The Consort, Chapter 21
Friday
DG emerged from her bedroom after her third good cry of the day, breathing deeply to re-center herself. Part of her missed the disaffected bundle of denial she’d been for the first few days of her widowhood. Releasing her grief had the unfortunate side effect of keeping it closer to the surface all the damned time, and she’d had to excuse herself a few times from company. Happily, no one seemed to notice, or if they did, they had the good grace not to show it. She was managing to stay in control in public, waiting until she’d shut and locked the door of her bedroom before letting the tears fall.
Stress and preoccupation weren’t helping. The Prime Minister of Flornistan had seemed both taken aback and sufficiently contrite when she’d dressed him down over viewscreen the previous afternoon, swearing he hadn’t any knowledge of these Longcoat refugees and that he’d be sending a squad of his own men to find Cain’s body. She’d smiled and thanked him while leaving no doubt in his mind that if results weren’t forthcoming and right quick, she’d gladly supplement his army with her own in double the numbers.
Oh yes, he’d been impressed. Cowed by her wrath and her righteous Queenly force.
And so far, not a peep.
Recovering Cain’s body in time for his memorial was fast becoming a pipe dream. The event had never been planned to include his physical remains, but DG hated the idea of participating in this remembrance of her husband’s life when she hadn’t been able to bury him, or see him, or touch what was left of him.
Her daily fix of grief-bonding with her subjects had been taken from her, too. Gale Square was being reconfigured to accommodate the setup for the memorial and the huge crowds of onlookers, and the citizens who’d spontaneously gathered to mourn together had been asked to help clear away the flowers and mementos, short of throwing them away. Quite on their own, the masses had quietly picked everything up and moved it to nearby Borealis Park, filling the central oval green and setting up walking paths so people could look at what others had left and add their own tokens. There was no longer anyone down in Gale Square except crews setting up the stage and chairs, and some smaller pockets of mourners who hadn’t yet gotten the memo about Borealis Park.
She checked her wristwatch. She had a free half hour before she was due to meet with the cabinet again, and then with the memorial committee. There was only one place she wanted to be if she couldn’t be in the Square.
Thelma Winterset had been as good as her word, working nonstop, and the painting would certainly be finished in time for the memorial. DG had spent a lot of time with her while she painted. She went there now and found Thelma taking a break and eating lunch off a silver tray. “Hello,” Thelma said, brightly. DG had finally managed to get her to call her by her name and stop giving her the Your Majesty treatment.
“Hi,” DG said, plopping down at her side.
“You want a sandwich? They’re delicious.”
“No thanks, I had lunch.”
“Did you eat any of it?”
DG smiled. “Yes, I did.”
“Good.”
“How’s the portrait?”
“Come see!”
“Oh, no…I think I’ll wait now until it’s done. I’ve seen enough of the intermediate stages to know it’ll be beautiful and that I’ll probably have to go cry for awhile after I see it.”
Thelma took a sip of tea. “I must say, dear…you look better today.”
She sighed. “I don’t feel any better. And I’m dreading this memorial. I know we need it, but…Cain would just hate it.”
“Funerals aren’t for the dead. They’re for the living.”
“The living who knew them and loved them,” DG said. “It’s like…we’re going to be memorializing the idea of him. That’s not who I miss.”
“You’ll do your mourning in private, DG. This is public. It doesn’t represent your own memorial to him any more than your wedding represented your marriage to him.”
“My real marriage to him never had a chance to start. If he’d lived…maybe we could have started it after he got back.” She shook her head. “You know, I’m going to have to get married again someday, if for no other reason than so we won’t have to draw straws to see who gets to be Queen after me.”
“Don’t think about that now.”
“I think I should. I’m going to have to eventually.” A sudden through struck her with palpable force, as if it had been circling her head waiting for the right moment to pounce. She nearly recoiled. “In fact,” she said, “I don’t see why I shouldn’t think about it right now. Excuse me, Thelma.”
“Of course, Your M…DG. I need to be getting back to painting anyway.”
DG was already out the door. She called Ambrose from a hall phone. “Ambrose, where is Lord Umbrey?”
“He’s downstairs in one of the guest suites. He asked to stay until you had time to speak with him, so we put him there after he was Viewed and cleared. Uh…room 2405, I think. Why?”
“No reason.” She hung up and headed for the lift.
A page knocked on Umbrey’s door and announced her. Umbrey was standing up to receive her, looking impeccable as ever. “Your Majesty,” he said.
“Hello, Gerald. You don’t mind if I call you Gerald, do you?”
“N-no, of course not. Please, sit down.” They both did. “I was wondering if I’d see you.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Of course, my apologies.” He was wringing his hands. “Your Majesty…how can I ever make up for what I did?”
“As I understand it, you did very little. You tried to charm me into marrying you, which is hardly a crime.”
“I did it at the behest of hostile interests.”
“You were coerced in the worst way. And when the chips were down you threw in with me and my sister. I won’t forget it and I won’t let anyone else forget it, either.”
“I don’t deserve such consideration.”
She smiled wryly. “You really do always know what to say, don’t you?”
He shrugged, his veneer slipping a little to reveal the tired, worried man underneath. “Call it the fruits of a noble upbringing. Always a ready rejoinder of excruciating politeness and correctness.”
DG crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knee. “Tell me, Gerald. Do you still want to marry me?”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I will need another Consort in time. Are you still interested in that position?”
His mouth was opening and closing like a fish’s. “Surely you’re not ready to consider such a step.”
She sighed. “Don’t presume to know what I am and am not ready for, Lord Umbrey. It really makes no difference to me. I’d do it this weekend if I could, just to have it over with.”
“Your Majesty, you need time.”
“Time for what? To get over him? To make myself ready to care for someone else? I will never do any of those things, Gerald. It doesn’t matter. My grief doesn’t make any difference here, any more than it’d make a difference to what I have for breakfast. My emotions don’t enter into this decision. But I must consider my subjects. They wouldn’t understand.”
“Well, this subject certainly doesn’t,” he muttered.
“They wouldn’t accept me marrying again so soon. So it won’t be today, or this weekend, or next month, or even next year. But if you’re willing to wait until everyone’s ready, I’d just as soon make the decision now and not have to go through the agony of meeting candidates and deciding which of them I dislike the least. I’m sure there are plenty of men out there who’d like the chance at the job, but I already know you. I know I can get along with you, and you’re a suitable candidate. What do you say?”
Gerald still looked like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Well, I…I’d be honored to serve, Your Majesty, but…I don’t know. I couldn’t be him.”
DG stiffened. “I know that,” she said through clenched teeth. “You could never be him, none of you could be. So any one of you is as good as the next as far as I’m concerned. I’m just being practical here. I might as well choose someone I can tolerate, and it’s best that person knows about it as far in advance as possible so that in the interim he doesn’t do anything unsavory to fuck it up and force me to go through the process of finding someone else. Are we understanding each other, Gerald?”
He sighed, and DG saw resignation come into his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Then you accept.”
“I accept.”
She sagged a little. “Thank you. You’ve taken a tremendous burden from me, and I appreciate it.” She stood up, Gerald rising when she did. “I’ll be releasing you today. Feel free to stay for the memorial; in fact, I’ll have to insist that you do and are seen there. Then return to Lambia. Behave yourself. I’ll be seen to call upon you for strategic help from time to time to establish a strong diplomatic connection. Someday, we’ll talk about how to proceed from there.” Gerald kept nodding as she spoke.
He met her eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined marrying you, you know. I like you, ma’am. I never wanted it to be so…mercenary.”
“I never wanted to be a widow, Lord Umbrey. Things are tough all over.”
Saturday
DG watched the sun rise from the balcony in Cain’s room, where she’d once again slept. At least she’d slept soundly this time, and without the help of scotch.
I’m supposed to be saying goodbye to you today, Cain. How can I do that when I never got to say hello?
Since Cain’s death DG had been having the surreal experience of retroactively enduring the emotional slings and arrows of a long relationship that never existed. Her marriage to Cain had been magnified into a grand, passionate love affair spanning years, not only by the media and the people but in her own mind as well. The way she felt, and by the way others were reacting to her, one might think she’d had that kind of relationship with him all along. In fact, the entirety of her romance with Cain, if you could even call it that, had consisted of one admittedly amazing kiss and two tiny lines of covert communication tacked on to some official dispatches. And yet she felt like she’d shared long years of deep mutual devotion with him, even if it was all in her own mind. Bearing witness to his death had dumped on her all the emotions attendant upon a long, happy relationship, the kind she knew they would have had. If only.
The two words that followed her around. If only.
I never even got to make love to him properly.
All those times they’d had sex in the hope of a baby seemed like a criminal waste now, and thinking of it just made her bitter so she avoided it whenever possible. Why did we think we had to keep it so mechanical? Why couldn’t we just agree that we had to have sex, so why not have a little fun with it? Why not kiss, why not touch, why act like it was something to be survived? Maybe it would have sparked something, and we could have taken that step sooner.
The what-ifs will drive you crazy. Stop it.
She went back to her bedroom to shower and dress. Her new gown for the memorial was hanging in the closet, and it was beautiful. The exact color she’d wanted, clean-lined and understated. She’d have to wear a crown today. She hated to do it; invariably they gave her a headache.
I just need to not cry. That’s all I’m asking for.
Her role in the memorial itself had been kept minimal at her own request. Commissioner Dwyer, Cain’s oldest friend, had been asked to master the ceremonies. The eulogy would be given by Jeb. There’d be music, and Ambrose had put together some kind of military tribute thing, and she’d unveil the painting. Ambrose told her she could say as much or as little as she liked or felt ready for at that time.
She’d see how she felt when she got up there, and make a decision then.
They’ll want you to talk. They’ll want to hear you say what he was like, how you felt, what you thought, how you’re broken and beaten and how you’ll never be the same. They’ll want you to cry.
I can’t. I can’t give them what they want.
Then they will think you’re cold, that you didn’t care, that you really did just have a political marriage.
It’s none of their business.
It’s all their business if they think it is.
Cain was leaning forward in the car as if he could urge it to go faster like you would a horse. “What time is the memorial?”
“Supposed to start at five o’clock.”
“We’re not going to make it.”
“We’ll make it.”
“We’re not going to make it!”
“Calm the hell down!” Ahamo barked. “And sit back, you’re making me nervous.”
“Let’s stop and try to call again.”
“I tried to call before we left Samston and I couldn’t even get a free line into the city. Half the Zone’s there.”
“Then how do you think we’re going to get in?”
“We’ll make it as far as we can in the car and hoof it the rest of the way.”
“I’ll get recognized.”
“You won’t, just keep your hat on. Your hair’s a dead giveaway.” Ahamo hesitated. “You know, if we don’t make it in time, it’s not a tragedy. So what if they’ve already had the memorial?”
“I know, it’s just…just superstition, I guess. Like if I come back after they’ve had it…”
“You don’t want to know what they were going to say about you, do you?”
“Would you want to know what happened at your own funeral?”
Jeb looked a little nervous as he approached DG’s desk after being admitted to her office. “I’m not disturbing you, am I?”
“No,” she said with a sigh. “I’m really just sitting here staring at this piece of paper and I couldn’t even tell you what’s on it. Have a seat.”
He did. “I wondered if…you’d read my eulogy. I mean, Dad’s eulogy that I wrote. You know, tell me what you think of it.”
DG smiled, inwardly pleased that he’d asked her. “I’d be glad to.” She accepted the paper Jeb handed to her and started to read, feeling the weight of his eyes on her as he watched her face for reactions.
Reading it wasn’t as difficult as she’d feared. They were just words on a page, easy to disconnect from. I bet it’ll be a lot more emotional when he’s speaking them.
She didn’t think Jeb drew breath until she’d finished. She returned the paper, gathering her thoughts. “Well?” he said, impatient. “That bad?”
“No! Oh, no. It’s…” She hesitated. “I don’t really know what to say, Jeb. It’s very eloquent.”
“I was up half the night. I didn’t even know how to start. How do you…” He choked up a little, paused, and went on. “How do you sum up somebody you love? How do you make other people see what you saw? You can’t put into words what it feels like to have a dad, or to lose him, or what about him made him your dad.”
DG nodded.
“What would you have said?”
“Oh, damn,” she said, putting out her hands in a ‘whoa,there’ gesture. “I have no idea. There was still so much I didn’t know about your father, Jeb. Things he had never shared with me.”
“He would have.”
“Maybe.” She wanted to detour this topic before it got too personal. “But I think it’s a very nice eulogy. Are you nervous?”
“I’ve never been afraid of speaking in public, but this is different. I’m not nervous so much as I just hope I get through it.” His lip quavered a little and he clamped his jaw shut to stop it, then smiled. “I can’t wait to see the portrait.”
“Oh, haven’t you poked your head in and peeked? Seems like everyone else has.”
“Nope. I wanted to be surprised.”
DG took a deep breath. “Jeb, listen. I know that…well, your dad was what gave you and I a connection. But I don’t want us to become strangers now that he’s…now that he’s gone.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m serious. You will always be a part of my family. And I’m still going to tell people you’re my stepson, you hear?”
He snorted. “You would not believe the crap I’ve taken from my men about that.” He seemed less angry and more amused by this.
She smiled. “Sorry about that.”
The traffic got heavier and heavier as they approached the City; by the time they reached the gates it was a parking lot of vehicles and carts. Realizing it was too late now to make it into the city in time if they stayed in their cars, people were just getting out and walking. Ahamo swung the car around and snuck onto a side road around to a private royal entrance to the city, but that didn’t get them far. The streets were still clogged. “Let me drive,” Cain said. “I know the underside of this city better than you do. I can find some shortcuts.”
They swapped places and Cain took off, maneuvering through some dark alleys and underneath a few structures. “What time is it?”
“Almost four.”
“We’re cutting it pretty close.”
“Get us as near the Square as you can. At some point we’re going to have to leave the car.”
That was for sure. The crowds were oppressive, and not everybody was heading for the Square. Large viewscreens had been set up all over the city, and people were clumped in little knots around most of them, not to mention rubbering in to every bar and shop that had their own.
Cain was trying not to look at them. A lot of them were wearing black armbands. Some shops had black banners in their windows. The flags were all at half-staff. He saw a few people crying.
This is all for me. Oh, by the great and terrible, it’s for me.
He wanted to feel loved, but he just felt overwhelmed.
“It’s a strange sensation, isn’t it?” Ahamo said.
“What?”
“Seeing what you meant to the world.”
Cain shook his head. “Death makes people melodramatic. It magnifies everything. Circumstances matter, too. You think there’d be this much kerfuffle if I’d died by choking on a sweet?”
Ahamo smirked. “You can try and wriggle out of it all you want, Cain, but look around you. These people loved you. They admired you, you were someone they could believe in. I know it’s a lot to live up to. But you didn’t get to be this popular by being larger than life and setting some kind of impossible standard. You did it just by being exactly who you are, before and after you were an HRH.”
Cain was barely paying attention. “This is hopeless,” he said, shaking his head.
“Okay. Let’s walk from here.”
“We’re never going to make it.”
“Hey, a little optimism! You’re back from the dead, that has to be a good day no matter what.” They just left the car by the side of the road and got out. Cain glanced around, anxiously, wondering if he’d be spotted. It’d be moot very soon, but he didn’t want to cause a commotion right now, he just wanted to get to the square. He saw that his concerns were groundless; no one looked at him twice. With a floppy hat covering his hair and most of his face, and the sunglasses Ahamo had given him, he didn’t attract any attention. Everybody was watching the viewscreens, which now displayed the Square. He stopped and stared for a moment. A pavilion with a podium had been set up beneath the largest viewscreens, on the south side of the palace, and most of the square before it was filled with chairs, evidently reserved for guests. The pavilion was swathed in bunting and flags. There was a square object covered with a cloth in the center, by DG’s chair (so identified because it was raised).
That must be the portrait I read about. He’d known that at some point he’d have to be painted like every other royal in the universe, but he didn’t imagine it’d be a post-mortem likeness. He wondered what it looked like.
He and Ahamo elbowed their way through the crowds but seemed to get nowhere. People were really starting to rush in and push and shove for spots now. They reached a clear spot between viewscreens and ran until they were hung up again.
“We need to find a Tin Man,” Cain said. “Preferably a mounted one.”
“The palace guard might be out too,” Ahamo added. Cain was scanning over the crowd. The regular patrol would mount up for a day like this when their usual cars would be impractical.
They pushed through to the next block and Cain saw what they were looking for; a pair of Tin Men on horseback. “There!” he said, heading off.
Ahamo grabbed his arm as they drew near. “Better let me do the talking.” He waved one arm. “Officer! Over here!”
One of the Tin Men stopped and looked back. “What’s the prob…” His eyes widened, and he and his partner immediately dismounted, doffing their hats. “Your Highness! What are you doing out here? How can we help you?”
“My friend and I need to borrow your horses, gentlemen. It’s an emergency and we need to get to the Square right away.”
“Of course, but…who’s your friend?” the man said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Well, he’s…uh…”
Cain put a hand on Ahamo’s arm. He sighed, then removed his sunglasses and lifted his head.
It was almost comical. The Tin Man squinted at him for a moment, then his face went totally slack with astonishment. He looked around as if wondering if he was being secretly filmed, then took a step closer. “General?” he said.
Cain took the man’s arm and leaned in. “Yes, it’s me. We don’t want to attract any attention, but I need to get to the Palace as fast as possible.”
The man nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah, sure…uh…what the…you’re supposed to be dead!” he whispered.
“Now’s not the time, officer. Your horses.”
“Of course. Here,” he said, handing over the reins. Cain put his glasses back on, yanked his hat down and mounted up, Ahamo doing the same.
“Thanks,” he said, touching the brim of his hat.
They were off. But it was coming on fifteen minutes until the memorial was to begin, and they had quite a ways to go.
My, it’d be dramatic if I rode in on a…of course, it’s a white horse…right in the middle of my own eulogy, wouldn’t it?
He spotted the air horn strapped to the saddle that served as a siren for the mounted patrols. Now, that’s what I’m talking about. He grabbed it and let off a blast. People jumped and scattered; he spurred his horse, not bothering to check if Ahamo was following him.
I’m coming, sweetheart. As fast as I can.