Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run
When Last We Met: Refuge in Finaqua seems to have been but a mirage to the heroes - now five and finally reunited with the arrival of Tutor. With him, the old teacher has brought a chance to revive Lavender, an opportunity Cain fears too promising for DG to turn away from.
Chapter Thirteen: On the Edge of Dawn
"Tell me you're not really considering this," Cain said, his voice low as he walked DG through the hallways to her room.
"I could do that, but I'd probably be lying," she replied, disinterested.
"You can't honestly think there'll be somethin' out there for you to find." He slowed, so she gained a bit of a lead. She didn't seem to take notice.
"I don't know what I honestly think, honestly," she said. "My brain overloaded a while ago, so I hope you know the way to my room because I think we're lost."
He smirked. "That bad?"
"Almost," she muttered, sounding a little unhappy, which was a promising sign – at least to him. She was a doubtful creature by nature, plagued by an adventurous streak and a conscience that stretched on into infinity. "I don't know what I'm going to find, or what I expect to find, if anything. Since when have I struck you as a person who knows what she's doing?"
"Been holding out hope for a while now."
She fell back a step at his pointed comment, but said nothing in return.
"You sound like you've made up your mind, then. Seems to me you've got a decent enough idea of what you're doing."
"If you say so." Her voice was tight; he realised, quite belatedly, that she was avoiding walking next to him, trying to fall back further now that he'd come up even with her. Then, she asked, taking a disconcerting amount of care, "You don't think we'll find anything?"
"You know, right up 'til the minute I found out your sister was hiding a bit of sealed evil under her skin, I would've said no," he said, taking no care to sugar-coat his words. "Now I can't say." She gave a noise of protest, but he cut her off. "Won't even try. Sorry, kiddo."
"Where's your sense of adventure?" she challenged.
Cain grit his teeth against a short-tempered, automatic response. "Lost it somewhere along the road," he said instead, a nasty heaviness in his chest giving a dull throb. "Listen, are you sure you aren't doing this just 'cause it's the one thing she don't want you to do?"
He didn't need to clarify who she was, as DG stopped walking then, and he was forced to do the same, made to turn and face her in the dim light of an underused corridor. She'd narrowed her gaze at him, sizing him up. He wasn't too worried; he could take what she threw at him, he'd learned that early on enough.
"You think I want to do this out of spite?"
An indifferent sniff escaped him before he had time to think on it too long; it narrowed her gaze all the more, deepened her frown. "Tell me why then, DG, because damned if I can figure it out."
"You," she said slowly, "are a hypocrite."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really."
"You'd do the same if you were me," she said, confidence straightening her spine, squaring her shoulders. "And you wouldn't listen to a single thing I said against it, either."
"You'd best be careful," he said, not unkindly but his words were hard where his tone was not. "Don't presume to tell me what I'd do, princess."
"I don't presume," she said. "Don't forget, you taught me a thing or two about being stubborn. You'd do anything for your son. And you can't tell me that he wouldn't for you if it were reversed."
He shook his head. "DG, what you're trying to do is a helluva lot bigger than –"
"I don't care."
"You should," he said, louder than he'd meant to. "And you should think for a minute about the people that are gonna be affected."
Her arms went loosely about herself, and she looked much smaller suddenly, a little more like the girl he'd brought here and a little less like the woman that had been fighting with him since leaving the others behind in the drawing room, so many twists and turns back.
"I am," she said; simple, short, but her voice cracked all the same.
"No," he said, wanting to be easy on her despite his annoyance. "You're only thinking about your mother. And yourself."
"Is that wrong." It was no question; she tucked in the corner of her mouth, defiant as she refused to meet his eyes.
"I suppose that depends on your way of thinking," he said, and sighed when she cocked an expectant eyebrow at him, though her gaze still flit around. "By my way of thinking, kiddo, that's the kind of stubborn disregard that got me shot out a window. Something I'd do differently, given the chance to do it over."
"And here I thought it was your amazing people skills you had to thank for that."
He'd take the barb; if she was still slinging quips at him, she wasn't too far out of his reach yet. Cain couldn't pride himself on much when it came to DG, but he could navigate her moods easily enough. Staying one step ahead of her was another feat, and not one he claimed to have mastered. Time, it took time, though it was time he was fighting against giving, time that was against them both.
"All I'm sayin' is –"
"No, none of that," she said quickly, cleanly interrupting him, her lapse in strength overcome. "I don't need your voice-of-reason speech."
"Seems to me that you do."
She walked past him, shaking her head. She'd only gone a few feet at most before she stopped again, glanced over her shoulder at him with blue eyes sadder than he'd expected, washing him over in a wave of guilt. "I wish I didn't care what happens to her," she told him. "I'll throw myself out on a limb because that is what I don't care about."
He kept his mouth clamped tight, agreeing with her more completely than he'd ever let her know. Mutely, he lowered his chin, hoping she had more to say and wasn't expecting him to – hell, he didn't know what there was for him to say. She only offered up a weak smile, one that echoed her eyes.
"I want to show you something," she said, defeated like. She gave him little else other than a motion of her hand to follow, which he did without complaint, but with much reservation. She guided him through the halls easily enough, despite her earlier proclamation that she was all turned around. Upon reaching her room, she left the door wide open for him, but he paused on the threshold, giving himself a moment or two to breathe just a bit deeper before he cornered himself in a room with the one person who had it in her to undo him.
The room, as a room, was unremarkable; simple, compared to the spaces he'd been occupying in the Central Palace. There was nothing here that indicated this was DG's room, no bits of her strewn about, no effects to indicate she slept here, no trappings of an artist's life. He closed the door behind him, keeping it to his back, real and there, something.
She was rummaging; one of the first things he'd learned about her in the two months he'd spent in Central City before disappearing into the east was that when it came to DG, tidy didn't always mean organised, but soon enough, and with a smug little grin of triumph, she came up with the same blue-covered sketchbook he'd seen in her hands earlier that evening – had it only been mere hours ago? The lake seemed days behind him.
"Take a look at this, would you?" she asked. The wicked grin was gone, she was back to a blank slate, prettier for it.
He took the sketchbook, kept his eyes on her. "You sure it's all right?"
She nodded. "Just look."
Withholding reaction as best he could, he flipped the cover open. He didn't know what he was expecting – prophetic images of caves and old women, etchings of words and places that might even mean something in the (all too) near future – but what he found sank his heart.
A pencil sketch, a life sketch; his eyes were pulled first to the heavy angular lines that created an apex, an ominous focal point. It was almost impossible to draw his eyes away, to shift his focus to realise there was more to the picture, that the lines created a doorway, raised on a dais. The figure standing in the frame created by the thick, angry lines, underneath the apex, was easy to identify. Everything from the dress, the slender body, down to the light, delicate strokes DG had used spoke 'Lavender' to him, 'Queen' to whom he'd sworn to serve all his annuals as a Tin Man.
Just Mother, though, to DG.
Clarity cut its way into his eyes as he turned from page to page, seeing deeper into the illusive former queen than he'd ever though possible to one such as him. A broad spectrum of images, eyes and hands, a face turned in profile, complete sketches where she was almost lost, surrounded by too much detail, too many dark, slashing lines.
His brow furrowed as he looked on, as strokes of lead began to fade; shading diminished, becoming too light and all together inconsequential. He saw what DG saw, paper washed in vulnerability, uncertainty, and a woman not long for this world. When he reached the last, he let out a low whistle, closed the book, not wanting to dwell on the heartbreak on those pages.
"Deege –"
She shook her head at him; she came close, closer than necessary, to take the book from him. "You can call it stupid all you want," she said, her quiet voice filling the air between them, so very little air. "Or blindly foolish, too, I don't care."
"Really." His lips settled into a skeptical line. The dim gaslight was making the kid glow a colour that made him feel all at once at his ease, which in turn worked against him as the apprehension descended. A shimmer passed through her eyes as they shifted to look up at him, a momentary reflection and nothing more, yet still he swallowed hard, tried his best to remain at a distance even as she stood so near him.
"Just don't call it hopeless, okay? It's never hopeless."
Her eyes were still cast upward at him, blue-fire burning on his skin; he took a deep breath past the odd painlessness of it, as something inside smouldered low; a tug, an ache, a something that he'd long forgotten existed, in himself or the wider world. She wasn't smiling, wasn't speaking, just holding him down with empty expectation, wanting not his blessing but his acceptance, and he realised – very much too late – that she'd never needed his blessing, nor anyone's.
All she'd been waiting for was someone to point her in the right direction; her feet, her heart, her Light would handle the rest.
"I wouldn't," he said, forcing a weak, lopsided smile. "I wouldn't call it hopeless."
Otherwise, I wouldn't be offering my services on this witless venture, he thought, knowing all the while he was opening a door he might not be able to close again, not if she could get even a toe in. And there was more chance with every passing second that he was sealing his fate that night, as those sky eyes of hers went down and the faintest trace of a smile spread across her lips, into her cheeks. Still too close, with nothing to say, lingering with the damn sketchbook of afflicted regret held between them. Sighing, he took it from her, her uncrossed arms falling loosely to her sides as he tossed it lightly onto a nearby tabletop, as if it were not weighted with a daughter's debts. Her eyes followed his every move.
"We'll talk more on this tomorrow," he said, and meant every word. "Let daylight clear our heads, and we'll figure out what's to be done. No doubt the mutt's already two steps ahead."
She didn't smile as he'd intended her to, though it near split his head in two thinking on why it mattered at the moment, considering the hell she was putting them on the brink of, the frustration he felt with her, the tutor, the whole damned family of troublemakers. Not to mention that 'we' word that seemed more and more to be sneaking its way into his vocabulary, despite his desires otherwise.
The girl was still too close, close enough for him to know she was focusing intently on his shirt buttons to avoid looking up into his face, where she might see the stubble on his jaw, such was her proximity to him. Sighing deeply, Cain reached up a tentative hand to sweep her dark hair away from her forehead, leaned down to place a light kiss on her fair skin, his movements so fast and sure that when she'd glanced up in surprise, breath catching in her throat, he'd already pulled away, stepped back. Their eyes met just as he nodded his head to her.
"Get some shut eye, darlin'."
When the first white light appeared in the sky after the darkest night Cain could remember in a long while, he was not to be found in his bed, nor anywhere near it. He stood in the creeping chill of early morning, watching that pale streak of dawn grow brighter and brighter from the stone terrace of the palace. He was alone, but not for long, he knew. Eventually, someone would seek him out; someone always did.
The veil of dark lifted, and the world slowly grew to grey. The lake was a pane of glass; lazy mist rose off the surface, hovering above the water with no breeze to blow it away, nor to break the spell of stillness the lake cast.
He'd never found any such calm coming here.
Behind him, the doors were opened wide, the entrance hall beyond dark and empty. There were no lights from within to call him back, no guards stationed out of sight. The palace of Finaqua slept the sleep of the dead, like its once-upon queen, fading and weak and breathing slow.
Time was running out for Lavender, that was for damn certain. But he would not, for even a sliver of an instant, think that there was something could be done for her. Nothing that he or any of the others, DG most of all, could do. Chasing rumour and legend through the forest and mountains was folly. But it wasn't his decision to make.
He wished that it was wisdom guiding him, or at the very least ignorance. He wanted more than anything to be held back by something more than his own uncertainty, something tangible that he could latch onto, a vantage point from which to act and decide. No, no – cowardice was a damned slippery thing, nothing to hold onto, nothing there when he needed it most.
"What does Azkadellia want us to do?"
Us.
Cain had always been a firm believer that the best defence against imminent danger began with a level head. Having people at your back that you trusted never hurt, either. Us, DG'd said. She trusted them, her friends and guardians, just as her mother had trusted them to keep her safe, just as her sister trusted them now to continue to do so. Tutor, whom Az had sent in place of herself; Glitch, eager to please and itching for a bit of fun; Raw, who would not be removed from DG's side when she was about to dive into something inevitably stupid. And himself, Wyatt, wholly divided and unsure.
The stars near the horizon began to fade, bleeding into the whiteness of dawn until they blinked out altogether. The familiar glow that preceded first sun-up would come soon enough. Already, the lyrelings that nested in the maze had started up their sharp, clear trills of morningsong.
He wondered if she was sleeping, or if she too were awake, staring out her window at the faint brightness on the horizon.
The footsteps echoing across the hall behind him were light and quick, and they brought Cain's thoughts abruptly down to the cold morning, away from a far-off bedroom where thoughts ought not to be. He didn't turn, didn't move, though his unease had him wanting to downright fidget.
"I had you pegged for running," Glitch said with a laugh as he came to a graceful stop at Cain's back.
Cain snorted. "Got nowhere to run to."
"Or perhaps, nothing to run from, this time at least."
He said nothing as the darkness around him continued to abate, oh so nimbly melting into light.
"Does that mean you're with us then, Cain?"
Us.
"I suppose it does," was his reply. "Although I hope to hell this isn't what you brought me here for, genius, I mean it."
"Swear on the slippers, I was not privy to any of this information," Glitch said, his voice suddenly so serious that Cain glanced back over his shoulder with a smile. The silent reassurance was enough. "I was close enough to Lavender that Azkadellia probably didn't want to risk it. I don't like keeping secrets, they give me the most terrible migraines."
Cain's smile disappeared; he didn't find this at all surprising, as the man had literally had his secrets ripped out of his head, no wonder they gave the poor fool a headache. He looked back out over the lake, watching as the murky waters were leeched of blackness, the surface slowly beginning to glow an unnatural silver. Sunsrise soon.
"So where do we go from here then," he said, far out of his depth. The only one whose knowledge he'd ever have sought was gone, incinerated in the tower furnace, no words, no respects, nothing but laughter as another traitor burned.
"Unless you want to go bushwhacking through the Black Forest, looking for runes in the ruins of Deadwood Fall –" Here, he stopped and chuckled, "runes in the ruins," then promptly shook it off and continued on as if he'd not just derailed. "Our best bet is likely to be the elders of the eastern tribes; an oral history survives much better than one transcribed with paper and ink."
East. Exactly the direction Cain would have run, leaving them all behind if he'd ever been so inclined. He was bound now, though, whether he liked to admit it or not, and Gods above, did he not. It was not obligation, as DG felt, that compelled him to stay. Damn his own self to hell, but he couldn't put his finger on it, his elusive reasonings hiding from his common sense that would put an end to the entire ordeal in a heartbeat.
"Do you expect to just waltz into a village of guild fighters and start drilling them about folk stories?" he asked dryly.
"I'd forgotten what a downer you are," Glitch replied; Cain could clearly imagine the accompanying eye-roll.
"No you didn't, 'cause you've pointed it out 'bout five times since I came back."
There was a pause, and then a shuffle, the soft rustling of limbs and fabric. "I thought that part was best left up to DG. The waltzing, and the drilling." Then a nervous laugh. When Cain turned, he saw Glitch swinging his arms to and fro, as if trying to gain momentum to jump off the terrace. "Or we'll think of something," his friend added hastily, nodding his head with wide eyes, agreeing with himself.
"This could go bad," Cain muttered, turning his back again to stare out at the lake and the ever-growing dawn.
"Or maybe," Glitch said slowly, "it might be prudent to give her something to do already, instead of asking her to sit down and shut up. What's it going to hurt? It'll be good for DG and good for all of us. Idle hands and all that."
Cain shook his head, eyes going skyward. What's it going to hurt.
"Besides –" And here, Glitch's comforting hand descended on his shoulder, a brief touch but nonetheless meaningful. To think the day had come when Wyatt was the one in need of encouragement. "– it'll be fun."
More fateful words, he was sure he'd never heard.
