FIFTY
Marco Dimetra sat in the darkened room and listened as the knock on his door came once again. Since returning to his quarters the day before, Marco had locked himself away and had neither seen nor spoken with anyone. He had not even gone down for dinner the night before or breakfast that morning. After finally falling into an exhausted sleep, he had awakened shaking and drenched with sweat in the middle of the night. Unwilling to return to the nightmares that haunted his sleep, Marco had moved to his front room and sat in the chair by the cold fireplace while his gaze stared at nothing.
"Marco? Are you in there -- it's me, Folken." The knock came again, this time more insistent. "Marco?"
Marco cringed; the last person he wanted to see was Folken Lacour. Gods please make him go away -- I can't face him, not now. Marco clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms. Please Folken, go away -- forget that you ever met me.
"C'mon Marco -- I know you're in there." Folken reached down and tried the knob, but the door was apparently locked. The pale-haired man lowered his voice as one of the dog-men servants passed him with a curious look. "Marco, open the door -- it's important."
Letting out a sigh that sounded more like a sob, Marco got up and went to the door. "What is it?" He asked from the other side.
"Well it's about bloody time -- open up."
"Look Lacour, whatever it is can keep until later. I'm not in the mood for company right now." Marco's voice sounded harsh.
Folken frowned at the other man's tone. "C'mon Marco -- just a couple of minutes. I've got something for you."
On the other side of the door, Marco leaned his forehead on the cool wood, "Look Folken -- not today, okay. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow."
Undaunted, Folken tried once again. "Just a couple of minutes, I swear."
Marco squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He's not going to give up . . . just a few minutes; I can do this -- just a few minutes. Taking another deep breath, Marco unlocked the door and cracked it open. "What is it?" He peeked out the door, blinking his eyes against the light.
Folken's eyes widened at the sight of his friend. Marco's hair was tangled and uncombed, his face looked extremely pale and there were shadows underneath his dark eyes. "Gods Marco, are you alright? You look ill . . ."
The other man cut him off, his voice sounding hoarse, "I'm fine . . . I just had a - a rough night. You know how it is." Marco tried to smile as if nothing were wrong.
Folken looked at him for a moment -- there was something in Marco's forced smile that rang false and a haunted look in his eyes that told a different story. "Marco . . . what's going on? What happened to you?"
Marco shook his head, "Nothing's going on. It was just one of those things, you know -- my evening just didn't turn out quite the way I planned. A little uninterrupted sleep and I'll be good as new." Before Folken could continue the subject further, Marco opened the door a little more and gestured for the other man to come in. "Is that what you wanted to give me?" He asked as he closed the door behind Folken.
"Uh . . . yes, it's from Jin -- well from both us actually. A thank you gift -- for all your help." Folken held out the wrapped package.
My help? Gods, if you only knew. . . "Thanks, but it really wasn't necessary." Marco waved his hand dismissively.
"Well, Jin wanted you to have it. She made me promise to give it to you as soon as I got back."
"Really Folken, I-I wouldn't feel right taking something from you."
The other man held the parcel back out, "Look Marco, I can't give this back to Jin -- she won't . . . she won't like it. She really wanted you to have it -- don't make me have to go tell her that you wouldn't accept it." Folken looked at the other man with pleading eyes and Marco wasn't sure if it was a jest or not. "Please take it . . . let us thank you for helping us."
Folken could tell that Marco was going to refuse again, so before the other man could speak he played what he thought was his trump card. "Jin told me what happened in the carriage on the way to the inn -- I can't believe you made my wife cry on her wedding day. What kind of cold-hearted man would do something like that?" He raised his brow at Marco, "The least you could do is take this -- as a sign that you're sorry . . ."
For the first time since opening the door, Marco gave him a genuine smile. "You're such a bastard Lacour. I wonder what that lovely little wife of yours would say if she knew that you were using her good name to manipulate me."
"I'd be more worried about what she's likely to do if I have to go back and tell her that you refused our gift." Folken gave Marco a wry smile, "At least it'll be your head she'll be looking for instead of mine . . ."
Marco shook his head, "Alright -- alright, I give in, you win . . . give it here." He took the package as Folken offered it once again. Taking a few steps, Marco put it down on his work table and turned back to his friend.
"Aren't you going to open it?" Folken asked him.
"Uh . . . maybe later. I was just about to go back to bed . . ." Marco replied.
Folken shifted his stance a little, "Oh -- well, I kind of wanted to see what it was. It's from both of us, but-but she picked it out."
"Why am I not surprised." Marco said as he faked a yawn.
"Well you know Jin, she thinks of everything." Folken looked at Marco once again, "Well, I'll let you get to bed -- you really do look like hell, Marco."
"Yeah, well you don't look like you got much sleep either Lacour." The other man shot back. He watched the blush that crept up Folken's face. "Although I'm sure you had a much more . . . enjoyable evening than I did." He gave Folken a weary smile, "Look, I'm about dead tired . . ."
Marco opened the door and Folken looked at him once again as he passed into the hallway. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Without a reply, the dark-haired man slightly nodded his head before shutting the door behind his friend.
Marco took a deep breath as he locked the door. Turning, he looked at the package on the work table. Why the hell did they have to do that? Stupid, stupid Dimetra -- why did you take it? Marco pressed his fingers to his eyes and sighed heavily. It was a few minutes before he dropped his hands and moved.
Marco pulled open the heavy drapes that covered his window and he winced as sunlight flooded into his front room. Turning back towards the room, he went to the small sideboard and reached for the cut-glass decanter there. He poured out a glass of wine and took a deep swallow. Setting the half-empty glass down, he once again made his way to his work table and picked up the package that Folken had brought. He stared at the wrapped parcel for several long moments, almost as if he were waiting for something to jump out at him.
Steeling himself, Marco started removing the heavy brown paper that covered the package. As the last of the paper fell away, Marco sat down in the wooden chair next to him and stared at the object in his hands.
Folken and Jindra's gift was a framed watercolor of the massive city clock, set against a backdrop of dusky skyline. Instantly Marco knew that Jindra had drawn and painted it herself. He had seen her painting of the ocean shoreline in Palas on the wall in Folken's quarters and he remembered that he had mentioned it to her once. She must have remembered it too.
Dropping the painting down on the table, Marco covered his face with his hands. Gods . . . I wish I never saw you in the tavern that day . . . how I wish I'd never met you -- either of you . . .
For the second time in as many days, tears fell from Marco Dimetra's dark eyes.
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Folken had returned to his own quarters and after changing his clothes, he sat down at his own work table and looked at the drawings and plans still laid out on the scarred wooden surface. But even as his eyes looked at the papers in front of him, his mind was still focused on Marco's strange behavior earlier. The dark-haired man had seemed so cold and withdrawn -- in fact Folken had the impression that he was the last person that Marco had wanted to see.
I wonder what happened to him since yesterday morning. He was probably flirting with some girl and ended up in a fight over it. As he thought about all the possible things that could have happened to Marco since he had seen him last, Folken suddenly felt the cold chill of jealousy creep up his spine. Jin -- why didn't I think of it before? He's in love with Jin -- that's why he was so cold, why he didn't want to see me . . . I knew it -- damn it I knew it! All that time they spent together -- gods, how could I have been so blind? I should have known -- how could he not fall in love with her? Unconsciously, he clenched his fists. But Jin told me that Marco didn't have any feelings for her . . . maybe she didn't know -- maybe she didn't realize it. Gods, what a mess . . . A hard knock on Folken's door brought him back.
"Lacour?"
Steeling himself, Folken rose and went to the door. Opening it, he gave the man on the other side a slight bow, "Juri . . . please come in. I was just working on the plans." Folken stepped back and let the other man into the room.
"I expected you to be finished this morning, Lacour. Its past noon already; any chance of you being finished by this evening?" Juri Selanne's voice held a sarcastic tone as he walked towards Folken's work table. He picked up one of the drawings and studied it, "We don't have all the time in the world, as I'm sure you're quite aware." He put the sheet back down on the table and looked at the younger man, "The emperor himself has ordered that our investigation be concluded within the next two weeks. I'm sure you can understand the gravity of his majesty's request . . ."
"I-I -- yes, of course . . . I've been working almost non-stop . . ." Folken willed himself not to blush as he lied.
Juri cocked an eyebrow and gave him a very curious expression. "Indeed . . . non-stop you say? Then perhaps you were so engrossed in your work last evening that you didn't hear me knocking on the door?"
"I-I-I . . . uh . . . l-last night . . . I -- uh, was . . . uh . . ."
Juri narrowed his eyes and pursed his thin lips. "You were not here last night -- or much of yesterday either, for that matter. No, don't try lying to me again -- you aren't very good at it." The man sat down in the chair in front of Folken's worktable. "I don't know what's going on with you, Lacour -- or should I say with you and . . . Marco Dimetra, perhaps?"
"M-M-Marco . . . I don't understand." Folken's puzzled sounding voice matched the look on his face. "What's Marco got to do with anything?"
Juri steepled his fingers as he rested his elbows on the tabletop. "Come now Folken, I've been around a lot longer than you. Although I don't subscribe to such -- such behavior, I am willing to admit that Dimetra does possess certain appealing charms."
Folken looked even more confused and slowly Juri realized that the younger man really had no idea about what he was eluding to. Could the boy truly be that innocent -- even after being here for almost three years?
Juri dropped his hands to the table, "Look Lacour, whatever you choose to get up to on your own time is your business. But when it starts to interfere with your work, then it becomes my concern." He abruptly stood and walked back towards the door. "I will give you the rest of this day and tonight -- I want your report delivered to my quarters before the bell sounds for breakfast tomorrow."
The older man opened the door and turned back before leaving, "And just so I know that your full attention will be on the job at hand -- indeed on the remainder of our work -- I will tell you that Marco Dimetra is no longer a party to this investigation; he has been officially relieved of his duties regarding this matter." Juri's eyes were cold, "That being the case, I trust that I do not have to remind you what that means?"
Folken swallowed and nodded his head. "N-N-No sir . . . I-I mean I-I understand . . . I will not discuss the investigation with him or anyone else."
"See that you don't Lacour . . . I'm sure you have no wish to make the emperor displeased with you." Juri Selanne turned away and firmly shut the door behind him.
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Folken carried the heavily laden plate up the stairs as he made his way back to his quarters. Immediately after Juri had left him earlier in the afternoon, he had settled back to work. As he poured over the last revision of the weapons schematics, the dinner bell tolled and his stomach loudly answered in response.
Rubbing his fingers across his tired eyes, Folken stood and stretched as his stomach once again tried to prod him towards food. Yeah, yeah -- I get the message. Damn, I can't believe its dinner time already. He glanced down at the drawings spread out on the table. I'm nowhere near being finished . . . His stomach growled. I'll just go down and get something -- I can eat while I work. Sighing, Folken left his quarters and went down to the common dining room.
He had just reached the hallway that led to his quarters when he saw the man. It's him . . . but what's he doing here? Folken tried not to stare at the dark-haired man as he walked towards him. He's the one that was with Jin at Coren's funeral . . . but wasn't he wearing a uniform from the academy? The man was now wearing the standard uniform of the tower guards, the yellow braid looped over his shoulder signaling his rank. As the man reached Folken, he suddenly looked up and their eyes met. Folken almost stepped back at the cold, dark blue gaze that the man leveled at him.
Folken let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding as the man brushed past him nearly knocking the plate from his hand. "Hey -- watch it!"
The man stopped and turned around, "Excuse me, sir." His voice was cold as he spit out the last word, as if it were a curse. He gave Folken a stiff bow and turned away.
Folken suddenly felt angry at the man's manner, "I think you forget your place, Sergeant."
The man stopped and turned back around. Once again Folken was struck by the cold anger that shone in the man's eyes. "I beg your pardon, sir. I'm on an urgent errand; forgive me for any slight you feel I've shown you." His apology was formal, but there was a sarcastic under tone in his voice.
"Well, just try to be a little more careful – and respectful next time." Folken hurriedly replied, wishing that he had just let the man go.
The man bowed once again, "Yes, sir. Again, my apologies." He turned and quickly walked away.
Folken hurried back to his quarters, grateful to be in the security of his own rooms. Weird . . . how the hell did he get here? He speared a piece of roast beef. I wonder how Jin knows him. She never said she knew anyone in the tower. I'll have to ask her . . . Trying to push all thoughts of the encounter from his mind, Folken once again returned to his work in between bites of dinner.
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The small clock on the table in the front room chimed as Folken sat staring at the sheet in front of him. The young man had been sitting there staring at the same drawing for some time, his brain seemingly unwilling to accept what he had discovered.
It was some minutes later before he finally moved. Sitting back from the table, he closed his eyes as he tried to stifle the sob that threatened to escape from his throat. Opening his eyes, he looked back down at the page. Running the fingertips of his right hand across the drawing, he felt the tears slip from his eyes.
Unable to hold back any longer, a hoarse cry escaped from his lips and he buried his face in his arms as they folded across the paper. Gods -- no . . . please -- no . . . it can't be . . . I have to be wrong . . . please -- please . . . Oh Coren . . . gods . . .
"NO!" Folken Lacour shouted out into the empty room. I did it -- gods help me -- I did it. I killed him . . . it's my fault . . . I killed him . . .