"We are gathered here today with these persons here present to witness the execution of Eduardo de la Cruz. The crime of this man is accounted due to the betrayal of the Franco-Romanian alliance and his act of espionage is a direct violation of the alliance of thirteen seventy four. Let this be a lesson to all, that King Francis will not tolerate any acts of betrayal regarding his alliances and any who attempt to poison the fruit of friendship sewn into his reign will fall. And the King of Romania will not tolerate any negative developments in this alliance with the King in which he prizes so dear." Sebastian read from the rolled scribe in his hands. The King's deputy spoke loudly and clearly on the podium in which his brother and King sat upon.
The execution of the proven traitor to France and Romania was to be held in an open courtyard, nobility members from all over court and France being present to witness the killing that had been approven by the King of Romania.
In his credit, the former ambassador turned spy to his huffy King, didn't wail or sob upon the execution block. Not like one of the long dead Spanish ambassadors just before the announcement of Mary's pregnancy with Lucien. The Spaniard had sobbed in fear and begged for his life, for forgiveness and for mercy. Not that the Queen had been merciful, of course.
The lone King sat with a set jaw as he watched the Romanian stand silently, his hands bound behind his back as the executioner slowly gripped the back of his neck and brought him to the block.
He looked like a martyr condemning his condemners, rather than the proven traitor and spy that he had been proven to be. He had been the one to try and tell the Romanian King of the Queen mothers 'actions' and now he was to be brought to justice for his betrayal. The King had tried to use it to his advantage -although most of the information never made it out of court, let alone the country- in his attempt of the engagement of his son and little Princess Anne, but it proved fruitless.
The spy gave the executioner that had quite the resume after the last few months a harsh glare as he was forced to kneel. He spoke clearly to the crowd of nobility and the King he betrayed.
"I have committed no sin in the eyes of the almighty lord." he announced. He leaned forward, almost willingly. The black leather covered executioner looked to his King and Emperor. Francis silently gave the nod.
The axe rose. And then the axe fell.
"Mama, mama, look at me, mama!" young Princess Anne chirped as she twirled along the dance floor. Her black lace and silver skirts bloomed like a flower as she tried to follow her eldest brothers' and future sister-in-law's dance moves, now that they had started their dance lessons. Looking up from her youngest that rested upon her lap, his arms wrapped around and head resting upon the sizeable bump that rested underneath her purple chiffon ball gown embroidered with soft little flowers.
Mary brushed an errant curl from her face, subconsciously fixing the long braid that hung over one shoulder, also sparsely embellished with flowers. She smiled at her only daughter, placing her spare hand upon the growing baby -babies?- that grew inside her.
"Well done, Anne!" Mary clapped as her little girl laughed and spun around, ignoring professor de Maine's instructions to James and Anna and focused upon her own routine to the soft music playing. Lucien walked over towards his sister from his perch in the corner with a book, and the young Prince and Princess started to imitate the little routine which seemed to be vaguely similar to the Volta.
The Queen of France and Empress of Britain smiled at the scene, holding her sweet and sensitive boy closer as he nuzzled close. She felt little Prince Francis' smile as a growing foot jabbed out, and the pat that he gave in response. She was so terribly excited for this pregnancy. It was different than any of the others. So welcome and so wanted.
With James, the excitement of it was dampened a little with the absence of his father and the almost constant struggles she felt before the attack on it by French protestants. For a time, they were sure she had lost him. But her boy was here, strong and safe and dancing with the little girl whom he had already became rather fond and protective of.
With Lucien, it was a conflicting pregnancy. She didn't want a child so precious to be created by a night of drunken lust. Things with she and Francis were almost over at that point, and her sweet boy had been one of the major aspects of bringing them back together. It had been after the alleged death of the King, as well, making her think she'd never again bare a child. Or if she did, it would be a child of a man she hated. But Lucien had sped things along nicely.
Anne and Francis' conception and subsequent births were far more complex than their brothers'. She and her husband were on the battlefield at the time, at each other's sides and guarding each other's backs. It hadn't been intentional, Mary wanted to fight with her husband to protect her country from their enemy and the armada that had finally stood down. It damn sure hadn't been planned. They hadn't talked of more children at that time. Both knew they wanted more children. By law, they had to. But neither imagined it to happen that soon.
This pregnancy was different. Apart from a couple scuffles that weren't out of the ordinary, their countries were at peace and they were happy. Lola was gone and Catherine was on their side. The Bourbon threat was gone and the Spanish were now their allies. Apart from a few odd days of scuffles that were to be expected, Jean played nice with the children he still distrusted, but had learned to get along with. This pregnancy had been the one that they had planned -not counting James'- and the one they had pined for above almost anything else. It would settle them and the birth of not one, but two newborn Princes or Princesses or one of each, would bring their family closer than ever.
"Look, mama!" Anne giggled. Mary looked up from her blue eyed, blonde haired baby boy and turned to her daughter. She and Lucien were playing an Argentine Tango to the increased beat that the musicians played for the elder royal children to preform one of their own. Well, a part of it. It just resembled a few spins and pulls. The little girl had been enamoured with the dance ever since her parents had preformed it just before they knew of the babies inside her womb. It was a rare occasion that she and her brothers were allowed to attend a ball for an extended period of time, and when the candles gleamed dim and the sensual glow of the fires turned the ballroom of the French Court into a sensual crimson, the young King and Queen danced in front of their court, their solidarity and union unmistakable to all who observed them.
"Very good, my dear." Mary smiled at her only daughter, hoping to have another someday. But not this time around. She could feel that there were two baby boys inside of her. Maybe someday, another little girl for Francis to dote upon and to wrap him around her finger. For now, Mary would be ecstatic of the sons she grew and the ones she could hold in her arms.
Queen Catherine de Medici sat in an overstuffed chair, watching her grown baby boy rule upon his court. It was a privy council meeting she was observing today, as she usually did. The Queen mother of France wore her regnal reds and and cool toned bronzes as she observed the King in dark green work and bicker with her sombrely coated former subjects.
But the King -although accompanied by the French privy council- was not alone where he stood. No, in his arms was the small Princess Anne. Donned in purple chiffon and white fur, the little Princess had her arms wrapped around her fathers' neck and her small head upon his chest. She listened to his heart beat slowly, settled against his hip as he supported her lower back in one arm. Long black curls were bunched against her father's doublet as she rested her weary head upon him.
Catherine watched with a small smile -the words of the King and Privy Council nothing but murmurs as she focused on her eldest granddaughter. The chubbiness of her cheeks and the plumpness of her lips as she slowly fell into a slumber in her father's arms. As much as the young child adored her mother, and believe her, she did, let it be known that Princess Anne Marie Catherine Isabella of the house of Stuart-Valois-Angouleme was a daddy's girl, through and through. Although the King was holding her, it was Anne who held her father around her little finger. And they both knew it, too.
Catherine smiled at her son as he slowly started to sway from side to side. The little girl had been exhausted from her playing dance with Lucien, so after she changed for luncheon and ate, she begged off staying with her resting mother and youngest brothers and insisted on seeing her father. But the child was still a child. And she needed her afternoon rest as much as Lucien and Prince Francis did.
Feeling Anne curl tighter in his embrace, Francis rocked her slowly from side to side, soothing her the same way he had done when she was a newborn and refused to take rest, just like she did now. Catherine watched from behind them both as the Princess slowly relaxed in her father's arms, her head falling from his chest to the crook of his neck, limp and soothed. Small breaths brushed past her father's neck and he smiled softly down at his only daughter.
Catherine returned the smile as she was handed the sleeping little girl by her father, who focused all of his energy into the dull privy council meeting, nodding to his mother as she told him she was taking the child to her chambers to rest.
Three days. Three days of completely avoiding her husband at all costs and spending every waking moment with her advisers was all that it took for her subject to appear. And what an enterance he made. Just as Francis and Lola danced, their child in between them, a sharp point pushed against her spine, a body directly behind you.
"You called for me, majesty," he spat into her ear. Mary stiffened.
"I did." she said, as cold as ice.
"Outside, or your life will be in my hands." she squared her shoulders and raised her chin, walking out to the corridor with Knox at her tail.
"I wondered when I'd be seeing you, John Knox." Mary addressed the man in black. They leaned against the wall, glaring at each other.
"You sent for me, and I see why." he glared. "Tell me why you sent for me, Mary."
"To benefit you, as well as me." she said.
"Do explain, my queen." he mocked. She glared at him further.
"It's obvious what my husband has done."
"Create a bastard with your lady in waiting? Claim him and humiliate you? Yes, quite obvious. He doesn't know what danger he's put you in, does he?"
"No, he doesn't." Mary said, casually. "And he never will. Because you're going to keep quiet."
"And why would i do that? You can't kill me, my followers would be quick to blame you and remove you from the throne. Why would i pass the opportunity, to rid myself and Scotland of you? Tell me, Mary."
"The correct form of address is your majesty," Mary hissed. "Because, you and I are going to get what we want. You're going to keep quiet, and I'm going to remain on my throne."
"And how is that me getting what I want?"
"Because, if you agree, give me your word that the business about Francis' bastard child will remain away from your mouth, in paper and in vocal form, you'll get lands and a title, money and power. In return, I remain on my throne, and nobody will be none-the-wiser."
"It's an unexpected offer, but I'd rather see you humiliated and thrown from your throne, than take that. When you're gone, Scotland will become the first true democracy, and you will fall. I will rise. Thank you for your offer, but it is denied, my queen," he gave an over-preformed bow, starting to turn.
"Guards!" Mary yelled, before he was restrained. She could hear some guests start to come over to where they were after hearing her yell, but kept her eyes on Knox. "Take him to the dungeon. He and his queen haven't reached a deal yet."
"You can't do this! My followers will hear of this!" he yelled, being dragged away.
"No, they won't." Mary said, knowing full well Francis and Bash had appeared behind her, from the party, and the fact that Knox could still hear her. "Because they'll never find you." she said, starting to follow them. She felt eyes burning into her back, but ignored them, walking to the dungeon, finding Knox on the ground, seething.
"You think this will help you?" he hissed. "This will destroy you, when i'm free."
"Knox, what makes you think you'll be let go until I attain what i want?" Mary chuckled. "You see, you're in France now. Not the land of our birth. But I hold power here. You have no power here. You are my subject and will do as I say." she walked over and leaned down to his height, looking him straight in the eye. "Or, you can defy me. And I will watch you burn after I charge you and find you guilty of whatever i damn well please." she spat. He glared back at her. "You have much to think of and consider, Knox." she stood tall and walked away to the door, turning back. "Sleep well, John."
Mary inhaled slowly, opening her eyes to the dim light of the late afternoon French sun. Pregnancy held a habit of making her have odd dreams, and this one was no different. Whilst it wasn't exactly how it had gone in the past, the dream still held credibility in her mind.
A murmur at her side awoke her. The Queen of France looked over and saw young Prince Francis laying awake at her side, big blue eyes bright and awake, little hands and feet stretching out to her. Her made noises of recognition, eagerly smiling his gummy smile at her.
"Mama," he babbled. It didn't really sound like it, but it was adorable nonetheless.
"My sweet boy." Mary smiled at him, taking her youngest into her arms, watching him squirm in her arms, gripping her bodice in his hands, asking for some milk from her breast.
"Alright, alright," the young beauty chucked, undoing the ties and letting her boy's main source of nourishment loose. Many had weaned their children by now, but Mary and Francis loved the bonding time they both held when he sucked from her.
She looked up as the door opened and in came Lucien, James and Anne, walking in front of Francis. Anne's eyes were red and puffy, and Francis and James looked rather angry.
"What is it?" she asked. "What's happened?"
"Jean thought it would be a good idea to pull at his sisters hair as she was sleeping." Francis grumbled, helping the younger duo onto the bed as James settled himself at the side. Mary bit back that twang of pain whenever Francis referred to his eldest as her children's brother. But she needn't worry over a thing. She had her heir and the spare and another son that belonged to she and Francis, and a daughter and two more babies on the way. Why should she worry over a motherless bastard who usually held a few days of anger towards his legitimate half siblings every few weeks? It was just a childish phase that he knew he had to grow out of soon, now that her eldest was getting older and understood more and more things.
"I stopped him, mama." Lucien chirped. "And James hit him for being so mean."
Mary looked over at her eldest, who had clearly inherited his father's flare when he was angry.
"He was hurting her," James shrugged. "I'm not sorry for it."
"You know how your brother gets sometimes," Francis included. "although I am proud of you for protecting your sister." he touched his heir's black curls. James smiled at his father, secure in his love and no longer fearing abandonment as much as he did at Lucien's age.
"And me, papa!" Lucien, their mixture of them both with Mary's younger, sweet, wild spirit. "And me!" he jumped in front of the King of France. "I helped Annie, too!"
"You did." Francis agreed, watching his namesake unlatch and latch on to the other side. Anne watched, mesmerised. "And I'm very proud of you for helping her." he ruffled his blonde curls. Lucien made a small noise and his mother reciprocated it.
"When are the babies going to come, mama?" Anne asked, patting her mother's rather swollen belly. "Soon?"
"Very soon, sweet girl. I promise."
"What are you reading, my sweet love?" The heavily pregnant Empress asked, walking over to her eldest born son and settling herself at his side as he read from a heavy book, stood on a golden stand and resting on it's sides, the front of it resembling an eagle in flight. James fell back to his heels after standing so long on his top toes. He looked at his mother, beautiful and pregnant and vibrant in her fruitfulness and youth. Mary looked down at him, fixing his long black curls before the dark blue satin doublet trimmed with intricate gold thread he wore.
She glances at the great book, open to a recent addition to its pages of knowledge.
"The entries of the last two months, mama. Anna says she keeps a journal, and this is yours. Is she true, mama?"
"Kind of, this is the Empire's journal, all of your father and I's countries." Mary reflected, flicking through the pages absentmindedly. A few about the quick eradication of a plague to the east of France, a number of great battles and a few she herself had fought in. The wars Henry had fought and all the money Catherine had to pay out for killing the wrong person and paying the families' silence.
"It said Lola, mama." James fought back to the page he had been reading. And there, indeed it did. Lola's execution date, time, last recorded words, the method and her crimes. Mary ran her long nails over the intricate quilled ink, the cursive beautiful and sad all at the same time. She smiled sadly. "Lola Fleming, that was Jean's mother, yes?"
"She was." The raven haired young woman said, nodding softly. "But she did too many bad things that it made it impossible to forgive any longer." she replied, trying to be as honest as possible to her child.
"You got your revenge, mama." James smiled at her. She saw the sparkle in his eye that could only be described as Scottish, who had been famed for their joy at the English's suffering over the years, before Elizabeth's death and Mary's English rule.
"I wouldn't call it revenge, but it could be perceived as such. She made many bad choices, and they had to be atoned." the mother replied softly. "But I cannot say it wasn't somewhat satisfying." she smirked. No matter how much she wanted to move past the hatred and disgust she felt in her younger years, part of it was always going to be there.
"I never liked her." James revealed. "She dressed sillily and her teeth were rather large and made you and Papa upset. Not to mention Jean." Mary noted that he borderline spat the name out.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't like Jean." The Dauphin wined.
"Why not?" Mary cocked her head to the side. "Haven't you been getting on better since the babies were in my stomach?" she asked, placing one hand upon her womb and using the other to fix his unruly hair. It was even more unruly than his fathers'.
"He irritates me!" James wined again. "And he keeps trying to pull Anne's hair when she sleeps and he disrupts Governess de Bois in his and Francis' lessons. And he-" James was interrupted by the entrance of his father, that same expression upon his face as he had when Mary planned to tell him about his mothers' unconventional methods of conception a couple months after the wedding.
"What's this?" he asked, walking over to his wife and eldest legitimate son and plucking the young child up from the place upon the floor and into his arms. James let him, wrapping his arms around Emperor Francis' neck and looking deep into his fathers' eyes. Mary silently noted how similar the two looked. He may resemble her in the more noticeable scene, but his expressions were all Francis.
"When is Jean going to visit the Dowager Baroness of Velay, Papa?" he asked.
"You wish for your brother to be gone?"
"He isn't my brother," James glared. Francis blinked in surprise, before he relaxed. It wasn't anything unusual. James and John always hated acknowledging their biological connection. They were simply two different people with two different ideas of how to view the world. "And he's irritating my brother Francis in their lessons."
"Not the baby," Mary jutted in. The Emperor looked over in slight confusion. "My brothers' son." she clarified. There are far too many with the name Francis, she silently acknowledged.
"Ah," he nodded, understanding. The two bastard born boys were similar in age and took lessons together, and the little lord was far smarter than what his age permitted. "What would you like me to do about it?" he asked his son.
"Send him to Velay," James shrugged. "He irritates my siblings and I and I don't like him." he said again.
"I'll see what I can do, son." Francis put his son down. "Go find Anna, she must be looking for you by now." he said. James nodded and lowered his head to his parents -Catherine's relentless rants about respecting the King and Queen that she gave all the Princes and Princess showing through- before scurrying off.
When he heard the door close, Francis looked towards his wife. He took steps towards her, taking her hands and looking at the growing bump underneath the pretty dress.
"How are you feeling? Are they active?" he asked.
"Alright," Mary smiled up at her husband. "They're not much trouble, I think they're sleeping," he nodded and placed a hand to her growing abdomen.
"Two more," he smiled wistfully. But Mary could see the worry in his eyes.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing, I just-"
"Just nothing," she shook her head. "Tell me." Mary demanded honesty to him as he always did to her.
"The birth isn't that far away." he noted. Mary nodded. "What if something happens to you or to them? I'm not sure I can bear it." he revealed.
"You think I'm going to die in childbirth?" she asked, not knowing why she was so surprised. Childbirth was a dangerous time for women. And twins made it more dangerous.
"No, I just worry-"
"You do." Mary smiled softly. "I understand." she cocked her head to the side, cold earrings touching her shoulder. "It is dangerous."
"Mary-"
"It's alright." she smiled softly. She always knew he worried for her in childbirth, for she knew that he knew full well that she suffered from childbirths even more bloody and longer than the usual scene. And his mother had nearly died giving birth to twins in her last round of childbearing. One was stillborn, the other was gone soon after. "I can't guarantee that nothing will happen, there are two of them this time, but I'll follow the midwives instructions to the letter and the rest we can only leave up to God."
"Grandmother!" Lucien smiled, leading the charge of little royal children as they scampered up to their grandmother, the only grandparent they would ever know. Catherine turned from overseeing a servent to the little children. She smiled fondly, kneeling down to catch them as they barrelled into her, nearly knocking her to the floor.
"Hello, my loves," she smiled, embracing the three littlest royal children close to her. Anne smiled up at her grandmother, before frowning as she started fiddling with her skirts.
"You mustn't mess up your skirts, Annie." Catherine insisted, pulling the green satin from right to left, flattening the crimps made by the little girl. "They're made of pure Indian silk." the Queen Mother of France tutted, fixing her granddaughters skirts as the little Princess rolled her eyes, every inch her mother. Catherine smiled fondly, plucking young Francis up from the floor, kissing his head as the little boy squealed in surprise.
"Where's your brother?" she asked.
"He's playing outside with Anna," Lucien supplied. "They're with the puppies Anna's papa sent from Denmark."
"How lovely," she nodded. "Why aren't you with your mama and papa?"
"Can't find them." Anne shrugged. "James saw them last night, but can't find them now." she said, her words a little misspoken, but she got her message across.
"How about I take you to find them? Grandmother is very busy planning the party."
"Party?" Anne asked. Her eyes sparkled as Claude's once did when a party was being planned. And Catherine couldn't help but feel an ache of pain when she thought of her daughter lost to childbirth complications, unable to help the pang of worry for her enemy turned ally turned enemy turned ally - over and over at least another dozen times- whom she had grown fond of in their latter years. Twin childbirth was even more dangerous than singleton.
"To welcome the King of Portugal." Catherine supplied, swallowing thickly, sending a silent prayer to God that he would spare the Queen of France and the new unborn additions to the royal family. For her son's sake and her grandchildren's sake, she quickly added, but God and she knew that wasn't the entire reason.
"My husband, too?" the Princess asked.
"Future husband," she added. "If everything goes well." Anne pouted and Catherine smiled at her son's daughter. "Come now, none of that. Let's go find your parents."
The Queen Mother and the Princes and Princess looked around the castle, trying to find King Francis and Queen Mary. Their bedchambers turned empty, they weren't present in their libraries or studies, they were only found in Francis' drawing room. But the fact the door was ajar and the tones of their voices were rather serious made Catherine turn from the oak door and towards the corridor once more.
"Put Papa's in there," Anne complained, moaning out the words as her grandmother turned her around. "Why can't we go in, grandmere?"
"They're busy." Catherine tutted. "Come now, let's find you something delicious to eat and your governesses, shall we?"
Anne grumbled in defeat.
"What's wrong, my love?" Mary had spoken, coming into the dimmed drawing room to find her husband not working, but worrying, one hand pressed to his mouth as he stared aimlessly at the papers in front of him.
"Nothing, darling." he snapped out of his daze, pressing a hand to the arms wrapped around his neck from behind. One covered in black suede and silver embellishments, the other covered in black organza.
"Something," Mary amended. "Tell me, is it about the birth still?" she pressed a kiss to his head
"No, well, not entirely." he sighed in defeat, helping her circle him, pulling her onto his lap. Mary sighed in contentment, pressing her head to his shoulder and neck, breathing in deep his scent. Lemons, pine, freshly cut spring grass, cinnamon and honey.
Her quiet King placed a hand to the gown she wore, as if trying to tell out the life from inside her womb. In response, one of the babies kicked at his father's warm hand from underneath the black suede. He smiled faintly, stroking the soft material, muttering quietly in his mother tongue. Mary let him, deciding not to push for what was bothering her husband.
A pretty pair they made, wrapped in each other's arms. The pregnant Queen wore an intricate gown. It was made of black suede, figure hugging to show off the life growing inside. It was low cut with a sweetheart neckline, one arm covered in the suede and silver embellishments, her chest and other arm encased in sheer black organza, her bust bigger from simultaneous breastfeeding and pregnancy. A thick strip of the suede ran across her collar bones, sparkling in the fine silver, to the back of her neck. A mermaid cut gave the suede way to black fluffy skirts that trialled for a good four feet behind her. Raven hair was half up, wavy and long and shining, a thick diadem of diamonds in the most beautiful designs, chandelier earrings to match.
Her husband was dressed to match. A black tunic and leather slacks and knee high boots were combined with a black suede waistcoat and a velvet floor length trench coat. Black fur encased his shoulders and neck, silver embellishments upon his boots and a thick silver livery collar lay across his shoulders. Blonde curls were brushed out, long and thick, across his shoulders. A crown of silver and black gems were encased in the platinum sea that was so soft that Mary couldn't resist fiddling with it as she awaited her husbands' words.
"I think of my son." he started. Mary looked up at him from her position.
"Which one?"
"Jean."
"Why?"
"He shouldn't exist." Francis said after several moments. Mary frowned and pulled back. She looked deep into his eyes, searing for a response.
"What?" she frowned.
"He shouldn't exist."
"What do you mean?"
"I just wish I could go back in time, stop myself from being with Lola. She wouldn't have gotten pregnant, the issue with the plague never would have arisen, I would have been here for you and James, none of this mess would have happened."
Mary nodded softly. "Maybe he shouldn't exist." she agreed. "But he does, Francis. He does exist."
"I know, but the way he acts, he's not making it easy for James to accept him when I'm not here to protect him." he sighed. "I thought this foolishness would be long grown out of by now."
"Maybe this is who he is going to become. You can't grow out of who you are to become. If you keep them separated, James won't feel so angry towards him and vise versa. Visit him whenever you wish, but-"
"I know, I just-"
"There's no point in wishing. Yes, if you hadn't gotten Lola pregnant, she may be here today, but there's no point thinking in such ways. If I hadn't given into fear in the prophecy ordeal, you wouldn't have slept with her. If Nostradamus hadn't told Catherine of it, maybe we would have been married sooner and none of the mess in our first year together would have happened." she rambled. "We have to take responsibility for our actions. And none of them matter anymore. What's done is done and can't be changed. But what matters is that we're together and our rule is secure and our children are happy and healthy and here."
Francis looked at her for a long moment. "You're right. After the King of Portugal has left, Anne's marriage secure, Jean'll spend some time in Velay. After that, we'll await our new children and you're going to be okay."
"I am." Mary had to believe it.
"Should we get to the party?"
"You're the one that left first, my love." Mary joked, murmuring the words as his lips grew close to hers. Before they could touch, a loud scream made them jump and pull apart. Several seconds later, both could hear screaming and shouting and yelling. Several more, the Baron de Portiers shoved his way into the room.
"Brother, sister," he panted, eyes big and wide. "We have to get you and the children moved out of here."
"What?" Francis frowned, pushing Mary behind him as he walked towards his brother. "Sebastian, what's going on."
"It's returned, Francis. We have to go, now!" Bash gripped his brothers' wrist and went for his sisters, but his brother pulled it away.
"Sebastian, go where, you're not making any sense, man!"
"The plague, Francis. The plague has returned."