Chapter XXX
Coughing and groaning, he leaned back in the delicate hair. Wet hair obscuring his blurry vision, he spat up what he could of the water he'd swallowed, its splattering the only sound in the room of twenty, thirty men and women. Heaving the water out of his lungs, he gagged when he felt two hands curl around his neck. Life being constricted out of him, he looked up into the eyes of his former associate.
"Anya," he choked. She didn't acknowledge him as her grip tightened and she pressed on his throat. Wheezing, he narrowed his eyes as he futilely tried to free his hands from their binds – not because of blame. Never because of blame; she knew as well as he did that he would have done the same to her without a moment's hesitation should their roles have been reversed. After all, her obedience completely and wholly lacked the very motivation that birthed his disobedience.
Nor was it because of fear that he strained against his binds like some wild animal. Rather, it was all impatience: if they had wanted him dead, they would have killed him long ago. The countless men and women he'd tortured in the past comforted him as he tamped down his natural dread and wrestled with his agitation, reminding him of the times when he'd drawn out their agony for as long as possible in the hunt for something that they had and something that he wanted. But Anya's grip remained on his windpipe, and soon, despite all his training, Lelouch could do nothing against the deluge of terror that consumed him.
When she finally released him, he gasped for air. Retching, his head hung low, and then even lower as the chair was kicked out from beneath him. Landing hard on the ground, he started to groan, when she lifted him up by a fistful of hair and pressed a knife against his throat. Feeling it bite into his skin, he paid little mind to the warm blood trickling down to soak his already-wet collar, for it was finally time, and the last act of His Great Design began to unfold before his rank powerlessness.
Lelouch bared his teeth as he was made to prostrate himself before his lord and creator.
. . .
C.C. sat quietly, her back straight and her hands in her lap. Cold and silent, she waited in the small room, her only sign of the fear towards the various guns pointed at her the flaring of her nostrils. A quiet knock making her jolt, she clenched her jaws.
Closing the door quietly behind himself, Kanon Maldini gave a curt bow.
"Madame."
"Mr. Maldini," she replied stiffly.
Taking the only available seat in the sparse room, he crossed his legs, mindful of his sharply pressed pants, before opening the file he'd brought with him. Wordlessly, he flipped through some of the papers, taking his time with some and barely glancing at others. She looked away as if to tell him how uninterested she was in any games he might intend for her, but it was of no use; he'd already seen her flinch when he'd come to sit by her.
Balancing the file on his knee, he looked at her a while, his eyes tormenting her, before finally speaking.
"We have been aware of your affair with Mr. Lamperouge for quite some time. Since even before you were aware of its possibility."
Face white, she clenched her jaw as she stared the faded unicorn sitting resignedly in its enclosing.
"And yet, if we've known of the affair as we so claim, why have we not taken any action? That is what you must be thinking, yes? Of the duty a man has to his wife."
She certainly was as proud as they came. As she sat there, her head held impossibly high and her womb sheltering another man's child, she had the audacity to glare at him. Of course, several days ago, he wouldn't have cared. He would have even perhaps felt badly for her. But the circumstances had changed rapidly, and as a result, Kanon – for all his previous indifference – gave into his own pain and pushed out any thoughts of hers.
Rising from his seat, he handed the papers to one of the guards before carefully buttoning his jacket.
"Your presence has been requested."
And that was all his agony would allow him to say.
. . .
Schneizel praised Nina from where he loomed over him. "Truly a prodigy. A genius in her own right. I will forever be in debt to her; if it weren't for her cleverness, many doors and many ambitions would have been out of my reach forevermore." He sighed as he mulled over the tragedy that had replaced his useful pawn. "It's just too much of a shame she had to die."
"Fortunately." A smile appeared on his face. "She is replaceable. Just as Lloyd Asplund was, Nina Einstein is dispensable. There is no one so valuable that they cannot be replaced. I have had many lives destroyed and have raised many others to rid of that destruction. I have done so with you, and I shall do so for Nina Einstein's successor."
Schneizel chuckled to himself as he peered down at the soaked, beaten mess glaring at him from his feet. "My, this is quite reminiscent of our first meeting, is it not? Or rather, our first meeting that you are aware of. But I see now that the universe has a penchant for cyclical happenings. I suppose this shouldn't seem so surprising, though I confess to finding it humorous."
"But I digress. The reason why I've gathered you here today is to discuss how – and why – just as I am grateful to Nina for all her assistance, I am grateful to you, Lelouch, and to you, Cecaniah."
Relief gently melted away some of the weight in his heart as Lelouch saw his wife being led down the stairs. Fighting against all instinct to go to her, he remained on his knees, motionless, as she drew him in, and his bloodied, battered, but very much alive state. Her shoulders falling, she let her guard down at last. So long as they hadn't taken him away yet, there was still some hope. Kanon had never been one much for the politics of the Weiss Ritter; even she, with her limited involvement, knew that. Perhaps they could somehow bargain their way out of not just here, but this life. For what could Kanon Maldini possibly gain from keeping this noose around their necks?
"I knew from the very beginning how perfect both of you would be for your parts. The moment I lay my eyes upon you at your mother's party, C.C., standing there and oblivious to everything save for Lelouch. Thank you. Truly. I sincerely enjoyed myself."
"However, I am not one who enjoys losing games. Especially those for which I am the architect. For I am the architect of your father's fall from grace, C.C., and the dismal impoverishment that marked both your youths. Why, even the drugs that you were so greedy for, Lelouch, I steadily supplied by seizing control of the market. And the Hóng Hè? Do you genuinely think it possible for the Weiss Ritter to suffer so at the hand of another? Your misery, your happiness, and to an extent, even your love for one another – none of it was ever your own. And so, while you may have taken my life, Lelouch, I have long taken yours and made it my own. And what fun I had all these years, playing this game."
C.C.'s legs nearly gave away as she watched the screen. Knees locking, she struggled to breathe; it was as if he had reached beyond death and kneed her in the stomach. Tears of anger springing into her eyes, she could only seethe as she was told of her manufactured wretchedness. Turning to Kanon, she could only stare past her choking wrath. But even without her voice, he seemed to understand easily enough what she wanted of him because he let his arms fall to his side from where they had been folded behind his back.
"Because he could. And because he wanted to."
"However, as unfortunate as it is, all games must come to an end, so as much as it pains me to, now we must say goodbye," said the screen. And with that, it turned to black, revealing to Lelouch the shock that had possessed him, and the gun that had appeared beside his temple. Shaken awake by the unspoken threat, C.C. desperately grabbed Kanon's arm.
"You don't have to do this, Kanon. He's dead. He no longer has any power."
"Yes. He is dead."
And as she looked into his ice blue eyes, she saw why it was that Kanon Maldini had exerted so much force in arranging their final meeting. Small against the force of his heartbreak, C.C. knelt.
"Have mercy."
He looked down at her coldly. "He kept your promise to you, did he not? He promised you that no harm would befall him so long as you were wed to him, and true to his word, Lelouch Lamperouge came to no harm. He went as far as taking him in and making him successful in ways that once upon a time, you two could only imagine. But you're now no longer wed to Schneizel."
He ripped her hands off of himself.
"You've broken your vows, and thus, I can no longer offer you protection."
"Think of his son." She bowed her head and groveled. "Please, Kanon. Think of Leopold. Take pity on him, Schneizel's blood."
As he looked down upon her, the man suddenly succumbed to exhaustion. It had been a great deal of work, executing Schneizel's wishes. While he had his anger and grief to carry him through, he had never really had the fervor that Schneizel had had for such "games," and its toll was finally catching up to him. It was all he could do not to leave the room and put it all behind him – to abandon her to the knowledge of what it meant to truly take someone's life.
But no, he couldn't. Not after he had walked into that room and found his still form on the ground, still warm from his undoing. Especially not after that.
"A boy needs his father."
Tears in his eyes and torn, Kanon could only stare as her words splintered his resolve. He was just so tired. Oh, so tired. But she had to know. She had to understand what she had made him understand: the pain of loss, of the ache for something that he would never again able to have. And he'd be so terribly struck by grief if he were to die, wouldn't he?
And so Kanon went on with his lesson. Waving down the gun, he sighed.
"Very well. Then we'll just take something else."
Before she could so much as ask, he gestured to Anya, and before anyone else could really understand what was about to happen, there was a terrible scream. Whipping around, C.C. began to rise to rush towards the nightmare, but Kanon grabbed her wrist and forced her to watch as Anya Alstreim swiftly cut off the right 3 fingers of her husband's hand.
"One to remind you not to engage in illicit affairs."
Anya delicately collected the three trophies.
"Another not to betray your brethren."
Kanon studied the three long fingers bloodying his once clean palms.
"And a third for breaking promises."
The moment she was released, C.C. was by her husband's side. Slipping off her cardigan, she tried to staunch the warm blood leaking from his trembling hand. Dazed, he looked up at her from where he lay on the cold ground. When his eyes began to close, she shook him awake as she tried to speak to him through her tears and panic. Somewhere behind them, Kanon returned the souvenirs to the young woman who had poached them. He had no desire for such mementos; the memory would suffice.
"Now you may return to the son whom you hold so dear. You'll be escorted to the airport where there will be a plane waiting to return you to your proper place."
"We're going to the nearest hospital," she hissed. She helped him sit up as she glared over her shoulder. "Immediately."
"Out of the question."
"I wasn't asking for permi-"
"Should you go to the hospital, you'll be forced to detail how it was that he lost 3 fingers. I'm releasing you on good faith that you do not pass such poor judgment. If you so choose to go to the hospital and subsequently alert the authorities, you give me no choice but to kill you. And that would leave a boy without his father, would it not?" Wiping his hands clean of the blood, Kanon removed a lighter from his pocket to set the stained kerchief on fire. Letting the flame fall to his feet, he said, "If you would like, I can provide the medical services of Rakshata Chawla. She's an excellent physician, and Lelouch Lamperouge ought to survive his wounds, barring any complications. Would you like that instead?"
"I don't give a shit who it's from, I just need help, and I need it now." Holding him close, she tightly held the cloth as the warmth of his blood made her gag. Her heart pounding, she tried her best to remain calm – steady breaths, steady breaths – as his face lay in her lap, much too pale for her comfort.
"Stay with me, Lelouch." Her tears falling on his face and sliding down his cheeks, she bit her lip. Beside her knelt down a woman – Rakshata? – who hurriedly set to work. Cradling his head, she brushed his hair away from his eyes, as she knelt and prayed and God's angel looked on, his own demons quieted at last by the pain and misery he had wrung out of his Great Design.
. . .
Quietly folding the laundry, Euphemia watched the news. It was late in the evening, and Sakiko had finally fallen asleep. Her night terrors had gotten worse ever since Suzaku had…passed on, and without her father who had always calmed her after… It was going to be difficult without him. Not just in the most obvious ways – Euphemia had her inheritance, though it would probably in everyone's best interest if she found some sort of income – but in ways that were harrowing and pressing for those who had been left behind. Already it was so difficult and not even a month had yet passed; how was she going to face the next two? 6? Year, ten years, fifty, all by herself?
With a heavy heart, she listened to the reports: to the final counts of casualties, the dollars lost in property damage, and the tragic stories and desperate searches for lost friends and families, and wondered if there was anyone praying for her like she was praying for them. Sitting before the TV that spoke of nothing but the horrors of what some were now calling the War of Adonis, she wondered if there was anyone who, like her, knelt by the bed that was now much too large for her, and prayed in the dim light for perfect strangers she had never before felt closer to than now.
Even now with the weight of her own loss suffocating her, Euphemia tried her best to count her blessings. She still had a home. She had her friends and extended family who would help her through the void that had suddenly appeared in her heart and life. And Sakiko? Sakiko was strong. She was hurting now, but she was alive and strong and with the help of those around them, would eventually survive this darkness. And if anything, at least she wouldn't suffer the heartache that the parents of that poor, poor little boy would.
Setting the half-folded towel down onto her lap, she listened to the report of the busy airport's freak shooting, and how someone's child, who'd done no wrong, had been senselessly and mercilessly slaughtered in broad daylight. Her heart breaking into small, sharp fragments, Euphemia swallowed past her tears. How devastated his parents must be, to have to bury their baby – the little boy who had probably stood proudly as his mother hung up one of his drawings on the fridge, the precious boy who had always been overjoyed to win the little games he and his father had played. The sweet boy who had committed no other sin than the one of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like that, he was gone, forever, never again to kiss his mother or hold his father as he told them how much he loved them and they him.
Euphemia dried her tears.
God could just be so cruel at times.