"Until The Fall" - 5/48
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". A year after returning to the Zone, 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 02.24.09)
Warning: Get your "CPR" icons out, ladies.
Author's Note: All right, I've brought us up to summer, and summer is hot. *cough* Special thanks to BookWorm37, who helped me out with the idea for Scene Two. Thank you, I hope it brings you giggles and glee, hon! And its all dedicated to my buddy erinm_4600 , who is sneezing at this very moment. *hugs*
Chapter Five
Midsummer
It was stifling hot in the conference room, and everyone inside of it was feeling the effects of the muggy city afternoon. Jeb resisted digging a finger into his collar to give himself more room to breathe; but, like an unsatisfied itch, his discomfort festered, annoyed him. He'd already undone the collar, was already breaking the strict regulations for the men of his position; Gods, he hated the palace guard uniforms.
Azkadellia, though seemingly engrossed in peace talks with an Ambassador of Ev, had been eying him since he'd undone his collar. Every so often, her eyes would flick to him, a natural gesture to the man who sat across from her, but to the guard who watched her, it was more, too much more. She was careful, demure in her actions, her body language. She played the proper role of heir presumptive, future queen; she caused no suspicion to arise.
But with her mind, her magic, she was playful.
The Ambassador was laying down demands. Though Az, flanked on either side by advisors, watched him attentively, her face impassive; from across the room, her voice rang out clear and flirtatious in Jeb's head.
I can't take this heat, she whispered to him, not even looking at him now, almost avoiding his eyes, knowing full well he'd never try to catch hers.
Aren't you hot? I know I am.
Moving casually, she swept her long hair over one shoulder, exposing the side of her neck, showing him that tender, special place on her jaw, where she loved to feel his lips. He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to shake off images that were rising to the surface of his brain. He was on the job, he needed to focus; though he knew he was a poor example of proper work ethic, even he had enough common sense not to give into her tricks... while the Ambassador, his personal guard, and the royal advisors were in the room, anyway.
Ohhh, she moaned low as she shifted. So warm. This gown is so heavy. I can't wait to get up to my room to take it off.
He found himself gritting his teeth. He focused on the drone of the Ambassador's voice. The man's list of desires, though not his own but that of his king, seemed to go on and on. Jeb would have tossed the bastard on his ass quite a while ago, but then again, during his time with the Resistance, he hadn't come to be known for his diplomacy.
“I think you're trying to blind me with menial demands, Ambassador Echevarria, to sneak a few larger ones under the table,” Azkadellia said with the slightest hint of amusement in her voice. It was easily quelled as she reached forward to the table and began to sort through papers. “I have the last peace treaty between our two countries here, Ambrose had it drawn up for me.”
As she searched intently, scanning one paper and then the next carefully, her voice came to him again.
Jeb,she whispered sensuously. He felt a jolt of lust shoot through him, unexpectedly, as she used his name; she so very rarely had reason to. I want out of here. I want... her voice trailed off, but a quiet, strained moan echoed off the inside of his skull. When he looked at her, her teeth were digging into her full bottom lip, in concentration or desire, it was up to him to decide.
His eyes slammed closed, and he clenched his jaw tighter, heard his teeth grind against one another. Told himself firmly to ignore her.
Just imagine, her words called out to him, how warm and slick my skin is. I wish your hands were cold, like ice. I'd let you run them all over me.
He cleared his throat, shifting. For the first time in a long time, or perhaps ever, Jeb Cain found himself wishing he had some sort of magic, so that he might be able to return in kind. Torture her as she tortured him now. He might tell her that his hands were hot, that he was hot for her, that if she didn't stop this instant, he'd take her on the conference table in front of the foreign dignitary and her mother's advisors.
Hours later, as the Ambassador and his guard left the meeting, smug and sated, and the royal advisors had gone the same way, talking to each other in low voices, Jeb pushed himself away from the wall and walked slowly to the door. He was absolutely numb with his restraint, ready to let go, but not about to give her the satisfaction. A stubborn jackass, through and through.
“I have to change for the state dinner tonight,” she said casually, as she organized the papers on the table into a neat pile. He closed the door, and began to cross the room, to the long table where she stood. If she noticed him stalking slowly towards her, she didn't say anything about it, nor did she give him the slightest acknowledgement.
“You think you're funny, don't you?” Jeb asked, keeping his face stone straight.
Az swallowed a smile before looking up at him. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Lieutenant.”
“No,” he growled suddenly, petulantly. “You don't get to do that.”
Her eyebrows raised in surprise at his tone. One moment, the mood had been playful, though she was sure she'd been having more fun than he, but that could be remedied now that they were alone. But, no... “What?” What didn't she get to do?
“Lieutenant,” he repeated. He was shaking his head when he stepped directly in front of her. He placed both hands on her neck, holding her head straight so she had no choice but to look at him. “None of that. Say it.”
Her lip trembled at his seriousness. The spark in his eye, that darkness that loomed, that pain buried. She'd done something very wrong, and she almost cowered, thinking she'd hurt him. She didn't want to, never wanted to... “Say what?” she asked, unsure.
“Say my name, Your Highness.” His use of her title was pointed, a knife pressed into the skin of the moment, ready to puncture, to inflict pain.
She blinked, swallowed hard. “Jeb, you're scaring me,” she said quietly, her voice so soft that it was barely heard over their labored breathing.
Subdued, he slumped against her, burying his face in her neck, in her hair; finding that tender, special spot on her jaw, he pressed his lips there as he wrapped his arms around her, held her tightly.
Didn't let go.
The streets of Central City's Bellicose District were deadly quiet. A breeze lifted trash from the gutters, blowing it along an aimless route. Raucous calls, displaced from streets over where nightlife still thrived, echoed off the high brick walls of the mostly empty buildings. Slowly, the Reconstruction was breathing new life into the once seedy city, home to almost half of the population of the Outer Zone, but here on the fringes of the city, near the Wall, it was still a dangerous place to tread.
Sudden, soundless movement broke the stillness. Along the shadows, met by no one, a cloaked figure crept. Every move was slow and calculated; footsteps hitting the wet pavement made no sound, the swish of the cloak around the moving legs of its wearer was unheard by anyone. Barely there, perhaps not there at all, the hooded figure walked with singular purpose.
In the earliest hours of the morning, when only the wildest districts still showed signs of life, the darkened doorways and empty, black windows bore the only witness of the stranger. Completely out of place, the figure never slowed, never stopped. A predestined path, followed as though practiced. Cutting across a deserted street, the cloak caught in the breeze, lifting to show pale, slender legs before dropping again; skirting the edge of the glow cast by a street lamp, the stranger ducked into an alley. Looking around, seeing no one and hearing nothing, a hand closed on a steel handle, pulling open a door set in the wall. The city slept, unaware of the figure that disappeared into nameless building, closing the door so softly behind, it made no noise at all.
Moving stealthily up the stairs, lights dimmed as the cloaked stranger passed, only to brighten again after the unknown had walked on. Up one floor, and then another, and another, the hallway at the top of the stairs darkened completely as the figure pulled the cloak tighter, straightened the hood. Eventually stopping in front of a door, a hand was held up, and the locks in the door glowed bright, disengaging, one after another.
On the other side of the door, Wyatt Cain's eyes flew open. As the first lock clicked, he was out of bed and grabbing his gun off the nightstand, where it sat, loaded and ready. He was crossing out of his bedroom and into the kitchen as the second lock slid out of place; raising his gun and straightening his arm in the direction of the door when the third lock released. His heart was pounding as the door knob turned.
He cleared his throat loudly. “You've got 'till the count of two to back off before I empty this chamber in your skull,” he said as he pulled back the hammer, using the ominous sound to show he meant business.
The figure entering his home cried out; with a small flash of white light, he felt the gun being yanked hard from his fingers, his brain registering it leaving his hand and flying across the room, to hit the wall and clatter uselessly to the floor. The surge of magic in the room caused the light-bulb above his head to turn on and flare bright before burning out. Backing up a step in surprise, Cain watched as the stranger before him yanked down its hood, and he was faced with his princess, her cheeks burning and her eyes blazing as the lights in the hallway turned back on.
“DG!” he exclaimed angrily, advancing on her quickly and seizing her by the arm. Great Gale, she'd just broken into his apartment and disarmed him! She looked shocked at her own actions, lost for words and taken aback by his sudden onset. She was looking up at him with guilty blue eyes, biting her lip as she waited for admonishment. “What the hell are you doin'?” He was almost, but not quite, at a loss for words at her brazenness.
“Well, I...” she said, and faltered. She let go of a huffing exhale, her jaw settling firmly as she glared up at him. Sudden defiance sparked. “I told you I wouldn't be held responsible for my actions if you took too long.” She gave a firm little nod, as if to back herself up.
Gazing down at her, feeling a smile trembling at the corners of his mouth, he fought it down. “You sneak out of the palace in the middle of the night by yourself? You got any common sense in that head of yours? And -” He stopped short for a moment, realizing a fact and becoming immediately suspicious. “And how did you know I was back in the city? I got in less than three hours ago!”
Unlike him, DG allowed herself a grin. “I've got contacts, too, Tin Man,” she said, her voice daring him to be tempted to ask, but she didn't leave him time to. She had a determined gleam to her eyes, and somehow Cain knew she was out for nothing but trouble. “Now can you pretend for five minutes to be happy to see me? Then I promise,” she said, her voice dropping, “you can go back to chastising me like I'm a bad girl.”
She cocked an eyebrow. Another dare; and Gods damn him forever, because, despite his prided restraint and control, it was pretty much over from there.
Dragging her against his chest by his tight grip still on her arm, he used his free hand to slam the door shut; in next to an instant, he had her pushed against it, molding his body against hers as six months of combined, pent up sexual frustration burst forth in a wave of aggression. His lips crushed down on hers, stealing the breath from her lungs as one arm slid smoothly around her waist, his knuckles scraping hard on the door. With the other hand, he fumbled with the locks, closing them in. No interruptions.
Her hands were between them as he kissed her, her fingers moving deftly over the fastenings of her cloak. She soon had it off, and she tore it from her shoulders, tossing it away. His hands were immediately on her shirt, pulling the fabric up and over her head, breaking away from her mouth for only long enough to rid her of the fabric; his mouth found hers again, his tongue seeking audience with hers, as she moaned underneath of him, heat radiating from her skin.
“Wyatt,” she mumbled softly, imploringly, against his lips. Damn him, he felt so good, firm muscle and pure masculinity underneath her hands. She slid her hands up his chest over top of his shirt, taking handfuls of his collar, pulling him down. His arms about her naked back held her steady; his lips moved endlessly over hers, sucking, taking her in. His mouth made love with hers as his hands slipped lower, palming both cheeks of her bottom, pinching, squeezing. She lost the kiss as her head fell back, mind spinning.
Cain lowered his mouth to her neck, taking her skin in as he lifted her. Her skirt rode up as she wrapped her legs about his hips, tightening him between her legs to keep herself up; he held her securely, letting go her neck with an audible pop to look up at her. With light no longer spilling in from the hallway, he couldn't see her face, as she pressed her forehead to his, the dark masses of her hair falling around them as a curtain.
“Do you want it like this?” he whispered, his voice gravelly with want. Bracing her against the door, he yanked her hips down towards his, grinding her against his hardening erection. She moaned loud, barely sounding like herself.
Her voice was shaking when she finally found it. “No,” she found herself saying quietly to him. “Not like this.”
Holding tight to Cain's shoulders, DG pressed feather light kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, into his hair as he carried her awkwardly to the bedroom. When he sat her down on the edge of the bed, he knelt before her. She could see a little better in the bedroom, the light coming in the window enough to illuminate his skin, his pale hair. She watched intently as his hands slid down her legs, pulling off the silk ballet flats that had made no noise against the pavement. Running his hands back up all the way to her hips, his fingers searched until he found the zipper that held her remaining garment closed; pulling it down, he hooked his fingers inside the waistband of her skirt. “Lay back,” he commanded, and she did so, her heart fluttering uncertainly. She lifted her hips as he slid the skirt and her underwear off, leaving her laying on his bed in nothing but her bra, as he sat back on his knees, fully clothed before her.
Coming up to her, an arm bracing his weight on either side of her, he leaned in close, his breath caressing her lips. Instead of kissing her, however, he only teased her lips with the barest touch against his own before moving downwards, pressing a hard kiss to her jaw, to her neck.
“After I'm done with you,” he said in that low, growly tone, “after I'm done makin' you scream...” Here he paused, the graze of his teeth on her shoulder turning into the softest bite, and she cried out, her arms wrapping around his torso, trying to pull him down to her. He resisted, holding himself above her. “... You're goin' to tell me exactly how you managed to lose your guard and get out of the palace.”
DG nearly snorted with laughter; the Tin Man on top of her cut it short by biting down gently on her shoulder again. Clearing her throat, she remembered herself enough to mutter a quick “Yes, sir.” Cain chuckled against her skin as he reversed, sliding his lips down her chest. When he met the obstruction of her bra, he skipped past it, pressing his next kiss to the bottom of her ribcage, near the dip of her waist. When she let out a soft exclamation of disappointment, he placated her by sliding one hand under the silky fabric of her bra, pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger before letting her go and continuing his southward journey.
Ohh... how much had she missed him. Was it measured in every arc her body made against his ministrations, was it counted by every quiet cry that escaped her lips as his lips pressed to the soft skin of her belly, his tongue sweeping a wet circle around her navel. It didn't occur to her what he was doing until he'd started, as he slid off the bed completely to kneel before her again, as he gently pried her thighs apart, hooking her legs over his shoulders.
A whimper caught in her throat as his fingers brushed lightly, reverently through her curls; he touched her folds, felt the wetness seeping from her, and with a strained groan, Cain slid two thick fingers directly into her body, encasing himself in her heat. “Gods,” he mumbled, nipping at the inside of her thigh as he pulled his fingers free again. “So wet already, Princess.” Her eyes slid closed as his hands gripped at her hips, and he lowered his head to the apex of her thighs. She cried out, arching as his tongue ran along her slit, burrowed in between to graze the sensitive bundle that had ached too long for this most intimate of his touches.
With a hand splayed firmly over her stomach, anchoring her to the bed, he began to work his mouth over her, first sucking soft on her clit, then lapping down slowly. His tongue found her entrance, circling it, teasing it until she began to shake; prompted further, he allowed himself to delve in for a better taste, pressing her down as she bucked up against him. When a familiar whimper caught in her throat, he knew she was close; beginning to tremble with his own restraint, he swept the flat of his tongue upwards in one smooth motion, flicking her bud with the tip, again and again until she came, her hands flying down to his head, trying to push him away as her thighs seized. With a deep chuckle, he placed open mouthed kisses on her thighs before pushing away from the bed.
DG propped herself up on her elbows, breathing hard as she watched him undress. Had he just done that to her? Her legs seemed to shake of their own volition as she scooted farther back, the jingle of his belt sending her heart into near arrest, followed by a soft whoosh as his pants dropped. Then, oh so slowly, he was crawling over her as she spread her legs for him again, welcoming him home in proper fashion as he settled, the tip of his erection probing against her wet, hot skin. “DG,” he said quietly, his name off her lips all the more taunting for the smirk in his voice.
She felt her lips curl into an indulgent smile. “You sound satisfied with yourself,” she whispered, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pressed into her, burying his cock to the hilt with a groan that shook through him and into her. Her inner muscles still pulsed around him, his erection twitching on its own in kind. They lay perfectly still, as he kissed her softly for the first time since she had laid down on the bed. Passionate, unrestrained kisses; she was desperate to taste him, to taste herself, Gods she'd missed him, never felt anything so fulfilling, was never so complete as when he held her this way. How had she gone on for so long without him? And when... when could she have this for keeps?
With agonizing precision, Wyatt began to move his hips, driving all thought from her head. Extracting himself so slowly before pushing in again, causing her to buck and moan before much time had passed. Sweat began to glisten on his forehead as he thrust easily, in and out, and sweet Lords, he'd never felt anything so hot, so soft beneath him. “Deeg,” came a strangled word from his mouth, as she writhed beneath him, first guiding her hips towards his, and in the next second pulling away. In desperation for release, for closeness, their rhythm was skewed, uneven, but still they drew each other higher and higher until suddenly she was there, crying out his name, and Gods she was tight, and he was pushing himself as deep as he could before letting go, flooding her, and then falling completely still.
“Love you,” he muttered against her sweat-dampened forehead, as he pushed himself away from her, falling weakly to her side on the mattress.
She hummed a happy note as she settled into the crook of his arm, resting her chin upon his chest. “Love you, too,” she said with a grin he could hear, but not see. And then she was pushing away, sitting up. “And I'm not telling you a damn thing. You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that.”
Cain laughed, opening his eyes to see her sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sounds like a challenge I might take you up on, Darlin', but first I need a few minutes.”
DG giggled gleefully, knowing she'd won the round. As much as she wanted to bury herself into his embrace and fall asleep, she knew she couldn't sleep next to him that night. She'd have to return to the palace, there was no way to get around that. But first...
“Would it be all right if I took a shower?” she asked him, as she reached behind her to unclasp her bra. She looked on the floor for the rest of her clothes that lay on the floor in a pile with his, even their garments desperate for the feel of the other. She searched for her shirt before realizing it had been left at the front door.
“You don't want to stay in bed?” he asked her, as he propped up on one elbow to watch her. She smiled at him, and crawled up the bed to place a much desired kiss on his lips.
“We both know I can't,” she whispered regretfully. She wanted to, so badly. Wanted to wake up next to him, to feel his arms about her as her eyes fluttered open to the light. “But you're welcome to join me in the shower if you'd like.”
Cain shook his head. “No, you go,” he said, and kissed her before flopping back to the mattress and pillows. “I'll be waitin' when you get out.”
DG hopped off the bed. “No way, Tin Man. You'll get me all sticky and sweaty again!” She was laughing, and God damn it felt good to laugh. She scooted to the bathroom, wondering if he might follow her. She left the light off and the door open. She loved Cain's bathroom, for it had one luxury that her own home didn't. For all its grandeur and opulence, not one of Alta Torretta's deep, smooth claw-footed tubs boasted a shower. Not one. She'd checked.
So, happy now for the first time in months, she showered, conjuring pins to gather her hair on top of her head. She didn't take long, wanting to get back to the Tin Man that waited for her in the bed; for all her teasing in the bedroom, she doubted she'd leave without making love with him again, and then she'd go home with his smell lingering under her clothes.
After washing the mess away from her thighs, she turned off the water and stepped out onto the mat. She reached for a towel, and after wrapping it firmly about her breasts, she waved of her hand, turned on the light.
She stepped in front of the mirror, and wiped away the steam with her hand; a quick green streak followed the contact on the glass before disappearing, like static electricity in the dark. Looking up into her reflection, the strange face staring back at her caused her to scream. Really scream! Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered that Cain had called her name worriedly, that he was coming now, but it didn't matter, she didn't care. Her mouth fell open, but wasn't reflected on the face in the mirror, that same, hauntingly similar face.
“When the blood of one is the death of another, the time to begin will have come,” said the girl in the mirror, the same disjointed, faraway voice; the dark eyes watching her sparked dangerously with the ominous words. Blood, death... a beginning? No... the girl began to shift, began to fade.
“No!” DG cried out. “Wait!” She climbed up onto the sink to get closer to the mirror.
Cain came around the corner, pants on but undone, gun in hand, to see DG kneeling on the sink, trying to pry the mirror off the wall. His eyes scanned the bathroom, but he saw nothing amiss... but for the crazed girl who slapped the glass before slumping back so suddenly she nearly fell off the sink.
“What are you doin'?” he demanded harshly as he stepped fully into the bathroom. He helped her down, gave her a shake, as her eyes slid onto him, focusing slowly. She looked confused.
“I...” she started, but trailed off. He looked down at her hard, his lips pressed together grimly, as he fought an urge to turn a barrage of questions on her. He gave her another shake, this one gentler. His blue eyes caught hers, and he watched something unknown inside her crumble.
Those blue eyes trembled. “I have to tell you something...” she whispered meekly.
Wyatt Cain shuffled about his office at the Armory, trying to get as much done as possible, as fast as possible. Of course, he was accomplishing nothing, and he was now feeling the beginnings of what would surely be a bad headache. He pressed on, however, knowing full well the problem was that he was distracted.
DG. The mirrors. A light, a stranger. And... what, exactly? A prophecy; a vision?
Death... someone was going to die. When... soon? He didn't know, and it drove him, frustrated him.
She was adamant, almost maddeningly so, that she wasn't imagining things. He'd made the mistake of asking.
But words came back to him, the advice of a fragile Azkadellia as she handed over the only things truly important to her to his hands, his protection; her younger sister and an emerald.
“... She's going to sound crazy out there. Your instinct might even tell you she's going the wrong way. She won't be, and you need to trust in that...”
So after asking her once, he'd simply shut his mouth and listened to her.
But that had been the night before. It was time, now, to focus on the task at hand. There was a transport requisition, somewhere. He had a handful of Longcoats being kept in an underground bunker deep in the southeast, and they needed transferring to the Tower prison. A reading needed to be arranged of the prisoners, someone had to send a message to the Viewers to request one. The extra men left behind to guard the prisoners needed reassignment. A conference with the generals was going to take up most of the afternoon. Somewhere in all of this, he was going to need to see his son... and, Gods willing, his princess, before he rode out the following morning.
Azkadellia's coronation was in seven weeks; he had six and a half left on the road. Nothing had led him to Zero, not a single person in all of the Zone had been heard with the name John Zerrose on their lips. The Longcoat was gone, as if he'd disappeared off the face of the O.Z.
Cain wasn't willing to cross the border, pass over the desert to search for Zero. He wouldn't leave the Zone, not even in chase. He'd travel the Brick Road in search until his duties at DG's side came into effect. When... only she could say. When the blood of one...
There was a hard rap on the open door, bringing Cain sharply out of his thoughts. He raised his head to see the Prince Consort standing in his door frame, already one foot inside. He was too distracted. Worse, he didn't have time for this. He didn't even know what Ahamo wanted, and knew that he didn't have time for it.
“Welcome, Sir,” Cain said, still shifting through papers. He gave a quick, stiff nod of his head. He wasn't trying to be rude, the man would certainly know what it was like to have too much work and no time to do it, and, from what he'd heard, the consort stood by ceremony as much as DG did.
“How are you, Captain?” Ahamo asked. He stepped in further, and closed the door behind him, to ensure privacy.
Great, Cain thought. He sighed, finally finding one of the forms he needed. If only several others would magically appear in front of him. A stack of folders sat to the right, waiting for him. “I'm busy,” Cain said honestly. “How are you, sir.” Not so much of a question as an invitation to get right the hell down to it.
“I've just come from a meeting with my wife and daughter,” Ahamo said slowly, moving to stand in front of Cain's desk. His hands were idly shoved in his pockets, his stance casual. The set of his shoulders was completely betrayed by the tone of his voice as he spoke. “Over the past few months, Captain, these 'meetings' with DG have become more and more upsetting.”
Cain realized the pause meant he was required to say something. His blue eyes flicked up momentarily to catch the consort's, before returning to the task in his hands. “I can imagine,” he said, prompting the man across from him. “She's been seein' some pretty strange things.”
“So you believe her?”
“It'd probably be foolish not to, considerin',” Cain said carefully. To his relief, the consort only nodded in agreement.
“She's headstrong,” the consort said fondly. “Magnet for trouble. Always has been.” He stopped to chuckle, however inappropriately was not for Cain to say. “And you still plan on taking a position at her side, despite the fact that she wears your ring on her finger?” Cain said nothing, and after an uncomfortable pause, Ahamo continued. “Her Majesty worries about love's distraction.”
Not only Her Majesty, Cain thought bitterly as he looked up from his paperwork to survey the man before him. The hands were out of the pockets now, and the arms were crossed smugly across the chest; trying, and failing, to be intimidating. “I plan to watch her all the more closely for it,” Cain said shortly. His words were clipped, hard, and demanded recognition. “Your daughter is gonna be as safe as she can be.”
“You cannot guarantee that, Captain.”
Cain smirked. “Of course I can't,” he said. “Couldn't even if she had a full military escort.”
Their eyes met then, remembering too well the journey from Finaqua to the Gale. It hit Cain, as he stared, unyielding, at the consort. Though he refused to back down, he understood, suddenly quite clearly, the consort's worry about his daughter. Even now, the Witch dead, the country restored, DG's task had yet to be completed. The forecast on the horizon was dark, too dark to even see what was coming. The consort, though battle hardened by his time in the Realm of the Unwanted, was not a fighter, and he was becoming weary of the war for peace.
“I want her kept as safe as possible. I want Corporal Hass to accompany you on this... whatever you want to call it, mission. Test. It doesn't matter.” The consort's words were firm, as close to a direct decree as Cain ever wanted to come again. His jaw tightened. “As safe as possible, do you understand me?”
Wyatt nodded his head; he felt sorry for the consort, in a way, but he didn't soften, didn't quite know how to. He could sense Ahamo's struggle to be a real parent to a child he hadn't really had the chance to know before adulthood had swept the innocence away... something Cain felt, all too palpably.
Uncomfortable, realizing that Cain would say no more after being given his order, the consort cleared his throat, uncrossed his arms. Put his hands back in his pockets. “I wish you luck, Captain,” he said, nodding vaguely to the mess of papers on the desk. The words reached much deeper, causing Cain's shoulders to relax slightly. With another nod, this one with a sense of finality, the consort walked from the room, and left Cain standing amidst a mess of paper and thought.
Author's Note II: (and this is important!) -- I am blessed with some very smart readers, and some are going to figure out what the words from the girl in the mirror mean. Now, please don't give it away in comments. Chapter Four's secret was meant to be easily discovered - this one is TRULY meant to be a surprise, so please, don't give it away if you figure it out. You can gloat vocally when it comes to pass!
Now that doesn't mean that I wouldn't like a comment. My muse really needs it; the next chapter is the coronation, and it is going to be very hard for me to get through. Eep! Comments are love!
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". A year after returning to the Zone, 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 02.24.09)
Warning: Get your "CPR" icons out, ladies.
Author's Note: All right, I've brought us up to summer, and summer is hot. *cough* Special thanks to BookWorm37, who helped me out with the idea for Scene Two. Thank you, I hope it brings you giggles and glee, hon! And its all dedicated to my buddy erinm_4600 , who is sneezing at this very moment. *hugs*
Chapter Five
Midsummer
It was stifling hot in the conference room, and everyone inside of it was feeling the effects of the muggy city afternoon. Jeb resisted digging a finger into his collar to give himself more room to breathe; but, like an unsatisfied itch, his discomfort festered, annoyed him. He'd already undone the collar, was already breaking the strict regulations for the men of his position; Gods, he hated the palace guard uniforms.
Azkadellia, though seemingly engrossed in peace talks with an Ambassador of Ev, had been eying him since he'd undone his collar. Every so often, her eyes would flick to him, a natural gesture to the man who sat across from her, but to the guard who watched her, it was more, too much more. She was careful, demure in her actions, her body language. She played the proper role of heir presumptive, future queen; she caused no suspicion to arise.
But with her mind, her magic, she was playful.
The Ambassador was laying down demands. Though Az, flanked on either side by advisors, watched him attentively, her face impassive; from across the room, her voice rang out clear and flirtatious in Jeb's head.
I can't take this heat, she whispered to him, not even looking at him now, almost avoiding his eyes, knowing full well he'd never try to catch hers.
Aren't you hot? I know I am.
Moving casually, she swept her long hair over one shoulder, exposing the side of her neck, showing him that tender, special place on her jaw, where she loved to feel his lips. He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to shake off images that were rising to the surface of his brain. He was on the job, he needed to focus; though he knew he was a poor example of proper work ethic, even he had enough common sense not to give into her tricks... while the Ambassador, his personal guard, and the royal advisors were in the room, anyway.
Ohhh, she moaned low as she shifted. So warm. This gown is so heavy. I can't wait to get up to my room to take it off.
He found himself gritting his teeth. He focused on the drone of the Ambassador's voice. The man's list of desires, though not his own but that of his king, seemed to go on and on. Jeb would have tossed the bastard on his ass quite a while ago, but then again, during his time with the Resistance, he hadn't come to be known for his diplomacy.
“I think you're trying to blind me with menial demands, Ambassador Echevarria, to sneak a few larger ones under the table,” Azkadellia said with the slightest hint of amusement in her voice. It was easily quelled as she reached forward to the table and began to sort through papers. “I have the last peace treaty between our two countries here, Ambrose had it drawn up for me.”
As she searched intently, scanning one paper and then the next carefully, her voice came to him again.
Jeb,she whispered sensuously. He felt a jolt of lust shoot through him, unexpectedly, as she used his name; she so very rarely had reason to. I want out of here. I want... her voice trailed off, but a quiet, strained moan echoed off the inside of his skull. When he looked at her, her teeth were digging into her full bottom lip, in concentration or desire, it was up to him to decide.
His eyes slammed closed, and he clenched his jaw tighter, heard his teeth grind against one another. Told himself firmly to ignore her.
Just imagine, her words called out to him, how warm and slick my skin is. I wish your hands were cold, like ice. I'd let you run them all over me.
He cleared his throat, shifting. For the first time in a long time, or perhaps ever, Jeb Cain found himself wishing he had some sort of magic, so that he might be able to return in kind. Torture her as she tortured him now. He might tell her that his hands were hot, that he was hot for her, that if she didn't stop this instant, he'd take her on the conference table in front of the foreign dignitary and her mother's advisors.
Hours later, as the Ambassador and his guard left the meeting, smug and sated, and the royal advisors had gone the same way, talking to each other in low voices, Jeb pushed himself away from the wall and walked slowly to the door. He was absolutely numb with his restraint, ready to let go, but not about to give her the satisfaction. A stubborn jackass, through and through.
“I have to change for the state dinner tonight,” she said casually, as she organized the papers on the table into a neat pile. He closed the door, and began to cross the room, to the long table where she stood. If she noticed him stalking slowly towards her, she didn't say anything about it, nor did she give him the slightest acknowledgement.
“You think you're funny, don't you?” Jeb asked, keeping his face stone straight.
Az swallowed a smile before looking up at him. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Lieutenant.”
“No,” he growled suddenly, petulantly. “You don't get to do that.”
Her eyebrows raised in surprise at his tone. One moment, the mood had been playful, though she was sure she'd been having more fun than he, but that could be remedied now that they were alone. But, no... “What?” What didn't she get to do?
“Lieutenant,” he repeated. He was shaking his head when he stepped directly in front of her. He placed both hands on her neck, holding her head straight so she had no choice but to look at him. “None of that. Say it.”
Her lip trembled at his seriousness. The spark in his eye, that darkness that loomed, that pain buried. She'd done something very wrong, and she almost cowered, thinking she'd hurt him. She didn't want to, never wanted to... “Say what?” she asked, unsure.
“Say my name, Your Highness.” His use of her title was pointed, a knife pressed into the skin of the moment, ready to puncture, to inflict pain.
She blinked, swallowed hard. “Jeb, you're scaring me,” she said quietly, her voice so soft that it was barely heard over their labored breathing.
Subdued, he slumped against her, burying his face in her neck, in her hair; finding that tender, special spot on her jaw, he pressed his lips there as he wrapped his arms around her, held her tightly.
Didn't let go.
The streets of Central City's Bellicose District were deadly quiet. A breeze lifted trash from the gutters, blowing it along an aimless route. Raucous calls, displaced from streets over where nightlife still thrived, echoed off the high brick walls of the mostly empty buildings. Slowly, the Reconstruction was breathing new life into the once seedy city, home to almost half of the population of the Outer Zone, but here on the fringes of the city, near the Wall, it was still a dangerous place to tread.
Sudden, soundless movement broke the stillness. Along the shadows, met by no one, a cloaked figure crept. Every move was slow and calculated; footsteps hitting the wet pavement made no sound, the swish of the cloak around the moving legs of its wearer was unheard by anyone. Barely there, perhaps not there at all, the hooded figure walked with singular purpose.
In the earliest hours of the morning, when only the wildest districts still showed signs of life, the darkened doorways and empty, black windows bore the only witness of the stranger. Completely out of place, the figure never slowed, never stopped. A predestined path, followed as though practiced. Cutting across a deserted street, the cloak caught in the breeze, lifting to show pale, slender legs before dropping again; skirting the edge of the glow cast by a street lamp, the stranger ducked into an alley. Looking around, seeing no one and hearing nothing, a hand closed on a steel handle, pulling open a door set in the wall. The city slept, unaware of the figure that disappeared into nameless building, closing the door so softly behind, it made no noise at all.
Moving stealthily up the stairs, lights dimmed as the cloaked stranger passed, only to brighten again after the unknown had walked on. Up one floor, and then another, and another, the hallway at the top of the stairs darkened completely as the figure pulled the cloak tighter, straightened the hood. Eventually stopping in front of a door, a hand was held up, and the locks in the door glowed bright, disengaging, one after another.
On the other side of the door, Wyatt Cain's eyes flew open. As the first lock clicked, he was out of bed and grabbing his gun off the nightstand, where it sat, loaded and ready. He was crossing out of his bedroom and into the kitchen as the second lock slid out of place; raising his gun and straightening his arm in the direction of the door when the third lock released. His heart was pounding as the door knob turned.
He cleared his throat loudly. “You've got 'till the count of two to back off before I empty this chamber in your skull,” he said as he pulled back the hammer, using the ominous sound to show he meant business.
The figure entering his home cried out; with a small flash of white light, he felt the gun being yanked hard from his fingers, his brain registering it leaving his hand and flying across the room, to hit the wall and clatter uselessly to the floor. The surge of magic in the room caused the light-bulb above his head to turn on and flare bright before burning out. Backing up a step in surprise, Cain watched as the stranger before him yanked down its hood, and he was faced with his princess, her cheeks burning and her eyes blazing as the lights in the hallway turned back on.
“DG!” he exclaimed angrily, advancing on her quickly and seizing her by the arm. Great Gale, she'd just broken into his apartment and disarmed him! She looked shocked at her own actions, lost for words and taken aback by his sudden onset. She was looking up at him with guilty blue eyes, biting her lip as she waited for admonishment. “What the hell are you doin'?” He was almost, but not quite, at a loss for words at her brazenness.
“Well, I...” she said, and faltered. She let go of a huffing exhale, her jaw settling firmly as she glared up at him. Sudden defiance sparked. “I told you I wouldn't be held responsible for my actions if you took too long.” She gave a firm little nod, as if to back herself up.
Gazing down at her, feeling a smile trembling at the corners of his mouth, he fought it down. “You sneak out of the palace in the middle of the night by yourself? You got any common sense in that head of yours? And -” He stopped short for a moment, realizing a fact and becoming immediately suspicious. “And how did you know I was back in the city? I got in less than three hours ago!”
Unlike him, DG allowed herself a grin. “I've got contacts, too, Tin Man,” she said, her voice daring him to be tempted to ask, but she didn't leave him time to. She had a determined gleam to her eyes, and somehow Cain knew she was out for nothing but trouble. “Now can you pretend for five minutes to be happy to see me? Then I promise,” she said, her voice dropping, “you can go back to chastising me like I'm a bad girl.”
She cocked an eyebrow. Another dare; and Gods damn him forever, because, despite his prided restraint and control, it was pretty much over from there.
Dragging her against his chest by his tight grip still on her arm, he used his free hand to slam the door shut; in next to an instant, he had her pushed against it, molding his body against hers as six months of combined, pent up sexual frustration burst forth in a wave of aggression. His lips crushed down on hers, stealing the breath from her lungs as one arm slid smoothly around her waist, his knuckles scraping hard on the door. With the other hand, he fumbled with the locks, closing them in. No interruptions.
Her hands were between them as he kissed her, her fingers moving deftly over the fastenings of her cloak. She soon had it off, and she tore it from her shoulders, tossing it away. His hands were immediately on her shirt, pulling the fabric up and over her head, breaking away from her mouth for only long enough to rid her of the fabric; his mouth found hers again, his tongue seeking audience with hers, as she moaned underneath of him, heat radiating from her skin.
“Wyatt,” she mumbled softly, imploringly, against his lips. Damn him, he felt so good, firm muscle and pure masculinity underneath her hands. She slid her hands up his chest over top of his shirt, taking handfuls of his collar, pulling him down. His arms about her naked back held her steady; his lips moved endlessly over hers, sucking, taking her in. His mouth made love with hers as his hands slipped lower, palming both cheeks of her bottom, pinching, squeezing. She lost the kiss as her head fell back, mind spinning.
Cain lowered his mouth to her neck, taking her skin in as he lifted her. Her skirt rode up as she wrapped her legs about his hips, tightening him between her legs to keep herself up; he held her securely, letting go her neck with an audible pop to look up at her. With light no longer spilling in from the hallway, he couldn't see her face, as she pressed her forehead to his, the dark masses of her hair falling around them as a curtain.
“Do you want it like this?” he whispered, his voice gravelly with want. Bracing her against the door, he yanked her hips down towards his, grinding her against his hardening erection. She moaned loud, barely sounding like herself.
Her voice was shaking when she finally found it. “No,” she found herself saying quietly to him. “Not like this.”
Holding tight to Cain's shoulders, DG pressed feather light kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, into his hair as he carried her awkwardly to the bedroom. When he sat her down on the edge of the bed, he knelt before her. She could see a little better in the bedroom, the light coming in the window enough to illuminate his skin, his pale hair. She watched intently as his hands slid down her legs, pulling off the silk ballet flats that had made no noise against the pavement. Running his hands back up all the way to her hips, his fingers searched until he found the zipper that held her remaining garment closed; pulling it down, he hooked his fingers inside the waistband of her skirt. “Lay back,” he commanded, and she did so, her heart fluttering uncertainly. She lifted her hips as he slid the skirt and her underwear off, leaving her laying on his bed in nothing but her bra, as he sat back on his knees, fully clothed before her.
Coming up to her, an arm bracing his weight on either side of her, he leaned in close, his breath caressing her lips. Instead of kissing her, however, he only teased her lips with the barest touch against his own before moving downwards, pressing a hard kiss to her jaw, to her neck.
“After I'm done with you,” he said in that low, growly tone, “after I'm done makin' you scream...” Here he paused, the graze of his teeth on her shoulder turning into the softest bite, and she cried out, her arms wrapping around his torso, trying to pull him down to her. He resisted, holding himself above her. “... You're goin' to tell me exactly how you managed to lose your guard and get out of the palace.”
DG nearly snorted with laughter; the Tin Man on top of her cut it short by biting down gently on her shoulder again. Clearing her throat, she remembered herself enough to mutter a quick “Yes, sir.” Cain chuckled against her skin as he reversed, sliding his lips down her chest. When he met the obstruction of her bra, he skipped past it, pressing his next kiss to the bottom of her ribcage, near the dip of her waist. When she let out a soft exclamation of disappointment, he placated her by sliding one hand under the silky fabric of her bra, pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger before letting her go and continuing his southward journey.
Ohh... how much had she missed him. Was it measured in every arc her body made against his ministrations, was it counted by every quiet cry that escaped her lips as his lips pressed to the soft skin of her belly, his tongue sweeping a wet circle around her navel. It didn't occur to her what he was doing until he'd started, as he slid off the bed completely to kneel before her again, as he gently pried her thighs apart, hooking her legs over his shoulders.
A whimper caught in her throat as his fingers brushed lightly, reverently through her curls; he touched her folds, felt the wetness seeping from her, and with a strained groan, Cain slid two thick fingers directly into her body, encasing himself in her heat. “Gods,” he mumbled, nipping at the inside of her thigh as he pulled his fingers free again. “So wet already, Princess.” Her eyes slid closed as his hands gripped at her hips, and he lowered his head to the apex of her thighs. She cried out, arching as his tongue ran along her slit, burrowed in between to graze the sensitive bundle that had ached too long for this most intimate of his touches.
With a hand splayed firmly over her stomach, anchoring her to the bed, he began to work his mouth over her, first sucking soft on her clit, then lapping down slowly. His tongue found her entrance, circling it, teasing it until she began to shake; prompted further, he allowed himself to delve in for a better taste, pressing her down as she bucked up against him. When a familiar whimper caught in her throat, he knew she was close; beginning to tremble with his own restraint, he swept the flat of his tongue upwards in one smooth motion, flicking her bud with the tip, again and again until she came, her hands flying down to his head, trying to push him away as her thighs seized. With a deep chuckle, he placed open mouthed kisses on her thighs before pushing away from the bed.
DG propped herself up on her elbows, breathing hard as she watched him undress. Had he just done that to her? Her legs seemed to shake of their own volition as she scooted farther back, the jingle of his belt sending her heart into near arrest, followed by a soft whoosh as his pants dropped. Then, oh so slowly, he was crawling over her as she spread her legs for him again, welcoming him home in proper fashion as he settled, the tip of his erection probing against her wet, hot skin. “DG,” he said quietly, his name off her lips all the more taunting for the smirk in his voice.
She felt her lips curl into an indulgent smile. “You sound satisfied with yourself,” she whispered, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pressed into her, burying his cock to the hilt with a groan that shook through him and into her. Her inner muscles still pulsed around him, his erection twitching on its own in kind. They lay perfectly still, as he kissed her softly for the first time since she had laid down on the bed. Passionate, unrestrained kisses; she was desperate to taste him, to taste herself, Gods she'd missed him, never felt anything so fulfilling, was never so complete as when he held her this way. How had she gone on for so long without him? And when... when could she have this for keeps?
With agonizing precision, Wyatt began to move his hips, driving all thought from her head. Extracting himself so slowly before pushing in again, causing her to buck and moan before much time had passed. Sweat began to glisten on his forehead as he thrust easily, in and out, and sweet Lords, he'd never felt anything so hot, so soft beneath him. “Deeg,” came a strangled word from his mouth, as she writhed beneath him, first guiding her hips towards his, and in the next second pulling away. In desperation for release, for closeness, their rhythm was skewed, uneven, but still they drew each other higher and higher until suddenly she was there, crying out his name, and Gods she was tight, and he was pushing himself as deep as he could before letting go, flooding her, and then falling completely still.
“Love you,” he muttered against her sweat-dampened forehead, as he pushed himself away from her, falling weakly to her side on the mattress.
She hummed a happy note as she settled into the crook of his arm, resting her chin upon his chest. “Love you, too,” she said with a grin he could hear, but not see. And then she was pushing away, sitting up. “And I'm not telling you a damn thing. You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that.”
Cain laughed, opening his eyes to see her sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sounds like a challenge I might take you up on, Darlin', but first I need a few minutes.”
DG giggled gleefully, knowing she'd won the round. As much as she wanted to bury herself into his embrace and fall asleep, she knew she couldn't sleep next to him that night. She'd have to return to the palace, there was no way to get around that. But first...
“Would it be all right if I took a shower?” she asked him, as she reached behind her to unclasp her bra. She looked on the floor for the rest of her clothes that lay on the floor in a pile with his, even their garments desperate for the feel of the other. She searched for her shirt before realizing it had been left at the front door.
“You don't want to stay in bed?” he asked her, as he propped up on one elbow to watch her. She smiled at him, and crawled up the bed to place a much desired kiss on his lips.
“We both know I can't,” she whispered regretfully. She wanted to, so badly. Wanted to wake up next to him, to feel his arms about her as her eyes fluttered open to the light. “But you're welcome to join me in the shower if you'd like.”
Cain shook his head. “No, you go,” he said, and kissed her before flopping back to the mattress and pillows. “I'll be waitin' when you get out.”
DG hopped off the bed. “No way, Tin Man. You'll get me all sticky and sweaty again!” She was laughing, and God damn it felt good to laugh. She scooted to the bathroom, wondering if he might follow her. She left the light off and the door open. She loved Cain's bathroom, for it had one luxury that her own home didn't. For all its grandeur and opulence, not one of Alta Torretta's deep, smooth claw-footed tubs boasted a shower. Not one. She'd checked.
So, happy now for the first time in months, she showered, conjuring pins to gather her hair on top of her head. She didn't take long, wanting to get back to the Tin Man that waited for her in the bed; for all her teasing in the bedroom, she doubted she'd leave without making love with him again, and then she'd go home with his smell lingering under her clothes.
After washing the mess away from her thighs, she turned off the water and stepped out onto the mat. She reached for a towel, and after wrapping it firmly about her breasts, she waved of her hand, turned on the light.
She stepped in front of the mirror, and wiped away the steam with her hand; a quick green streak followed the contact on the glass before disappearing, like static electricity in the dark. Looking up into her reflection, the strange face staring back at her caused her to scream. Really scream! Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered that Cain had called her name worriedly, that he was coming now, but it didn't matter, she didn't care. Her mouth fell open, but wasn't reflected on the face in the mirror, that same, hauntingly similar face.
“When the blood of one is the death of another, the time to begin will have come,” said the girl in the mirror, the same disjointed, faraway voice; the dark eyes watching her sparked dangerously with the ominous words. Blood, death... a beginning? No... the girl began to shift, began to fade.
“No!” DG cried out. “Wait!” She climbed up onto the sink to get closer to the mirror.
Cain came around the corner, pants on but undone, gun in hand, to see DG kneeling on the sink, trying to pry the mirror off the wall. His eyes scanned the bathroom, but he saw nothing amiss... but for the crazed girl who slapped the glass before slumping back so suddenly she nearly fell off the sink.
“What are you doin'?” he demanded harshly as he stepped fully into the bathroom. He helped her down, gave her a shake, as her eyes slid onto him, focusing slowly. She looked confused.
“I...” she started, but trailed off. He looked down at her hard, his lips pressed together grimly, as he fought an urge to turn a barrage of questions on her. He gave her another shake, this one gentler. His blue eyes caught hers, and he watched something unknown inside her crumble.
Those blue eyes trembled. “I have to tell you something...” she whispered meekly.
Wyatt Cain shuffled about his office at the Armory, trying to get as much done as possible, as fast as possible. Of course, he was accomplishing nothing, and he was now feeling the beginnings of what would surely be a bad headache. He pressed on, however, knowing full well the problem was that he was distracted.
DG. The mirrors. A light, a stranger. And... what, exactly? A prophecy; a vision?
Death... someone was going to die. When... soon? He didn't know, and it drove him, frustrated him.
She was adamant, almost maddeningly so, that she wasn't imagining things. He'd made the mistake of asking.
But words came back to him, the advice of a fragile Azkadellia as she handed over the only things truly important to her to his hands, his protection; her younger sister and an emerald.
“... She's going to sound crazy out there. Your instinct might even tell you she's going the wrong way. She won't be, and you need to trust in that...”
So after asking her once, he'd simply shut his mouth and listened to her.
But that had been the night before. It was time, now, to focus on the task at hand. There was a transport requisition, somewhere. He had a handful of Longcoats being kept in an underground bunker deep in the southeast, and they needed transferring to the Tower prison. A reading needed to be arranged of the prisoners, someone had to send a message to the Viewers to request one. The extra men left behind to guard the prisoners needed reassignment. A conference with the generals was going to take up most of the afternoon. Somewhere in all of this, he was going to need to see his son... and, Gods willing, his princess, before he rode out the following morning.
Azkadellia's coronation was in seven weeks; he had six and a half left on the road. Nothing had led him to Zero, not a single person in all of the Zone had been heard with the name John Zerrose on their lips. The Longcoat was gone, as if he'd disappeared off the face of the O.Z.
Cain wasn't willing to cross the border, pass over the desert to search for Zero. He wouldn't leave the Zone, not even in chase. He'd travel the Brick Road in search until his duties at DG's side came into effect. When... only she could say. When the blood of one...
There was a hard rap on the open door, bringing Cain sharply out of his thoughts. He raised his head to see the Prince Consort standing in his door frame, already one foot inside. He was too distracted. Worse, he didn't have time for this. He didn't even know what Ahamo wanted, and knew that he didn't have time for it.
“Welcome, Sir,” Cain said, still shifting through papers. He gave a quick, stiff nod of his head. He wasn't trying to be rude, the man would certainly know what it was like to have too much work and no time to do it, and, from what he'd heard, the consort stood by ceremony as much as DG did.
“How are you, Captain?” Ahamo asked. He stepped in further, and closed the door behind him, to ensure privacy.
Great, Cain thought. He sighed, finally finding one of the forms he needed. If only several others would magically appear in front of him. A stack of folders sat to the right, waiting for him. “I'm busy,” Cain said honestly. “How are you, sir.” Not so much of a question as an invitation to get right the hell down to it.
“I've just come from a meeting with my wife and daughter,” Ahamo said slowly, moving to stand in front of Cain's desk. His hands were idly shoved in his pockets, his stance casual. The set of his shoulders was completely betrayed by the tone of his voice as he spoke. “Over the past few months, Captain, these 'meetings' with DG have become more and more upsetting.”
Cain realized the pause meant he was required to say something. His blue eyes flicked up momentarily to catch the consort's, before returning to the task in his hands. “I can imagine,” he said, prompting the man across from him. “She's been seein' some pretty strange things.”
“So you believe her?”
“It'd probably be foolish not to, considerin',” Cain said carefully. To his relief, the consort only nodded in agreement.
“She's headstrong,” the consort said fondly. “Magnet for trouble. Always has been.” He stopped to chuckle, however inappropriately was not for Cain to say. “And you still plan on taking a position at her side, despite the fact that she wears your ring on her finger?” Cain said nothing, and after an uncomfortable pause, Ahamo continued. “Her Majesty worries about love's distraction.”
Not only Her Majesty, Cain thought bitterly as he looked up from his paperwork to survey the man before him. The hands were out of the pockets now, and the arms were crossed smugly across the chest; trying, and failing, to be intimidating. “I plan to watch her all the more closely for it,” Cain said shortly. His words were clipped, hard, and demanded recognition. “Your daughter is gonna be as safe as she can be.”
“You cannot guarantee that, Captain.”
Cain smirked. “Of course I can't,” he said. “Couldn't even if she had a full military escort.”
Their eyes met then, remembering too well the journey from Finaqua to the Gale. It hit Cain, as he stared, unyielding, at the consort. Though he refused to back down, he understood, suddenly quite clearly, the consort's worry about his daughter. Even now, the Witch dead, the country restored, DG's task had yet to be completed. The forecast on the horizon was dark, too dark to even see what was coming. The consort, though battle hardened by his time in the Realm of the Unwanted, was not a fighter, and he was becoming weary of the war for peace.
“I want her kept as safe as possible. I want Corporal Hass to accompany you on this... whatever you want to call it, mission. Test. It doesn't matter.” The consort's words were firm, as close to a direct decree as Cain ever wanted to come again. His jaw tightened. “As safe as possible, do you understand me?”
Wyatt nodded his head; he felt sorry for the consort, in a way, but he didn't soften, didn't quite know how to. He could sense Ahamo's struggle to be a real parent to a child he hadn't really had the chance to know before adulthood had swept the innocence away... something Cain felt, all too palpably.
Uncomfortable, realizing that Cain would say no more after being given his order, the consort cleared his throat, uncrossed his arms. Put his hands back in his pockets. “I wish you luck, Captain,” he said, nodding vaguely to the mess of papers on the desk. The words reached much deeper, causing Cain's shoulders to relax slightly. With another nod, this one with a sense of finality, the consort walked from the room, and left Cain standing amidst a mess of paper and thought.
Author's Note II: (and this is important!) -- I am blessed with some very smart readers, and some are going to figure out what the words from the girl in the mirror mean. Now, please don't give it away in comments. Chapter Four's secret was meant to be easily discovered - this one is TRULY meant to be a surprise, so please, don't give it away if you figure it out. You can gloat vocally when it comes to pass!
Now that doesn't mean that I wouldn't like a comment. My muse really needs it; the next chapter is the coronation, and it is going to be very hard for me to get through. Eep! Comments are love!
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