The Consort, Chapter 22
Author's Note: Okay, you guys have been soooo patient. I appreciate you coming along with me on this ride, and it isn't over yet, not by a long shot. There were a lot of new commenters on the last chapter. Welcome! I hope to keep hearing from you! Comments are our crack, we writers, as I'm sure you know, and they keep the muse well-fed and happy. While it's true that I have this story complete, the muse isn't entirely unnecessary. Each chapter gets a re-edit before posting and I have been adding some bits here and there, and I'm considering adding a bit more to the end as well. So feed the muse!
Here's what you've been waiting for. I hope it doesn't disappoint. I've probably tweaked and massaged this chapter more than any other.
Try not to skip ahead too much! Tomorrow, we get to earn that NC17 rating.
DG closed her eyes while Jillian worked on her hair, not really wanting to stare at herself for however long it took. The diadem was already on, now she was arranging the curls around it.
Even though it wasn’t her style, when she was in the right mood it could be fun to be primped and preened for a big state occasion. The jewels, the elaborate hairdos, the makeup. But not today. It didn’t seem right for her exterior to be at such odds with her interior. How could she look pretty and perfectly coiffed and well put-together when the world had been slowly coming to an end for days now, and this was just that last screeching jerk before it all stopped for good?
The world wasn’t coming to an end, of course. It just felt that way. She opened her eyes and watched in the mirror as Jillian expertly twisted, pinned and curled. Her face was blank with concentration and she was humming tunelessly in the back of her throat, like she always did.
Suddenly, and without reason, DG hated her. Jillian was happily married to a prominent local attorney; they had a curly-haired five-year-old son who called DG “Aunt Deej.” This horrified the boy’s mother, of course, who was forever trying to get him to call her Your Majesty without avail, largely because DG encouraged him to keep calling her Aunt Deej. Jillian was always exclaiming “Oh, Your Majesty, what if someone overhears him saying that?” This seemed a ridiculous concern, but what did she know?
Jillian was sad about Cain, of course, but after that she could go home to her not-dead husband and her adorable son and forget about it. She could shut her eyes and pity her poor Queen, widowed at 24, and drift off to pleasant dreams secure in the knowledge that her own life was perfect and intact.
DG blinked and shut her eyes again. She hated these irrational surges that she seemed prone to lately, it wasn’t like her but she couldn’t help herself. Sometimes she felt like no one understood, no one was feeling what she was feeling, not even Jeb. Nobody really got it. And all around her she saw the world continuing to spin, incredibly still on its axis.
“There we go,” Jillian said. DG opened her eyes and looked at herself. “You look lovely.”
She sighed. “Whatever.” She saw Jillian’s face fall a little. “I mean…you did a perfect job as usual, Jillian. It’s just…”
Jillian put a hand on her shoulder. “I know, ma’am.”
Her kindness made DG want to yank the crown off her head and throw it across the room, tear all the pins from her hair and run screaming through the palace, ripping the gown from her body. She took deep breaths until the impulse passed. “What time do they want me downstairs?”
“Ambrose said no later than four forty-five. It’s four thirty now.”
“All right. I’ll wait in the sitting room.”
“Yes, ma’am. Would you like some tea? Did you eat lunch?”
“I did,” DG lied. “But some tea would be very nice.”
Jillian curtsied quickly and headed out to fetch it, leaving DG in solitude, which was really all she’d wanted.
For a crowd of what by some reports was over a hundred thousand people, it was remarkably quiet. DG stood with Ambrose behind the doorway that led onto the pavilion outside. Five minutes to go. The musicians were all in place. Every seat was filled with dignitaries and guests from every corner of the Zone. A somber hush had fallen, and DG waited to walk out, which she would do by herself. Glitch had offered to escort her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “I won’t have anyone take his place. Not today. If my Consort can’t escort me, I’ll escort my own damn self,” she’d said, putting an end to all further debate on the matter.
There was polite applause from outside. DG frowned at Glitch. “It’s the conductor entering,” he murmured. She heard the orchestra tune, then begin. They were playing a piece of music specially composed for the occasion.
Raw glided to her side, his long fingers on her arm. “DG okay,” he said, quietly. It was less a question than an assurance.
She nodded. “I’ll be okay.”
He put a hand on her shoulder, and she felt him probing her emotions, gently. She sighed and let him, watching his face. He cocked his head, as if hearing far-off voices, then suddenly let go and stepped back, his eyes snapping open. “Raw, what?” she said.
He blinked a few times, then shook it off. “Nothing. Raw think he feel…only echo. Sometimes, hearts leave echo. That is all.” He nodded. “That is all,” he repeated, quieter.
She looked around at the small group that would be accompanying her onto the stage. Commissioner Dwyer would go first. Raw and Jeb. Az and Ambrose. The Mayor of Central City, the governors of the provincial states, and the president of the Council, and a few other personages of import. Thelma had been invited to sit onstage, to receive congratulations for the portrait she’d painted, but had declined, claiming stage fright.
DG blinked. Where’s Father? I haven’t seen him in… The thought trailed off into nothingness and she looked around again. Wait, what was I looking for?
The music was winding down. Show time.
The curtains were parted and they filed quietly onto the pavilion. DG held back for a moment until everyone else was standing before their chairs and the flags were hoisted to signal her entrance, as was protocol. She heard the audience rise, and she walked out into the immense weight of their collective gaze.
She saw only a blur of faces and the aggregate hushing sweep of thousands of breaths drawn and expelled as she walked to her chair and sat, whereupon everyone else did, too. She folded her hands in her lap, staring straight ahead. The sun was too bright, everything was too sharp, like it had been polished and hardened. The world felt hostile and inhospitable. She wondered if she’d ever feel at home in it again.
He was my home. He was my peace.
Commissioner Dwyer stepped to the podium and spoke into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said.
And that was as far as he got.
Stunned citizens leapt out of their way. The memorial was starting. Cain watched the road and tried not to glance at the viewscreens.
People were staring, but he didn’t have time to care. Then, as if Providence demanded it, his hat flew off. Without it, he might as well have been shouting his name through a megaphone. His platinum-blond hair was like a beacon, drawing all eyes to him, and once they had found him, there was no escaping.
He heard a cry, then a shout, then his name, then again. A wave of surprised exclamations, a rising tide of chatter and babble like a creek burbling, left behind as he swept past on his horse. He was gone past before people could do more than point, but he was now leaving yelling masses in his wake. He pushed ahead, chancing a look over his shoulder; they were following. Running after his horse, screaming, cheering, clapping, deserting the viewscreens they’d waited in front of all day.
The Square was up ahead. The sunlight shone down in the empty space in the center of the city, a hollow core taken out of the skyscrapers and towers. He glanced at the nearest viewscreen…there was DG, in her chair on the podium, dressed in that cobalt blue color that had once given him such a turn, as it nearly did now. Stu Dwyer was stepping up to speak just as Cain rounded the corner into the final thoroughfare. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Dwyer said.
Oh no, you don’t.
Cain blew the air horn again and all heads turned toward him, swiveling in ridiculous unison like it had been rehearsed. It looked so absurd that Cain almost laughed out loud. Dwyer stopped short. It was deadly quiet in the Square, the seated audience hushed and respectful in contrast to the faint cheering of the people he’d left far behind him, catching up fast now. “What’s the meaning of this?” Dwyer demanded.
Wyatt Cain rode into the bright sunshine of Gale Square, the standing-room-only crowd parting before him, and stopped his horse at the head of the aisle that cut through the audience to the platform. He wouldn’t have thought it possible for this many people to be so completely silent. Everyone was staring at him like they couldn’t believe their eyes.
It came up from his chest and loosed itself before he could stop or even think why he should. “DG!” he shouted. .
She was standing up, slowly, her hands out before her as if she were afraid she might fall over. “Cain?” she said, her voice half an octave higher than usual. She didn’t speak loudly, but everyone heard her. He dismounted and advanced a few steps, then stopped, paralyzed by the silence; it was like a solid thing, gluing his feet to the ground.
Ambrose was at her side in an instant, shaking his head and speaking to her. He turned and nodded to Raw. They’re telling her I could be an imposter. They want to make sure. Good, they should make sure.
Raw was coming up the aisle toward him, his stride determined. He drew up before him, looking fearsome. “Raw check,” he said. Cain nodded. He leaned closer and spoke again, in a low growl. “If not Cain…Raw make you sorry,” he said. Then his hands were on Cain’s face, and he felt the Viewer looking into his heart. He shut his eyes and went with it. He had nothing to hide from one of his closest friends.
He felt Raw withdraw his hands, and he opened his eyes to see him staring at Cain, his expression full of wide-eyed joy, tears running down his face.
Cain couldn’t help but smile back. “Hey, fuzzball.”
An air horn somewhere at the back of the audience made DG jump. Dwyer cut himself off. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. There was some sort of commotion developing back where the street branched off the Square. DG craned her neck. What fresh hell is this, now? I can’t have a memorial for my husband in peace?
A man on a horse rode into the sunlight and stopped at the head of the aisle.
DG closed her eyes. No. You’re seeing things.
Then she heard his voice. “DG!”
She opened them and he was still there. Tall in the saddle, astride a…of course, a white horse…the sun glinting off his pale hair. It was him. Her Cain, impossibly alive.
I’m dreaming. I’m hallucinating. I’ve snapped. I’m having a psychotic break of some kind. She rose to her feet. “Cain?” someone said. Oh, that was me. Cain got off the horse and advanced a few steps, slowing to a halt, his eyes on her.
Ambrose seized her arm and talked into her ear. “DG, it could be an imposter. Don’t look at him yet. Let us check.” She nodded, but she couldn’t stop looking. It was him. She’d know those eyes anywhere.
Raw was going up the aisle now. He had his hands on Cain’s face. Time was suspended; the city had never been this quiet, everywhere the citizens of the Zone who’d come to mourn him were now watching him on the viewscreens. Every eye looking, every heart waiting.
Raw turned, his eyes wide. He nodded. DG felt Ambrose exhale a huge breath. “Great Gale,” he said. “It’s him.”
She took a step forward, afraid to move too fast lest it all shatter, lest the illusion break into pieces around her and leave her even more alone than before. She felt like she was moving through that dream-tide that pulled at her and slowed time to a crawl. Raw came back up the steps and put a hand on her shoulder, and she felt it. She felt him all through her chest, in her heart, in her soul as she had before through Raw. “Cain real,” Raw said, and DG’s illusion did shatter, but when she looked again Cain was still standing there. Still there, still here, still alive. Her chest unlocked and she felt the first dizzy elation of belief.
She choked out a sob and the tide released her. She was off and down the steps to the Square and time was speeding back up, rushing her along, pulling them toward each other like magnets until they collided and fused somewhere in the middle, wrapping around each other in a hard reflexive clutch and then he was in her arms, solid and real and alive and somewhere the ocean was roaring, but it wasn’t the ocean, it was just the crowd exploding. The impact drove the breath from her lungs and she gasped, digging her fingers into the cloth of his coat. He was holding her tight enough for her ribs to groan in protest, restlessly moving his arms over her back as if searching for a way to get her closer, to hold her even tighter. Whatever was coming out of her mouth, it was not quite crying and not quite laughing, just an unconscious flow of wordless emotion.
She pulled back enough to look at his face, God, that face that she’d thought never to see again and here it was. Was it possible for the top of one’s head to just pop right off if things got too full and intense in there? “How, how, how?” she babbled, her hands flicking over his face, testing his reality. He just stared down at her like she was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen, scanning her features like he was trying to memorize her. “How are you here? Are you real? How are you alive? How, how did you…how did…”
He bent his head and scooped up her mouth in mid-babble and God she didn’t care how, or why, or what had happened, he was here and he was real and this was the kiss she never thought she’d get, deep and urgent, screaming I can’t help myself, I don’t care who sees, I just have to be kissing you right this second . There were flashbulbs going off everywhere but she didn’t care about that, either, nor about the crowd, which had lost its collective mind when Cain kissed her and showed no signs of calming. Relief swelled inside her skin, relief that there’d be no more grief, no long years of recovery, no lifetime of missing him, and that this miracle she’d only dared dream of in the deep secret hours of night had somehow happened.
She kissed back, grabbing at him, still reassuring herself that it was true. She held onto his head and everything went away, the Square, the crowds, the memorial, none of it was anything to her anymore because his skin smelled like sun and his mouth was the world, his fingers on the back of her neck holding her to him. It was utterly inappropriate for the Queen to ravish her husband in full view of half the country, of course, but she could not possibly have cared less. He left kisses along her cheek and buried his face in her shoulder; DG cupped the back of his head and held him there, feeling his heartbeat against her chest, grinning helplessly at the sky and trying to get control of herself. He stayed there for a few moments, curled into her body, his breath fast and hard against her skin, then he straightened up and looked her in the eye, cupping her face in both hands. “I love you,” he said, his voice full of firm conviction, and his tone told DG that whatever had happened to him, wherever he’d been, he had sworn that he would tell her this as soon as he saw her.
She felt tears sneaking down her cheeks as she stroked his face with one hand. “I love you, too.” The way he was looking at her was doing strange things to her stomach.
He grinned. “Thought I better make sure I got that in there this time.”
DG laughed, throwing her arms around his neck again. She felt like laughing forever. All around them, people were cheering and clapping and crying, hugging total strangers, reaching out towards DG and Cain, even though the palace guard had discreetly formed a loose perimeter around them as soon as DG had run out among the audience members.
“Dad!” Jeb was hurrying down the stairs and headed their way. Cain pulled back and looked up at him, then down at her.
“Go,” she whispered, pressing another kiss to his mouth. Cain released her and hurried to meet his son. DG turned back toward the stage and watched them embrace, dropping to her knees on the green carpet runner because her brain was just too busy at the moment to deal with silly things like gravity. She put her hands over her face and tried to breathe normally. The roaring of the crowd was white noise, it was a liquid that washed over her as she knelt in the aisle. Ambrose was suddenly at her side, shaking his head in astonishment, grinning ear to ear but somehow looking concerned for her all at once. DG nodded that she was all right and waved him away.
Cain was coming back up the aisle, Jeb at his shoulder. He knelt in front of her and put his hands on her face. She held onto his wrists, tears springing to her eyes anew. “Are you all right?” he said. She could barely hear him over the crowd, but she could read the words on his lips.
She smiled up at him. “I am now.”
He smiled back and drew her close again, pressing his lips to her forehead, then pulled her to her feet. They turned and started up the aisle toward the stage, DG close against Cain’s side, staring up at him…she still could hardly believe it. He kept his arm around her shoulders, looking around at this memorial that was now so gorgeously pointless.
They mounted the stairs to the stage and were immediately surrounded. Stu Dwyer shook Cain’s hand with both of his own, grinning and blustering. “What the hell happened to you, boy?” he said.
Cain was greeting people one-handed, refusing to let go of DG. “It’s a long story and probably not one for this setting,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall other questions. “The short version is…my death was faked.”
DG had been floating in a kind of dreamy state of half-awareness, the aftereffects of adrenaline twirling her brain a bit, gazing distractedly at her husband’s profile, but that got her attention. She pulled into herself. “What? Who faked it?” she demanded.
“I’ll explain later,” he said, a warning flashing across his eyes.
“Cain…”
“Later,” he reiterated, just before he was grabbed by the head of the council and pulled around, his eyes lingering on her for a moment as he was finally forced to reclaim his arm from around her shoulders.
DG stepped clear, reluctantly, and was immediately seized up in a tight hug by her sister. She returned the embrace gratefully, sagging with emotional exhaustion. “Oh, honey. Great Gale,” Az said, her voice shaking.
“Tell me it’s not a dream,” DG said.
“It’s not a dream. I don’t know what it is but it’s not a dream.”
DG felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see her father standing there “Dad,” she sobbed, burying herself in her father’s arms. It felt like she hadn’t seen him in forever, even though he’d walked out with all of them just minutes before.
“I can’t believe it,” he said.
“I’m scared I’m gonna wake up any minute and he’ll still be dead,” DG said.
Ahamo squeezed her. “If you’re dreaming, then so am I, pumpkin.”
The crowd was cheering and cheering. The news agencies were breaking into the coverage of the memorial and showing scenes from all over the city of people jumping up and down, hugging, tearing down black banners, lifting flags back to full mast. She watched Cain shaking hands with a few friends and colleagues who’d mounted the stage from the audience, more of them coming up each second, until finally Ambrose interposed himself. “Let’s give the General a little air, shall we? There’ll be time enough for glad-handing later, everybody.” Cain shot Ambrose a grateful glance and extracted himself. His eyes sought her out at once and he crossed the stage to embrace her again. She tucked her head into his shoulder, mindful of poking him in the eye with her diadem. The crowd cheered its approval.
DG looked out at the cheering masses as they began to quiet, everyone watching the stage expectantly, except that there was no script for this eventuality.
Ambrose leaned in, clearing his throat. “Now what?” he muttered.
Dwyer lurked nearby. “Somebody should say something.”
“You’re the MC.”
“This isn’t exactly what I rehearsed.” Everyone’s heads turned toward DG.
DG shook her head. “I don’t think I could string together a coherent sentence right now,”she said, glancing up at Cain. He rubbed her shoulder, looking a little bewildered as he faced the crowd of gathered mourners.
Ambrose looked at Cain. “Maybe you should say something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know…maybe ‘Hi’?”
“I don’t want to say anything.” He looked petrified at the prospect.
“We can’t just all go inside and leave everyone hanging,” Dwyer said.
“We’ve got to make a graceful exit somehow. We need time to sort all this out and take a few deep breaths,” Ambrose said. “Let’s go inside, have Cain checked out by the doctors, have some discussions, and come back out later tonight and address everyone.”
DG sighed. “Do there have to be discussions? Now?” She was still quite comfortably ensconced in Cain’s embrace and she didn’t fancy leaving it to sit around a table and talk.
“There always have to be discussions,” Cain said, tightly. He looked down at her. “What do you think, kiddo?”
She sighed. “The commissioner is right, we can’t just walk off without a word.” She started to head for the podium but Cain held her back.
“I’ll do it,” he said, his jaw clenched. “These people came here for me. I owe them.”
For as loud as the roar of the crowd had been throughout all of this, its intensity trebled when Cain stepped up to the microphone, still clutching DG’s hand. He stood there and waited until they calmed down enough to hear what he had to say. DG reached across her body with her free hand and held onto his forearm, just wanting to touch him as much as she could.
I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this. There was too much going on in her head, it was like trying to untangle a skein of yarn after the cat had gotten to it; if you grabbed one end and pulled, everything else came knotted up with it. The only thing she could see her way clear to was that Cain was here, he was alive, and right now she was so in love with him that it didn’t fit inside her. It felt like it wouldn’t fit inside the world.
And he looked terrified. “Umm…” he began. The crowd laughed. He smiled wryly. “Sorry to interrupt.”
The crowd’s roar was a near physical sensation that rocked DG back on her heels a little, but they quieted more quickly this time, eager to let Cain speak.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe how many people came out for this. I’m overwhelmed. So…thanks, for that.” More cheering. “I guess I shouldn’t say too much about what happened to me, or where I’ve been, until I’ve explained it all to the people who’ll want to do something about it. For now I’ll just say that more than anything…I’m glad to be home.”
Insane, rapturous cheering exploded from the Square and all over the city. Cain smiled, then took a step back and faced her. He looked about fit to burst, which was just how she felt. She glanced past him to where Ambrose was pointing to the portrait, eyebrows raised. “Hey, wanna see your portrait?” she said.
Cain made a face. “I don’t know, do I?”
“Shush, you’ll love it.” She stepped to the podium and the cheering crowd quieted at once. “Would anyone like to see General Cain’s portrait?” she asked. Hands shot up and shouts echoed in the Square. DG grinned. “All right then. Ambrose?”
The cameraman positioned himself in front of the portrait, so that the viewscreen watchers would be able to get a good look. Ambrose waited for a dramatic few seconds, then whipped off the red velvet covering. A collective exhalation went up, then applause.
It was beautiful. DG felt herself tearing up to look at it. Cain, just as he was, Thelma’s skill capturing not just his face but his essence. She stared at the image, marveling that just a few minutes ago, this was going to be all she had left of him. She felt his arms come around her waist. “Great Gale, DG,” she heard him murmur in her ear.
“What do you think?”
“It’s…I don’t have the words. It’s amazing.” He sighed. “This is how you wanted to remember me, huh?”
She turned in his arms and looked up into his face. “No. It isn’t. I wanted to remember you as an old, old man who died peacefully in my arms, with our children and grandchildren and friends around him, a man who lived a long, full life, a life he shared with me.” She put her hand on his cheek, her thumb tracing his lips. “This portrait? This is what I was settling for.”
Cain looked overwhelmed. As DG watched, two tears slid down his cheeks. “How could I have ever thought that I didn’t love you?” he said, his voice hoarse.
She smiled, a lump rising in her throat. “I’ve been wondering the same thing about myself, except…” The trembling in her chin was making it hard to talk now. “I thought I’d lost my chance to tell you how much I do.”