him more than they did Malzhi, and she had known before she came here that he wanted her dead.

The king dragged her close, getting a small cry past her lips before he covered them with his. She struggled to breathe in his hold, trying not to gag on him and whatever foul thing he had last eaten, not wanting to panic. If he went for more than a kiss, if he decided to exercise his rights as her husband, she could not stop him, but she had been holding onto the hope that he would not, and that, at least, had sustained her so far. If he took that away now, if he forced that upon her, she did not know that any sort of obligation to her people would sustain her already wounded spirit.

He let go, and she stumbled, her bad ankle twisting as she did. She straightened up and found his eyes roaming her body, as he shook his head in disgust. “They should have sent a prettier one. You are too thin. Too much like those damn birds you came from. Pity. There is something to your taste.”

“You mean I am enough like a raw bird for your enjoyment?”

He laughed. “You are a foolish, defiant thing, but despite that, you manage to amuse me. I think we shall have to train you properly, but you might be of use.”

“Wonderful.”

Author’s Note: So he had to remember something after that starting gun. Another piece of the puzzle. Carson’s getting closer to the answers. That’s not always easy.

Memories and Shock

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?

“Carson, please, open up your eyes and look at me. That’s it now; that’s better,” Mackenna said, her hand in his hair and on his cheek. His vision cleared, letting him see her. She was watching him, frowning, and he thought she was scared, scared for him. “You feel okay? I think that’s the worst I’ve ever seen you.”

“Worst I’ve seen,” Larry said, and Carson didn’t need to look at him to know that his brother was worried. He sat up, looking around. Mac had stopped the Maxwell for him—he was ruining everything for everyone again. “What happened?”

“I think I was doing a bit more than just… remembering. I had… When the shot went off, I went into shock, I guess, and I didn’t realize I’d been shot right away, and then when I saw I was bleeding, I didn’t understand. Then Dad spoke, and there was another shot.”

“You think you fired it?” Larry asked, leaning over the back of the seat. “Carson, I don’t believe that. You didn’t kill Dad. I can’t believe he would have tried to hurt you, and I can’t see you using the gun. Remember how much you hated when you had to come hunting with us? You’d stand there with your eyes closed, biting your lip, trying not to see them die or cry when they did. No way you did that to Dad. No.”

“That is what I’ve been trying to tell him all morning, but last night he got back a part where he said he did it, and I don’t think he’s going to believe us until he gets it all back.”

“Probably not. He is stubborn that way.”

“He can hear you.”

“I know. Look, let’s—Nick and Carrie were going to meet us at the first stop, so why don’t we get this car back on the road, and then you two can finish your run? Carson can come with us.”

“No,” Mackenna said, the word coming out like a bullet. “I know you’re his family, but Carson needs to be with me. He copes with the flashbacks better when I’m around. True, I’m being selfish. I want him with me so I that I don’t have to worry about him when he’s out of my sight. This could be the end of anything he gets back today—I figured that starting gun would set him off, and it did—but that’s not going to happen again.”

Carson lowered his head onto her shoulder. He didn’t know what to do anymore, but he didn’t want to ruin everyone’s day, either. “I’d like to stay with Mackenna, but I refuse to be the reason that Mac doesn’t finish the run.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, and he thought it was helping relax him, but at this point he wasn’t sure. “The idea was to have the others rotate through, switching out at a given stop, so that means they’ll be close by if need be. It also means that we have plenty of prearranged places where we can stop and Carson can leave if he’s having more flashbacks. That’s if he wants and if it’s an issue. If this is the point where he finally gets all the pieces, I think it’ll be better in the long run, even if it’s hard right now.”

“I hate not knowing,” Carson said, though he didn’t look forward to having all his memories, either. He didn’t know how to deal with that.

“We go to Grove City,” Mac said, nudging Larry out so that he could get down. He went to the front of the car, cranking it back to life. Carson let out a breath. That man had to hate him by now after all the trouble he’d caused. “You see how you feel by the time we’re there.”

“All right.”

Mackenna took his hand. “I think you’re really close to the end now.”

“I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

by

Forbidden Fruit

Author’s Note: So this probably isn’t anything close to what would come to someone else’s mind for this quote, but I am weird that way. I thought of Anokii and Gekin and the oppression of the Nebkasha, and this is what happened after I asked for prompts.

Liana Mir gave this one:

“What the gods can digest will not sour in the belly of a slave.” — Moses, The Ten Commandments

Forbidden Fruit

“Eat.”

“That meal is not for us.”

Gekin grunted, reaching for a fruit from the tray. He lifted it and held it out to her. “If I told you that your cousin said to eat it, would your response be different?”

Anokii sighed, sitting down at the table. The meal did belong to the queen, but in the heat, the food would spoil before she was able to return. She would be with the king all day, and they had been foolish to send anything for her to eat, but then the servants trapped in the kitchen would not have been told of the king’s decrees. Whatever they might have been, the cooks had not been informed of them, so they had prepared the queen’s meal according to the schedule that she had kept before the king’s return.

“It would go to waste if we did not eat it, and yet doing so could mean our lives if they realize that we ate something reserved for her.”

“The queen is not like the king. If this fruit belonged to him, yes, it would mean death, but she is supposed to be our ally.”

Anokii nodded. She had seen more of that in the woman of late, and though she still had her reasons to doubt the queen, she was more inclined to agree with the conclusion the others had drawn—the queen could be of assistance to their cause.

“Of course, there is still a possibility that this could mean death,” Gekin said, turning the odeyaise in his fingers. “If someone sent this to her to end her life, then consuming it would mean ours.”

Anokii took the fruit from his fingers. “Then we shall leave it to spoil. There is no reason for either of us to risk our lives for a piece of forbidden fruit.”

He laughed. “Perhaps not, but when you think about it, you and I have long indulged in the forbidden.”

“Oh, you. One would never believe that you have been married for more as long as you have been, and not to the same woman, not with that sort of grin up on your face. You look like the rotten boy I caught watching me when I was only just past the beginning of adolescence.”

“That is your fault for being more beautiful today than you were when we were children.”

She lowered her head. “Shameless. That is what you are. That, and a fool.”

Gekin knelt next to her, brushing back her hood. She should have objected. Here in the light of the two suns, even inside the castle was a dangerous place for them and their skin that burned with such ease. He placed his hand upon her cheek. “There is no shame in what we feel for each other, and there never has been. The king’s edicts make our love forbidden, our marriage a crime, but we have never felt that they were wrong. The Nebkasha have a right to live same as the Biskane.”

“Show me a Biskane that knows what love is anymore. He and his ancestors have bred that out of them the same as they have attempted to force us out of existence by not allowing us to breed.”

Gekin lowered his head, and she was forced to lift it. She knew the pain that prompted his actions—they had no children of their own, not after many years, and she did not know what had left them barren, though she suspected the fault lay with her. “You have brought freedom to so many other families. We must count their children as ours, for in a way we have helped them come into this world.”

“Perhaps we should not have encouraged that. What life are those children coming into?”

“We will not be oppressed forever. Things have changed, and we have sent most of the children across the border. They, at least, can have the darkness we are usually denied.”

Gekin took her hands. “I love your strength. I always have.”

She smiled, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. She adored so many things about him, and she did not have time to list them all. “You should go, niniamant. Even if the queen is our ally, this is not your place, and we cannot indulge ourselves any longer.”

“I wish you were not so dutiful. That you would forget the cause and come across the border with me. I know you won’t. I know I don’t truly want that, but every time we part, I feel the same. I hate to leave you.”

“That was why we chose to marry so long ago.” She smiled as she rose, pulling the cloak back over her head. “We will still be married when this ends, and I will still love you. I will see you later in the catacombs. You will wait for me there?”

“Always.”

Though this is not a part of the story so far, you can read more by starting here.

Author’s Note: So this scene came to me and was kind of waiting to be posted, but Robert and Violet had to discuss more of the stories first. Poor Violet, though. She’s so confused.

Tears in the Night

Violet opened the door to her room, trying to stay quiet as she moved, knowing that she would wake her aunt if she was not careful, cursing the extra weight she carried for how heavy it made her footsteps. She used to sneak all about the house when she was younger, getting into mischief when she was to be sleeping, making her mother laugh and her aunt scowl, but then Beatrice became a lighter and lighter sleeper, always listening for the smallest of noises, and now, with Violet so far gone with child, she could not hope to go unnoticed for long.

She crossed into her mother’s room, latching the door behind her. A few more paces would get her close to the bed, and that was where she must be unless she wanted Beatrice in here as well, and she did not.

“Violet?” Her mother asked, sitting up in her bed. She gestured for her to sit on the edge of the bed, and Violet did, not sure what else she might do now.

“Oh, Mother,” Violet whispered, her hand on her stomach as she tried not to cry. She did not want Beatrice to hear her, did not want to let her aunt see her wretched state, not again. She knew she’d been a fool about Winston. She did not need her aunt to tell her that again. She also did not want to know what her aunt would say about this, about the thoughts that had plagued her ever since Robbie left. “I’m so frightened…”

Her mother rose, moving her so that she might put her arms around her. “I figured as much by the way you came in here, as you have always done when you needed me, but by what, my dear? I thought everything was going quite well. Mr. Winston seems to have found a few ways to go about finding the blackguard who did this to you, and you have not had any trouble with the baby since… Well, let us not discuss that. I also thought that the two of you were getting along rather well. I think he may yet change his mind about—”

“I think everything I loved—or thought I loved—about Winston was Robbie.”

“Well,” her mother said, combing back some of her hair. “Perhaps that is a good thing. The likeable parts belong to the better man—”

“Mother, if they are all Robbie, then how am I supposed to… Am I already in love with him, then? Was it him and not Winston that I loved? And if I am not in love with Robbie now, how am I supposed to avoid being so? What could make it so that I do not? I don’t think there is anything, and I don’t… I can’t do this again. My mistakes the first time have already cost me too much. I cannot allow it to happen twice.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” her mother said, pulling her close. “My poor beautiful darling. You are not—You should never have had to suffer this way, and I wish that I could give anything, do something to make it stop. I had hoped that perhaps… Well, it was foolish of me to think that your growing affection for him would help with the pain caused by the other, but it almost seemed to be working. I saw you smiling again, so many pretty smiles, so happy…”

“I thought I was. I was. Until I heard him say that those stories were his and not Winston’s, I was. Now I am so confused. I did not think that there would be any reason why I would mistake one of them for the other, but I keep thinking that I… That since the things I loved about Winston belonged to Robbie that I am in love with him, that I was all along. I don’t… It’s not… Oh, please, make it stop.”

Her mother ran her hand along Violet’s back. “Shh. It’s all right. Even if you are, it will be all right. You don’t have to agonize over this. Don’t hurt yourself for no reason. You are allowed to feel and allowed to be confused. Yes, it would seem like this would mean that you have feelings for… Robbie, but that does not mean that you are terrible, nor are they wrong if you have them. He has shown himself to be an honorable young man, one trying to do the right thing in this very complicated circumstance. True, some opinions differ on what that right thing is, and he doesn’t agree with them, but that does not make him a bad man. He seems worthy of some esteem, at least. Does that mean that you are in love with him? Not necessarily. You may not feel what you think you do now. You are understandably confused after hearing him claim the stories you thought belonged to someone else, the things that you thought made the man you loved the man you loved, but that does not mean that you love Robbie. You might not.”

“I hate being so confused.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you will find a way through it. Your feelings for Winston became clear eventually, and the same will happen with Robbie. Now, though, it is time to rest.”

Author’s Note: Sometimes it takes more than one person to get a queen ready.

Group Preparations

Anokii opened the door to the queen’s chamber, surprised to hear laughter when she did. She shoved the door shut, hoping she kept anyone else from hearing. She crossed toward the back of the room, frowning as she saw her cousin with the queen. That stubborn fool. She had told him to stay put until his arm was healed, but the moment his fever broke, he must have left his bed. She should have mixed in some herbs to keep him sleeping with those that had worked to reduce his fever. Perhaps then he would still be in his bed.

“Agache, if you don’t allow yourself to heal—”

“The king is back. We do not have time for me to lie about in bed.”

She cursed, still tempted to shake some sense into him. If, that was, she didn’t end up using Malzhi’s herbs on him first. “True, I have come to tell the queen she has been summoned and to help prepare her to face him.”

The queen looked down at her dress and groaned. She was in one of her plainer ones, the ones she kept for when she was alone in her chamber, one she put on after leaving court earlier. “I do not think that we have time for that.”

“You have to change. Do not appear before him without your proper trimmings. That will offend him and the court,” Agache said. The queen looked at him. “I am not lying or joking. Court dress is very specific. You know that. Anything less than your finest would be an insult. You do not want to be late, either.”

“Are you now going to suggest that I fall at his feet and profess my love for him?” The queen demanded. Anokii stepped behind her, reaching for the ties that bound the other woman’s dress together. She jerked. “Anokii! I know we do not have much time, but you—you need to ask. Your cousin is over there—”

“I shall avert my eyes if that is what concerns you. Anokii, hurry. The queen does not have much time. She must go now.”

“I do not think you should be here at all while I am changing. You and your needing less light to see because you’re Nebkasha—you’d be able to see through your eyelids or something like that.”

“Just because Malzhi is obsessed with you does not mean that I am. Not every man finds you irresistible, your highness.”

She glared at him. “I am not assuming everyone desires me. I do not think that Malzhi does other than the fact that he knows he cannot have me. Nevertheless, it is improper having you here. Aside from the fact of your supposed death, if anyone knows there was a man here—”

“What do you expect to do with the king?”

The queen stilled, and Anokii set to work during her confusion. The other woman was too stubborn most of the time. She needed to learn to listen. True, she did not want to be revealing her body to a man who was not her husband, but Agache was an honorable man. He was not going to look or take advantage of her. Of course, after so long with Malzhi, she might assume that all men were like him, and it was possible that Omamhi had at least tried for such a terrible thing before he died. The queen had said no, but she could have been lying.

“I do not know. He doesn’t… He wouldn’t want anything from me that I am aware of, but I cannot say for certain. I do not have much knowledge of the king. He left me alone, even when I was forced to stand beside him at some kind of ceremony, so I do not know what to expect.”

“The more interest he shows in you, the more likely it is that he intends to act against your homeland. He ignores those that he does not care about.”

“It is possible that he will want to… to put a claim upon you,” Anokii told her, carrying over the fancier gown. She lifted it over the other woman’s head, pulling it down, and smoothing out the skirt. “If he hears even one rumor about Malzhi’s obsession with you, he will want everyone to see that he controls you at least until he moves against your homeland.”

The queen closed her eyes. “What claim might that be? How would he intend to control me?”

“In a painful way, that is almost certain. His torture rather depends on the person, though I can think of a few things that he might do. Still… you are his wife. He may decide that a very long and very public kiss is sufficient. Unpleasant for you, I have no doubt, but in many ways preferable to the alternatives.”

“Yes, very,” the queen whispered. “Anokii, will you bring me my necklace?”

“The king did not give this to you. You should not wear it.”

“If the man objects to something given to me by a woman long dead, I cannot help but think him a great fool,” the queen said, taking the necklace from her and lifting it up to her neck. “Besides, I need it to cover the bruises as they have not yet faded, and would you please give me something for my ankle as well? I overexerted it yesterday, and it has not forgiven me.”

“You did not say you were in pain. You could have mentioned it, and I would not have made you go to the catacombs.”

The queen looked at Agache. “When you said nothing of your wounds or your fever? You are so… infuriating. You cannot tell me to admit my weaknesses when you will not reveal your own. We can call each other allies, but there is no trust here, and we are not foolish enough to believe there is.”

Agache moved close to her, adjusting her pendant and then her curls so that they concealed her bruises. “I trust you, esibani, and that is all you need to know. Go. Now. You cannot keep the king waiting any longer.”

Author’s Note: Mackenna needed to share a bit of her thoughts on what Carson just did. 🙂

Time for the Starting Gun

He shouldn’t have kissed her, but then she shouldn’t have kissed him, so they were even. She didn’t know that she’d ever consider it a mistake, though. She had known for a while that she wanted to keep him around, and while she’d never admitted—not even to herself—that she’d wanted this, she would be a fool to let it go. Where else was she going to find a man who dressed up for a car run for her? She wouldn’t. She knew he was damaged and full of issues, but so was she. They fit. They made each other better.

This kiss made everything better. She almost laughed at that, knowing it was a silly thing to think, but things had been leading up to this for a while. Both of them had tried to say they weren’t, but they had. Things had changed. They wouldn’t be the same again, but she thought she could get used to the way they were now.

The horn bleeped, and Carson jerked, almost falling over in his panic. Mackenna reached for him, holding him steady. She put her hands on his face, getting him to look at her. “Easy. It was just Mac beeping the horn. I think he wants us to get ready to go. That’s all. You don’t have to panic now. We’re just going to get the car started again and be ready to go.”

“Oh.”

“It’s all right. You don’t have to jump at every little thing. No one here wants to hurt you,” she told him, and some of the panic seemed to leave his eyes, his body relaxing a little as it did. She glared at Mac, not sure why he’d felt he had to do that to them. They would have responded if he’d just said something—true, Carson was a surprisingly good kisser, not that she had much experience with that, but since they already had a rather deep bond, the physical stuff had been even better—so he didn’t have to beep the horn. They still had ears even if they were lost in a kiss.

“Time to go.”

She sighed, taking her hands off Carson’s face. Of course it was. She already knew it was. She had only meant to get Carson his cufflinks, but then things had… happened. Now their relationship had changed, and it was a bit awkward—worse because Mac had interrupted him the way he had. “I know, Mac, but you didn’t have to honk the horn.”

“It was my idea. I wasn’t sure either of you would come up for air again.”

Carson frowned, looking over at Larry. Neither of them had been expecting to see either of his brothers before the run, but Larry must have changed his mind. “What are you doing here?”

“What a thing to ask.” Larry shook his head. He gave Carson a long look, studying him for a reaction. “You really that upset about me being here?”

Carson let out a breath. “I’m just… It’s been quite a morning.”

“I bet.”

Mackenna put her hand over Carson’s mouth before he could tell his brother that he was a killer. She wasn’t willing to let him go around saying that. He wasn’t a killer, and she knew that his memories would prove it when he had them all back. She waited for him to glare at her before she let go. “Let’s get the car started.”

Mac went to the crank, turning it like the expert he was, and it caught on the first try. She rolled her eyes. The car always did that for him. Larry looked at Carson and then at Mackenna. “You know, if you hadn’t insisted that this wasn’t what it was all this time, I wouldn’t have—”

“It only was this morning that it became… that,” she said, wrapping her hand around Carson’s. “It’s very, very new. Different, but good.”

Carson gave her a smile, but it wasn’t much of one. She refused to let go of his hand. He was not allowed to give up, not now of all times. She had just kissed him, hasn’t she? That was worth staying strong, another reason to keep going, and she could give him plenty more, too. She would make sure that he made it through this because she needed and wanted him just as much as he needed her. “Come sit down. I’ll make Larry navigate. We get the backseat.”

Larry laughed. “I see how it is. You two gonna make out?”

“Maybe,” Mackenna said, shrugging. She saw Carson frowning again, and she dragged him over to the car. In a minute, they’d be all lined up, ready to fire the starting gun, and she didn’t think it was a good idea to have him standing when it went off, not after the way he’d reacted to the horn. No, she wanted him sitting down and in her arms when that happened.

“I’m…” Carson couldn’t find words, so he sat down, looking like he was in a mood again. “This is so weird.”

“I know, but it’s not bad,” she told him, sitting down and arranging her skirt. She grabbed the blanket and put it over their laps while Larry climbed in next to Mac. “It’s good.”

Carson nodded. “About that whole—”

The starting gun went off, and he buried his head in her shoulder, shuddering.

Author’s Note: I think Violet’s scene can follow this and end this arc, but we’ll see about that tomorrow. 🙂

A Dinner Spoiled

Robert should not have stayed. He had taken only a few bites of his meal before he understood the mistake he’d made. He had not thought it should be so difficult a thing, surviving a meal, since they were all civil people and knew how to be polite. They had all spent hours in each other’s company without incident. That precedent should have been a simple one to continue, but when her aunt’s disapproval combined with yet another stolen story, the evening was effectively ruined.

It might have been different if the story had not been one of Robert’s less savory moments, one of his later follies involving another girl he’d tricked—this time it was fooling the winner of the local baking contest into making him several pies—but nevertheless, all Beatrice did was frown as the others laughed, and when Violet looked at him and realized that the story her mother was repeating belonged to him as well, she had fallen silent.

No, that was not quite true. She managed not to sob with much of any sound, but her sadness spoke with every glint of the tears on her face or slight flinch of her body.

“Violet?”

“I am sorry, Mother. The story was amusing when we first heard it, and even though it was Winston’s, it did not bother me to hear again, but it is not… The story is Robbie’s, not his, and that is yet another one of them that… that was a lie.”

Robert grimaced. “Not exactly. It did happen, and I did get very sick off the pie, so the story is real. It’s just not his.”

“And how is it that he knows all of your stories?”

“If I knew that, I think I would know who he is. I don’t. I should, but I don’t.”

The spinster set down her napkin and shook her head. “I find that rather hard to believe. This whole farce has gone on quite long enough. If you were as honorable as you pretend to be, you would already have married her. Instead, you let her modern sensibilities cover over your inadequacies. Now you say that you are the one who has all these stories that he told Violet? I say that you must have been in collusion with him all along.”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but that is far from what has happened here. I admit that it seems implausible that I would not know a man who has done all this to me, but I swear that I do not. He took my name and my childhood, and it would seem that he hates me. I do not know why, but I will learn that when I find him. As for marrying Violet… That is something that is not for you or anyone else to decide—only the two of us have the right to determine that, and we have made the best decision that we can at present. It is not just about sensibilities. It is about much more than that. If there were some good reason why this man had done what he did, if his intentions were at all honorable, would you not want to see that he did what was right? How is that possible if I have already done it? And even though I think that prospect unlikely, it does occur to me that if he hates me so much, my involvement with your niece would make him angry and unreasonable. He could hurt her or the child or both, and I do not want that to happen. It is imperative that we find him and learn the reasons for his actions before we go any further in ours.”

Violet put a hand on her stomach. “I do not feel well.”

“I am sorry. I did not mean to distress you. It… I wish I had lied about all the stories being mine. That would, I think, hurt you less than I already have.”

She brushed at her eye, trying to compose herself. “It is not like you lying would make things better. You are not… You have the right to acknowledge those stories because they are yours. You need not attempt to protect me—I am afraid there is little that could do such a thing at this point. I have already endured most of the worst of it—I do fear when the birth comes as any mother might, but even that is not pain that you could spare me. Nor, in fact, do I expect you to spare me any of it. I am not your responsibility, Robbie, and I never have been.”

He reached over and took her hand. “I am not going to call you an obligation—not now and not ever—but you have suffered because of a man who seems to be looking to hurt me, and that means that I should do something about what you have been through, something to make it right.”

“I trust that you will when you find him,” she told him, withdrawing her hand. “Now I think it is best if you—”

“I think I should go. This is my fault, after all, and I should have declined your generous invitation since I knew it would upset Violet if I stayed. It has. I apologize, and I will not trouble you further tonight—or any night, for that matter. Please excuse me.”

She blinked, but he had already risen and started for the door. He did not dare look back. He knew what he’d told her earlier, but he did believe it was time for him to pack up and return home, even if it delayed the answers that might come in the mail. Surely that was worth sparing her this pain.