"Until The Fall" - 14/48
Title: Until The Fall
Author: Rissy James
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, Jeb, Glitch, Raw, Tutor, the Queen, Ahamo, and some old & new OCs (updated 03.09.09)
Pairing: Established Cain/DG; established Jeb/Az
Rating: M
Summary: Sequel to " Of Light". After an annual of living in the O.Z., DG sets out to complete the task given to her by the Gale. Soon, she must learn that there is always more to everything than first meets the eye. (updated 03.18.09)
Extras: Cast Page on livejournal.com (updated 04.10.09)
Warning: This contains some questionable subject material that is NOT sex.
Author's Note: The CAST PAGE was updated again, to include Cynthia, the Reader. Go check it out, the link is above in the summary!
Chapter Fourteen
It was near eight o'clock, and DG lay resting on the bed, head pillowed on her arms. On the floor beside the bed, Hass and Tory sat with a deck of cards between them. The game of Blackjack was just beginning to get interesting, crossing over with Double Dare, as Tory had nothing but a pocketful of Other Side change and Hass didn't know what to make of the strange coins.
The corporal was holding up a Roosevelt dime and studying the profile on it when there was a sharp knock on the door, one that DG recognised all too well. She left the two boys to their game, hopped off the bed, and crossed the room to unbolt and open the door. The moment she had, Cain was growling at her.
“Get your shoes,” he said curtly.
DG frowned. “Why? Where are we going?” she asked, knowing it was too early to head to the Reader's Parlour.
“You're gonna need a dress. We've gotta go scrounge one up for you.”
“Oh.” Her heart sank. A dress. It only made sense, but still... she hadn't thought, when she'd packed and repacked her rucksack in preparation for this trip, that she would be needing a dress at all. “Okay,” she said with a resigned sigh. She hurried across the small room to pull her sneakers out from underneath the bed. She realized that she was probably going to need shoes, too, unless they found a dress that matched her worn ones, which she knew was highly unlikely. She put her beat-up sneakers on her feet and put on her coat, following Cain out into the hallway. When the door was shut and securely bolted, he led her down the stairs and out into an alley, completely empty but for them, though the street onto which the alley opened was bursting with loud, rapacious life.
“You'd best be puttin' up a disguise,” he told her, though he didn't sound happy at the idea. “Don't want anyone recognizin' you while you're down here.”
DG frowned, but complied. When she felt the magic settle firmly into place, she turned to face him, giving him a moment to memorize her appearance, so he wouldn't lose her in the crowd. “How do I look?” she couldn't help but ask, trying to sound playful.
Cain nodded absently at her. “Just fine, now lets get a move on.”
When he turned away from her, DG realized she'd had quite enough. She wasn't sure how she'd come to that conclusion, but she'd come to it nonetheless. Sneaking a quick peek around to make sure they were completely alone - and they were - she raised her hand and used her magic to haul Cain back two steps and shove him hard against the damp brick wall they stood next to.
“Hey,” he growled, surprised, when he found he couldn't move. DG held her hand up, the soft, faint glow of white light around her palm showing the strain of what she was doing - using her magic against Cain wasn't something she did very often - if ever - and it was more her conscience than her magical stamina that was causing the problem. Steadying herself, she stared hard at him.
“What's your problem, Cain?” she demanded.
The Tin Man sighed, looking down at the small slip of a girl who had him pressed against a wall and completely at her mercy. “Problem?” he reiterated, his lips curling up in a teasing smirk.
DG released him, letting the magic go with a sigh of relief, and Cain relaxed against the wall, not moving, as he realized that was where she wanted him. He watched her carefully as she worded her question in her mind. “Why,” she began, “didn't you tell me about the brothel? I mean, that's a pretty big piece of information to leave out, don't you think?”
“Trust me, Darlin',” he told her, “I'd been arguin' with myself for two days on how to tell you.”
“You can't protect me from this kind of thing.”
Cain snorted. “I can sure as hell try,” he mumbled.
DG felt herself deflate a little at his protectiveness, realizing that a miscommunication was the only problem to be had. “Wyatt,” she said softly. “I don't know what girls are like on this side. I really don't, although I've gotten the idea that I'm not like most of them.” Cain's smirk almost turned into a smile, and it encouraged her. “They've got brothels in Central City, and on the Other Side - maybe not where I grew up, but that doesn't stop you from knowing about things like that. There aren't any restrictions on the type of information children learn as they grow older.”
“A whorehouse in Central City ain't gonna demand an annual of slavery for services rendered, Princess,” Cain grumbled. He reached for her, and pulled her against him; it crossed her mind to fight away from him, but the moment her chest pressed against his, she settled into his embrace, cursing herself the whole while. “I'm just finally gettin' you all to myself now,” he continued, “and you're a fool if you think I'm gonna let you walk in and lay down yourself as payment just to get this gem destroyed.”
DG nodded her understanding, and opened her mouth to speak, but Cain wasn't finished. “I'm beginnin' to think there is more to this than just the Emerald tyin' the Gale's spirit to the O.Z.,” he said slowly. “This has somethin' to do with the Longcoats in the Southeast, and we're gonna figure out what that is. I haven't kept quiet about the fact that I don't think you're gonna find what you're lookin' for tonight.”
Breathing in the familiar scent of his skin, of his clothes, DG let her eyes fall closed for a moment. There was a chance she wasn't going to get the answer she was looking for, it was true enough. But she had to try; her life in the last year was full of instances where failure was imminent, but she'd still tried... and succeeded, against all odds. Hadn't she and Cain left each other on the hill, before storming the Tower, thinking the other was likely to die before the Eclipse was over? He'd been shot and she was thrown off a balcony, but they had made it, because they were both too stubborn to stop.
“We have to try,” she said, finishing her thought vocally. “And I -” She pulled back to look up into his face, knowing that he was seeing someone different but holding her, “- I promise I won't 'lay myself down as payment'. I do have some self-respect, thank you.”
Cain chuckled. “Lets go get this shoppin' trip over with,” he said, kissing her quickly before releasing her and pushing himself away from the wall.
Following quietly behind him, DG smirked to herself every time his arm shot out to stop someone from bumping into her. They walked a few blocks until they came to stop in front of a little shop with front windows painted over in black.
“Charming,” DG muttered, looking up at it. Cain only frowned at her; she held up her hands in surrender. “Hey, you probably know as much about dress shopping as I do,” she told him, and he almost cracked a smile as he held open the door for her, and they both entered the shop.
Inside was dark, musty, and quiet. A few flimsy racks held dresses on padded hangers, and along one wall, three mannequins modelled fashion in grotesque human mockery. DG felt a strange chill; she noticed Cain's discomfort as well, as he drew his duster back to keep his hand firm on the polished grip of his revolver.
“You can keep that thing holstered or get out of my shop!” came a voice out of nowhere. DG whirled around to see a woman coming out of a back room, a few dresses slung over her arm. “You look to be about a five,” she said to DG.
DG's eyebrows shot up in surprise; she stayed huddled near Cain as the woman flitted about the shop, putting away the dresses she held, and grabbing new ones. The proprietor shoved an armload of tulle and taffeta and satin at her.
“These should fit,” she said, pointing to a small alcove with a curtain stretched across. “You can try them on in there.”
“Um, thanks,” DG replied, shooting Cain a quizzical look. The proprietor held back the curtain for DG and she ducked inside the small change room.
The full length mirror in the change room was cracked straight down the middle, and the moment she turned to face it, she let out a startled cry at the sight of green light swimming lazily behind the glass.
“You okay?” Cain asked her from the other side of the curtain.
“Oh... yeah,” she said slowly, as she reached out to touch the dirty glass. The light immediately snaked towards her finger, stretching out thin to do so. Frowning, she ran her finger back and forth a few times, watching as the ribbon of light skimmed along the surface of the mirror, following her every movement. When she took her finger away from the glass, the light waited expectantly for her, barely moving.
After ten minutes of stripping and redressing, DG decided on a pale blue flapper dress that fell to her knees. There was no beading, though the intricate embroidery scrolled across the dress reminded her of a sky with sweeping white clouds. When she checked the label for a price, she was surprised to see it read 'Chanel'. She took it as a good sign. When she left the tiny alcove, she checked the mirror once for the light; it remained, and it twinkled encouragingly at her before disappearing. With a sigh, DG rejoined Cain.
“The light is back,” was all she told him when he noticed her unhappy expression.
The proprietor of the shop was waiting for her with a pair of silver slippers that matched the dress, ones that fit her feet perfectly. Too used to life in the O.Z. to question this fact, DG thanked the kind, eccentric woman profusely as she paid a ridiculously small amount for her purchases - at least in her mind, as she wondered what a vintage Chanel might cost on the Other Side. She and Cain left the shop together, out into the cool air of the underground city. It didn't bother her so much, as long as she tried not to think about it, as long as she didn't look up to see the root structure tangled across the ceiling a few stories above her head.
Back at the rented room, DG dropped her disguise before Cain knocked hard on the door. After letting DG and Cain back into the room, Tory returned to his seat on the bed. His knit cap was back on his head, covering hair that looked slightly damp from a shower; he was thumbing through what DG recognised as a prayer book. Hass had kicked off his shoes and was napping, sitting up in a chair and his feet propped up on a second
DG sat down on the edge of the bed, toeing off her sneakers, and bumping them underneath the bed with her feet. “Its a little different than the Bible,” she told the teenager, with a nod towards the book he read. As Cain went into the bathroom to shower quickly, DG leaned a little closer to the kid. “But you'd be surprised at how much of it is the same. Do unto others, don't murder or steal... all that fun stuff.”
The kid shot her a cynical look. “So you really lived on... on my side?” he asked.
“For fifteen years,” she affirmed with a nod.
“Annuals. They say annuals here, don't they?” Tory cast a look at the sleeping corporal, as if the one person could comprise an entire nation and its people, or even an entire world.
DG only shrugged. “I still say 'years', but yeah. Annuals, same difference.”
There was silence then, and DG listened to the pipes groan in the other room as the shower started. The thought of who was standing in it sent her brain on a distinctly fast trip to the gutter, and she couldn't help but grin. When she looked up, the kid was shaking his head at her in dismay, and she felt herself blush.
“So can I ask you a question?” Tory inquired quietly.
DG laughed. “Another one? You're just full of questions.” But she immediately fell contrite, as she remembered her first day, week, month in the O.Z. Everything had ended in a question and subsequent explanation, and reminded herself to be more patient. “Okay, shoot,” she encouraged.
“So... this book,” Tory said, as he closed the prayer book and laid it down on the bed between them. “All the prayers are to different gods and patrons.”
DG nodded. “Yeah, the gods are like... God, except there are three of them. Patrons are the same as saints.”
Tory shot her a look that told her he'd already figured that out. “Well, there is a prayer in here to a human chick,” he said, and when DG raised her eyebrows at him disapprovingly, he immediately added, “I mean, a young woman.”
DG heaved a sigh, looking down at the prayer book. “Yeah,” she said, knowing instantly to which he referred. “Its a prayer for those who are lost and alone. The young woman was the daughter of an old king. She disappeared without a trace, and she was never found or heard from again. She's referred to as the Child of the Zone, because the old king made a law that no one was allowed to speak her name, because it would cause him too much grief. And then, eventually, people forgot her name.”
Tory nodded slowly, as if he understood, as he mumbled something that sounded like 'She who must not be named', which made her laugh. He picked the book back up and began turning pages once again, his curiosity sated for the moment.
DG sighed. The fact she'd shared with the kid was one she'd learned in her studying, though the reason for her particular research was a little more personal that her usual quest to discover what she could about her new home. She had learned about the daughter of King Pastor, the ruler of the Zone before the appearance of Dorothy Gale, through mere happenstance, gaining the knowledge only through a thirst to know all she could about the ancestor she was trying to help by destroying the Emerald. Dorothy had ruled in the place of the disappeared princess, the end of one noble line and the beginning of another... DG's own.
A grunt from the other side of the room brought DG out of her reverie. Hass was stretching and yawning, finally awake. He looked surprised that he'd slept through the arrival of the princess. “Hey,” he said in greeting with a tired smile. “Did you find what you went looking for?”
DG frowned as she was abruptly brought back to her upcoming task, feeling like her entire body had just come to a crashing halt. She guessed it was nearly nine-thirty, and she felt suddenly sick with herself at what she was about to try and accomplish.
***
Azkadellia dreaded the night.
She spent the evening in conference with the her advisors. She was tired, and felt stretched too thin. Hot cramps burned low in her womb, the reminder that was slowly fading with each passing day; the third day since the miscarriage was drawing to a close, and it was all she could do to stop herself laying her head down on the table and falling asleep. To hell with the Reconstruction, to hell with trade policy with Ev, and to hell with foreign diplomats appearing out of the woodwork to speak to her about the sons of their monarchs. She'd heard 'a quick word' about more princes in the last two days than she'd known existed in the outlying lands.
Sleep, her brain was moaning, wailing like a 'zombie' DG had once imitated for her. Her advisors showed no signs of relenting simply because of her disinterest, however. She sat at a desk as the five advisors faced her, each vying for her attention, shoving at her forms, requisitions, and correspondence. A sixth advisor sat near the opposite end of the room, one gangly leg up and resting on the opposite knee, fingers templed and pressed to his lips. He waited in quiet contemplation for the other hens to finish their clucking.
“Your Majesty, these equipment requisitions from General Marsh require your signature,” said one advisor whose name escaped her; in fact, to her great shame, the only name she knew was that of the man waiting for her at the other end of the room. Of all his counterparts, she could name none.
“These trade contracts will need to be approved, Majesty.”
“The ambassador of neighbouring Ix is requesting an audience.”
“The honours ceremony is tomorrow, Majesty, for the alchemist who created the antiserum to Papay venom, and you have yet to -”
“But the Papay aren't biting people anymore,” Ambrose piped up from behind the group of men that stood before the Queen's desk.
Azkadellia almost smiled, the ghost of it playing on her lips. Yes, the troops in the South needed rations and blankets. Yes, the export of moretanium was feeding their recovering economy. Yes, negotiations must be upheld with Ix and yes, the alchemist needed his recognition, but... she just didn't care. Not at that moment, at any rate, no matter how terrible of a ruler it made her.
“These will be the last orders of business, gentlemen,” Azkadellia said firmly. In quick succession, she signed the requisitions, scanned and approved the contracts, and made notes for her chamberlain to contact the Ixian ambassador and to set up a private meeting with the alchemist after the ceremony. Closing the drawers of her desk, Azkadellia stood, her hands on the sturdy wood to balance herself.
“You are dismissed,” she said. The advisors looked at each other, one to the next, probably wondering which one was going to bring up the stack of documents that still needed to be looked over, business that needed to be dealt with. But the world was not coming to an end, and no enemies were knocking on their doors. The trouble in the South was still speculation. Everything could wait until the morning, and all the Queen of the O.Z. could think about was her bed.
Ambrose lagged behind as the others left, as he usually did. It was becoming habit for him to escort her from place to place, even if it conflicted with his own schedule. While she appreciated his concern, it unnerved her. She knew, somehow, that her sister must be behind it, and the tiny silver line of a scar that peeked out of his hairline in the middle of his forehead was always a massive unspoken truth, a proverbial elephant.
“Majesty,” Ambrose said, and Azkadellia immediately held up a hand.
“No,” she said. “No more tonight. Az or not at all, Ambrose.”
The advisor nodded in understanding. “Az,” he said slowly. “The professor has indicated he'd like to see you again in the morning.”
Azkadellia frowned. Her appointments with the professor were becoming a daily chore. She hated the old man, the infirmary level with its medicinal smell, and the curious looks of staff about the palace as they wondered why their Queen needed to see her physician every day. The gossip would be starting soon, no doubt, though she was certain that none of it would even come close to the truth. So far, all Professor Lyman had been able to do was give her something every night to help her sleep.
“I don't want to talk about the professor,” was Azkadellia's only response. She gathered up the books and papers that needed to accompany her, and walked briskly out of the office, opening the door for herself. She left Ambrose behind, though he was following her in a flash, his long stride overtaking hers in her slim skirt quickly.
Silence followed her from her office to her bedchamber, but for the sound of her feet and those of her guards and the advisor. Using her magic, she opened the door to her suite and slipped through, slamming them closed behind her, her mind on her bed and her bed only. But Ambrose was too quick, and he managed to jump inside the room before the doors shut tight behind him.
“What is it, Ambrose?” she asked him impatiently, but not unkindly.
“Maj- I mean, Azkadellia,” he said, and offered her a contrite smile. “There is still the matter of the Harvest Ball next week.”
Az looked up from putting her stack of books on a side table. “What about the ball?”
Ambrose looked distinctly uncomfortable, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Ambrose was never one to struggle with his words, and she gave him a well-practiced hard look to get him talking.
“Well,” he said, stammering. “There is - that is to say... well...”
“Say it or get out, Ambrose,” she warned. She was past subtlety, and she was nearly past being able to stand on her own to feet. She could almost hear the bed calling her name... and the bed had Jeb's voice. Damn.
“Its your next formal event,” he said slowly, and very carefully. “And please understand that my only concern is your well-being, Majesty, but I worry that... well, there might be a certain individual in attendance... in light of your current... personal...” He trailed off, his hands lifting and falling once uselessly as he realized he didn't know how to finish his sentence. But Azkadellia had most clearly understood his point.
She studied Ambrose for a moment, as he looked at his feet. After an annual of freedom from possession, Azkadellia still had a hard time believing that anyone truly watched out for her well-being. Jeb had, of course, though very begrudgingly at first - their first meeting in the Commander's fortress, she remembered too well the smell and feel of the place and involuntarily, she shivered - but apart from her family, she had never felt anyone's concern to be honest. Ambrose, however...
“Ambrose,” she said slowly, and then a small smile made its way unbidden onto her lips. “Glitch,” she said immediately after, and his eyes rose to meet hers. “I appreciate your consideration, I really do,” she told him, hoping she sounded sincere. “But... there is no need for it. He... he will not be at the Harvest Ball. Nor any other event.”
Ambrose cleared his throat. “I only ask because -”
Azkadellia held up a hand. “It doesn't matter,” she said firmly. “I don't wish to discuss the subject further. I don't want it brought up again, either. He is no one in Central City, and no one that you need worry about. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly, Your Majesty,” Ambrose said, and he gave a bow. Though he tried to wipe the sad expression off his face, it remained in his eyes, and it began to make her uncomfortable. The most intelligent man she'd ever met, her reverence for him as a child as her mother's advisor hadn't dimmed in the last annual, when he'd become her First Advisor. As he excused himself, and left her alone, she wondered - worried - that perhaps he might deduce her secret.
It doesn't matter now, silly, she chastised herself, as she undressed. She hadn't had a ladies' maid attend her since the night it had happened, so the process was slow and difficult. She wanted no help, however, and only wanted to be alone. Shimmying out of her dress and magicking herself out of her corset, her thoughts shifted between her sister and Jeb. Reports from General Andrus were tucked inside one of the books she'd carried upstairs, informing her that the lieutenant had taken the mission into the Black Forest, and had departed the morning before, and there was no knowing when, or if, Jeb's next contact would come.
Crawling into bed, and turning off the lights with a snap of her fingers, she couldn't shake him from her mind. Weeks prior, she'd imagined laying in this bed with Jeb, the sheets tangled from lovemaking. When she'd realized her courses conspicuously missing, and what that inevitably meant, she'd been happy. Anxious, but happy. She'd pictured in her mind telling him, the smile that would have spread across his face. She would have convinced him that there was no shame in their love, that they didn't have to hide... after all, the branches of even the most noble houses of the O.Z. sometimes had a tendency to intertwine.
Now, alone in the darkness, she was unsure. Unsure that he would have smiled, that he would have accepted any proposal she offered. But now, it didn't matter. All she wanted was for him to come home to her alive.
Arms aching for him, and her lips unkissed, the Queen of the O.Z. fell into troubled dreams.
***
“What do you mean I don't get to go?”
Cain was looking at the kid as if he were crazy to argue, the same raised eyebrow and unimpressed smirk that DG had known for so long. She was trying to hide her smile behind her hand, but her shoulders were starting to shake with the giggles she was hard-pressed to swallow back.
“It ain't a place for a kid,” Cain said firmly.
“I'm not a kid!” Tory exclaimed. “And what about her? It doesn't sound like a place for a lady, either.”
Point well taken, DG thought, finally letting out a laugh as Cain sighed heavily. She reached out to touch the Tin Man's arm before the kid caused him any more grief, and when he turned to look at her, she whispered to him, Please, just let me deal with him, okay?
Cain frowned, nodded, and turned away from her, shifting impatiently.
“Trust me, Tory, I'm no lady,” she told the teen with a grin and a wink. “We're not going to be that long, so don't worry. And we'll head straight for Central City in the morning, and get you home. That's good, right?”
Tory shrugged his shoulders non-committally. “What have you got to do in a red-light district, anyway? I mean, you guys don't look like red-light material. Especially Captain Uptight over here,” he said, jerking his chin towards Cain. DG was the only one that heard the low growl escape from Wyatt's throat, and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from laughing again.
“There's a woman I have to meet with,” DG said. “Its just my bad luck that she lives down here is all.”
Tory nodded slowly, not trying to mask his disbelief. “Okay, well,” he said, with a very 'its your funeral' tone, “just don't drink the Kool-Aid.” He nodded once again to affirm the soundest advice he could come up with.
DG smiled at him appreciatively, before turning to Cain once again. “Lets go, Wyatt,” she said. “The sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave the Realm.”
Cain turned to her, agreement written on his face. “Don't let him leave,” he said to Hass, as he nodded at Tory.
If it were possible, Tory looked even more put-out and horrified than he had when he'd been told he wouldn't be joining their foray deeper into the Realm. “I don't need a babysitter!” he exclaimed, with more attitude than even she had ever given Cain.
DG snickered. “Yeah, good luck with that argument,” she told him as Cain opened the door for her.
“You kids be good now,” Hass spoke up from his seat by the window. Though DG didn't catch the patronizing look Cain shot the corporal, she did notice that Hass looked just as unhappy as Cain at what was about to take place. Trying to put her dark thoughts out of her mind, she followed Cain out into the hallway, the sound of the locks sliding into place behind them giving her a chill. After making sure she had a glamour in place, he led her out into the cold night.
The streets were at the high-point of their night-life as DG and Cain set out into the Realm. With too much push and shove among the people on the overcrowded street, Cain kept an arm tight around her, and though she felt it was too much when they left the building in which they were staying, she was glad for it after only a few minutes in the crowd. She clung to him as he navigated the way to the Reader's Parlour.
The forty-five minute walk had her feet aching in the stiff slippers the proprietor of the dress shop had sold her, reminding her too much of the too-small flats she'd trekked to the Gale tomb in a year before. Everything about this night was giving her a bad feeling, and every time she looked up at Cain, and saw the unsettled look in his blue eyes, she knew he felt the same way.
After what had felt like forever, he turned them into an alley that was less crowded, and a short walk later, the alley opened up into a square lined with buildings that all looked alike - white marble faced, thick pillars underneath ornate balconies, a great fountain set in the very middle. The statue in the center of the fountain was of two lovers clearly in the throes of passion - it made DG blush to look at it. Cain said nothing, but she caught him eyeing it warily as they passed.
Though on first glance not one building had stood out from any other, DG soon realized that the one they were heading towards was different. It towered higher, almost to the rooted ceiling, and the stone pillars were carved with ivy and flowers. As they came closer, the minute details of the pillars surprised her - the ivy leaves looked soft to the touch, the flower petals lush enough to eat. DG felt immediately calm, and then instantaneously suspicious of her change in mood. Something wasn't right... or perhaps there was a magic about the place, purposefully causing her to feel light and trusting.
Ohh, we're in trouble.
The doors opened, seemingly on their own, when DG and Cain approached, but as they entered the building, she noticed two guards standing on the inside, flanking the entrance. Their uniforms were much more elegant than those of the palace guards in Central City, and the deeper into the building they went, the more DG felt like a country mouse, no matter that she was truly a princess and lived in a towering palace. Such a display of wealth she'd never seen in her life. The walls were covered in silky fabric, the oil paintings hanging on the walls were similar to the fountain outside, and after the first two, DG stopped looking at them, ignoring her artist's curiosity as a certain prudishness set in at the sight of so many naked, sprawling figures.
She reached for Cain's hand and squeezed it hard, glad for the strength he gave her when he squeezed her fingers back.
A maid appeared, wearing a slinky, barely-there uniform; made of the reddest lace DG had ever seen, it covered her breasts, her sex, and little else, both cheeks of her bottom exposed for all to see. DG didn't think her face could turn redder than the girl's uniform, but she was sure her face was making an attempt.
“My name is Alessia. Is there anything I can do to help you?” the maid asked pleasantly, as if she weren't dressed in tiny lingerie.
Cain cleared his throat. “This girl is here to see Cynthia,” he said, jerking a thumb at DG.
Alessia smiled, giving Cain a good look-over before turning to DG; the princess was sure the maid before her didn't have men looking her in the eye very often, as Cain had, and she felt a swell of pride at the Tin Man who was all hers.
“Well, then, if you'll follow me,” Alessia said in a very business like manner. “Sir, if you please, wait here and I will be back to escort you to a chamber where you may rest and eat.”
“What? No,” DG said firmly. “He comes with me.”
Alessia shook her head. “No, Miss, I'm sorry, but he cannot go with you, unless he, too, is here to see the Reader.”
Cain grunted disapprovingly. “That I'm surely not,” he told the maid, before turning to DG. Ignoring the girl that waited patiently beside them, he lifted a hand to her face, brushing a thumb quickly, heavily across her cheek. “I'll be waitin' for when you're done, and we'll get outta here. Together,” he whispered. His eyes lowered to her lips for a minute, and she felt a painful yearning for his kiss, but instead, he dropped his hand and backed away. “Good luck, Darlin'.”
DG's eyebrows perked in disbelief as he stepped back. “Wyatt?” she asked him, uncertain, but he only nodded at her, his blue eyes saying more to her than his mouth could in current company.
Trying to stop her lip from trembling, DG turned away from him and towards the maid who waited. “All right,” she said. “Lead the way.”
Alessia smiled brightly, and held out a hand for DG. When DG made no move, the maid jerked her fingers slightly, and with a complying sigh, DG took the girl's hand. She allowed Alessia to lead her from the room, through a set of beautifully carved wooden doors. Casting one last look over her shoulder, she saw Cain looking down at the floor, both hands gripping his belt. He didn't see her look back.
The room she was led to was lined with sofas, each covered in gigantic throw pillows coloured in deep red, purple, and black. A white door was set at the opposite end of the room, and DG was certain behind it was the Reader's Parlour.
Two other women and a man sat in the room, all waiting, she assumed, to see the Reader. As Alessia showed her a seat, DG perched herself uncomfortably on the edge of one of the sofas, amazed at how she nearly fell into it, it was so soft. Fingers curling around the edge of the seat, holding herself upright, DG watched the floor, letting the seconds on the gold wall clock tick away.
Minutes passed, and then more minutes. DG sighed, chewing on her lip and trying to stop her knee from bouncing. She was just daring herself to look at the clock when the white door across from her opened, and out stepped a woman, one DG could only assume was Cynthia, the Reader.
She was beautiful, that fact DG noticed first. Her hair was a pale yellow that had begun to fade to silver; her face was smooth but for a few lines near her eyes. The dress she wore had fringes of beads covering every inch of it, and even across the room, DG could hear the tinkle and swish of the dress as the woman walked.
Cynthia scanned each face that she was presented with critically, and when her eyes landed on DG, she smiled, which quickly turned into a chuckle. “You,” she said, pointing her finger at DG.
Surprised, DG touched her chest. Cynthia nodded.
“Yes,” she said again, crooking the finger towards her in a 'come here' gesture. “You. Now.”
Author's Note II: So, bad outlining strikes again - the visit to the Reader was once one chapter and now its two, or maybe three. Not that you're complaining, haha. Well, maybe you're complaining about where I left it off. Ah well, ya'll are at my writing mercy. Leave me one, you know I love 'em! And remember - CAST PAGE!
Table Of Contents:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10
11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20
21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30
31 - 32 - 33 - 34 - 35 - 36 - 37 - 38 - 39 - 40
41 - 42 - 43 - 44 - 45 - 46 - 47 - 48
Author: Rissy James
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, Jeb, Glitch, Raw, Tutor, the Queen, Ahamo, and some old & new OCs (updated 03.09.09)
Pairing: Established Cain/DG; established Jeb/Az
Rating: M
Summary: Sequel to " Of Light". After an annual of living in the O.Z., DG sets out to complete the task given to her by the Gale. Soon, she must learn that there is always more to everything than first meets the eye. (updated 03.18.09)
Extras: Cast Page on livejournal.com (updated 04.10.09)
Warning: This contains some questionable subject material that is NOT sex.
Author's Note: The CAST PAGE was updated again, to include Cynthia, the Reader. Go check it out, the link is above in the summary!
Chapter Fourteen
It was near eight o'clock, and DG lay resting on the bed, head pillowed on her arms. On the floor beside the bed, Hass and Tory sat with a deck of cards between them. The game of Blackjack was just beginning to get interesting, crossing over with Double Dare, as Tory had nothing but a pocketful of Other Side change and Hass didn't know what to make of the strange coins.
The corporal was holding up a Roosevelt dime and studying the profile on it when there was a sharp knock on the door, one that DG recognised all too well. She left the two boys to their game, hopped off the bed, and crossed the room to unbolt and open the door. The moment she had, Cain was growling at her.
“Get your shoes,” he said curtly.
DG frowned. “Why? Where are we going?” she asked, knowing it was too early to head to the Reader's Parlour.
“You're gonna need a dress. We've gotta go scrounge one up for you.”
“Oh.” Her heart sank. A dress. It only made sense, but still... she hadn't thought, when she'd packed and repacked her rucksack in preparation for this trip, that she would be needing a dress at all. “Okay,” she said with a resigned sigh. She hurried across the small room to pull her sneakers out from underneath the bed. She realized that she was probably going to need shoes, too, unless they found a dress that matched her worn ones, which she knew was highly unlikely. She put her beat-up sneakers on her feet and put on her coat, following Cain out into the hallway. When the door was shut and securely bolted, he led her down the stairs and out into an alley, completely empty but for them, though the street onto which the alley opened was bursting with loud, rapacious life.
“You'd best be puttin' up a disguise,” he told her, though he didn't sound happy at the idea. “Don't want anyone recognizin' you while you're down here.”
DG frowned, but complied. When she felt the magic settle firmly into place, she turned to face him, giving him a moment to memorize her appearance, so he wouldn't lose her in the crowd. “How do I look?” she couldn't help but ask, trying to sound playful.
Cain nodded absently at her. “Just fine, now lets get a move on.”
When he turned away from her, DG realized she'd had quite enough. She wasn't sure how she'd come to that conclusion, but she'd come to it nonetheless. Sneaking a quick peek around to make sure they were completely alone - and they were - she raised her hand and used her magic to haul Cain back two steps and shove him hard against the damp brick wall they stood next to.
“Hey,” he growled, surprised, when he found he couldn't move. DG held her hand up, the soft, faint glow of white light around her palm showing the strain of what she was doing - using her magic against Cain wasn't something she did very often - if ever - and it was more her conscience than her magical stamina that was causing the problem. Steadying herself, she stared hard at him.
“What's your problem, Cain?” she demanded.
The Tin Man sighed, looking down at the small slip of a girl who had him pressed against a wall and completely at her mercy. “Problem?” he reiterated, his lips curling up in a teasing smirk.
DG released him, letting the magic go with a sigh of relief, and Cain relaxed against the wall, not moving, as he realized that was where she wanted him. He watched her carefully as she worded her question in her mind. “Why,” she began, “didn't you tell me about the brothel? I mean, that's a pretty big piece of information to leave out, don't you think?”
“Trust me, Darlin',” he told her, “I'd been arguin' with myself for two days on how to tell you.”
“You can't protect me from this kind of thing.”
Cain snorted. “I can sure as hell try,” he mumbled.
DG felt herself deflate a little at his protectiveness, realizing that a miscommunication was the only problem to be had. “Wyatt,” she said softly. “I don't know what girls are like on this side. I really don't, although I've gotten the idea that I'm not like most of them.” Cain's smirk almost turned into a smile, and it encouraged her. “They've got brothels in Central City, and on the Other Side - maybe not where I grew up, but that doesn't stop you from knowing about things like that. There aren't any restrictions on the type of information children learn as they grow older.”
“A whorehouse in Central City ain't gonna demand an annual of slavery for services rendered, Princess,” Cain grumbled. He reached for her, and pulled her against him; it crossed her mind to fight away from him, but the moment her chest pressed against his, she settled into his embrace, cursing herself the whole while. “I'm just finally gettin' you all to myself now,” he continued, “and you're a fool if you think I'm gonna let you walk in and lay down yourself as payment just to get this gem destroyed.”
DG nodded her understanding, and opened her mouth to speak, but Cain wasn't finished. “I'm beginnin' to think there is more to this than just the Emerald tyin' the Gale's spirit to the O.Z.,” he said slowly. “This has somethin' to do with the Longcoats in the Southeast, and we're gonna figure out what that is. I haven't kept quiet about the fact that I don't think you're gonna find what you're lookin' for tonight.”
Breathing in the familiar scent of his skin, of his clothes, DG let her eyes fall closed for a moment. There was a chance she wasn't going to get the answer she was looking for, it was true enough. But she had to try; her life in the last year was full of instances where failure was imminent, but she'd still tried... and succeeded, against all odds. Hadn't she and Cain left each other on the hill, before storming the Tower, thinking the other was likely to die before the Eclipse was over? He'd been shot and she was thrown off a balcony, but they had made it, because they were both too stubborn to stop.
“We have to try,” she said, finishing her thought vocally. “And I -” She pulled back to look up into his face, knowing that he was seeing someone different but holding her, “- I promise I won't 'lay myself down as payment'. I do have some self-respect, thank you.”
Cain chuckled. “Lets go get this shoppin' trip over with,” he said, kissing her quickly before releasing her and pushing himself away from the wall.
Following quietly behind him, DG smirked to herself every time his arm shot out to stop someone from bumping into her. They walked a few blocks until they came to stop in front of a little shop with front windows painted over in black.
“Charming,” DG muttered, looking up at it. Cain only frowned at her; she held up her hands in surrender. “Hey, you probably know as much about dress shopping as I do,” she told him, and he almost cracked a smile as he held open the door for her, and they both entered the shop.
Inside was dark, musty, and quiet. A few flimsy racks held dresses on padded hangers, and along one wall, three mannequins modelled fashion in grotesque human mockery. DG felt a strange chill; she noticed Cain's discomfort as well, as he drew his duster back to keep his hand firm on the polished grip of his revolver.
“You can keep that thing holstered or get out of my shop!” came a voice out of nowhere. DG whirled around to see a woman coming out of a back room, a few dresses slung over her arm. “You look to be about a five,” she said to DG.
DG's eyebrows shot up in surprise; she stayed huddled near Cain as the woman flitted about the shop, putting away the dresses she held, and grabbing new ones. The proprietor shoved an armload of tulle and taffeta and satin at her.
“These should fit,” she said, pointing to a small alcove with a curtain stretched across. “You can try them on in there.”
“Um, thanks,” DG replied, shooting Cain a quizzical look. The proprietor held back the curtain for DG and she ducked inside the small change room.
The full length mirror in the change room was cracked straight down the middle, and the moment she turned to face it, she let out a startled cry at the sight of green light swimming lazily behind the glass.
“You okay?” Cain asked her from the other side of the curtain.
“Oh... yeah,” she said slowly, as she reached out to touch the dirty glass. The light immediately snaked towards her finger, stretching out thin to do so. Frowning, she ran her finger back and forth a few times, watching as the ribbon of light skimmed along the surface of the mirror, following her every movement. When she took her finger away from the glass, the light waited expectantly for her, barely moving.
After ten minutes of stripping and redressing, DG decided on a pale blue flapper dress that fell to her knees. There was no beading, though the intricate embroidery scrolled across the dress reminded her of a sky with sweeping white clouds. When she checked the label for a price, she was surprised to see it read 'Chanel'. She took it as a good sign. When she left the tiny alcove, she checked the mirror once for the light; it remained, and it twinkled encouragingly at her before disappearing. With a sigh, DG rejoined Cain.
“The light is back,” was all she told him when he noticed her unhappy expression.
The proprietor of the shop was waiting for her with a pair of silver slippers that matched the dress, ones that fit her feet perfectly. Too used to life in the O.Z. to question this fact, DG thanked the kind, eccentric woman profusely as she paid a ridiculously small amount for her purchases - at least in her mind, as she wondered what a vintage Chanel might cost on the Other Side. She and Cain left the shop together, out into the cool air of the underground city. It didn't bother her so much, as long as she tried not to think about it, as long as she didn't look up to see the root structure tangled across the ceiling a few stories above her head.
Back at the rented room, DG dropped her disguise before Cain knocked hard on the door. After letting DG and Cain back into the room, Tory returned to his seat on the bed. His knit cap was back on his head, covering hair that looked slightly damp from a shower; he was thumbing through what DG recognised as a prayer book. Hass had kicked off his shoes and was napping, sitting up in a chair and his feet propped up on a second
DG sat down on the edge of the bed, toeing off her sneakers, and bumping them underneath the bed with her feet. “Its a little different than the Bible,” she told the teenager, with a nod towards the book he read. As Cain went into the bathroom to shower quickly, DG leaned a little closer to the kid. “But you'd be surprised at how much of it is the same. Do unto others, don't murder or steal... all that fun stuff.”
The kid shot her a cynical look. “So you really lived on... on my side?” he asked.
“For fifteen years,” she affirmed with a nod.
“Annuals. They say annuals here, don't they?” Tory cast a look at the sleeping corporal, as if the one person could comprise an entire nation and its people, or even an entire world.
DG only shrugged. “I still say 'years', but yeah. Annuals, same difference.”
There was silence then, and DG listened to the pipes groan in the other room as the shower started. The thought of who was standing in it sent her brain on a distinctly fast trip to the gutter, and she couldn't help but grin. When she looked up, the kid was shaking his head at her in dismay, and she felt herself blush.
“So can I ask you a question?” Tory inquired quietly.
DG laughed. “Another one? You're just full of questions.” But she immediately fell contrite, as she remembered her first day, week, month in the O.Z. Everything had ended in a question and subsequent explanation, and reminded herself to be more patient. “Okay, shoot,” she encouraged.
“So... this book,” Tory said, as he closed the prayer book and laid it down on the bed between them. “All the prayers are to different gods and patrons.”
DG nodded. “Yeah, the gods are like... God, except there are three of them. Patrons are the same as saints.”
Tory shot her a look that told her he'd already figured that out. “Well, there is a prayer in here to a human chick,” he said, and when DG raised her eyebrows at him disapprovingly, he immediately added, “I mean, a young woman.”
DG heaved a sigh, looking down at the prayer book. “Yeah,” she said, knowing instantly to which he referred. “Its a prayer for those who are lost and alone. The young woman was the daughter of an old king. She disappeared without a trace, and she was never found or heard from again. She's referred to as the Child of the Zone, because the old king made a law that no one was allowed to speak her name, because it would cause him too much grief. And then, eventually, people forgot her name.”
Tory nodded slowly, as if he understood, as he mumbled something that sounded like 'She who must not be named', which made her laugh. He picked the book back up and began turning pages once again, his curiosity sated for the moment.
DG sighed. The fact she'd shared with the kid was one she'd learned in her studying, though the reason for her particular research was a little more personal that her usual quest to discover what she could about her new home. She had learned about the daughter of King Pastor, the ruler of the Zone before the appearance of Dorothy Gale, through mere happenstance, gaining the knowledge only through a thirst to know all she could about the ancestor she was trying to help by destroying the Emerald. Dorothy had ruled in the place of the disappeared princess, the end of one noble line and the beginning of another... DG's own.
A grunt from the other side of the room brought DG out of her reverie. Hass was stretching and yawning, finally awake. He looked surprised that he'd slept through the arrival of the princess. “Hey,” he said in greeting with a tired smile. “Did you find what you went looking for?”
DG frowned as she was abruptly brought back to her upcoming task, feeling like her entire body had just come to a crashing halt. She guessed it was nearly nine-thirty, and she felt suddenly sick with herself at what she was about to try and accomplish.
***
Azkadellia dreaded the night.
She spent the evening in conference with the her advisors. She was tired, and felt stretched too thin. Hot cramps burned low in her womb, the reminder that was slowly fading with each passing day; the third day since the miscarriage was drawing to a close, and it was all she could do to stop herself laying her head down on the table and falling asleep. To hell with the Reconstruction, to hell with trade policy with Ev, and to hell with foreign diplomats appearing out of the woodwork to speak to her about the sons of their monarchs. She'd heard 'a quick word' about more princes in the last two days than she'd known existed in the outlying lands.
Sleep, her brain was moaning, wailing like a 'zombie' DG had once imitated for her. Her advisors showed no signs of relenting simply because of her disinterest, however. She sat at a desk as the five advisors faced her, each vying for her attention, shoving at her forms, requisitions, and correspondence. A sixth advisor sat near the opposite end of the room, one gangly leg up and resting on the opposite knee, fingers templed and pressed to his lips. He waited in quiet contemplation for the other hens to finish their clucking.
“Your Majesty, these equipment requisitions from General Marsh require your signature,” said one advisor whose name escaped her; in fact, to her great shame, the only name she knew was that of the man waiting for her at the other end of the room. Of all his counterparts, she could name none.
“These trade contracts will need to be approved, Majesty.”
“The ambassador of neighbouring Ix is requesting an audience.”
“The honours ceremony is tomorrow, Majesty, for the alchemist who created the antiserum to Papay venom, and you have yet to -”
“But the Papay aren't biting people anymore,” Ambrose piped up from behind the group of men that stood before the Queen's desk.
Azkadellia almost smiled, the ghost of it playing on her lips. Yes, the troops in the South needed rations and blankets. Yes, the export of moretanium was feeding their recovering economy. Yes, negotiations must be upheld with Ix and yes, the alchemist needed his recognition, but... she just didn't care. Not at that moment, at any rate, no matter how terrible of a ruler it made her.
“These will be the last orders of business, gentlemen,” Azkadellia said firmly. In quick succession, she signed the requisitions, scanned and approved the contracts, and made notes for her chamberlain to contact the Ixian ambassador and to set up a private meeting with the alchemist after the ceremony. Closing the drawers of her desk, Azkadellia stood, her hands on the sturdy wood to balance herself.
“You are dismissed,” she said. The advisors looked at each other, one to the next, probably wondering which one was going to bring up the stack of documents that still needed to be looked over, business that needed to be dealt with. But the world was not coming to an end, and no enemies were knocking on their doors. The trouble in the South was still speculation. Everything could wait until the morning, and all the Queen of the O.Z. could think about was her bed.
Ambrose lagged behind as the others left, as he usually did. It was becoming habit for him to escort her from place to place, even if it conflicted with his own schedule. While she appreciated his concern, it unnerved her. She knew, somehow, that her sister must be behind it, and the tiny silver line of a scar that peeked out of his hairline in the middle of his forehead was always a massive unspoken truth, a proverbial elephant.
“Majesty,” Ambrose said, and Azkadellia immediately held up a hand.
“No,” she said. “No more tonight. Az or not at all, Ambrose.”
The advisor nodded in understanding. “Az,” he said slowly. “The professor has indicated he'd like to see you again in the morning.”
Azkadellia frowned. Her appointments with the professor were becoming a daily chore. She hated the old man, the infirmary level with its medicinal smell, and the curious looks of staff about the palace as they wondered why their Queen needed to see her physician every day. The gossip would be starting soon, no doubt, though she was certain that none of it would even come close to the truth. So far, all Professor Lyman had been able to do was give her something every night to help her sleep.
“I don't want to talk about the professor,” was Azkadellia's only response. She gathered up the books and papers that needed to accompany her, and walked briskly out of the office, opening the door for herself. She left Ambrose behind, though he was following her in a flash, his long stride overtaking hers in her slim skirt quickly.
Silence followed her from her office to her bedchamber, but for the sound of her feet and those of her guards and the advisor. Using her magic, she opened the door to her suite and slipped through, slamming them closed behind her, her mind on her bed and her bed only. But Ambrose was too quick, and he managed to jump inside the room before the doors shut tight behind him.
“What is it, Ambrose?” she asked him impatiently, but not unkindly.
“Maj- I mean, Azkadellia,” he said, and offered her a contrite smile. “There is still the matter of the Harvest Ball next week.”
Az looked up from putting her stack of books on a side table. “What about the ball?”
Ambrose looked distinctly uncomfortable, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Ambrose was never one to struggle with his words, and she gave him a well-practiced hard look to get him talking.
“Well,” he said, stammering. “There is - that is to say... well...”
“Say it or get out, Ambrose,” she warned. She was past subtlety, and she was nearly past being able to stand on her own to feet. She could almost hear the bed calling her name... and the bed had Jeb's voice. Damn.
“Its your next formal event,” he said slowly, and very carefully. “And please understand that my only concern is your well-being, Majesty, but I worry that... well, there might be a certain individual in attendance... in light of your current... personal...” He trailed off, his hands lifting and falling once uselessly as he realized he didn't know how to finish his sentence. But Azkadellia had most clearly understood his point.
She studied Ambrose for a moment, as he looked at his feet. After an annual of freedom from possession, Azkadellia still had a hard time believing that anyone truly watched out for her well-being. Jeb had, of course, though very begrudgingly at first - their first meeting in the Commander's fortress, she remembered too well the smell and feel of the place and involuntarily, she shivered - but apart from her family, she had never felt anyone's concern to be honest. Ambrose, however...
“Ambrose,” she said slowly, and then a small smile made its way unbidden onto her lips. “Glitch,” she said immediately after, and his eyes rose to meet hers. “I appreciate your consideration, I really do,” she told him, hoping she sounded sincere. “But... there is no need for it. He... he will not be at the Harvest Ball. Nor any other event.”
Ambrose cleared his throat. “I only ask because -”
Azkadellia held up a hand. “It doesn't matter,” she said firmly. “I don't wish to discuss the subject further. I don't want it brought up again, either. He is no one in Central City, and no one that you need worry about. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly, Your Majesty,” Ambrose said, and he gave a bow. Though he tried to wipe the sad expression off his face, it remained in his eyes, and it began to make her uncomfortable. The most intelligent man she'd ever met, her reverence for him as a child as her mother's advisor hadn't dimmed in the last annual, when he'd become her First Advisor. As he excused himself, and left her alone, she wondered - worried - that perhaps he might deduce her secret.
It doesn't matter now, silly, she chastised herself, as she undressed. She hadn't had a ladies' maid attend her since the night it had happened, so the process was slow and difficult. She wanted no help, however, and only wanted to be alone. Shimmying out of her dress and magicking herself out of her corset, her thoughts shifted between her sister and Jeb. Reports from General Andrus were tucked inside one of the books she'd carried upstairs, informing her that the lieutenant had taken the mission into the Black Forest, and had departed the morning before, and there was no knowing when, or if, Jeb's next contact would come.
Crawling into bed, and turning off the lights with a snap of her fingers, she couldn't shake him from her mind. Weeks prior, she'd imagined laying in this bed with Jeb, the sheets tangled from lovemaking. When she'd realized her courses conspicuously missing, and what that inevitably meant, she'd been happy. Anxious, but happy. She'd pictured in her mind telling him, the smile that would have spread across his face. She would have convinced him that there was no shame in their love, that they didn't have to hide... after all, the branches of even the most noble houses of the O.Z. sometimes had a tendency to intertwine.
Now, alone in the darkness, she was unsure. Unsure that he would have smiled, that he would have accepted any proposal she offered. But now, it didn't matter. All she wanted was for him to come home to her alive.
Arms aching for him, and her lips unkissed, the Queen of the O.Z. fell into troubled dreams.
***
“What do you mean I don't get to go?”
Cain was looking at the kid as if he were crazy to argue, the same raised eyebrow and unimpressed smirk that DG had known for so long. She was trying to hide her smile behind her hand, but her shoulders were starting to shake with the giggles she was hard-pressed to swallow back.
“It ain't a place for a kid,” Cain said firmly.
“I'm not a kid!” Tory exclaimed. “And what about her? It doesn't sound like a place for a lady, either.”
Point well taken, DG thought, finally letting out a laugh as Cain sighed heavily. She reached out to touch the Tin Man's arm before the kid caused him any more grief, and when he turned to look at her, she whispered to him, Please, just let me deal with him, okay?
Cain frowned, nodded, and turned away from her, shifting impatiently.
“Trust me, Tory, I'm no lady,” she told the teen with a grin and a wink. “We're not going to be that long, so don't worry. And we'll head straight for Central City in the morning, and get you home. That's good, right?”
Tory shrugged his shoulders non-committally. “What have you got to do in a red-light district, anyway? I mean, you guys don't look like red-light material. Especially Captain Uptight over here,” he said, jerking his chin towards Cain. DG was the only one that heard the low growl escape from Wyatt's throat, and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from laughing again.
“There's a woman I have to meet with,” DG said. “Its just my bad luck that she lives down here is all.”
Tory nodded slowly, not trying to mask his disbelief. “Okay, well,” he said, with a very 'its your funeral' tone, “just don't drink the Kool-Aid.” He nodded once again to affirm the soundest advice he could come up with.
DG smiled at him appreciatively, before turning to Cain once again. “Lets go, Wyatt,” she said. “The sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave the Realm.”
Cain turned to her, agreement written on his face. “Don't let him leave,” he said to Hass, as he nodded at Tory.
If it were possible, Tory looked even more put-out and horrified than he had when he'd been told he wouldn't be joining their foray deeper into the Realm. “I don't need a babysitter!” he exclaimed, with more attitude than even she had ever given Cain.
DG snickered. “Yeah, good luck with that argument,” she told him as Cain opened the door for her.
“You kids be good now,” Hass spoke up from his seat by the window. Though DG didn't catch the patronizing look Cain shot the corporal, she did notice that Hass looked just as unhappy as Cain at what was about to take place. Trying to put her dark thoughts out of her mind, she followed Cain out into the hallway, the sound of the locks sliding into place behind them giving her a chill. After making sure she had a glamour in place, he led her out into the cold night.
The streets were at the high-point of their night-life as DG and Cain set out into the Realm. With too much push and shove among the people on the overcrowded street, Cain kept an arm tight around her, and though she felt it was too much when they left the building in which they were staying, she was glad for it after only a few minutes in the crowd. She clung to him as he navigated the way to the Reader's Parlour.
The forty-five minute walk had her feet aching in the stiff slippers the proprietor of the dress shop had sold her, reminding her too much of the too-small flats she'd trekked to the Gale tomb in a year before. Everything about this night was giving her a bad feeling, and every time she looked up at Cain, and saw the unsettled look in his blue eyes, she knew he felt the same way.
After what had felt like forever, he turned them into an alley that was less crowded, and a short walk later, the alley opened up into a square lined with buildings that all looked alike - white marble faced, thick pillars underneath ornate balconies, a great fountain set in the very middle. The statue in the center of the fountain was of two lovers clearly in the throes of passion - it made DG blush to look at it. Cain said nothing, but she caught him eyeing it warily as they passed.
Though on first glance not one building had stood out from any other, DG soon realized that the one they were heading towards was different. It towered higher, almost to the rooted ceiling, and the stone pillars were carved with ivy and flowers. As they came closer, the minute details of the pillars surprised her - the ivy leaves looked soft to the touch, the flower petals lush enough to eat. DG felt immediately calm, and then instantaneously suspicious of her change in mood. Something wasn't right... or perhaps there was a magic about the place, purposefully causing her to feel light and trusting.
Ohh, we're in trouble.
The doors opened, seemingly on their own, when DG and Cain approached, but as they entered the building, she noticed two guards standing on the inside, flanking the entrance. Their uniforms were much more elegant than those of the palace guards in Central City, and the deeper into the building they went, the more DG felt like a country mouse, no matter that she was truly a princess and lived in a towering palace. Such a display of wealth she'd never seen in her life. The walls were covered in silky fabric, the oil paintings hanging on the walls were similar to the fountain outside, and after the first two, DG stopped looking at them, ignoring her artist's curiosity as a certain prudishness set in at the sight of so many naked, sprawling figures.
She reached for Cain's hand and squeezed it hard, glad for the strength he gave her when he squeezed her fingers back.
A maid appeared, wearing a slinky, barely-there uniform; made of the reddest lace DG had ever seen, it covered her breasts, her sex, and little else, both cheeks of her bottom exposed for all to see. DG didn't think her face could turn redder than the girl's uniform, but she was sure her face was making an attempt.
“My name is Alessia. Is there anything I can do to help you?” the maid asked pleasantly, as if she weren't dressed in tiny lingerie.
Cain cleared his throat. “This girl is here to see Cynthia,” he said, jerking a thumb at DG.
Alessia smiled, giving Cain a good look-over before turning to DG; the princess was sure the maid before her didn't have men looking her in the eye very often, as Cain had, and she felt a swell of pride at the Tin Man who was all hers.
“Well, then, if you'll follow me,” Alessia said in a very business like manner. “Sir, if you please, wait here and I will be back to escort you to a chamber where you may rest and eat.”
“What? No,” DG said firmly. “He comes with me.”
Alessia shook her head. “No, Miss, I'm sorry, but he cannot go with you, unless he, too, is here to see the Reader.”
Cain grunted disapprovingly. “That I'm surely not,” he told the maid, before turning to DG. Ignoring the girl that waited patiently beside them, he lifted a hand to her face, brushing a thumb quickly, heavily across her cheek. “I'll be waitin' for when you're done, and we'll get outta here. Together,” he whispered. His eyes lowered to her lips for a minute, and she felt a painful yearning for his kiss, but instead, he dropped his hand and backed away. “Good luck, Darlin'.”
DG's eyebrows perked in disbelief as he stepped back. “Wyatt?” she asked him, uncertain, but he only nodded at her, his blue eyes saying more to her than his mouth could in current company.
Trying to stop her lip from trembling, DG turned away from him and towards the maid who waited. “All right,” she said. “Lead the way.”
Alessia smiled brightly, and held out a hand for DG. When DG made no move, the maid jerked her fingers slightly, and with a complying sigh, DG took the girl's hand. She allowed Alessia to lead her from the room, through a set of beautifully carved wooden doors. Casting one last look over her shoulder, she saw Cain looking down at the floor, both hands gripping his belt. He didn't see her look back.
The room she was led to was lined with sofas, each covered in gigantic throw pillows coloured in deep red, purple, and black. A white door was set at the opposite end of the room, and DG was certain behind it was the Reader's Parlour.
Two other women and a man sat in the room, all waiting, she assumed, to see the Reader. As Alessia showed her a seat, DG perched herself uncomfortably on the edge of one of the sofas, amazed at how she nearly fell into it, it was so soft. Fingers curling around the edge of the seat, holding herself upright, DG watched the floor, letting the seconds on the gold wall clock tick away.
Minutes passed, and then more minutes. DG sighed, chewing on her lip and trying to stop her knee from bouncing. She was just daring herself to look at the clock when the white door across from her opened, and out stepped a woman, one DG could only assume was Cynthia, the Reader.
She was beautiful, that fact DG noticed first. Her hair was a pale yellow that had begun to fade to silver; her face was smooth but for a few lines near her eyes. The dress she wore had fringes of beads covering every inch of it, and even across the room, DG could hear the tinkle and swish of the dress as the woman walked.
Cynthia scanned each face that she was presented with critically, and when her eyes landed on DG, she smiled, which quickly turned into a chuckle. “You,” she said, pointing her finger at DG.
Surprised, DG touched her chest. Cynthia nodded.
“Yes,” she said again, crooking the finger towards her in a 'come here' gesture. “You. Now.”
Author's Note II: So, bad outlining strikes again - the visit to the Reader was once one chapter and now its two, or maybe three. Not that you're complaining, haha. Well, maybe you're complaining about where I left it off. Ah well, ya'll are at my writing mercy. Leave me one, you know I love 'em! And remember - CAST PAGE!
Table Of Contents:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10
11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20
21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30
31 - 32 - 33 - 34 - 35 - 36 - 37 - 38 - 39 - 40
41 - 42 - 43 - 44 - 45 - 46 - 47 - 48