"Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run"
Title: Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run
Author: Rissy James
Characters: Cain, DG, Glitch, Raw (appearances by: Jeb, Tutor, Lavender, Azkadellia, Ahamo)
Pairing: Cain/DG
Rating: 14+ (subject to change)
Summary: The fade to black was merely the blink of an eye. Respite for only seconds. After all, the road is long.
Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run
When Last We Met: Eight months after the double eclipse, the Regency of Lady Lavender is coming to an end. However, after words of warning from Tutor and one meeting with Lavender, Cain realizes there is more threatening the Gales than the New Resistance. Wanting answers, Cain seeks out his most valuable - albeit unwilling - source of information.
Chapter Five: The Road To Hell
DG had been drawing. Unlike her small scattering of supplies in her mother's room that had been easily swept away, her own sitting room looked like a travel storm had ripped through it, without the added benefit of the storm whipping everything away into another world. On every available work space - those that weren't piled high with thick-spined, leathery old books - was littered with pencils, or open kits of colours, or ink bottles, or rulers, protractors, erasers, brushes, charcoals, or crumpled squares of stiff, creamy paper.
An easel was set up near the window, and it was here that she'd been sitting - or at least, Cain assumed, as the first thing she did after reluctantly letting him into her room was drape a grey drop-cloth over the easel and whatever she'd been working on when he'd interrupted her.
"I thought you'd wait until morning," she said, moving restlessly relocating her art supplies from one table to another, each movement as useless as the one before.
He scowled. "Got a few things on my mind," he said, when he was able to swallow back the nastier words that had come to his mind. "It'd keep me up all night. Looks like it's already doing the same to you." He jerked his chin toward the shrouded easel. It struck a sensitive nerve, that she hid her work from him; hard-pressed not to let on, he cleared his throat. The lump stayed put.
"Got a few things on my mind, too," she admitted - and then she shook her head at herself. "More than a few things. Drawing helps me clear my conscience before bed."
He raised an eyebrow. "May I see?"
"No."
Fair enough, he thought, but kept his comments to himself. She looked away from him, and with a verbal grace that belied a thousand conversations with a thousand strangers, she swiftly changed the subject.
"Mother must have been as clear as dishwater, if she got you this worried."
"I'm not worried."
"You could have fooled me." She smirked. It was the closest she'd yet come to a smile - in his presence, at least. "Listen, Cain, if you came to talk, can we make it quick? It's almost midnight."
"Depends on how fast you're gonna tell me the truth." He could have laughed at her thinly veiled attempts to be rid of him, if he hadn't already known that patronizing her would only raise her walls all the more. However, as he waited for her to rise to his baiting, he realized she was descending instead, though into what he wasn't entirely sure. Suddenly, she seemed the worried one, her detachment breaking with one tiny frown.
It had taken him a long time, before and after the double eclipse, to learn to gauge her reactions; it was the best way to interpret how she would act, to start to understand her unpredictable nature. Now, after all the distance he'd put between them in the intervening months, he had no clue what sort of return was due.
"I don't owe you answers, Cain," she said; her gaze hit the floor, stayed there. He hoped his worn boots were interesting.
"I'd settle for an explanation."
She nodded. "As soon as someone gives me one, I'll be sure to pass it along."
"That woman isn't sick," he said.
She looked up, and he managed to catch her eyes right off. There was a fire there, when he'd expected to see the fright of a child. His first surprise.
"No, not sick," DG said. "She's still dying. It's my fault," she continued, and he was forced to grit his teeth against the impatience that wanted to tear from his mouth.
It always manages to make it round to being your fault, he thought. A familiar sadness settled over him. She shouldered the same blame as he; they were the only witnesses to their own crimes, forced to be helpless bystanders.
"Why don't we just skip the part where it's your fault and get to you telling me what the hell is going on around here."
DG sighed. "I don't owe you answers," she repeated, however infirmly.
Cain was nothing but patience. As much as it annoyed him, he'd stay all night if he had to, if it took that long to wheedle it out of her. "Kiddo," he said, watching her eyes flick to the floor again at the name, "by my reckoning, you do."
"Failing health," DG said, her shoulders falling as if all her energy had gone into those two words. "That's what they'll announce. It's true, for the most part. People will understand sickness; they'll accept it, even if they don't want to."
"What's really happening to her?"
Fire flared up in her eyes again, and she turned them on him with a force that made him wince, physically wince. "I don't know, I told you that. She does, though, I know she does. Tutor, too, I think."
There was nothing he knew to say. If it was obvious even to his own eyes that something more than the virulence of mere men affected Lavender, it was no wonder that she had been banished - or banished herself - to the protection of her own rooms. He knew from listening to Glitch's idle prattle about the goings-on in the palace that very few were permitted an audience with the regent. It seemed that in sequestering herself, all she had accomplished was to fuel the speculation and rumour in the halls of the palace and out in the streets of the city.
"Seems to me that whatever ails her, hiding it isn't gonna cause anything but trouble and heartache."
"How long would it take for people to shift the blame to my sister, if illness wasn't the cause?" she asked; he knew better than to answer. There was no doubt whatsoever that she was dead-on right. "They think she's still evil, that she can never - that we can never - oh damn it," she muttered, and turned away from him. He recognized the quickened pace to her speech all too well, the wavering break in her voice. "It's not Az's fault."
"You don't need to tell me that, Deege. And by what I can tell, it isn't yours, either."
Her eyes caught his, burned into him. She seemed to be biting back some response, and either managed to force it back or forget it all together, because after no more than a few seconds had passed, she was shaking her head and going back to picking up her abandoned art supplies. This time, she seemed to be moving with more focus - chased, probably, by the very words she'd refused to say.
It was his first instinct to tell her to just come out with it; he didn't need her hiding anything from him, not now, when at any day, they were going to be taking up old paths, wherever the road might end up leading them. He realized, as he watched her close kits and toss papers and file brushes and pencils into desk drawers, that she didn't need his pushing. Whatever was eating her up inside would eventually make its way out of her, however inopportune the forthcoming moment would be. After all, it was just her way, and he couldn't expect her to change because he was tired of having to see her suffer.
She caught him watching her practised steps throughout her sitting room. "If I don't put these away where I want them, the maids put them where they think they should go."
Cain gave her a slow nod. "Listen, I -"
"You better not be apologizing," DG said, laughing nervously. She'd finished putting the last of her supplies away, and turned to look at him expectantly, as if still daring him to attempt it.
"I don't apologize," he said. "Although you've been making me want to, the way you've been avoiding me since I got here."
The flimsy smile on her face disappeared. "Is that why you came to me, instead of going to Tutor or Glitch?"
"Rethinking that now, but yeah."
She grumbled something to herself, words so low that he did not hear them. She then took a deep breath and centred her gaze on him. "They didn't tell you anything before?"
"Seems like I got the 'official story' from Glitch when I arrived," Cain said with a roll of his eyes. "And the mutt's broad hints are starting to make a little more sense now."
Her smile was back at the mention of Glitch, glimpses of a happiness tinged with something heavier, sunslight through leaves. "I keep telling Glitch he's retired, he doesn't have to keep my mother's secrets any more," she said. "This has been just as hard on him, though he's trying not to let on. He reads like a book, though, a really confusing book."
"So do you," he said; he wanted to smile at the words, it was in him to, but he just... couldn't.
She seemed not to know how to take the comment. "Less confusing, I hope," she said, the weak, nervous laughter back.
"Little less, I suppose."
DG frowned, and seemed to consider him; her eyes went to his boots again. "Why did you come back?" she asked, but never paused to give him a chance to answer - not that he already hadn't, the night he'd arrived. "You left to get away from the noise and trouble; you think I don't know that, but I do. I knew it the night you told me you were leaving."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd known it would come down to this, on this night - after all, the confrontation would eventually have taken place, no matter how far he'd run or how much she tried to stay away from him after his return. Their first meeting deemed only to prove that they were both beginning to choke on the unsaid.
"I would've found myself back this way once they made this announcement they're planning."
"She should have made an announcement a long time ago," DG said with a shake of her head; her expression was deeply disapproving. "She's only doing it now because Azkadellia is pushing it through. It was my father's idea, and Glitch's, though he insists on being the silent partner. He doesn't want to hurt Mother's feelings."
"It needs to be done."
DG watched him carefully; it wasn't a pleasant experience, to endure the scrutiny of her sky eyes. "My mother just wants to give the O.Z. a chance at happiness."
"I'm sure it started out that way, Kiddo."
Whatever she seemed to be looking for from him, he knew she wasn't going to find it. Sure enough, she looked away and sank her body down into the nearest chair; the first half of her movement was fluid and graceful, but as she settled, she slumped against the back rest and tucked her legs up. A very unladylike posture to be sure, but for the first time since he'd come into her suite, she seemed comfortable.
"You were there, too, Cain," DG said, as if he needed reminding. "I really thought she was going to be able to fix everything. She was in no better shape than Az, I shouldn't have let her -" She sighed, exasperated. "You know, on the Other Side, they say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions."
"People say that on this side, too. I just don't think too many are gonna see it that way," he said, keeping his eyes on her face; she was off in thought, chewing absently at her lip, her eyes barely focusing on whatever they rested upon. He couldn't exactly say he was growing impatient with all this dallying; all she'd been able to do was confirm his suspicions, he would have to chase after Tutor, who seemed to know more than he had previously let on. It was safe to say, however, that he'd had enough of this grudging kindness from her as she tried to hide her hurt feelings. He didn't want to be one more weight for her conscience to drag along.
"Is Jeb still a part of the Resistance?"
Cain found himself at a loss for words as he tried to contemplate her meaning. The Resistance, as it had stood after the fall of the Sorceress, had helped to reform the Queen's royal army, and she knew that. "No. He fought to put your mother back in power."
"I thought he fought to bring an end to the Sorceress, the same as you."
He weathered this as he might have a physical blow; he struggled with his response. "Didn't much get a chance to fight for either, if you'll remember, Princess. Not until the very end, at least."
She nodded; she still hadn't looked at him, still hadn't taken her eyes off of whatever captivated her so. Considering she'd spent so much of their time together that night staring at his boots, he honestly didn't need to know what she stared at now. "I wish I knew how to make people believe Azkadellia will be a good queen."
Too many are convinced you'd make a better one, Princess. It was a bitter thought, and it shamed him; DG was a sharp girl, and it didn't surprise him in the slightest that she knew of the activity that took place outside the palace walls. "How long you been keeping quiet about what you know?" he asked.
"About as long as you were gone," she said, and finally turned her eyes on him.
He stepped closer to her chair. Her gaze stayed level on him as he came as close as he dared. He could have reached out to touch her shoulder, but could think of nothing more foolish; no, he kept his hands to himself. "I should have told you sooner that I was leaving, Kiddo."
Her eyes narrowed. "This sounds like the makings of an apology."
"Is it what you want?" he asked, working as hard as he was able to keep it from becoming a demand.
"No," she said. "I just want to know why. I told you everything - everything. I don't know why you didn't trust me."
With a sigh, Cain knelt down before the chair, so that instead of looking up at him, now she could look down upon him. "Trust you with my life, darlin', then and now."
DG tucked her feet in closer underneath her body, trying to put more distance between them now that he'd gotten so close. "If that were true, you would have told me you didn't want to stay. You and your sorry excuse for a goodbye. And then to let me go on and on as if I could have convinced you to stay! Why didn't you tell me to stop before I said too much?" Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the memory; he could feel the heat rise to his own face, and he lowered his chin, staring hard at the floor to hide it.
"I was - still am - honoured, Princess, but -"
DG's lips settled into a thin line, and before he could brace himself, she was shoving herself out of the chair and knocking him off balance. His ass hit the carpet and he was left gazing up at her as she stood over him, her long arms wrapped loosely around herself. "Don't princess me and talk about honour, Cain. There was no convincing you to stay, was there? You'd looked me in the face every day for weeks knowing you were leaving, and then you let me -" She let out a long exhale and turned away from him.
He slowly got to his feet. "You telling me you regret saying what you said?"
"Why shouldn't I?" she asked; she kept her back to him. Her hair was longer now; it seemed a silly thing to notice now, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her with her hair down. She seemed to have gotten it under control, it was no longer a mess of wild curls. "I thought I'd chased you away, that you were running from me, until Glitch told me that you'd always intended to leave."
"And I'd always intended for you to know, but -" He paused.
"But what?" There was a roughness to her voice that betrayed the strength she tried to put forth.
"I didn't want to hurt you." He tried putting a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged him off. He replaced his hand, holding it there firmly as she tried once again to brush him off. "Seems now that there was no way to avoid it."
Over her shoulder, she looked down at his hand. Her chin brushed against his fingertips; her cheek twitched.
"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions," she said, drawing in a deep breath. She pressed her cheek into his knuckles then, heat from her face warming his cold hand. "I really, really wish you hadn't come back."
It stung, he couldn't pretend it didn't, but before he could respond to her, try in the very least to assuage the hurt he'd plied on her all those months ago, she was twisting her body towards his, keeping a distance of arm's length between them. His hand fell away from her shoulder; instead of returning it to his side, he kept it in mid-air, near enough but not touching her elbow.
"You're stuck with me now, I think, but if you gave the order, I'd have to follow it," he said, managing to force the words out. He had an out, or close enough to one; what the hell was wrong with him, why wasn't he taking it?
You're a damn idiot, Wyatt Cain, he told himself. She was looking up at him again with those endless blue eyes, and he found himself thinking of all the other follies the road to Hell was rife with.
"You left to get away from all this," she argued. "You don't want this."
He smirked, the thoughts of sin and redemption still flying around his overtired brain. He had no answer for her, so he only gave her arm a gentle squeeze before letting her go altogether. "There's very few people in this life I would willingly take on trouble for. You and yours qualify; after all, don't know when I'm gonna be done owing you a debt of gratitude."
"I don't want your sympathy, or your charity, either."
"How about you just accept my friendship, then?" he offered; no, he didn't know where his patience for this girl came from, as hers for him seemed to have run out long ago. He didn't know why that hurt in her face cinched his chest closed so, or why those eyes of hers bore into him the way that they did. He'd left the city to regain what he could of his sanity - perhaps he'd left a little of that behind, though he didn't know how he was going to go about reclaiming it.
"I think it's time for you to go," she said, refusing to give into his prodding. Sometimes it would catch him off guard, how stubborn she could be, but it never surprised him.
He nodded. "So long as I'm not being banished from the city or your sight."
She gave him a half-smile. "Not tonight."
Hours later, Cain lay awake in his bed, thinking about home. He thought about the gate he'd meant to rehang, and the barn roof he'd planned on shingling the very morning the messenger had come racing up his road; he thought about firewood that needed to be cut and corded, the garden he'd intended to plant. He thought about how fast he'd run away from Central City to try and dredge up the old pieces of his life, and how fast he'd dropped all those loose ends to come charging back this way.
Six months, that's all it had been. A single winter. Yet, in that short period of time, the hope and promise of peace he'd left behind seemed to have drained away, leaving only a few scared people with no idea of what they were doing. There was no right course of action, and every path seemed only to serve as the wrong one.
His search for answers that evening had ended only with the review of his own missteps and miseries; though he seemed to have begun to bridge the gap that had been left between himself and DG, none of the rampant suspicions in his mind were even close to coming to rest.
Failing health, a tiny grain of truth.
"Great Gale," he muttered to himself, sitting up in his bed. "Don't go digging around for more trouble, Wyatt, don't you dare."
A gnawing guilt settled in his chest as he realized he deeply missed his wife's advice. Adora had always had a way of helping clear his focus; his poor wife, so rational and open, never trying to guide his mind, only encouraging. She'd stood by every decision he'd ever made for their family, and they'd all suffered for it. If he could have, he would have taken her death onto his shoulders and borne the burden for all his life; a mite hypocritical of him, when he discouraged the same from his son, from DG.
He had not been called to Central City to save the country, only to keep DG safe, to support his friends through this period of change. He hadn't been lying when he told DG that he would have come when the news had reached him.
Keep your eyes on the road ahead of you, he told himself, angrier with himself than he'd been in a long time. Whatever is gonna happen is gonna happen, and it isn't going to be any of your concern.
Grumbling to himself, he twisted to sit on the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the soft carpet. 'Isn't going to be any of your concern'. Huh. That's what he'd tried to tell himself the last time... and he remembered all too painfully how all of that had gone down.
Table Of Contents
One - Two - Three - Four - Five
Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten
Eleven - Twelve - Thirteen - Fourteen - Fifteen
Sixteen - Seventeen - Eighteen - Nineteen - Twenty
Twenty One - Twenty Two - Twenty Three - Twenty Four - Twenty Five
Twenty Six - Twenty Seven - Twenty Eight - Twenty Nine - Thirty
Thirty One - Thirty Two - Thirty Three - Thirty Four - Thirty Five
Thirty Six - Thirty Seven - Thirty Eight - Thirty Nine - Forty
Author: Rissy James
Characters: Cain, DG, Glitch, Raw (appearances by: Jeb, Tutor, Lavender, Azkadellia, Ahamo)
Pairing: Cain/DG
Rating: 14+ (subject to change)
Summary: The fade to black was merely the blink of an eye. Respite for only seconds. After all, the road is long.
Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run
When Last We Met: Eight months after the double eclipse, the Regency of Lady Lavender is coming to an end. However, after words of warning from Tutor and one meeting with Lavender, Cain realizes there is more threatening the Gales than the New Resistance. Wanting answers, Cain seeks out his most valuable - albeit unwilling - source of information.
Chapter Five: The Road To Hell
DG had been drawing. Unlike her small scattering of supplies in her mother's room that had been easily swept away, her own sitting room looked like a travel storm had ripped through it, without the added benefit of the storm whipping everything away into another world. On every available work space - those that weren't piled high with thick-spined, leathery old books - was littered with pencils, or open kits of colours, or ink bottles, or rulers, protractors, erasers, brushes, charcoals, or crumpled squares of stiff, creamy paper.
An easel was set up near the window, and it was here that she'd been sitting - or at least, Cain assumed, as the first thing she did after reluctantly letting him into her room was drape a grey drop-cloth over the easel and whatever she'd been working on when he'd interrupted her.
"I thought you'd wait until morning," she said, moving restlessly relocating her art supplies from one table to another, each movement as useless as the one before.
He scowled. "Got a few things on my mind," he said, when he was able to swallow back the nastier words that had come to his mind. "It'd keep me up all night. Looks like it's already doing the same to you." He jerked his chin toward the shrouded easel. It struck a sensitive nerve, that she hid her work from him; hard-pressed not to let on, he cleared his throat. The lump stayed put.
"Got a few things on my mind, too," she admitted - and then she shook her head at herself. "More than a few things. Drawing helps me clear my conscience before bed."
He raised an eyebrow. "May I see?"
"No."
Fair enough, he thought, but kept his comments to himself. She looked away from him, and with a verbal grace that belied a thousand conversations with a thousand strangers, she swiftly changed the subject.
"Mother must have been as clear as dishwater, if she got you this worried."
"I'm not worried."
"You could have fooled me." She smirked. It was the closest she'd yet come to a smile - in his presence, at least. "Listen, Cain, if you came to talk, can we make it quick? It's almost midnight."
"Depends on how fast you're gonna tell me the truth." He could have laughed at her thinly veiled attempts to be rid of him, if he hadn't already known that patronizing her would only raise her walls all the more. However, as he waited for her to rise to his baiting, he realized she was descending instead, though into what he wasn't entirely sure. Suddenly, she seemed the worried one, her detachment breaking with one tiny frown.
It had taken him a long time, before and after the double eclipse, to learn to gauge her reactions; it was the best way to interpret how she would act, to start to understand her unpredictable nature. Now, after all the distance he'd put between them in the intervening months, he had no clue what sort of return was due.
"I don't owe you answers, Cain," she said; her gaze hit the floor, stayed there. He hoped his worn boots were interesting.
"I'd settle for an explanation."
She nodded. "As soon as someone gives me one, I'll be sure to pass it along."
"That woman isn't sick," he said.
She looked up, and he managed to catch her eyes right off. There was a fire there, when he'd expected to see the fright of a child. His first surprise.
"No, not sick," DG said. "She's still dying. It's my fault," she continued, and he was forced to grit his teeth against the impatience that wanted to tear from his mouth.
It always manages to make it round to being your fault, he thought. A familiar sadness settled over him. She shouldered the same blame as he; they were the only witnesses to their own crimes, forced to be helpless bystanders.
"Why don't we just skip the part where it's your fault and get to you telling me what the hell is going on around here."
DG sighed. "I don't owe you answers," she repeated, however infirmly.
Cain was nothing but patience. As much as it annoyed him, he'd stay all night if he had to, if it took that long to wheedle it out of her. "Kiddo," he said, watching her eyes flick to the floor again at the name, "by my reckoning, you do."
"Failing health," DG said, her shoulders falling as if all her energy had gone into those two words. "That's what they'll announce. It's true, for the most part. People will understand sickness; they'll accept it, even if they don't want to."
"What's really happening to her?"
Fire flared up in her eyes again, and she turned them on him with a force that made him wince, physically wince. "I don't know, I told you that. She does, though, I know she does. Tutor, too, I think."
There was nothing he knew to say. If it was obvious even to his own eyes that something more than the virulence of mere men affected Lavender, it was no wonder that she had been banished - or banished herself - to the protection of her own rooms. He knew from listening to Glitch's idle prattle about the goings-on in the palace that very few were permitted an audience with the regent. It seemed that in sequestering herself, all she had accomplished was to fuel the speculation and rumour in the halls of the palace and out in the streets of the city.
"Seems to me that whatever ails her, hiding it isn't gonna cause anything but trouble and heartache."
"How long would it take for people to shift the blame to my sister, if illness wasn't the cause?" she asked; he knew better than to answer. There was no doubt whatsoever that she was dead-on right. "They think she's still evil, that she can never - that we can never - oh damn it," she muttered, and turned away from him. He recognized the quickened pace to her speech all too well, the wavering break in her voice. "It's not Az's fault."
"You don't need to tell me that, Deege. And by what I can tell, it isn't yours, either."
Her eyes caught his, burned into him. She seemed to be biting back some response, and either managed to force it back or forget it all together, because after no more than a few seconds had passed, she was shaking her head and going back to picking up her abandoned art supplies. This time, she seemed to be moving with more focus - chased, probably, by the very words she'd refused to say.
It was his first instinct to tell her to just come out with it; he didn't need her hiding anything from him, not now, when at any day, they were going to be taking up old paths, wherever the road might end up leading them. He realized, as he watched her close kits and toss papers and file brushes and pencils into desk drawers, that she didn't need his pushing. Whatever was eating her up inside would eventually make its way out of her, however inopportune the forthcoming moment would be. After all, it was just her way, and he couldn't expect her to change because he was tired of having to see her suffer.
She caught him watching her practised steps throughout her sitting room. "If I don't put these away where I want them, the maids put them where they think they should go."
Cain gave her a slow nod. "Listen, I -"
"You better not be apologizing," DG said, laughing nervously. She'd finished putting the last of her supplies away, and turned to look at him expectantly, as if still daring him to attempt it.
"I don't apologize," he said. "Although you've been making me want to, the way you've been avoiding me since I got here."
The flimsy smile on her face disappeared. "Is that why you came to me, instead of going to Tutor or Glitch?"
"Rethinking that now, but yeah."
She grumbled something to herself, words so low that he did not hear them. She then took a deep breath and centred her gaze on him. "They didn't tell you anything before?"
"Seems like I got the 'official story' from Glitch when I arrived," Cain said with a roll of his eyes. "And the mutt's broad hints are starting to make a little more sense now."
Her smile was back at the mention of Glitch, glimpses of a happiness tinged with something heavier, sunslight through leaves. "I keep telling Glitch he's retired, he doesn't have to keep my mother's secrets any more," she said. "This has been just as hard on him, though he's trying not to let on. He reads like a book, though, a really confusing book."
"So do you," he said; he wanted to smile at the words, it was in him to, but he just... couldn't.
She seemed not to know how to take the comment. "Less confusing, I hope," she said, the weak, nervous laughter back.
"Little less, I suppose."
DG frowned, and seemed to consider him; her eyes went to his boots again. "Why did you come back?" she asked, but never paused to give him a chance to answer - not that he already hadn't, the night he'd arrived. "You left to get away from the noise and trouble; you think I don't know that, but I do. I knew it the night you told me you were leaving."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd known it would come down to this, on this night - after all, the confrontation would eventually have taken place, no matter how far he'd run or how much she tried to stay away from him after his return. Their first meeting deemed only to prove that they were both beginning to choke on the unsaid.
"I would've found myself back this way once they made this announcement they're planning."
"She should have made an announcement a long time ago," DG said with a shake of her head; her expression was deeply disapproving. "She's only doing it now because Azkadellia is pushing it through. It was my father's idea, and Glitch's, though he insists on being the silent partner. He doesn't want to hurt Mother's feelings."
"It needs to be done."
DG watched him carefully; it wasn't a pleasant experience, to endure the scrutiny of her sky eyes. "My mother just wants to give the O.Z. a chance at happiness."
"I'm sure it started out that way, Kiddo."
Whatever she seemed to be looking for from him, he knew she wasn't going to find it. Sure enough, she looked away and sank her body down into the nearest chair; the first half of her movement was fluid and graceful, but as she settled, she slumped against the back rest and tucked her legs up. A very unladylike posture to be sure, but for the first time since he'd come into her suite, she seemed comfortable.
"You were there, too, Cain," DG said, as if he needed reminding. "I really thought she was going to be able to fix everything. She was in no better shape than Az, I shouldn't have let her -" She sighed, exasperated. "You know, on the Other Side, they say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions."
"People say that on this side, too. I just don't think too many are gonna see it that way," he said, keeping his eyes on her face; she was off in thought, chewing absently at her lip, her eyes barely focusing on whatever they rested upon. He couldn't exactly say he was growing impatient with all this dallying; all she'd been able to do was confirm his suspicions, he would have to chase after Tutor, who seemed to know more than he had previously let on. It was safe to say, however, that he'd had enough of this grudging kindness from her as she tried to hide her hurt feelings. He didn't want to be one more weight for her conscience to drag along.
"Is Jeb still a part of the Resistance?"
Cain found himself at a loss for words as he tried to contemplate her meaning. The Resistance, as it had stood after the fall of the Sorceress, had helped to reform the Queen's royal army, and she knew that. "No. He fought to put your mother back in power."
"I thought he fought to bring an end to the Sorceress, the same as you."
He weathered this as he might have a physical blow; he struggled with his response. "Didn't much get a chance to fight for either, if you'll remember, Princess. Not until the very end, at least."
She nodded; she still hadn't looked at him, still hadn't taken her eyes off of whatever captivated her so. Considering she'd spent so much of their time together that night staring at his boots, he honestly didn't need to know what she stared at now. "I wish I knew how to make people believe Azkadellia will be a good queen."
Too many are convinced you'd make a better one, Princess. It was a bitter thought, and it shamed him; DG was a sharp girl, and it didn't surprise him in the slightest that she knew of the activity that took place outside the palace walls. "How long you been keeping quiet about what you know?" he asked.
"About as long as you were gone," she said, and finally turned her eyes on him.
He stepped closer to her chair. Her gaze stayed level on him as he came as close as he dared. He could have reached out to touch her shoulder, but could think of nothing more foolish; no, he kept his hands to himself. "I should have told you sooner that I was leaving, Kiddo."
Her eyes narrowed. "This sounds like the makings of an apology."
"Is it what you want?" he asked, working as hard as he was able to keep it from becoming a demand.
"No," she said. "I just want to know why. I told you everything - everything. I don't know why you didn't trust me."
With a sigh, Cain knelt down before the chair, so that instead of looking up at him, now she could look down upon him. "Trust you with my life, darlin', then and now."
DG tucked her feet in closer underneath her body, trying to put more distance between them now that he'd gotten so close. "If that were true, you would have told me you didn't want to stay. You and your sorry excuse for a goodbye. And then to let me go on and on as if I could have convinced you to stay! Why didn't you tell me to stop before I said too much?" Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the memory; he could feel the heat rise to his own face, and he lowered his chin, staring hard at the floor to hide it.
"I was - still am - honoured, Princess, but -"
DG's lips settled into a thin line, and before he could brace himself, she was shoving herself out of the chair and knocking him off balance. His ass hit the carpet and he was left gazing up at her as she stood over him, her long arms wrapped loosely around herself. "Don't princess me and talk about honour, Cain. There was no convincing you to stay, was there? You'd looked me in the face every day for weeks knowing you were leaving, and then you let me -" She let out a long exhale and turned away from him.
He slowly got to his feet. "You telling me you regret saying what you said?"
"Why shouldn't I?" she asked; she kept her back to him. Her hair was longer now; it seemed a silly thing to notice now, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her with her hair down. She seemed to have gotten it under control, it was no longer a mess of wild curls. "I thought I'd chased you away, that you were running from me, until Glitch told me that you'd always intended to leave."
"And I'd always intended for you to know, but -" He paused.
"But what?" There was a roughness to her voice that betrayed the strength she tried to put forth.
"I didn't want to hurt you." He tried putting a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged him off. He replaced his hand, holding it there firmly as she tried once again to brush him off. "Seems now that there was no way to avoid it."
Over her shoulder, she looked down at his hand. Her chin brushed against his fingertips; her cheek twitched.
"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions," she said, drawing in a deep breath. She pressed her cheek into his knuckles then, heat from her face warming his cold hand. "I really, really wish you hadn't come back."
It stung, he couldn't pretend it didn't, but before he could respond to her, try in the very least to assuage the hurt he'd plied on her all those months ago, she was twisting her body towards his, keeping a distance of arm's length between them. His hand fell away from her shoulder; instead of returning it to his side, he kept it in mid-air, near enough but not touching her elbow.
"You're stuck with me now, I think, but if you gave the order, I'd have to follow it," he said, managing to force the words out. He had an out, or close enough to one; what the hell was wrong with him, why wasn't he taking it?
You're a damn idiot, Wyatt Cain, he told himself. She was looking up at him again with those endless blue eyes, and he found himself thinking of all the other follies the road to Hell was rife with.
"You left to get away from all this," she argued. "You don't want this."
He smirked, the thoughts of sin and redemption still flying around his overtired brain. He had no answer for her, so he only gave her arm a gentle squeeze before letting her go altogether. "There's very few people in this life I would willingly take on trouble for. You and yours qualify; after all, don't know when I'm gonna be done owing you a debt of gratitude."
"I don't want your sympathy, or your charity, either."
"How about you just accept my friendship, then?" he offered; no, he didn't know where his patience for this girl came from, as hers for him seemed to have run out long ago. He didn't know why that hurt in her face cinched his chest closed so, or why those eyes of hers bore into him the way that they did. He'd left the city to regain what he could of his sanity - perhaps he'd left a little of that behind, though he didn't know how he was going to go about reclaiming it.
"I think it's time for you to go," she said, refusing to give into his prodding. Sometimes it would catch him off guard, how stubborn she could be, but it never surprised him.
He nodded. "So long as I'm not being banished from the city or your sight."
She gave him a half-smile. "Not tonight."
Hours later, Cain lay awake in his bed, thinking about home. He thought about the gate he'd meant to rehang, and the barn roof he'd planned on shingling the very morning the messenger had come racing up his road; he thought about firewood that needed to be cut and corded, the garden he'd intended to plant. He thought about how fast he'd run away from Central City to try and dredge up the old pieces of his life, and how fast he'd dropped all those loose ends to come charging back this way.
Six months, that's all it had been. A single winter. Yet, in that short period of time, the hope and promise of peace he'd left behind seemed to have drained away, leaving only a few scared people with no idea of what they were doing. There was no right course of action, and every path seemed only to serve as the wrong one.
His search for answers that evening had ended only with the review of his own missteps and miseries; though he seemed to have begun to bridge the gap that had been left between himself and DG, none of the rampant suspicions in his mind were even close to coming to rest.
Failing health, a tiny grain of truth.
"Great Gale," he muttered to himself, sitting up in his bed. "Don't go digging around for more trouble, Wyatt, don't you dare."
A gnawing guilt settled in his chest as he realized he deeply missed his wife's advice. Adora had always had a way of helping clear his focus; his poor wife, so rational and open, never trying to guide his mind, only encouraging. She'd stood by every decision he'd ever made for their family, and they'd all suffered for it. If he could have, he would have taken her death onto his shoulders and borne the burden for all his life; a mite hypocritical of him, when he discouraged the same from his son, from DG.
He had not been called to Central City to save the country, only to keep DG safe, to support his friends through this period of change. He hadn't been lying when he told DG that he would have come when the news had reached him.
Keep your eyes on the road ahead of you, he told himself, angrier with himself than he'd been in a long time. Whatever is gonna happen is gonna happen, and it isn't going to be any of your concern.
Grumbling to himself, he twisted to sit on the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the soft carpet. 'Isn't going to be any of your concern'. Huh. That's what he'd tried to tell himself the last time... and he remembered all too painfully how all of that had gone down.
Table Of Contents
One - Two - Three - Four - Five
Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten
Eleven - Twelve - Thirteen - Fourteen - Fifteen
Sixteen - Seventeen - Eighteen - Nineteen - Twenty
Twenty One - Twenty Two - Twenty Three - Twenty Four - Twenty Five
Twenty Six - Twenty Seven - Twenty Eight - Twenty Nine - Thirty
Thirty One - Thirty Two - Thirty Three - Thirty Four - Thirty Five
Thirty Six - Thirty Seven - Thirty Eight - Thirty Nine - Forty