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The Queen’s Story Time

Author’s Note: Okay, so I read over the Carry On Tuesday prompt and thought that I didn’t have much to go on with it. Once upon a time is a great line, just not a line I know how to use without mocking.

I didn’t exactly keep myself from mocking it here, but I went with the idea of someone telling a story, and so there’s a bit of a “once upon a time” to it. Almost. 😛

This is a part of a longer story, sort of, but it doesn’t follow that story’s current linear progression, so I’m only going to include a link back to the beginning of the main story at the end.

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.

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

Author’s Note: So, in thinking of Sunday Scribblings’ prompt of “resistant,” I thought about Violet’s struggles with her emotions, with what she fears and what she needs to know even if it is not what she wants to hear, and how she continues to resist the urge to give in and give up. I thought this fit it with that as well, since she keeps forcing herself to face what she wants to avoid.

The Memories and the Man

“I… I am glad that you wanted to see me this morning,” Robert said, his throat tight as he did. He did not know how to fix what had happened yesterday, could not go back and lie to her, though he had considered it. If he told her that his story was not the same as the one her “husband” had told her, then she would not be so upset, but he could not do it. He could not lie about it. That was his story. He had not slept, not when his mind could not stop searching for the answer to why that man had stolen his name and stories from his childhood. He had tried to go through each and every boy he’d known when he was younger, but he knew of no one that resembled the photograph, nor did they look at all like him so as to pass for him to someone not well acquainted with him.

He did not understand, but he knew that he had to keep searching, and if he was going to do that, he hoped to have more assistance from her. The more he knew of what that other man had told her, the more he would have to narrow down all the possibilities. They had not yet heard from his father’s lawyer or anyone from his regiment—that would take time, time that he knew neither of them felt that they had.

She did not have much longer in her pregnancy, after all, and that would change things a great deal for her, for everyone.

“I am not so certain that you should be pleased,” Violet said, not looking up from her hands. She twisted them over her stomach, her voice betraying her anxiety as much as those small movements did. “I… I know I said that I did not want to know all the things that he had lied about, all that he had stolen from you, all those stories, but then I was thinking… I think I must know what was him and what was not. I need to know how much he stole from you as much as you do.”

“I… This will not be easy for you, and I do not want you to think that you have to. I should never have pushed you for so many details—”

“It would seem undeniable that he knows you somehow. If he does, if all we find agrees with that assumption, then you will be able to find him because you will have to know how he learned all these things of you. You will have to know.”

Robert frowned. “As much as I want to believe that, I have not been able to think of anyone near my age who would have been close enough to know these intimate details of my family—no friends, no relatives, and no neighbors. I cannot find any reason why a stranger would know these things, though.”

She let out a breath. “I suppose there are other possibilities. Perhaps it was a coincidence, since we did not discuss all the details of what you did to the beehive or what he did. Perhaps if you did tell that tale, then we might know whether or not it was something he learned of you or something he did or simply something he decided made a good story.”

“Very true,” Robert said, going over to kneel down next to her. “This is hurting you too much already. You do not have to do this.”

Her head lifted, and her eyes met his. “No, I do, because the other possibility… That is that you are lying, and I need to know that you are not.”

Robert cursed. She flinched when he did, and he sighed. “I am sorry. I should not have said that, but it is very unpleasant to have you voice those doubts again. I do not care for being mistrusted, especially since I am one of those who were wronged by this man. In some ways, he has stolen more from me than I had ever thought I could lose. I cannot say he wronged me more than he did you, but I did not… Hearing how many details of my life he used for himself is more… I have this strange fear that I am—what if I lose all that is me? What if those memories I thought were mine are not mine? Perhaps the war has had more of an effect on me than I thought it did. Perhaps I am the one who is—”

“I did not mean to make you start doubting yourself. You… He is the liar, not you.”

“How do you know that?”

She lowered her head. “I suppose I don’t, and the more I hear of what he did take from you, the more I know that I never knew him, but at the same time, Robbie… He took your stories and your memories… That is the part I thought I knew, the part I trusted, and while it is foolish, it is still what I believe. That boy with the beehive was a bit spoiled and foolish, but he is not a bad man.”

Robert placed his hand over hers. “I wish I felt worthy of that kind of sentiment.”

She closed her eyes. “The apples and the horses…”

“Stole a barrel from the kitchen, fed them as many as I could, but was caught because they rotted in my room.”

“The pie.”

“Blueberry or apple? Oh, there was that thing with the strawberry one that—”

“I think I need you to stop again,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “Those… They are all your stories, not his, and I cannot stand to hear them from you right now. I’m sorry. I wish I was stronger, but I am not. I cannot do this.”

He nodded. He admired her for being willing to see him this morning, for talking about this as much as she had, even when it was clear that she did not want to. Truthfully, neither of them wanted to talk about it anymore. He did not want to lose more of his own identity, nor did he want to cause her further pain by taking all the memories she would have held onto, the “good” parts of her courtship and marriage before the man proved false.

“I will go. I do not have to come back—”

“No, we…” She drew a breath, rising, using the strength she didn’t think she had as she faced him. “We can try and talk again, it’s just… I will need more time.”

“Of course. You will have as much time as you need, I promise.”

She bit her lip, shaking her head. “A part of me wishes you were not so nice a man. It makes this that much harder.”

“Violet—”

“Please excuse me, Mr. Winston. I do not feel well.”

Author’s Note: So I couldn’t help thinking that this whole story fit with Sunday Scribblings’ idea of “resistant” because of the resistance against the king and his aides that runs all the way through it, and I suppose I could have linked to any of the scenes, but this is the one I was going to post today, and since the queen has to be resistant to Malzhi, again, it fits.

Alone with the Enemy

“What was that?”

Malzhi stopped, leaning back as though he was giving her words some consideration, unusual for him since he did not listen to her most of the time. “Sounds like Wenjige.”

“You know what she sounds like when she screams?”

“Yes,” he said with a smile that made the queen sick. She did not want any kind of specifics there. She did not want to hear him gloat or give her details. “Perhaps they have found Omamhi after all.”

The queen shook her head. She needed to get away from Malzhi, now, before she vomited. Between his repulsive behavior and the images returning to her of Omamhi, dead, she could not control her stomach for much longer. “You should not gloat so much.”

“Are you accusing me of killing him again?”

“I never made that accusation. Wenjige did. I would say that your behavior suggests that you are the one behind his death, but you do not care what I think or seem to hear what I say,” she told him, pushing past him, hoping to leave the balcony before he overcame himself long enough to stop her.

He caught her arm, and she grimaced, trying not to notice the pain from the existing bruises, but she knew that she was unprepared when it came to hiding her reactions or even coping with the pain. Her trainers had been dedicated but not vicious, and they had not forced her to endure a lot of agony in order to keep her from showing how much she hurt. She knew how to be silent, but she did not know that she kept the reaction from her features as well as her voice.

“You have acquired a sudden boldness, haven’t you? Perhaps you are gloating. You are not the one who killed Omamhi, are you?”

She felt like laughing, but she knew that would betray too much. Instead, she smiled at him. “I should be flattered that you think me even that capable.”

He put a hand under chin, lifting it up. She didn’t know if he was searching for her bruises or if he intended to use those herbs against her again. She wanted to move back, but she didn’t want to show him fear, either. “You are a challenge, but I am not certain that you are that much of one.”

She pushed his hand off her face. “Then you can let go of me and let me pass. If Omamhi is dead, then there is no point in being here.”

“The training ceremony is not finished.”

“It should be.”

He laughed. “Oh, you are just so… charming. I do enjoy my time in your company. One moment you challenge, the next you confound, and how intriguing you are when you do.”

She tried to step past him again, but he tightened his grip and held her in place. The back of his hand moved brushed against her cheek. She started to push him away, but his other arm went around her waist, holding her still. His hand continued to caress her cheek, and she figured that she was going to feel the herbs at any moment.

“Your land must have a lot of water. Your skin is very soft, softer than anyone here. Most of them have skin like empty riverbeds, cracked and dry.”

“Would you be so bold with me if the king were here?”

His hand dropped from her cheek, the other easing off her back. She stepped to the side, pulling away from him. He should not forget that she was a married woman—not that she thought that mattered to him after seeing him with Wenjige—but more so than that, he should remember that she was the king’s wife. His property, in the eyes of most people here, and that was not something Malzhi could play with, no matter how powerful he thought he was.

“Who gave you this? Was it the king?”

She looked down at the chain around her neck, shaking her head. She did not wear it often, for while it carried some value in sentiment, it meant pain as well. She did find it amusing that he would think the king would bestow upon her any sort of trinket, though. “Do you think the king so generous?”

“Not in the past, but you are… unique.”

“You are obsessed. You only want what you cannot have.” She shook her head. “Do not mistake me for one of those things. I am not someone you want to pursue. I am not so stupid as to be unfaithful to my husband, and if you make him think that I have been—”

“Who would tell him?” Malzhi laughed. “You?”

“Wenjige.”

“Ah, the grieving widow. Yes, thank you for reminding me. I think it is time I go console her.”

The queen watched him go, letting out a breath. She could not help being relieved, but she was more disgusted than she was reassured. She needed a long soak to rid herself of his presence and his touch. “Bagquin.”

Author’s Note: The root beer floats are a tradition. On the twenty-fifth anniversary, we got to keep our glasses. They’re a bit like a beer stein with the run’s logo on the side, and they were great for floats that year. 🙂

Not Quite Nostalgic

“Root beer floats. I feel like such a kid.”

“You are a kid,” Carson told his brother, annoyed. He didn’t know how much longer he could put up with Larry being Larry. He was going to hit him, and if he didn’t hit him, he’d say something he regretted. He didn’t want to fight with his brothers, and he didn’t want to ruin things with Mackenna, and so he just needed to be quiet. That’s what he’d do. He’d stay very quiet, and then he couldn’t wreck anything.

“I think at this point he’s just doing it to annoy you,” Mackenna told him, shrugging. “Let it go. Enjoy your ice cream.”

“Do you think they’d give me more root beer? This turned out to be all foam,” Nick said. He looked down at his cup and then at Carrie’s. “Yeah, yours is, too. Let me go see if they’ll give us a bit more. It’s not much of a root beer float without the root beer.”

Carrie shook her head, but he was gone before she could say no. “I didn’t need more.”

“You try not to complain about anything. Sometimes it’s something you should say,” Carson told her, stirring the ice cream melting in his cup. He didn’t feel all that nostalgic, and he didn’t even feel that hungry, not that he did most of the time.

“You okay, Carson?”

“I don’t think I can finish my float,” he said, pushing it over to Larry. “I’m going to go walk around and look at the other cars.”

Mackenna caught his arm. “You sure you’re okay?”

He nodded. “It’s… I think it’s the heat. Not sure how they managed to handle it before they decided short-sleeves were allowed, and you have it a lot worse than I do.”

“Not if I take off my coat, but that might make someone’s head spin.”

“Better not then,” Carson said, not wanting to think about seeing her without the coat. Then the corset would be all too visible, revealing more than it did now as it hugged her body, and he’d just as soon not think about that, either. “No, I’m just going to circulate a bit and see if that helps. If not, I’m staying somewhere air-conditioned until the party.”

“The parade.”

“Right. That.”

“Yeah, go get some air. You’d be better off going down to the lake, but if you’d rather look at the cars, that’s up to you.”

“Oh. You’re right. I’ll go down to the lake,” he said, and she smiled. He thought of asking her to join him, but he needed his distance until he could get over this hyper-awareness. When he had that back under control, when he could forget the idea of touching her or anything like that, he’d be able to spend time with her again. Until then, he’d be on his own as much as possible.

He started down to the beach, rolling up his sleeves as he did. They’d just have to forgive him for ruining the costume—he wasn’t used to this. Even in the summer, wearing suits to work hadn’t been that bad because he spent all his time indoors in the cool of the air-conditioning. He wasn’t used to suits and the glare of the summertime sun.

He stopped at the edge of the sand to take off his shoes and slip out of his socks, sure they’d get looks if anyone saw them sitting there. He rolled up the bottom of his pants and waded out into the water, letting it lap over his feet with a contented sigh. This was good.

He walked along the shore for a while, letting the slight breeze coming off the water work to cool him down and wishing it was as easy to settle things in his head. He needed to find a way so that he could put all that behind him. His father, the sudden attraction to Mackenna, all of that needed to go away so that he could live a normal life. He’d have his past—most of it, at least—and he could lay his father to rest, so to speak. Then he’d move on. He’d get a new job, and he’d find his way back to where he should be, where he would be if he hadn’t had his father’s murder weighing on him all this time.

He let out a breath, and then he felt it, again. That same stupid sense that someone was watching him. He looked over at his family, but they were all laughing at something Mackenna was saying, none of them so much as glancing in his direction. Carson searched the area with his eyes, frowning when he saw someone over by the docks. The man was more of a shadow than anything, and he might not be watching Carson at all, but seeing him made him shudder anyway.

So much for calming down and cooling off.

Great Moments

I want to say that I was fully in charge and good and super heroic right then.

Realistically, though, I was none of those things.

I was queasy and overwhelmed, not sure how I was going to handle anything. We are talking about me, the failed experiment whose plans never worked. I might have been able to stop Kilbourne, turn the table on him, but that was more or less by accident. The idea of doing something that was a lifelong commitment, a thing where I’d have to live with my failures staring me back in the face—and most likely hating me for the rest of our lives—mine possibly a very, very long life—that idea terrified me.

So I sat, waiting for Kilbourne to wake up to get some answers, doing my best not to wig out because of what I’d learned. I actually wanted my wife to have lied to me. It would have been… easier.

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Clayton tapped his fingers on the desk, waiting impatiently. No one had come in to Kilbourne’s lab, and he didn’t really think they were going to. The men that worked for him must have been told not to disturb him in here, and that really didn’t surprise Clay. He also didn’t figure that they would even want to come in here. No one was going to bother Clay while he got his answers, and that was good by him. He needed to make this thing end, and it wasn’t going to happen until Kilbourne told him what he’d been trying to do—why Clay was so important—and even what he figured he’d “improve” with the baby. Not that Kilbourne would have that chance, but he wanted to know what the monster thought he could do—and what he’d been trying to do—before this was all done and the suit’s men took Kilbourne away and locked him up for good.

Clay really didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to wait, and needed to find April and make sure that she was safe, but if he left now, he might never know. If anyone did come to their rescue, it would probably be the suits, and they weren’t exactly trustworthy. They hadn’t told him anything of Kilbourne or the experiments until after Kilbourne’s goon had nearly killed him—and come to think of it, Clay hadn’t seen that guy in long enough to worry about him suddenly appearing because that was the way it always seemed to go with Clay and his messed up life where no plans ever went right, all his genetics were screwy, and Murphy’s law—everything that can go wrong will go wrong—was in full effect.

Annoyed, Clay kicked Kilbourne’s chair. “Wake up.”

The bastard didn’t stir. Clay kicked the chair again, harder this time. “Kilbourne! I think it’s about time we had a real conversation. I want to know what the hell you were trying to do to me.”

The other man’s eyes opened slightly, and he groaned in pain. The pain focused into anger that he directed right at Clayton. “Why would I tell you anything? You’re the experiment. A failed one.”

“I know. But you have yet to actually say what you were hoping to accomplish with me, and I just figured that might be worth knowing. And since I’ve got you tied to the chair and also kind of smashed your face in, I figure I get to ask the questions for now. Wouldn’t you think so? It makes sense to me.”
“I’m not going to answer any of your… What did you tie me up with?”

“Larabee’s special spandex blend. Not sure why you had some of it around—though the biotoxin label did make me laugh a little since I hate the stuff—but since you did and it seems to be working very well holding you, it was a good choice.”

Kilbourne shook his head. “No. No, you have to untie me.”

“You must think I’m a complete idiot. I’m sorry, but no. I am not that dumb, and I’m not going to fall for any of your tricks. I don’t think so. I’ve been hurt enough by you, and manipulated by you for even longer than that, even if for most of my life you were on the run. I’ve been nothing more than an experiment all my life, and you really don’t want to know what it does to a person to find that out. It’s rather soul destroying, honestly,” Clay said as he leaned back against the desk again, shaking his head. He didn’t know how to cope with the emotions that came with that moment, that realization, even after he’d lived with it for a while now. “I have no reason to do anything for you. You threatened April. And our baby. Yeah, no one in their right mind would trust you. Ever.”

“The biotoxin label wasn’t a joke.”

“Ooh, someone else who hates spandex,” Clay clapped his hands together and laughed. “Look, ‘Dad,’ we have something in common. We can bond now despite the fact that you’re a deranged sociopath who calls himself a scientist and experiments on people—specifically me. I love you, Dad. This is the greatest moment of my life.”

Kilbourne shot him a dirty look. “No, you idiot. I’m allergic to spandex.”

“You are?”

“Yes! Now untie me!”

Clay started laughing. “Oh, this is awesome. You’re allergic to spandex. It really is the greatest moment of my life.”

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Author’s Note: So Agache is the sort of character who does not want to explain what he is doing. He only tells half the story, no matter what he’s doing. Poor Anokii. She tries to understand, but he never makes it easy on anyone.

Of course, the one no one seems to understand is the king…

Waiting and Watching

“You are still watching her?” Anokii stopped, shaking her head at herself and at her cousin—she knew that the others did not know who was who beneath the cloaks, but they did. The voice was one part of it, but also the posture and so many little things gave way the wearer. He should not be here, and she should not speak to him, not if she wanted to keep him alive. If he answered her, it could mean his life if the wrong person heard him.

“I am waiting for the revelation.”

“The queen’s?” Anokii asked with a frown, uncertain what Agache was doing here. This was dangerous, and she had thought that he knew better than to be here, now, when things were already far too tense. The final training of another troop—this could mean that the king would feel that he was ready for war with the queen’s people, and they were not ready for that.

“I believe they will consider it Malzhi’s, though I should say it is mine, thanks to the queen.”

“You expect them to find Omamhi’s body during the training.”

“Yes.”

“You think that the queen has done enough to make them think that Malzhi is behind Omamhi’s death?”

“Wenjige has already said so, and that has done some damage. Even the catacombs cannot keep a body in the right condition forever, and if it is not seen soon, it will not be in a state where it can be used. I did not want to wait for Malzhi’s return, but if I did not, I do not know that anyone would believe that he had killed Omamhi.”

Anokii nodded. The timing was already difficult for them, since Malzhi had been gone when Omamhi attacked the queen, and the heat should have started far too much decomposition for anyone to believe he had been Omamhi’s killer. “So now you watch.”

Agache nodded, gesturing to the other balcony. “She managed to divert Malzhi from Wenjige. I expect she regrets it, but she was rather bold.”

“I do not know that you want to be pleased by her boldness.”

“We value secrecy and avoid direct conflict. We may even put too much emphasis on those things. We have done much that is disruptive. We made a nuisance of ourselves, and we moved as many of our people to safety as we thought we could, but we have not yet managed to do anything that has altered the overall condition of anyone. We continue to suffer.”

“If you had chosen a direct action, you would have been dead a long time ago—and not in the same sense as your current death. This would be permanent.”

He nodded. “I know. The queen, while she is in a precarious situation, still has some protection from the treaty. She can be a bit more direct. Then again, she cannot.”

Anokii glanced toward the queen. “Why are you here?”

“I told you that the king is back.”

“He has not shown himself.”

“The troops are training in the city. Their final training. Where do you think the king is?”

She closed her eyes, letting out a curse. “He will kill them all. I know they were foolish for joining his forces, but not all of them had a choice. What good can it do him to do this? To increase fear? His reputation for cruelty is already known. This is… I thought he wanted to go to war. Why would he sacrifice his own troops?”

Agache reached a hand out and touched the wall, dragging his finger along the surface. “The king has never showed his intentions, not all of them, not to where anyone could predict him. We know he wants their land. How soon he plans on taking it… That is not for us to know. Sometimes I think that he only wanted to make a game of it, the treaty and his marriage and even my death. Yet, at the same time, I know he can be more patient than we believe him to be. He should have killed me years ago, as he did the rest of my family.”

Anokii winced. “It was not right. The royal blood in your line was so diluted, so poisoned with that of our people that it should not matter if any of you were descended from the betrayed princess. He didn’t have to kill your sisters.”

“You know he has little respect for women. I don’t think he would have married if not for the treaty. He does not want an heir, does not want anyone to challenge his power, no one to be put in his place if there is a coup. Letting me live may have been to counter that—the idea of putting one of us on the throne would be repugnant to most of the population.”

She snorted. They should want Agache as their leader. He would hate it, as much as she suspected he’d taken hold of the resistance, but he was a good man with more consideration for the needs of others than anyone else she knew. “All they would have to do was let us go. We have no real interest in harming anyone. We just want our night back.”

“Yes, we do.”

“You sound tired.”

“I am.”

“Go sleep.”

“Not until the body is found. When that happens, I will go. Not before.”

Anokii started to argue with him, but the scream did not allow her to finish.

Author’s Note: This seemed to flow rather well after the flashback with how Violet met Winston.

Recollections in Common

“Is something wrong?”

She sighed, looking up from her hands. She did not remember much of walking back to her bench in the garden, and if she’d been lost in her thoughts all that time, she was certain to have worried her companion. That had not been her intention, but her mind had been on Winston a lot over the past few days. He was an impossible subject to avoid. Everything had come about because of his arrival in her life, and even though he was gone, he had left too many marks behind to say he’d been there.

“I’m sorry. My mind went to… I was thinking about the first time that I met Winston.”

“Oh.”

She heard the edge to Robbie’s voice, a sort of sharpness that made her feel worse about her mind’s wanderings. She must seem very rude, perhaps even pathetic, dwelling on memories that had to with the man who’d betrayed them both. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bother you with my recollections or worry you with how they make me feel.”

“It’s…” He let out a breath, shaking his head, and she realized that his disgust was directed at himself. “I almost made a snide comment, actually, and that was not right. You do not deserve that kind of treatment.”

She frowned. What treatment did he mean? Was he thinking the same thoughts as the towns’ gossips? Was that it? “What?”

“A cruel remark about you foolishly thinking it was love the moment you saw him,” he said, wincing as he looked at her face. “I know. That isn’t fair. It was wrong of me to think it.”

She shook her head. “I do not think it was wrong. Given how quickly our courtship progressed, many people thought it must be that way, that we loved each other on sight alone. I did not think that was true—certainly it was inaccurate for our first meeting. I could not hardly see him because of the sun, and I rather made a fool of myself. It would seem that was all I ever did with him.”

Robbie frowned. “Surely your next encounter was not as… the first, or you would not have been willing to see him again.”

She almost laughed. He was right about that much. She would never forget the way that Winston had returned, the way he’d stepped in with a flourish, revealing the bouquet, and how sweet he’d been as he explained his offering. “Oh, no, the next time, he was all smiles and apologies and charm. He brought me flowers to replace those I’d dropped, and… Other than his habit of comparing me to nymphs or sprites, he was quite charming. I liked to hear him speak; he was a fine storyteller. Perhaps that should have warned me, how much I loved his tales. He would tell me of places he’d traveled, but I liked hearing of his childhood best. That is what fooled me into thinking I knew him, how well I could picture his upbringing. It was as though I’d been there to see each moment, sharing it with him as he spoke.”

Robbie gave her a slight smile. “He must have had some great stories if he impressed you. I rather think I should not have managed it. I would be surprised to hear you liked him if he told you the beehive story.”

That one made her smile. She’d laughed the entire time, even if it was not proper. “That, as mother said, was simply a boy being a little boy.”

Robbie stiffened. He rose, moving toward the back of the garden. “That was not how my father saw it. He was very displeased, and I was never allowed honey again because I cost them so much. Not for breakfast, not in tea, never.”

“No,” she whispered, not wanting to believe it. He could not know that tale. That was Winston’s. It had to be. It was not Robbie’s, not again. How could Winston have known something like that, anyway? There was no way, was there? “Tell me that the beehive is not one of your stories, too.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. It is.”

“Was… Did you knock that down with one of your friends, perhaps? Is that it? He said he was alone, but if you weren’t, if you were with another boy, and he saw or helped and—Please. This does not make sense.”

Robbie shook his head. “No. I did it alone, thought it must have become known to all around us when the neighbors learned of our honey shortage. I do not understand, either. My mind must be more damaged than I thought if I cannot remember who he is, if I cannot recognize him. He has such intimate knowledge of my life, so how is it that I know nothing of his?”

She swallowed. “I do not know. I cannot think of any sort of explanation for that. This almost seems like proof of your conviction that he knows you, doesn’t it?”

Robbie came back to her side. “What other tales did he tell? What about the snake? Did he talk about the snake and the minister and—”

“Please stop. I do not want to hear how many more of those stories belong to you and not to him.”

“Violet—”

“No,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “I am… I cannot do this. I cannot sit here and examine every instance of how I did not know him at all. I should be stronger, but I am not. I cannot bear hearing how I gave my life and my love away to a man that I knew nothing of. I cannot. Do not ask me to do so.”

“Oh, Violet,” Robbie said, reaching up to touch her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about what that meant for you. I was so determined to learn how he could have known these things that I didn’t stop to think of you.”

She closed her eyes, wishing that she’d shut out the tears as well. “I think I shall lie down. Perhaps you can ask your family more of this man, but I… I do not think I can help you again. It… This hurts too much.”

“I understand,” he said, letting his hand drop back to his side. He shifted his feet, looking at her with such guilt that she wanted to tell him it was all her doing, not his, but she couldn’t change how this made her feel. She could not help him again, not now. Perhaps later, but she could not bear it at the moment. “Would you rather that I didn’t come back at all?”

“I… No… That is… Oh, I do not know.”

“I will send a message, then, and if you do not wish to see me, simply say no in reply. I will finish what I can here, and if you change your mind before then, we may meet, but otherwise, I shall most likely return home in the next day or so.”

She nodded. A part of her wanted to beg him to stay, but she would not. She did not know what she was thinking or feeling now, so mixed up and confused and wishing she was anyone but herself. She needed to be somewhere where she could attempt to end this turmoil within her.

“Excuse me,” she said, turning back toward the house, not able to look at him as she left.

Author’s Note: The boys really are too fun to mess with. Mackenna’s not the only one who thinks so.

Plenty of Sibling Rivalry

“Do you have any spare outfits? Maybe I can talk Carrie into dressing up.”

Mackenna frowned, looking back at Nick. She didn’t know what to think of him suggesting that. He’d been doing a bit of staring since she joined them back by the Legion, and Larry’d been worse, what with his asking for a kiss and all. She’d never gotten this much attention for her clothes before, at least no one had been quite as persistent as Carson’s brothers. Nick turning it into something he’d like to see his wife do was almost endearing, but Larry might be taking it too far.

She couldn’t help wondering why, of all of them, Carson had the least reaction to it. He spent the most time with her, was used to seeing her covered in grease and who knows what else, and her overalls were not the most flattering look ever, so why was it that he only managed to say it looked nice, and only the once? He didn’t stare, either. She might as well have been wearing her jeans and a t-shirt.

Not that she wore the dresses for attention. She did it to be a real part of the run, to give the whole thing a bit of added fun and authenticity—even if her outfits cheated a little.

“Nick, I know you love Carrie, but she’s nowhere near as thin as Mackenna is. She’d never fit in that corset thing that Mackenna’s got on now,” Larry said, and Nick shoved him. Carson gave both of them a look, shaking his head.

“Can you two just… drop it for the rest of the drive? Look at the water, wave to the people, and stop picking fights with each other,” Carson said, tugging on his sleeve. She winced. They’d forgotten the cufflinks. She’d have to remember to get them for him before the parade.

“You are such a mutant.”

“What?”

“You and your watch the water crap. Who’d pay attention to the water when there’s better scenery in the front seat?”

“I already told her she looked nice. I don’t have to make her uncomfortable about it—which is what I’m sure you’re doing. Either you’re going to make Mac pull over and kick us all out, or I’m going to shove you out if you don’t stop, but leave it alone.”

Mackenna smiled, amused by the way Carson had come to her defense, as it were. “He’s got a point. If you fight too much, Mac will make you walk back. He did that to me and Nate once. Just stopped the car and told us to get out.”

“Nate? Who is this… Nate?”

“Oh, Larry, don’t be jealous. Nate’s nothing to me,” Mackenna said, pouring saccharine into her voice as she did. Carson laughed, and his brother shot him a dirty look. She giggled, and Mac gave her a look. She shrugged. The boys were almost too easy to mess with most of the time, and she had fun doing it. She couldn’t help it.

“It’s not like she said she had a boyfriend,” Nick reminded him. “If she had, she’d have said that back when we first assumed she was dating Carson.”

“So there’s hope.”

Mac grunted. Mackenna laughed. “Okay, really, this is a bit much. You don’t have to take it that far, Larry. I know I don’t look much like my usual self, but I’m not the world’s most beautiful woman all of a sudden.”

“You’re prettier than Lynda.”

“Shut up, Nick.”

“Why don’t you just ask him when he and Carrie are going to have kids?” Carson smiled at Nick’s horrified look, and Larry chuckled. Mackenna shook her head—since they’d picked on him by them all his life, Carson had learned a thing or two about manipulating both of them. That one was good. Too good. At least the focus was off of her and her dress for a while, but she had a feeling that these little fights between the brothers had only just begun.

It could end up being a very long weekend, and there might just be blood by the end of it.

With the Right Motivation

So… drugs. Remember, they don’t agree with me.

And plans never go my way.

I figured I’d be out cold again after I did my shift—and yeah, I picked a form that was still an adult just to make me difficult to move around because why make it easy for them? It surprised me to find that not only was I awake, but the pain was gone.

And I was sensible enough not to tell Kilbourne this.

I know. You’re surprised, aren’t you?

So was I.

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Clayton was awake. In fact, he was fairly certain that he hadn’t fallen asleep or passed out at all. Even with as loopy as he had been, he could swear that no time at all had passed. Wait a minute. That never happened. He held still as footsteps approached him. Kilbourne, probably, standing there and looking down at him. Clay hated that. He really just wanted the man to die. A horrible, spandex related death because the bastard deserved no less. It would be perfect. He could suffer in agony through the worst substance known to man—okay, that was an exaggeration, and Clay really didn’t know why he hated spandex so much, but… he did.

“I see the drugs almost had their desired effect,” Kilbourne observed, kneeling down next to him. “I must adjust the dosage. I have to get rid of this ridiculous delay in the shifts. It is impractical.”

Clay studied his enemy as much as he could without revealing that he was awake, and then he grabbed hold of the computer chair and wheeled it close enough, using it to whack Kilbourne, hard, knocking the so-called scientist to the floor. Clay heard the older man to groan as he got up and picked up the nearest syringe. He kicked Kilbourne mostly for the hell of it. “What’s in this one, hmm? Think it will give you a tentacle or a heart attack or what?”

Kilbourne glared at him. “You won’t win for long, Moore. Your genetics are far too unstable for that. You’ll succumb to the drugs or your own physical limitations soon enough.”

“Thing is,” Clay said, putting his foot down on the other man’s chest, holding him in place. “I have a lot more experience with dealing with my screwed up genetics than you do, and while, yeah, it surprised the hell out of me that I was still awake when you got in here, I don’t feel any pain, don’t feel any drugs, and that means I might just have mastered my healing shift. Your little experiment actually worked, but for me, not you. As does your apparently masochistic choice of chair. How can you sit in that thing for long periods? I don’t know, but I do know that I just might inject you with this for the fun of it because I’m voting tentacle. Life isn’t complete until you’ve had a tentacle.”

Kilbourne started shoved Clay’s foot away, knocking him down, and Clay really had no choice then. He stabbed the syringe into the other man’s leg and backed away, looking around the office for something else to use. That drug or whatever it was might not have any effect on Kilbourne at all. Clay had to do something else.

He was still getting the stuff from Kilbourne’s computer on the internet—hopefully—but Clay could pull the fire alarm and possibly set off the extinguishers in the lab, only that wasn’t going to stop Kilbourne. What he needed was a nice blunt object to hit Kilbourne with, make him lose consciousness for a while and then tie him up and get some answers for a change.

The man didn’t have a paper weight, and Clay figured whatever it might have been if Kilbourne had had one would probably have been twisted and scary, and the computer mouse wouldn’t do enough damage.

“The next one I will make more docile.”

“You’re not getting anywhere near my child, you bastard,” Clay snapped, launching himself at the other man in a blind fury. He was never going to be a real fighter with any technique or skill, but he had enough anger and rage and plain old fear to pound on the sadistic scientist until the man was bloody and unconscious.

Clay sat back, a bit horrified by what he’d done, but he forced that out of his mind as he picked the chair up and dragged Kilbourne up into it. With the monster in the chair, Clay hunted for something to tie him up with, frowning when he saw what looked like one of Larabee’s costumes in one of the specimen containers. Maybe Kilbourne was trying to research the ooze that made the clothes Clay wore possible. He’d have to, really, if he was planning on making more like Clayton, so yeah, that was probably it.

Clay shook his head, hoping that the stretch of the fabric would mean that Kilbourne couldn’t get out of it no matter how hard he struggled—especially since Clay had found his own clothing rather resistant to tearing over his various misadventures—and so he started wrapping it around the other man until he was practically mummified in it and stuck to the chair.

He went over to the sink in the lab and washed off his hands, shaking a little as he did. He never would have believed he was capable of that, but he had enough to motivate him—he’d do anything to keep April safe, and they were going to be parents, so…

Wait. Clay was going to be a father. A dad. A role model.

He went back to the sink and threw up.

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Author’s Note: Back to intrigue…

Overwhelming Intrigue

Aware of the eyes glaring at her back—this time she knew their owner, a minister’s wife that had been usurped as the female head of the court when the king married—the queen tried to focus her own gaze down on the crowds below them. She did not know that the ministers ever mingled with the commoners if they could avoid it. The servants were the only ones allowed close. Lesser ministers met with them, she did, but the ones with the real power, they could not be bothered.

Then again, she doubted that anyone would want to meet with Malzhi.

She supposed that was a bit of cowardice on her part, though. She found herself fearing his touch, though after two doses of his herbs, she had some reason for that fear. “Tell me about this ceremony. What is it for?”

Malzhi came close to her, leaning against the rail. She stiffened, trying to keep herself from moving away and showing him his advantage. “The newest legion of our troops has completed their training, and we celebrate their achievement.”

“Do not lie to the queen. She will not think it charming, Malzhi,” Wenjige warned, her tone more than a bit sharp. She was an unpleasant woman, always poisoning the area around her with her negativity. “The troop’s training is not complete until they kill the others in battle. If they survive against their opposition here, they become a part of our army. If they do not, their training was wasted.”

“You put them against seasoned warriors and expect them to live?” The queen asked, aware of too much horror creeping into her voice. She should not have expressed any emotion at all. That was a weakness. She knew that Malzhi and even Wenjige would use that against her.

“Don’t be absurd. He expects them to die.”

“Ah, now, my dear lady,” Malzhi said, and the queen started to think that the minister’s wife was—or had been—his lover. She did not know why anyone would want to have Malzhi anywhere near them, but then he must have had some kind of appeal, perhaps if the woman was a fool or wanted power or it could even have been done out of fear. “You needn’t be so harsh. You make me sound so heartless.”

Wenjige glared at him. “You are.”

The queen did not disagree. She did not think Malzhi had any sort of kindness in him, no good at all. She wondered at those who said the king was worse. How could he be? Malzhi had the herbs, he had threatened her with violation, he might well have done that to Wenjige, and almost no one doubted that he had killed Omamhi. If the king was worse… The queen shuddered.

Malzhi gave a dismissive wave of his hand, trying to smile at the queen. “Pay her no mind, my lady. Our friendship has soured of late.”

“Soured?” The other woman snorted. “Why don’t you stop pretending and tell everyone where my husband’s body is?”

Malzhi laughed. “Were I to have done anything to Omamhi, I would not need to conceal it. Your husband is a fool, and if anything happened to him, it was his own doing.”

The queen felt sick. She had not realized that Wenjige had been Omamhi’s wife. She knew the woman was married—no woman at court was not attached to a man in some way. The king had no regard for them at all, and that spread amongst his ministers. Some were worse than others, though, and Malzhi was the one she’d consider the most terrible. Still, she had not thought that she’d have to face both him and the wife of the man she’d killed. She had not wanted to kill him; she had tried not to, but he had forced the fight. He had as much as killed himself, though that did not lessen the guilt she felt.

She did not care if it was in defense. She was not a killer, and he’d forced her to become one. She hated him for that. Now, though, she must face his wife knowing what she’d done and somehow make Malzhi look guilty of what she had done. She did not know that she could.

She was not prepared for this. She did not know if she had any semblance of composure, and if she looked weak now, it would betray too much to Malzhi, who knew himself innocent of the man’s death. She was trapped, and she would have run if she could have.

“Are you feeling ill again, my lady?”

She let out a breath. “I… As always, this heat bothers me, but I cannot help thinking that—”

“Malzhi killed my husband? Everyone knows it. He keeps denying it, but I know better. We all do. Omamhi is dead, and he won’t even be decent enough to give me his body so that I might bury him.”

Malzhi grabbed hold of Wenjige’s arm. “Do you not think that such accusations are dangerous to make? Are you certain you want to continue talking?”

She looked at him and then spat in his face. “I never thought you were a coward.”

“I am not a coward.”

The queen knew this was what they wanted—Agache and his allies needed Malzhi accused of Omamhi’s death—but she did not like it. Not only was she the one who had killed Omamhi, as much as she disliked Wenjige, she did not think she could let Malzhi hurt her.

“If you attack her, does that not confirm her accusation?”

Malzhi turned toward the queen, his grip on Wenjige slipping. “My lady, I do not think that you quite understand the situation.”

She almost laughed. “Perhaps not. I still think it is not wise to answer her questions with aggression.”

Malzhi stepped toward her. “Are you trying to tell me what I should and should not do? Do you think that being a queen means you are correct and I am not?”

She swallowed. She had known it was possible that he would turn on her, but she had not expected such instant anger, the violence right under his surface. He would hurt her, turn all that he might have done to Wenjige on her. “I voiced my opinion, that is all.”

Malzhi reached for her, adding his bruises to the ones Omamhi had left behind. “You are not in any position to have an opinion. You know so little of the facts. You are a newcomer, and you do not know what you are talking about.”

She reached to pry his fingers off her arm. “I think you feel that no woman ever knows what she’s talking about. I am afraid you will be quite disappointed when you realize that some of us do and that we are not the sort of easy prey you are accustomed to having.”

His lips curved into a smile. “You suggest that I need a challenge? Would you offer it to me?”

Wenjige snorted, stalking away in anger, and Malzhi shook his head as she did. The queen took advantage of his distraction and pulled away from him. She turned back to the ceremony, not wanting to watch, but then she would rather not look at Malzhi, either.

“I welcome the challenge,” he said, leaning over her shoulder, and all she could do was shudder.