This takes place several months after the previous chapter. This chapter contains some mild adult themes.
The next few chapters will be making very extensive use of flashbacks, the beginning and end of which will be denoted with a
…
Got it? Cool, just making sure.
Knights Who Dedicate Themselves to Love
Images of long dead Chevaliers, snapshots of battles that never took place, of coming back to life at the bottom of the ocean, of walking alone, of rain and wind, were suddenly overcome by another scene.
The feeling of the cold, damp stone floor seeped through the bottom of her ragged red tunic, but some how, her skin had become numb to cold, it was an inescapable part of her reality.
Inescapable was the nature of this reality, thick stone, with several thin windows. Most of the light in the dim room came from a corner of the ceiling that had crumbled away, only patched by a coarse mesh of iron bars.
Everything was dark and gray, everything except the roses that spilled in through the windows, and carpeted much of the walls and floor.
She ran to one of the small windows and managed to poke her head out, but it was too narrow to allow her shoulders through. She peered helplessly down towards the earth and her heart jumped when she saw that there was someone sitting on the steps, just outside the tower.
She screamed for help, but got no response. At first, it appeared to be a somewhat forlorn-looking young boy with short, dark hair, wearing a blue and white sailor suit. She knew who it really was almost instantly.
Even though she knew it was no use, she cried out for help again, still not even getting an upward glance, until finally the girl stood, and began to walk away.
"Wait! Take me with you! Take me with you!"
She watched as her sister began to shrink into the distance.
Another person appeared at the edge of the ruins, a man in a dark colored suit, so far away, she could barely make him out, but still knew who it was. Her sister approached him, they linked arms and disappeared together.
"Not him. Why does have to be him…" Saya mumbled helplessly.
She sank away from the window, desperately wanting to cry, but somehow, her body simply refused to produce either tears or sobs.
Out of sheer, unintentional compulsion, she began to sing a familiar, hopeless song.
Saya gasped so deeply that she nearly choked and found that the tears she had been unable to conjure in the dream were streaming down her cheeks in reality. She panted hard as she sat up in bed, rocking back and forth slightly with each breath.
Where am I?
Where's Haji?
She scrambled to reach the bedside lamp, fumbling slightly before she managed to turn it on.
She was in a guestroom at the Goldschimidt's estate, in France.
Where's Haji? her mind asked again as her eyes darted around the room, searching for his familiar figure, and finding he wasn't there. Her memory, somewhat impaired by sleepiness, finally gave her the explanation she sought.
Oh, right.
She sank back into bed and rested a moment as the adrenaline finally subsided.
I wasn't Diva. I was still myself.
I guess I was in Diva's place.
The dream was deeply disturbing on several levels. She glanced around the room again, admitting to herself that she could really use the company of her Chevalier at that moment, but neither was there. One was kept away by tradition, the other by common decency.
She glanced at the clock as she turned out the light. 3:38am was emblazoned in red across the digital display.
Less than twelve hours to go.
Less than twelve hours until she and her most beloved Chevalier would be joined in marriage.
Such thoughts, combined with the lack of someone to comfort her from her nightmare, were hardly conducive to sleep. However, she soon decided to avoid thinking of her dream, and keep her thoughts on tomorrow, or today, rather…
What if people show up that didn't R.S.V.P? Oh god! We'll run out of food!
That would be horrific! Running out of food at a party! Dad would be so ashamed!
No. Don't worry about that. Mao's managing the caterers, I'm sure she's thought of that, and there's no way the caterers will cross her. Even if they don't know she practically runs the Mafia in Okinawa and Kagoshima, she's still not the sort of person you disobey.
Still, I feel like there's something I'm forgetting, something I needed to take care of.
Lets see…
Who's picking up the flowers?… David and Dave. No problem.
What about the cake?… that's being delivered.
What was it then? Was it some tradition?
Lets see… I have a sixpence…my ring is old… my dress is new…I borrowed those clip on pearl earrings form Yuki - um, I mean, mom…
… I don't have anything blue…Where am I going to find something blue? I don't have any blue stuff! I hate blue!… I guess it's not a big deal… I don't believe in luck anyway…
… I'll never get back to sleep… I wish he was here. He would hold me and tell me not to worry about anything. Somehow, I believe it when he says it.
But the groom isn't supposed to see the bride before the wedding.
Stupid traditions. I don't believe in luck anyway… Wait... Do I? I guess luck and destiny are kind of the same thing…
She pulled one of the pillows down from the head of the bed, placing it parallel to her body and let out an anxious sigh as she nestled against it, arms around it, attempting to wring some comfort from it's downy form.
A memory, only a few weeks old, enveloped her mind.
She recalled it with perfect clarity. The sound of his breath as he hovered over her for a moment, sweeping his hand across his face to clear away a few damp blonde locks, his half-hooded eyes seeming to see right through her as their red blaze faded to a calming green. He took his place beside her, immediately sliding his arm under her back and pulling her close, pressing her tightly against the side of his body. The memory of how it had felt to be held by him was dazzlingly vivid, even more so than the events that had preceded it. It was as if each sense had recorded those moments, how the heat of his skin was almost overwhelming, how she had draped her leg over his, how the sweat seemed to glue their bodies together, how she could feel his heart rate slowly decrease against her ear and face, how his breath caused her bangs to flutter when he told her that he loved her and asked her to marry him instead.
…
She lay beside him in silence for several seconds before she finally forced herself to peel her body away from his. She placed a sheet across her chest, holding it in place under her arms, and sat up in bed, placing one foot on the floor.
"You should get dressed, Haji will be back soon," she said as tonelessly as possible.
But he was not about to give up yet, not when he was so close.
"Come with me, Saya."
She said nothing as she stepped away from the bed, pulling the white top sheet along with her. She wrapped it around herself just as she had done when she had woken up in his apartment thirty years ago, only this time the sheet was stained with passion and a few drops of blood.
"Saya, we could raise our daughters together." Suddenly he was standing directly behind her.
"Please, just get dressed," she pleaded, almost in a whimper.
Solomon sighed as he placed a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Saya, I realize that you must feel a great deal of obligation to Haji, but he was the one who chose to live his life that way, not you. Do not let someone else's choices rule your life, you must follow your own heart. I know that you do not want to hurt him, but you have already spent far too long living your life for others. I am sure he understands that."
He slowly put his arms around her, pressing his still-bare body against her back, leaning his head over her shoulder and pressing the side of his face to hers, closing his eyes as he spoke even more softly and sweetly than usual. "Let me give you the happiness that you have denied yourself, let me show you the world like you have always wanted, let me show you all the wonders created by the same God that created us, let me show you all the wonders created by the mortals whom you have spent all these years protecting. We can travel all the way up until the children are born, then we'll make our home in some peaceful paradise, anywhere you like. We can live exactly as we please, we can make our own destiny. You will never want for anything, material or otherwise, nor will our children, and nor will I, for that matter, because to be with you – that is all I could ever want or need. I would always protect you from any danger or conflict, you will never need to worry about anything. You can finally forget about the sorrow and pain of your past, because we can build a future, a perfect future, together." His voice lowered to a soft whisper. "You will be happy, I promise you this, because I will spend the rest of eternity making sure of it. Please, let me make all those sweet dreams come true, we have all the time in the world now."
Her eyes closed, causing a pair of tears to roll down her cheeks.
…
Shortly after that, she shattered the heart and hopes of a man who loved her with every fiber of his being.
She flopped over in bed, rolling away from the pillow.
No! I am not going to feel guilty about that. Not now.
He's done a lot for me and I owe him a great deal, but I don't owe him myself.
I am not going to feel guilty about it.
It's too late to go back now.
And I'm glad.
Joel Goldschmidt VI was generally not a pushy man, but he would except no refusal of his offer to pay for the wedding, having reasoned that this was his responsibility by tradition, since his ancestor was essentially the father of the bride.
Having been forbidden to pay for anything had ironically made the bride and groom all the more conscious about saving money whenever possible, so the reception was to take place on the grounds of the Goldschmidt's chateaux. The bride and groom, being over a century old, also had somewhat old-fashioned views as to how a wedding should be conducted, so ceremony itself would take place at a quaint old church a half kilometer down the road.
The members of the wedding party itself were busy making their preparations in the various lavish guestrooms back at the Goldscmidt's estate. The female members of the party, the two bridesmaids, and the mother of the bride, had congregated together in an eager, tittering mob around the bride. The male members of the party, the groom, two groomsmen, and the brother of the bride, who was to give her away, were making no such overzealous display, and seemed content to dress and preen in the privacy of their own guestrooms. Two of them were particularly grateful for this moment of solitude, as they both had a great deal on their minds.
Solomon turned to the mirror as he affixed a red rose to his lapel. Once he had accomplished this, he briefly glanced up, checking the presentablility his hair and face, before running a comb once more through his now uniformly blonde hair.
…
The choice of where the rendezvous would take place had been left to Solomon, as if they were following the rules of a formal duel, the challenged chooses the grounds. Technically, Saya had asked him.
He had chosen a hotel, neutral territory. Naturally, he had picked the nicest suite in the nicest hotel in Naha.
It would be over two hours until Saya even arrived, but those hours would be devoted to the preparation that should go into such a special, premeditated sexual encounter.
He had spent a good deal of thought, time and money on atmosphere, with a large bouquet of red roses on each of the bedside tables and not-yet-lit tea lights scattered on every flat surface of the room except for the bed and the floor. A bottle of red wine and two glasses sat on the dresser.
He had reasoned that in terms of romantic atmosphere, 'cliché' is just another word for something that has been tried, tested, and found to work well. All he had left to do was bathing and grooming, but just before entering the bathroom to do this, an unexpected knock came at the door.
Perhaps she just couldn't wait, he mocked himself in thought.
He opened the door to Freddie and Yuki.
"Hello," he said politely, his surprise at seeing them quite evident, "to what do I owe the -"
"Now, now, no need for that, we know you're busy, but this'll only take a moment," Freddie said, virtually barging his way past his younger brother.
"Wait," he said, confused, "why are you here?"
"To do you a favor," Freddie answered.
Solomon shook his head. "For some reason, that statement is not very comforting, coming from you."
"Oh hush," Freddie chirped with a downward swish of his hand, briefly reverting to his abandoned feminine mannerisms. "Now Solomon, a third of your body is made up of corpse corps grafts, is it not?"
"Yes, but what does that have to do with -"
"Surely you must know that though the grafts saved your life, they also limit your life span. Sun dodging will only delay the inevitable thorn."
"I am aware of that, will you please get to the point," he said exasperatedly.
Freddie smirked knowingly. "Has it ever occurred to you that Yuki's blood almost certainly has the power to cleanse you of this curse?"
"I suppose it -" he stopped mid sentence, his attention turning to Yuki, who had just used a small pocketknife to cut open her hand.
She extended her arm and offered him her bleeding palm.
Solomon glanced at his older brother.
"Go ahead, drink up!"
"Fresh-squeezed, pulp-free!" Yuki giggled.
It all seemed so abrupt, and so oddly timed, he couldn't help but wonder what ulterior motives could be behind this gesture.
He hesitated. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"Of course not!" Freddie said innocently, "just looking out for my little brother."
He still hesitated.
"C'mon! Is that so hard to believe? Now go on, take your medicine!"
He was almost sure that his older brother was hiding something, but at the same time, he couldn't think of any good reason to refuse.
Solomon took a step toward Yuki's extended arm, almost gingerly putting his lips to her palm and slurped in some of the blood that had pooled there.
He stepped back. It was almost sickeningly sweet, and thought it was warm in temperature, it had a strange cooling effect as it ran down his throat, somehow evoking a distant memory of his mother's hands on his forehead as a sick child. He twitched in a shiver as it spread throughout his bloodstream, and suddenly, the subtle, dull pains he had learned to ignore were gone.
Solomon looked up to see Freddie and Yuki smiling delightedly at him.
"Oooohh! I was hoping that would happen!" Freddie crooned.
Solomon furrowed his brows slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Look for yourself," Yuki commanded, gesturing to the mirror.
He stared at his reflection for several seconds before it hit him.
Solomon raised his hand to his left cheek, touching the perfectly smooth skin in disbelief, as if it was just an illusion.
"Originally we were going to wait to do this, but Yuki saw an old picture of you, and insisted that we try to give you back your pretty face before your rendezvous with Saya."
"I want my daughter to have something nice to look at!" Yuki giggled.
The ancient Chevalier took a step closer and examined the change in his younger brother more carefully. He lightly patted the black hair, still present on the left side of Solomon's head.
"Hmm, hair is made up of dead cells, I guess it figures that it wouldn't change immediately, but I'm sure it will grow in blonde, or I guess you could just change it now."
Solomon turned back toward the mirror, and with a minimal amount of effort, the straight black became wavy gold.
"I look like me again," he murmured.
"Don't you have anything to say to my wife?" Freddie prodded.
"Thank you, Yuki."
"No problem!" she said cheerfully.
"Now, I think we should probably leave you to your preparations," Freddie declared as he and Yuki walked arm in arm toward the door.
The ever-polite Solomon escorted his uninvited guests out.
Freddie looked over his shoulder as they left. "Don't forget to fuck!" he sang teasingly, loud enough for half the hotel to hear.
Solomon went back to his preparations, entering the bathroom, undressing to bathe, now in an even better mood than before as he admired how his legs, left arm and upper left torso were no longer made of that foreign, pale substance.
A truly fortuitous turn of events.
The thorn is no longer a threat. I can truly offer her a normal life now. I can journey with her to all the sunny places of the world with out having to hide behind that ridiculous umbrella!
As the water ran into the tub, his attention was drawn to the mirror over the sink.
He gazed at the reflection. Solomon was fairly indifferent towards that face, but nevertheless, he was grateful to have it back. He would take any advantage he could get.
After all, this is the face she blushed and stared at in Lycee.
He exhaled deeply as he slowly slipped into the steamy water, hoping it might be enough to calm his excitement to something a little more suave and gentlemanly. He was anxious in every sense of the word, in that he was both beside himself with eager anticipation, but also a little nervous about how the evening would go. That wasn't to say that he was nervous about the evening's more obvious inevitabilities, though he conceded that it had been a while, he was by no means an inexperienced man. In the old days, he had never been one to forgo the advantages of his situation, and being breath-snatchingly handsome and obscenely wealthy, that included an unending supply of attractive women. But he had given up the short-lived trysts with gold-digging floozies decades ago, mainly because he had begun to find them pointless and unsatisfying.
No, whatever nervousness he felt was due to the broader implications of the evening. Tonight, he hoped to finally and permanently steal the heart that he had coveted for so long.
She has feelings for me. She has since that first night in Lycee, I could see the budding affection in her eyes as clearly as any word in print. I suppose it is understandable that she would repress it when she found out who I was allied with, god knows I tried to. And when I swore myself to her, from what she told me, she refused my offer in order to focus her final weeks of consciousness on destroying Diva.
But Diva is dead, her mission is over, I have spent over three decades proving my loyalty to her and her family, and after tonight, she will never have to sleep again.
All the obstacles have been removed, except one.
I suppose it is my own fault, for leaving her alone with Haji for so long, I should have insisted on taking my place at her side earlier. How was I to know that after a century of pining for her in silence, he would finally work up some gall in those few days?
But it is of little matter, it shouldn't be hard to make her see that her relationship with Haji is clearly just based on habit and obligation. What a mistake that would be, for her to marry him. She could never be happy with him, so dreary and anhedonic, completely devoid of any vivacity or fun.
I can make her happy. I did that night in Lycee. Lord, why did I not tell Van to just buzz off?
I can make her happier than Haji ever could. Regardless of how accustomed she has become to his presence, all he can offer her is the constant reminder of her tragic past… but I … I can make her forget all that. I know I can.
I did that night in New York. She would have been mine if Haji hadn't shown up.
As long as I can get her to open up to me, to be honest with herself, I am sure things will turn out favorably.
It is already predetermined that tonight, I will have access to her physical center, the real question is if she will allow me into her emotional center.
…
His attention returned to the mirror.
I suppose it was foolish of me to think that my appearance might make a difference to her, she's not a shallow person.
He sighed deeply, wiping his face clean of all emotion save serene confidence, a mask that had become second nature to him during his time running a corporate empire.
Emotions will be running high today, but tears, whether of joy or otherwise, should be reserved for the bride, and possibly her mother. This is her day, I am only an observer. I will be calm, if only for the sake of maintaining peace, and keeping the focus on her, where it belongs.
Today, my feelings are better kept hidden until later tonight, when appropriate privacy is achieved.
Haji's mind was engulfed in overwhelming thoughts, such that actually threatened to burst through his legendary composure. He tried to keep his mind on the task at hand as stood before the mirror and ran a comb through his hair, the old tortoiseshell implement so old and reliable that the teeth were actually worn down from use.
The sight of that reflection, the image of himself, hair down and wearing a frock coat – it was impossible not to feel nostalgic. The sight of his pink rose boutonnière in the foreground of the glass called his mind to a particularly distant recollection, a different reflection he had once seen, one he would never forget, as long as he lived.
It was himself as a twelve-year-old boy, cheeks wet with tears as a comparatively carefree young woman held him tightly against her. The memory overtook his senses, the smell of the Bulgarian rose oil she used to wear, the sound of her comforting words wrapped in the soft hiss of the rain outside, the feel of the pink muslin against his face, how what was soft and yielding in his subsequent fantasies was actually hard and austere, due to the whalebone just beneath her bodice. He had turned away, regarding their reflection in a nearby mirror, the rose he had just brought her sitting in a vase beside it.
But that soul warming memory was also coupled with the moments just prior to it, he would never forget the look she had given him. He had cried because of it, tears his dignity had kept at bay until she gave him that look of pride-withering pity, made all the more palpable by her endearing innocence and her obvious desire to help, without knowing how. It eroded the barrier around his emotions like nothing else, though he had gained more practice at hiding them since then.
…
His eyes lowered. "Please don't look at me like that."
He was a little surprised that he had been able to say it so evenly.
"You'll never have to wait for me again, and we can finally have a family. This is for us. It'll be over soon and – and then we can just forget about it."
Saya was trying to convince herself just as much as her companion, and he knew it.
"I know."
They were both silent as the clock in the lobby began to chime it's announcement of midnight, the agreed upon time. Haji leaned down to give her a quick peck on the lips, but she pulled him into a long, passionate kiss.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you," his voice wavered as he held as tightly as he could without hurting her, as if she were about to slip through his fingers.
He released her as the final chime sounded, picking up his cello case and in spite of every feeling in his body, he began to walk down the hall. He listened for the sound of the door opening, and glanced back at her one last time as he turned the corner, catching her taking a deep breath before turning the knob.
His pace quickened to just shy of a jog. He didn't know where he was going, but for Haji, there was only one thing to do at such a time.
He was tempted to set himself up just outside the hotel, where Saya would be able to hear him play, but he wasn't one for such dramatics.
He finally reached a park a few blocks away, sat on a bench beneath a gold-tinged streetlight, and began to play with more passion than he ever had before, or ever would again.
Even his instrument took pity on him, the strings held out, no matter how harshly the bow ground against them, no matter how much furious jealously he poured into the music.
I will keep my word, his mind pleaded with his heart. I will not become violent, I will not interfere, I will not return before the appointed time.
I have no right to resent it. I strayed once before, a fruitless search for something that could distract me from my pain and guilt, following the incident in Vietnam.
…Right now, the one woman I have ever, or could ever love, is in the arms of that traitorous libertine.
But the bitterness and jealousy actually wasn't the worst part. It was the anxiety.
He will ask her to break off our engagement and marry him instead. I know he will.
He did say that he would do no more than was requested of him, he gave me his word.
What value is there in the word of a traitor? None, whatsoever.
He will ask her and she will have to choose. It will not be a matter of who she loves, but who she prefers and whatever she feels for him, she will surely realize it tonight.
Regardless, I must respect her feelings, and accept her decision, what ever it may be.
His grip on the bow tightened even more.
… Seeing her with him, marrying him, raising a family with him… But I will bare it if she asks it of me. I must.
I must.
Still, I fear I may find what my 'limit' truly is.
He could feel the moisture accumulating at the corner of his eye.
Saya.
Don't go.
…
He once again attempted to keep his himself occupied, tying his hair-ribbon in a bow under his collar, becoming his cravat once again, perhaps subconsciously hoping to evoke memories of their past together.
Lastly, he applied the final piece to the ensemble, the pink-rose boutonnière.
I will not be ruled by my emotions.
My mission is to be by her side – quietly.
Even if that mission is about to…
I will not be ruled by my emotions.
You are correct. I did NOT say to whom she is getting married. Did I mention that I'm evil? Don't get too upset, ALL will be revealed. Like I said, the next few chapters will be making extensive use of flashbacks, and needless to say, there will be several more pertaining to that 'fateful night.'