Chapter Ten

Same day
de la Vega hacienda
Los Angeles

"Diego!" called Alejandro as he walked into the front door. "Diego!"

Much to his relief, Diego came down the hallway as if he had been in his room, although the shadows under his eyes had not abated. He coughed and asked, "What is it, father?"

"You still look terrible," said Alejandro. "Did you not sleep at all?"

Diego chuckled and rubbed at his eyes. "For awhile I did."

"Well, after we talk, if you still feel like sleeping I think it would be a good idea go lie down for a bit longer."

Diego lifted an eyebrow but allowed his father to usher him into the library as he motioned for his son to sit down. Diego did, but Alejandro found that he couldn't. He paced one way and then the next, his eyes often falling on the fireplace he was sure had something to do with this. "I think it's time we talked seriously about duty and the price of it," said Alejandro, and he held up a hand before Diego had a chance to say anything. "No, son, I'm talking, and you will listen. And then you will accept what I have to say."

He saw a tiny bit of fear flicker in the blue depths of his son's eyes and he turned back to the shelves. "First, let me say how proud I am of you. At first, I wasn't. But, I suspect I understand now… and in that my pride swells to new heights. I fear I cannot contain it."

"I don't understand," started Diego, and Alejandro could hear honest confusion, but relief at the same time. "Why are you proud of me?"

"Here I thought my son was a lazy rich man's son. A noble that is only in term and not in deed." Alejandro swept back to his son and sat beside him on the divan. "But now I have learnt that my son is a true de la Vega. More so than I could have hoped or dreamed."

"You know," said Diego, the confusion gone from his voice.

There was relief there, and the despondency was gone too. Alejandro could have wept for joy at hearing the spirit returning to his son's voice. "Yes, I know!" exclaimed Alejandro. "I think I know everything… well… I understand. I understand why you couldn't tell me. I understand why you did it. I know about duty, especially that kind of duty, son. And I'm proud of you. But I also understand the pain of secrecy and why we cannot tell anyone else."

Diego nodded. "I didn't want you hang with me, and what would you say about me being an outlaw…"

Alejandro stared at his son. "My dear boy, it is good you are still sitting down. When I said I knew, I mean I know everything. And, with that, I have something to tell you. I don't want you to react. I need you to dig deep and keep that calm you're infamous for."

"Father…"

Alejandro took a breath. "De Soto figured out who that man was, and where he came from," he said. "He had a missive on him, and it was sealed with the King's seal."

Diego sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. Moments later any sign of reaction vanished, and the bland Diego sat there. "What did the missive say?" he asked carefully and in even tones.

"It said 'It is time for the Fox to return to Spain'," answered Alejandro. "I can think of one Fox in all of Los Angeles, and for him to have been in educated in Madrid… I think so can you."

Diego stared at the fireplace and Alejandro sighed. "Son, I understand. More than you can possibly know. I won't ask because I also understand what 'above my pay grade' means, but if you need someone to share a cold, lonely night when your ghosts haunt you while nursing some brandy… well… I do the same thing for the same reason."

His son smiled, and while it didn't quite reach his eyes those same eyes were suspiciously bright and his voice almost too soft when he replied, "Thank you, father, I think I will have to take you up on that."

"Just don't leave it too long," answered Alejandro. "It looks like you have packing to do and business to see to. And you will go back to that Tavern. I don't care what you said to Victoria, you will take it back and you will bring her back her on Toronado if you have to… and after you come back from Spain I want my grandbabies."

Diego chuckled. "Very well, father, I will go talk to Victoria. Shall I do it now?"

He glanced at the fireplace.

"It would be best," said Alejandro. "Considering I figured it out by knowing you, like de Soto, were educated in Spain and that it was at the same time… and so was Zorro… it will not take others long to make the same connection, if they haven't already."


December 25th, 1824
Los Angeles, California

Alejandro leaned back in his chair, sighing in satisfaction. For the first time in years he had a good feeling about what the new year would bring. He knew that soon he would lose his son for a bit as he had to return to Spain to report to the King, but that wasn't until much later.

He watched as Victoria and her staff hung decorations with the help of the local soldiers.

In four short days their lives had changed.

A real emissary, this one from Mexico, had finally arrived after letters to Mexico City—where their leadership was—reached the right people. While de Soto was no longer Alcalde, he had not left yet.

No, he won't leave unless Diego goes with him, mused Alejandro. Whether he knows Diego is Zorro, and the Left Hand he is to escort back to Spain, is the real question.

From what Felipe had told him, it would only be a matter of time before everyone knew. When Diego had woken this morning, he had been back in one of his secretive moods. Alejandro had learned to watch for the signs.

A bland Diego was one with something up his sleeve.

And Diego had been very, very bland.

Victoria walked over to Alejandro. "How is Diego doing? I heard he had a rough few days after a relapse a few days ago."

Alejandro frowned.

His bland Diego shouldn't have ridden to the pueblo to interfere as Zorro regarding the false Governor, but his presence had defused the situation before it came to actual violence. The people had been angry.

However, the merry mood his appearance and caused, even in de Soto had been well worth the pain especially now that the price on his head had been shown as equally false. Mexico's emissary had made it clear, however, that an agent of the King of Spain—no matter what deeds he had done for the people of Mexico—had no place in California or Mexico unless he retired and considered himself of California and whomever her government was.

Zorro had conditionally agreed—he would never raise arms against Mexico so long as Mexico never raised arms against Spain… at least, not after the revolution. Before four days ago was no longer his problem.

The Emissary had agreed that his terms were fair.

The price was removed, and a medal awarded for services rendered.

Alejandro remembered to breathe immediately after.

But no one knew who Zorro was.

When Alejandro had made it home, Felipe was there and not Diego. At first, Alejandro felt his heart drop thinking that Diego was laying on the ground somewhere in between the pueblo and his cave. But Felipe didn't look too worried, and when he had entered the hacienda he managed to pick out that Diego was already home, and that he was sleeping.

Relief had flooded him but had needed to see his son for himself. When he quietly slipped into his son's room and through the sitting room into the private sleeping chamber, he peeked in. Diego had been deeply asleep—so asleep that he doubted an entire herd of horses running past him could have roused him. He slept with the ease of a man who had finally finished his work and could rest completely and profoundly.

Alejandro had left as silently as he had entered, equally at ease once more.

He smiled up at Victoria. Diego was much better and had assured his father that he would be at the party.

He just hoped he didn't come as Zorro.

Alejandro blinked.

Or, perhaps he hoped Diego would… if only to unmask for his Senorita once and for all.

"Diego is doing much better," answered Alejandro, remembering that Victoria had asked him about his son and that he had failed to answer her. "He said he would be here later tonight."

"Good," said Victoria. "Should I reserve him a room just in case he gets tired again?"

"I think that would be prudent, yes," said Alejandro.

"Then I will."

She moved away just as people outside started to greet someone, and then exclaim in surprise. Don Emilio came skidding inside of the tavern and he immediately sought out Alejandro. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, and then only pointed outside. "You… old…"

"I'm still younger than two by a year, watch who you call old," retorted Alejandro.

"… Fox, did you know the whole time?" he asked finally.

Alejandro had a sudden feeling the surprise Diego had planned had just been sprung. He followed Don Emilio outside and watched with the others as Diego, on the back of a fully saddled and tacked out Toronado, rode into town. On his belt hung the infamous saber, won from Sir Edmund.

While he wore one of his best cabellero style suits, the colour was a blue so dark it could have been black. The only reason it didn't look black was the afternoon sun brightened it to a midnight blue.

Other than that, he was his usually perfectly groomed self.

Zorro without not only without the silk and black clothing, but without his mask. He heard the gasp behind him, and he glanced at Victoria, who had also just realized who she was looking at. She turned to Alejandro, lightly punching him in the arm.

"You could have told me," she said.

"I didn't really know until a maybe around a week ago," said Alejandro. "And by then we had other issues."

She frowned, her eyes widening. "Dios, yes. How is he, truly? He shouldn't have come to town a few days ago—you said he relapsed. That ride as Zorro must have exhausted him."

Alejandro shrugged. "He slept well that night and into the morning. He was tired, and a bit ill, yes, but not too bad. Not well enough to ride into town until today and if he had tried I would have tied him to his bed with his own whip."

"Good," said Victoria. "And that room is definitely booked. If he even looks like he's trying to keep his eyes open, I'll pour his cactus tea down his throat myself."