Disclaimer: see chapter 1.
Author's note: again, some more Latin…
hinc illae lacrimaemeans something along the lines of "that's what the reason of all that happens now is", but literally it means that's where the tears come from
Chapter 4
Hinc illae lacrimae
Some forty or so years later…
…Mia sighed as quietly as that treacherous little something down in her throat that threatened to turn into a full-scale wail let her. God, why… She kept on kneeling, one hand crept to the spot on her light summer dress where, Mia knew, was hidden that heart-shaped locket of her father's, but she willed it to stop, laid on the bouquet and the other – touching the letters on golden plaque. IMMERITUS MORI. She pulled the hand away, quickly. Everyone in the street doesn't have to get hints for juicy gossip about men she didn't and did sleep with. The woman in elegant summer dress wanted, craved to bawl, to shout! But she simply couldn't, what with a square full of people, right in the center of her capital... Impossible; unspeakable. Instead, Mia whispered what she could. And even that – under her breath, so no-one would hear, or understand even if they catch her words… I'm sorry. The statue on its pedestal right above her kept gazing at the crowd with stony unseeing eyes, but to Queen Mother it seemed – glancing every five seconds or so at her, having all attention there could possibly be for her, and her alone…
- Are you O.K.?
Michael.
Funny, she almost forgot that he was standing there right next to her in front of this monument, thinking out loud that sculptor (I'm telling you, Mia, he did it on purpose!) managed to catch hardly any similarity with him. If only you knew, my friend, if only you knew… In truth, it was a life-sized carbon copy of a man, only he did not have a line MICHAEL MOSCOVITZ printed in his driving license and all over other documents that he happened to have. Hardly any similarity? Gosh no, the likeness was so striking that it hurt just to look at the statue, even after years past. Years without him. Mia fought a sob. Wait, wasn't she asked about something a moment ago? Got to answer, then – grief is no excuse for a Queen to let go of her good manners. Especially if it is such a beautiful, sunny day in Pyrus, and there's no apparent reason to look torn into pieces. She stood up and tried to smile, searching for a hanky in her handbag as she spoke.
- …Sorry? Oh, I'm perfectly fine. – There, she found it, and touched her eyes with soft cloth just in time to intercept the tears. – Really, Michael.
- You sure? – He sounded suspicious.
Well, her voice definitely was a bit raspy and wobbly. Damn…
- Positive. It's just leftovers. – Mia insisted, and felt he'd like her to elaborate, so she added… – I had a nasty cold a few days ago, and it still reminds me about our little rendezvous from time to time.
Just a nasty cold, right. Keep telling yourself that, Mia Thermopolis Renaldi. You know perfectly well that whenever you look at Leonidas or Helen or your grandchildren, you feel it… Joy knit together with memory. And the pain. And, honestly, colds have nothing to do with it, beside the fact that both have no cure invented for them – the loss as well as the cold. Breathe, girl. Remember, he told you to breathe when you were so scared, that guy who was immortalized in stone more then thirty years ago…take the air in and then let it out, so simple indeed…
The graying musician gave her a nod and visibly relaxed, accepting the chill-catching excuse; Mia could see the man's shoulders go sort of limp over the edge of her hanky.
Good.
Note to self: go to hurt all over at the monument without anybody next time. She put the handkerchief back where it belonged and started to pull her school-time crush by the arm.
- Come on now, we don't have much time left before my maids find out that the Queen Mother is missing and run for the guards.
He eagerly obliged, and even tried to make a joke or two... and she did her best to pretend laughing. Guards, for crying out loud! Her servants knew better than to disturb Mia unless absolutely necessary when she went to town incognito. As for the guards… She glanced at the statue, briefly. Her guarding, stumbling, but never falling angel was more than enough.
- …So, Queen Mother Amelia Mignonette… – Legendary head of Flypaper whizzed through tears of honest, hearty laughter as he paused to take a breath. Funny stories are no joke when you're the one telling them, after all. The former Queen focused on him, encouraging. – Where're you taking me first?
Where? Doesn't matter; Mia felt another sob building up – God, she needed air! Where to go? Anywhere, to get as far away from this place as her aging legs take her, or she'll break down in front of him and a crowd full of tourists and her subjects alike. You are so strong, Mia. I know you are. Probably it was only her imagination, but she could swear that the statue, his statue winked at her with an eyelid made of stone, quickly, and said just that. Like he used to say before, when he was alive, sitting with her just there together incognito, in that street café where she had shared a glass of pear juice with Michael only a minute ago… Or was it half an hour? She is a queen. Queens can smile with what looks like candid sincerity when they feel anything but. Fake it till you make it. This she heard from her special man too. His mother's personal favorite. Mia started to smile brightly, thinking that this lady could've made a Queen of Genovia, and a darn good one at it!
- Oh, do you have any preferences, sir?
Michael pretended to be deep in thought.
- How 'bout that Memorial Alley every guide-book is banging about?
Mia wanted to wince. That was a place where she went all these years ago, at night, to take out a pinch of what was common dust from her son's desk to everybody else, to the grave of Unknown Soldier of Genovia. One Mr. Shades was covering up for her at the palace, so she could go and return uncaught after ashes of a man who fought and died for her land, anonymous, but not forgotten were finally buried. Ashes. Just ashes. And now she was smiling exactly the same way she did at the National Victory Day ceremony the day after that nightly escapade from her palace. It was a nice day, really, just as warm and sunny as today. Mia professionally turned on the radiant yet honest mask, and it looked like Michael Moscovitz was falling for the act hook and line. Perfect. Now, for the sinker…
- Memorial Alley it is.
He beamed at this, offered her an arm to take, and they hastened away from Pyrus Central Square, a cheerful couple for all who wished to look, joined the crowd, leaving the Square, the statue and everything to go with it behind their backs.
For now, at least.
Mia kept on smiling through her almost-unshed tears.