Tag Archives: serial

Author’s Note: I didn’t really feel like I should post anything today, but I figure I probably owe people the end of the story. So, here it is. The end.

Well, I did leave it so that I could write a sequel. I even started that. I just don’t know if I’ll ever finish it.

An End that Is a Beginning of Sorts

“You are a celebrity now,” Larry said, passing Mackenna the newspaper, and she grimaced, shoving it under her plate. She was tired of seeing herself hailed as some kind of hero. Her plan had been stupid, and it had almost cost Carson his life, but all anyone wanted to hear was how the “strong” woman had “saved” her man and taken down a bad guy that the police and feds had been hunting for thirty years. She was now some kind of urban legend of her own—a female mechanic turned Wonder Woman and doing it in period dress so that made her something out of a steampunk comic, did it? She was now her own myth, at least in a few of the local papers. She wanted it to all die down and be forgotten. She didn’t like all the fuss or the exaggeration. She didn’t deserve it.

“I’m actually glad that it’s not me,” Carson said, grunting as he reached for his fork. His side was bothering him again, but any time one of them suggested he take a pain pill, he got annoyed and refused. He was way too stubborn sometimes. “I don’t want the attention. It’ll be bad enough when they start the trial.”

Nick gave him a look of pity. “Maybe he’ll confess, and you won’t have to deal with it.”

Carson snorted. “He’s going to try and pin Dad’s death on me again, and if he does it this time, he really will get away with it.”

“He won’t.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Mackenna.”

She shook her head. “We’ll find some way of making sure he gets what’s coming to him. What he did to your father, to you, to your whole family… He deserves to pay for that. It’s not like he didn’t hurt others, either. Between the robbery and your dad, he should end up behind bars for the rest of his life. That is, if budget cuts don’t get in the way.”

“Nice.”

She shrugged. “So I’m never going to be Miss Optimist. It’s not who I am. Who cares?”

“None of us,” Larry told her with a grin. “We’re glad to have you joining the family just the way you are.”

“Larry, the wedding talk is still forbidden,” Carrie told him, and Mackenna thought Carson was doing his best to pretend he hadn’t heard either of them. “Leave it alone.”

“Why should I? His big objection was because he thought he killed Dad, and now he knows what we all did—that he didn’t. He was used by the guy to confuse the issue, but he didn’t kill Dad. Dad wasn’t a monster. Now we have the truth. We should celebrate. Carson no longer has to be stuck in the past because he can’t remember. He does. He can move on. Right next to him is his reason to move on.”

Mackenna felt herself blushing. Carson groaned. “If we get married, I’m going to make sure we elope so that none of you are there. I swear.”

She laughed, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “If we can survive a killer, we can survive a wedding, if and when we have it.”

“I guess.”

“I love you,” she told him. He frowned, blinking at her, and she nodded. “I know. I never officially said it before, but I think it got forced into perspective when the guy had you at gunpoint and I had to do something because I couldn’t lose you. I kind of figured I’d gotten broken enough not to trust enough to love anyone, but then you snuck in there, and it happened when I didn’t mean for it to, so… yeah. I love you.”

“See? Now you have to marry her.”

“Go to hell, Larry.”

“Language.”

From the way the boys looked at Carrie, she was the one who usually made the comments like that, but this time it had come from Mac, and the rest of them were too stunned to react right away. He grunted. “That’s better. Tell him about the car, Mackenna.”

“What about the car?”

“Oh, while you were in the hospital and the story was kind of a big deal… the guy we never managed to make time to talk to—the owner of the other Maxwell Messenger on the run—he told Mac about the guy he’d consulted about his car, and when Mac spoke to him, he found out that there was a bit of what the guy’s son called a ‘swindle’ when that car got sold to your father.”

“What?”

“The son’s convinced it was worth a lot more than your father paid for it, and his father’s a bit too senile these days to remember properly, but he supposedly didn’t want the burden of overhauling Phantom, so he sold her to your dad for less than half what she was worth.”

“You’re kidding.”

Mackenna shook her head. “No. We’re not. She’s really yours, Carson. Well, I suppose you’d have to talk that over with your brothers because your grandfather technically didn’t have the right to will her to you when your father’s estate would have been split between the four of you—you three and your mother—but she’s not stolen. She didn’t get bought with money from the robbery. She’s yours to keep.”

“You mean she’s ours.”

“Yeah,” Mackenna said, smiling. Then she frowned. “Wait, is that a proposal?”

“Maybe.”

Author’s Note: This story isn’t as close to an ending as the other two I have going, and it’s not as easy to put a new part of it up because I don’t know how to finish it or feel like I can right now, but since I updated the others and I do have this, I will put it up.

The Queen… Always in Trouble

Though a part of her wanted nothing more than to hide herself away in her rooms, not to show her neck to anyone until the forgery was complete, not to risk the king wanting to play with his new toy, the queen knew that she could not remain hidden forever. If she were to be a coward, then why not accept the offers Agache and the others had made to send her across the border?

She put a hand to her neck. The bruises from the last time she’d seen the king still ached, and she had not seen Agache or had word of the fake in days.

“Can it be that the king has left you alone? How fortunate am I, then,” Malzhi said, and she cursed as she heard him walking up to her. “I have missed being able to converse with you, my lady.”

“Have you? I rather thought you expected the king to kill me the day he returned from the way you were gloating,” the queen said, aware of the weight on her throat. The king had the key to this horrible thing, and he was the only one who could adjust it without breaking it—some small mercy when she found herself alone with Malzhi—but now was still dangerous for her. Malzhi didn’t need the king’s key to cause her trouble, and she was vulnerable until they were to able to replace the real bindings with a fake. She was beginning to understand the look that Agache had spoken of, the one that warned of the king’s intentions, but she did not know that it mattered. Between the king and Malzhi, she’d die before they were able to replace the damned thing.

“Oh, it would have been amusing, I suppose, but I have yet to know you as well as I’d like, so I’d be disappointed as well.”

She turned her attention to the courtyard, refusing to look at him. “I am beginning to think that it would be a relief. That way I would no longer have to see him… or you.”

Malzhi reached up to touch the bindings around her neck. “You have been suffering, haven’t you? Such a shame that he still fails to realize what he has. What you need is someone who knows you what you truly are and appreciates the value of what that is.”

She almost told him that she had such a person—more than one, even, though she suspected that Wikan would not have waited for her, nor should he after what she’d agreed to do. Still, Agache knew her secrets, that she was esibani, and he valued her skills, had told her that since the beginning of their alliance. She knew that she could not speak of either of them to Malzhi, though.

“I suppose you think that you are such a person, do you?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe you. I know not to trust you—unless you think that I am a fool.”

He moved his hand to her face, caressing her cheek. She flinched, and he smiled, pushing her back against the wall. She shifted, sidestepping under his arm and evading his hold. She needed to leave this balcony. She had to get away from him. Now.

“Why must you be so difficult, my lady?” He started toward her. “We could have a very pleasurable time if you were not so stubborn. You would not object so much if you knew what I could give you.”

“I know what you think I will give me, and I do not want it.”

“Of course you do. You think you cannot admit it because of your husband, but you know you do.”

She glared at him, and he caught her arm. She tried to pull away from him, but he got hold of her other arm, trapping her in place. His breath hit her neck, and she was about to hit him with her elbow when she heard the voice.

“You’re touching something that belongs to me.”

Malzhi let go of her, shoving her forward. “Forgive me, your majesty. I thought I saw something upon the queen’s neck, and I wanted to examine it more closely, but she did not want to let me see it.”

“I would not let you see it if I were her,” the king said, taking hold of her, and she grimaced, knowing that he would hurt her now even if she had been trying to get away from Malzhi. “You are dismissed. Go.”

“Yes, your highness.” Malzhi bowed his head and stalked away, anger in each step he took. She swallowed, looking up at the king.

“You encouraged him?”

“No. Never. I was trying to leave when he caught me the second time.”

“You are mine. I do hope that you have not forgotten that.”

“How could I?”

He turned the key, tightening the cords around her neck, and she reached up, clawing at it as she tried to breathe. She could not do this. He needed to stop playing with her. If he was going to kill her, he needed to do it now. She just wanted it over with already. She did not want to be taken to the edge over and over again. If he forced her into unconsciousness again, perhaps this time she would not wake from it. She thought that she would prefer that.

“Beg if you like.”

She met his gaze, not turning away from the cruelty there. Let him do it. She would not beg. She couldn’t beg. She saw his lips twist, and then he kissed her. She thought it was only the pain he knew he was causing that attracted him, that and the need to mark what Malzhi had tried to take as his and his alone. A part of her wanted to give herself away to someone else to defy him, but that was just a fleeting fancy, not something that she would ever do, even if there were such a person that she was willing to be with instead of her husband—certainly that was not Malzhi.

“I find use in your defiance. Breaking you becomes more and more enjoyable.”

She tried to breathe, but he had not loosened the bands. She blinked, feeling weak, and then the bands gave up their grip, allowing her to suck air in again, and she gasped, trying to make up for the way her body had been starved for breath for too long. She fell to her knees, hearing him laugh as his footsteps retreated from her.

“Bagquin.”

Author’s Note: I find as I fill in more of these details, that the story fills itself out in ways I did not expect at all. As far as I knew, Agache was never going to tell anyone what he went through as a prisoner of the king, and I rather thought that was for the best.

He shared. No one was expecting it. Certainly not me.

Unexpected Considerations

“That is, I fear, as much as I can do to relieve the pain and help the bruising,” Anokii told the queen, applying as much of the herbs to her skin as she dared. She might even have been too generous with the lavande, but the queen was in pain and could not help showing it. At least those plants would ease the sting and reduce the visibility of the marks. She stepped back, nodding at her work, hoping it would be enough to allow the queen to continue on.

“One more thing to test,” Agache said, lifting up the bindings and bringing them over to her. “We should have made certain these still appeared to fit before we left, but I did not want to force you back into them before it was necessary.”

“I am glad you did not,” the queen said, closing her eyes as he set the necklace in place.

“Remember, that is not the fake. The king can still hurt you with it, and as soon as you lock it in place, you will not be able to take it off,” Agache said, frowning as he adjusted the necklace around the queen’s neck. He shook his head. “I do not like this. We should have had—if there was more time or if we could send you across the border—”

“And start a war? I do not think so.”

He sighed. “There should be another way. I cannot think of it, but I still do not like this. Perhaps someone else will have an answer.”

“Someone else?”

“I am going to the south to meet with the leaders of the resistance. It is a meeting that is overdue—they do not all know that I am alive—and I do not think I can delay it any longer. I have not been as… effective here as I should like.”

The queen reached up, taking the necklace off, frowning at him. “How long will you be gone?”

“That depends. The journey south is at least two days if one rushes, and I do not know how long I will be in conference with them.”

“Are you certain they will let you come back at all?”

Agache blinked. “What?”

“It is something I think you have failed to consider—as have the rest of us, cousin,” Anokii said, for now that the queen had voiced that concern, she could not help worrying as well. They had discussed often how the queen was a tool, someone they could use, but if she was one, Agache was even more so. The resistance would want to reveal his survival, give the people someone to rally behind, someone they had already loved and mourned. They had used him as a martyr, but oh, how they would love to raise that martyr from the dead, to make him the figurehead of their rebellion. They could win over any who lacked faith with a man who had escaped death. They could exploit the fact that he was the only heir the king had. He might not be allowed to return, not until they were ready to use him.

“I do not know that they would do such a thing. I am more useful working as I have always done.”

“I doubt that. How many times have you berated yourself for failing to go out before that crowd? How many times have you said that should have been you? That is the sort of thing people would want from you, not your work in the shadows.”

He grimaced. “I do not want to believe that. All that they would do is make me a target, and they do not want him to act as a hunter. If he is after prey, if he starts down the path of Gichikane bloodlust, there will be no stopping him.”

“Something stopped him before.”

Agache shook his head. “Torture is not the same for him. I… What I know of the Gichikane is lessened by my Nebkasha ancestry, but if I spill blood, I want to spill more. One death is not enough. Notice how the bindings do not have sharp edges. They do not draw blood. That is how he must hurt people, or he would not get any prolonged torment from them. He would kill if he saw blood. He did not… He wanted to keep hurting me, to make the torture last, so when the marks went too deep into my skin, when they bled, he had to remove himself and kill someone else to sate it. His mistake was leaving me alone then. The Gichikane in me gave me strength enough to get up and out of there, to ignore the suns…”

“Agache—”

“Do your best to avoid the king until we have the copy. If you must interact with him, be as careful as you can. If you need anything, Anokii and Gekin will help you with it.”

He turned, pulling his hood over his head as he crossed the room. Anokii let out a breath as he disappeared into the passage to the catacombs. Perhaps Gekin would encounter him and be able to help. She did not know that Agache should be alone. That was the most he’d ever admitted about his time in the king’s hands, and she wanted to remove that pain from him though she knew that was impossible.

“His strength… It would not have ended. The king would never have been merciful enough to let him die, would he?”

“No.”

Author’s Note: So, this is a very long part. It’s part of wrapping things up, and those scenes usually get long. This is not an exception. There’s only one bit more after this.

A Few More Answers

“No money.”

“I know. There isn’t any money.”

“Mackenna?” Carson opened his eyes to frown at the room, not sure how he’d managed to end up here. The white and the clean said hospital, but that had to be wrong. Last thing he remembered was being with the cars… and his father’s killer. The gun had gone off, and he should be dead. He didn’t understand. “Um… Where am I?”

“Hospital. You were so out of it when you got shot that they figured the wound was a lot worse than it was. Once they got that all taken care of, they knew it was the trauma, so they decided to monitor you overnight just in case.”

“He… They… I didn’t kill him.”

“I know.”

“I thought I did. He put my hand on the trigger, and he forced it back, and he told me I had. He made me think I’d killed him so that I wouldn’t tell anyone, and it worked. It all worked.”

She frowned, taking his hand and wrapping hers around it. He had to figure she’d been there all night—she was still wearing the dress from the run, and it had gotten rumpled in addition to stained. Was that his blood, then? He supposed he owed her a new costume. “What all worked?”

“After… after he shot Dad the second time, he… he ripped off my clothes so that when my family found me, they’d assume that my father had…”

“Oh, hell.”

“That’s why Grandpa covered it up, why he hid the Maxwell and Dad’s body. It looked like our worst case scenario, and even though I knew that man had been there, I couldn’t—I was so screwed up by it that I wanted to do what they kept telling me to do—forget. He said it, Grandpa said it… Mom, I think she couldn’t handle it, couldn’t accept that Dad had done that, but then she couldn’t accept that I had done it, either, and that’s why she was a wreck for the rest of her life. She couldn’t believe it, but she knew what she saw, and it messed her up good, too.”

Mackenna nodded. “I bet it would. That’s not something anyone would want to believe. We certainly didn’t. We tried to prepare you for it if that was what happened, but neither of us wanted it to be that. Your mom… Well, she was stuck trying to believe the man she loved had done a terrible thing to her child, and that… That’s not something many people can accept. It happens all the time in child abuse cases. The other parent just can’t accept what’s being done.”

“Like your aunt not believing you about what was happening to you?”

“Well, my situation was probably more exaggeration than anything, but she didn’t want to believe that the guy had been in our apartment, that was for sure. She said I had to have imagined him walking around there hunting me, that I was giving myself nightmares and huddling in the closet for no reason. To a point, maybe, I was, but if I hadn’t been hiding, I don’t know what he would have done to me.”

“He won’t ever get you now.”

Mackenna smiled. “I’m not sure how we got stuck talking about me again. You’re the one that got shot and who had all those memories locked away in his head, not me.”

Carson grunted. He didn’t want to think about that. If he’d been stronger, he wouldn’t have buried those memories, and it wouldn’t have destroyed his mom or let that bastard get away with his father’s murder. He didn’t like knowing how many lives got ruined because he couldn’t face what had happened. His brothers deserved to know the truth, too, and what his grandpa had done for him… That should never have happened.

“Hey, don’t start down that road now. You didn’t kill your father, so don’t start looking like that.”

“I knew someone else did. I should have said something.”

“Carson, that man made you shoot your father. Even if you weren’t afraid of him killing you, too, you were probably still afraid of him doing more after he took your clothes. You might not have known what that meant, but that just made it that much worse for you. Plus you had people telling you to forget. You were a kid. You were desperate. You did. That’s not a crime.”

He closed his eyes. “I just feel like… I think I should have been able to tell them the truth. That I should have said something rather than let that man get away with murder. I still don’t even know who he is, and that’s after he shot me.”

“Again.”

Carson shook his head. He didn’t want to admit this, but he didn’t have a choice. He cleared his throat, looking at her. “Um… Actually, the first time was my dad’s fault. He was trying to stop the guy from getting me, but he had me and used me as a shield. Then he shot my dad while I was still trying to understand what had just happened to me.”

Mackenna winced. She reached up and brushed back his hair. “I am not surprised at all that you had to block that out. How well could you have understood your father shooting you by accident and all the rest of it when you were eight?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. It’s just that—”

“Mr. Koslow?”

Mackenna glared back at the doorway as the cop entered. At least, Carson assumed he was a cop. He couldn’t see the badge in the suit, but he thought part of the way that awful gray plaid hung on the guy was because of a gun. “Does he really have to give his statement now? He just woke up.”

“I’m fine, Mackenna. Or as close to that as I’ll ever be now,” Carson told her. He took a deep breath. “I can give a statement, even though I don’t know much. I mean… He did kill my father. I know that. He… He thought my dad had money, and I guess he still thought that when he came after me because he thought I’d gotten it somehow.”

“The money was a part of a bank robbery that took place about thirty years ago. The man we arrested today was involved—by all accounts, he is the one that killed the security guard and one of the tellers as well.”

Carson felt sick. “My father was a part of that? The guy said he was the driver, and Dad said he served his time—”

“Your father was indeed the man who drove the getaway car. He turned himself in after the reports, swore he had no idea that there would be any killing, and in exchange for his cooperation, he got a reduced sentence and was allowed to serve his time under another name. Apparently, that was his stipulation—he didn’t want any of this getting back to his family and hurting his kids.”

Mackenna snorted. Carson almost smiled. That sounded like the father his mother had always told them they had. Except, of course, that he was a criminal. She’d never said that part.

“The agent I talked to about it said he figured that the guy was in over his head—three kids, one of them just born, he’d wanted a way to make a quick buck and didn’t figure anyone would get hurt. When they did, he faced up to what he’d done and never expected them to let him go free. He accepted his sentence and served it without complaints.”

Carson let out a breath. “Well, it’s good to know he wasn’t all bad. Mom would have been proud of him. Grandpa and Uncle Tim would still have hated him, but maybe my brothers can forgive him, right? I never really knew him until just before he died, and I didn’t trust him, but it’s… It’s not the same for me. He was never my father in the way he was theirs or her husband or anything.”

The cop grunted, pulling over the other chair. “The trouble is, they never found the money after the bank robbery.”

“That’s why the guy came after me today, but I swear Dad never told me where it was. He died insisting that he didn’t have it. If he had known where it was… I don’t think that he would have risked coming back to us. He said he wanted to start over. He said he’d worked a bunch of odd jobs trying to get some money before he came back to us, and I guess… That’s the part I want to believe. That he meant it when he said he was trying to make it right with us.”

Mackenna looked at the cop. “I suppose you know that Carson inherited what was in the barn from his grandfather and that the car was a part of that.”

“Dad swore he bought that free and clear, and if there was anything hidden in it, you would have found it when you went through and took all those pictures.”

She nodded. “I know. That was my point. The car will be worth something when it’s working. It’s worth a bit now, but we are not talking bank robbery sums here. Maybe when she was first purchased, but not now.”

“Dad said he got a good deal because it needed an overhaul.”

“Maybe we can find the person who sold it to your father and confirm the price. That is, though, all Carson got that was of value, and it’s not that much.”

“Did your father give you any hint as to where the money was?”

Carson shook his head. “No. He never mentioned the money. The other guy was the only one that did. None of what my father said suggested anything about him having a lot of money to spend. Once he told me he was getting me something very special—it was a toy car. A Ford Model T. It was not like he was buying me the earth and the moon. If he had the money, he didn’t spend like he did, and he never said anything about it to me.”

“All right. We’ll get someone over to take your official statement.”

Mackenna drew in a breath. “Are you going to be able to put the guy away for the murder? I suppose you have him for the ones in the bank, but if you don’t, then he’d just be going down for assault or attempted murder and could get out again, couldn’t he? He could come after Carson again.”

“I think he’d know better than to mess with a woman who can hurl suitcases like you can.”

She blushed. “Um, well, I have a lot more upper arm strength than people realize, but even still, that’s not necessarily going to be an option every time. Can we get this guy for Carson’s dad’s murder or not? Is it enough that Carson remembers him killing him?”

“We need a bit more than that.”

“We have a car with a bullet hole in it.”

“That probably came from when Dad’s shot went wide,” Carson said, shaking his head. “Although… My mom and my grandfather are both dead now, and they know the most about what was done after they found me and Dad and thought I’d killed him, but… My uncle might know more of it. He might know where Grandpa buried the body. Or it’s in Mom’s journals. I’m assuming that would be a big help, wouldn’t it?”

“I’ll see what I can get from your uncle, then. We’ll be in touch.”

The cop rose, and Carson winced, closing his eyes again. Mackenna’s lips brushed his forehead. “It’s almost over. We survived, and you have your memories back. You can finally move on with your life. This is a good thing, Carson. It is. Your dad will have justice after all these years, and you can stop being tormented by nightmares.”

He nodded. “I hope so.”

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

Legalities and Other Hard to Answer Questions

“I have a confession to make.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She frowned. “My options?”

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

“Leniency. You mean… forgiveness.”

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

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

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

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

“Guidance?”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

On the Subject of Being Alone

“No. Do not ask me to…”

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

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

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

“Where am I?”

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

“The necklace.”

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

“You stayed?”

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

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

“It is nothing. I was not harmed.”

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

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

“You carried me here without a cloak?”

“I did not carry you anywhere.”

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

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

“What did he do to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be very lonely.”

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

Jis frowned. “That is horrible, Agache.”

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

She nodded. “Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

Reactions, Worries, and Requests

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

“About my aunt’s admission?”

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

“Reprehensible?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which is stronger than you know.”

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

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

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

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

She blushed as she took his hand.

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

A Handy Suitcase

“Where’s Carson?”

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

“I have to find him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn.

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

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

“I see you found him.”

“Nate, go get the cops. Now.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Liar.”

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

“Mackenna?”

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

“Um… no… I…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There never was any money.”

“Shh.”

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

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

“It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

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

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

The Assignment

“You must pack your things.”

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

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

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

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

“It has been settled.”

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

“Zaze has been pledged to marry the king.”

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

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

“She didn’t.”

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

“You are going in her place.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I have something for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

She could not refuse.

She could not run.

She did cry.

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

Disquiet, Distrust, even Accusation

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

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

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

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

Beatrice studied him. “Your mother is…?”

“Is what?”

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

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

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

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

“Did you feel you had that with RJ?”

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

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

“Robbie!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled. “Yes, Mrs. Winston.”