Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run
When Last We Met: More than a week after their encounter with Glinneth and DG's disappearance, Cain and the others arrive in Central City in the company of a small retinue of soldiers sent by Azkadellia to meet the group of travellers and bring them safely home. Now, Cain, Glitch, Raw, and Tutor must face those that they left behind in Central City, knowing that they had failed in the one thing they'd been entrusted to do - keep DG safe.
Chapter Thirty Three: Alta Torretta
Cain's first glimpse of Central City filled him with unease. The highest spires stood straight and tall against the darkening sky, at the very heart nestled the highest of all, the Central Palace, gleaming with a false golden light that beckoned to them, calling out that their journey was finally coming to an end.
There was no such hope in his heart; he could see it in his companions as the city neared, though it would be hours yet before they would ride through the city gates. But as the miles passed into a memory, as the road shrank behind them, Cain could feel the dread growing within him, more than simple uncertainty but something far more tangible, a heaviness in his chest and a lingering taste at the back of his throat, the unmistakable taste of burnished metals, of smoke and ash carried on the wind. Civilisation, in all its wild, wretched glory.
He'd been gone so long. Central City, to which all roads led. He'd run from, run toward, walked away, determined never to pass in the shadow of the walls again – and yet, at the first sign of trouble, the first call for help, he'd come back. Come back to a girl who didn't want him, didn't want to want him. Charm and persuasion hadn't changed her mind, that was for damn sure. Perhaps in the end it'd been nothing that he'd done. In the end, she'd left; left her home and her family, left the duty-bound life she'd chafed under – left him at the edge of the world.
Full dark came upon them as they circled the city and approached from the north. Cain himself hadn't seen the suns in more than two days; even now, there wasn't a single break to be found in the cloud cover, no glimpse of moon or stars. The lights of the city, a hazy emerald glow against those dark clouds, reminding Cain of the tower and the eclipse. He shut his eyes against the memory, but when he opened them once more, the sickening green gloom had not lifted. He didn't know why he'd expected it to.
They stopped at a stable just north of the city, where a man had been promised an indecent sum of money to discreetly prepare for their arrival. For the first time since leaving his home by the creekside all those weeks ago, Cain found himself separated from his horse. He was unable to spend more than a few short minutes with her while their gear was being unloaded and stored away. He tucked DG's sketchbook into his duster, slipped a blurry-eyed stablehand a little money, and stepped outside to wait for the others. They'd continue to the city on foot.
Gods, how he hated the sight of those towers of slender grace and beauty. He couldn't tear his eyes away; exhausted as he was, he couldn't close them. The Central Palace, with her emerald-glass crown, where he might find – well, damned if he was even sure what he was looking for any more. Answers, perhaps, and little else.
He could not wait forever. Soon, the others were ready to leave.
Midnight saw them inside the gate. The city guard watched them silently. The night was slow, quiet; no cars on the streets, and only a few harried souls walking the pavement. But Central City held many secrets and the tall spires cast deep shadows upon the alleys and doorsteps, and the city's sleepy façade did little to calm Cain's heart.
Their winding trek through the streets was uneventful; they met no resistance, no voices speaking from darkened corridors, no echoing footsteps behind. Had he expected such troubles? When had his life not come to include such troubles? Had the annuals in the suit damaged him so, or had he just come to accept DG's knack for finding herself in the thick of things?
Their arrival in the city had no doubt been noticed. By whom, it didn't seem to matter. News would break, eventually, that the princess had vanished once more. Not dead, no, but gone all the same. Though inadvertent, perhaps DG had done just what had been needed to crush what momentum this resistance faction had gained. For what cause was it they fought for, if their princess champion had disappeared?
Eyes would see, and ears would hear. Azkadellia was queen, unchallenged.
These were Cain's thoughts as finally, the great stone arches and ivy-hidden walls that surrounded the palace grounds came into view.
Once upon a time, he'd been frustrated, consumed by his own pride and anger; once upon a time, he'd walked these streets alone, only to catch a shadowy glimpse as a princess escaped her tower prison. He knew now he would see no such vision, but still he looked for her.
Disappointed, he passed under the arch with his companions. He'd left this wretched place with a charge, promising never to leave her side, looking into her sky eyes burning with resentment, he'd promised her he would follow wherever her feet led them. He hadn't broken his promise, yet still he returned without her.
An ambush was waiting for them on the front step, ready to accost them before the weary travellers could set a foot inside the residence of the royal family. Stewards, mostly, a few of them vaguely familiar to Cain, though Glitch named a few in greeting, relief clear in every gesture he made.
"We must see the Queen immediately," Glitch told the man Cain knew to be the head steward, a hard, serious man whose good side DG had never managed to find herself on. Cain had never had much cause to like the man himself, now even less so, as the head steward gave the slightest shake of his scowling head.
"Not as you are. Her Majesty is abed. She received the reports sent by the lieutenant early this evening. She is expecting you, and will be informed of your arrival. However," the steward said, levelling his gaze on Jeb, "the Queen would speak with you immediately, Lieutenant Cain."
Cain felt himself relax as he drew in a deep breath as they were ushered into the grand, gilded hall. Members of the household guard flanked the entrance, their eyes and expressions unreadable. The whispers would be making their rounds by morning, if they hadn't begun already, maids in corners with heads bowed together, pageboys in passing, men-at-arms during the changing of the guard.
"They came back without her."
Cain closed his eyes tight against the golden light that filled the hall, shimmering and dancing in the mirrored ceiling until he was near blinded by the unnatural radiance. Thick carpet felt odd beneath his boots, too soft, unreal. They had been shown through the main entrance, mostly for guests and the general public, as if they were officiants on palace business. The late hour guaranteed it to be virtually deserted, but all the same, they were led through a twist of passages, up innumerable flights of stairs, all with great care and secrecy. Once the family residence had been reached – truly, the only part of the palace Cain had become familiar with in the short time he'd spent there – Jeb and the two men who'd remained with them for the last stretch of the journey to Central were led off by the head steward. With a final backwards glance and a simple nod, Jeb disappeared further into the labyrinthian depths of the palace.
And just like that, Cain found himself alone with Glitch and Raw, staring at carved doors with ornate silver handles that led to soft, warm beds, in this strange, foreign place of rich fabrics, dizzying tile, and emerald glass. Confused beyond comprehension, dirty beyond recognition, and so very, very tired, they broke off without a word, without a glance, and went to rooms that had once belonged to them in another lifetime, one that, it could be assumed, had also belonged to them, before Finaqua, before the Midlings, before the Bur'zaen Overlook. Before crumbling ruins and mouldered paintings, before the witch and the princess had struck their secret bargain.
His room was a small room. His entire cabin could have fit inside, eaves and all, and still he felt enclosed. The walls closed in on him, pale and perfect, embossed with slender vines of ivory, a stranglehold that no deep breathing or soft muttering could dispel. One step, and then another, one breath that followed the next, he waded into the elegance of this room he was meant to recognise, one that had belonged to him an age before.
Before. Would that he could forget that word, banish it from his mind as easily as – well, when had anything ever been easy to forget?
Deeply, he sighed. Another step, another breath, forging his way into this strangeness, finding footholds, fingerholds, a tenuous grasping of safety in the simplest of tasks. He removed his boots, his duster, his hat. He placed DG's sketchbook on the stand next to the bed. He opened the wardrobe, finding clothes that he vaguely recognised as his own clothes; clean as they were, smelling of musty cedar, could they truly be his? The smells of the road, dust and smoke and rain and horse, still clung to him.
He looked down at his hands, the dirt beneath his nails and in the creases of his palms. He reached out to take a crisp shirt from the closet, only to draw his hand away once more, surprised at the stark contrast of the soft, clean cotton and the rough, sun-baked brown of his skin.
Right. First things first.
Almost an hour later, he was smelling like apples, and he didn't like it, but he was cleaner than he'd been since their overnight stay in Ammenium a fortnight prior, and the stream of hot water had been a blessing upon his aching back and shoulders. A meek, mousy girl with eyes bleary from being dragged from her bed had come with food, and left with his dirty articles, promising to return them by morning, most of her sentences mangled by wide-mouth yawns. He'd thanked her, nodding his head, and that had been the last he'd seen of anyone. He didn't mind; he ate in peace, though he managed to stomach little. His mind had wandered too far for it to be brought back easily, even by the overwhelming scent of a well-prepared – if leftover and reheated – meal.
When finally, finally, the knock on the door came, quick and erratic and familiar, Cain was standing at the window. It wasn't the city below that drew his attention, but the darkness beyond her walls. He frowned, and let the curtain fall back into place. "Come in," he said, but didn't turn. He didn't have to. It was Glitch who entered, all nervous movement and fluttering hands.
"Azkadellia – the queen, the queen – is waiting for us upstairs in the Galehall."
Cain raised an eyebrow, finally turning to face his friend. "Galehall?"
Glitch was nodding at him, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He clasped his hands before him, only to loose his arms to swing free once more. Fidgety. "Her audience chamber is – well, I don't think she wants – it's more private, and considering the circumstance –" He cut himself off with a sigh, and threw a lopsided grin Cain's way. He offered no more, holding his hands palms up. "It's actually rather appropriate. You'll see."
It was with those words of foreboding that Cain followed silently along another path of empty, darkened halls. Up and up, far beyond the family residence, past closed doors and open ones. One stairway was wide and sweeping, its runner a deep, ruby red; the next, a narrow servant's stair, their footsteps echoing loudly off the hardwood. And it wasn't until they'd reached a long, out-of-the-way corridor that Cain realised he'd walked this path once before – the night he'd arrived in Central, as Glitch had led the winding way to a quiet place where they could talk. Surely enough, they soon stopped before a set of heavy doors, guarded by two men – one of which was his own son.
Jeb nodded at his father, the faintest quirk at the corner of his mouth meant to convey a smile. Wordlessly, Cain clapped his hand on his son's shoulder, and followed Glitch into the meeting room.
Oh, he knew this place.
His eyes did not go to the bodies seated in high-backed chairs all along a lengthy table; no, his eyes went to the walls, upon which were recorded a history unlike any other. He knew this tale, had known this tale the very moment he'd lain eyes on it, all those weeks ago when the summons had found him in his solitude. Road of yellow brick and beautiful emerald city, fields of pink and blue patchwork, flowers and orchards and deep, gnarled forests. Over bridge and briar that ribbon of gold wound, each village it passed a mere smattering of houses, each lake a dazzling cerulean. The world outside did not hold these colours, but here on the walls of this forgotten room, they still thrived. And at the end of that old road, in all her ruby splendour –
A throat cleared, gruff and loud. Cain tore his eyes away from the walls, and their chilling tale. Around the table sat only four people. Raw sat closest to the door, his head bowed as if asleep, though his shoulders were tense and trembling. Across from him, seemingly asleep with his chin bowed to his chest, was Tutor. Near the centre sat Azkadellia, a lovely sight so reminiscent of her sister, and beside her, glowering deeply, was her father.
For every step, every moment Cain had spent preparing himself for the coldness in the eyes of DG's father, the expectation and worry upon her sister's pale, youthful face – he felt his heart slow, his breath catch, and the guilt began to fill his throat once more, until breathing, and living on, seemed near impossible. It was in Azkadellia's dark, fathomless eyes that he saw the full realisation of his failure to do all that he'd been trusted to do.
At the sight of him, Azkadellia stood, slow and composed, with all the grace her sister would never possess. "Captain," she said. "I'm relieved you decided to stay in the city."
Her comment confused Cain, and brought to a halt whatever he'd thought to say, whether in apology or defence. His silence, however, seemed an invitation for Ahamo to speak up from his seat, arms crossed over his chest.
"I can't say I share my daughter's sentiments. Your orders –"
Straight into it, then. "My orders were to keep DG out of Central City," Cain said, the low tone of his voice surprising even himself. He sounded calm, a calm he did not feel. He remained standing even as Glitch took a seat next to Raw.
"My request to DG did not conflict with this, Father," Azkadellia said, reaching a small white hand toward her father, a gesture that went unrewarded as he barely regarded her at all. "Nor, as I understand it, was DG ever in any more danger than she would have been remaining in Central City with us."
"And your sister's penchant for placing herself in danger?" came Ahamo's scathing reply. "It seems you underestimated it."
Azkadellia's straightened shoulders did not falter, though a deep frown set upon her lips. "DG is safe," she said firmly. "Even you cannot doubt the word of a Viewer. There is no question as to where she was sent, is there?" She turned her quizzical gaze on Raw, and Cain saw his friend flinch beneath the desperation thrown his way.
"No. No question. DG in Kansas. Raw feel –" And here he stopped, taking a deep breath and laying his palms flat on the table, the leather covering them worn and stained and utterly out of place against the dark wood of a surface that had been polished until it reflected as a mirror. "A safe place. A home place. There are faces – friends. DG not alone. But –" Raw lifted his head, his eyes finding Cain, and he said no more. Cain shifted uncomfortably, aware that everyone was watching him, and remained silent.
A moment passed, and then another, filled with a quiet that cried out for breaking. For all the heavy glances and bitten tongues, the world outside might well have disappeared. All that existed, all that had ever existed, was inside that isolated chamber, a single space lost within the gleaming spire at the heart of the Zone's greatest, brightest city.
Finally, the silence was shattered as Tutor cleared his throat. His chair gave a groan as he resettled himself, hands clasped before him on the table. "I asked them to bring you here, Mr. Cain, so that you could relay to them what happened with DG in the ruins," he said slowly, and then, as an afterthought, added, "on the day she disappeared."
And there it was. Finally faced with all he'd dreaded, Cain sighed and took a moment to collect his thoughts, running a hand down his face. He was so unbelievably tired, trapped in a night that seemed to know no end.
"Suppose you're all wanting to know what the witch said to DG," he said, finally sitting himself down away from the rest. He let his head fall back, eyes shut. He didn't need them open to know how completely he held their attention.
"Strange that you've withheld the information until now," said Ahamo.
"I haven't withheld a single, damn thing," Cain said, trying and failing to control the bite of his temper. "I'll tell you exactly what I told these three after the storm. DG wanted to leave, was ready to come back. DG ran up the stairs, and I followed her. The witch had appeared out of nowhere, said she'd been keepin' a watch on us. Said she knew why DG was there, what she wanted." He paused, and swallowed. "Seemed to me like she knew DG better than she knows herself, but the kid wasn't having any of it."
It was Azkadellia who spoke up, quiet words spun so delicate it seemed they'd break with any more force than a whisper. "She knew DG had gone seeking help for Mother?"
Cain shook his head, unable to rid himself of the memory of that red woman standing on that crumbling balcony, the harsh light of the desert suns' caught in her hair. Those dark, dead eyes. "Told the kid she knew she'd come seeking power, but what she meant by that –" He cut himself off, not daring to speculate. The words on his tongue begged for a voice to bring them to reality, but Cain hesitated.
"There's more," Azkadellia said, and in the darkness of her eyes Cain could almost believe that she knew, instinctively, could read him, could see through him, hear the echoing thoughts as though they were her own. But it was a ridiculous notion, one that he rid himself of with a wave of disgust, and he nodded.
"Yeah," he said, and swallowed away the speculation once again, the guesswork and wondering that had taken root in his mind over the week of travel that had carried him from the edge of the world back to the very heart of it. "She said – said the story was one that had been told before, and that was the truth of it."
It was Ahamo who spoke then, as Cain watched Azkadellia, Ahamo who managed to find his voice. "And then what? You left DG to the mercy of this – this witch?"
"It was what DG wanted," Cain said, his only defence and so weak at that. He was not fool enough to believe he'd done a great wrong in allowing DG to follow her feet into the fire, but nor was he arrogant enough to think even for a moment that he was so changeable as to go back on his word. From the day they'd left Central City together, he'd told her it was her show, and he would do as she bid, until she would have no more of him.
"You weren't called out to give DG what she wanted," Ahamo snapped, and Cain flinched at the implication, at the truth in his own heart that had taken him so long to realise. "You were brought into this mess to keep her safe."
"She is safe," was all Cain could say. A world away, perhaps, but still safe.
Ahamo rose from his seat. "You dare –"
"Enough!" Azkadellia's voice, hard and sharp and clear, filled the room. "It was by my request that Tutor went to DG in Finaqua, and it was DG's own choice to undertake the journey. Without her, Mother would be – she could have –"
"And now you wish to burden her with the knowledge that her life has cost her a daughter? Need I remind you –"
"No, you do not have to remind me," Azkadellia said tightly, standing as well; as small in stature as she was, with her shoulders thrown back and her chin raised high, she maintained a regal composure that was greatly reminiscent of the woman who had ruled before her, women whose portraits adorned the greatest halls of the Outer Zone. Cain imagined DG would have been proud of her sister in that moment, if only she'd been there to see. "Now that we know, I will speak with Mother. Tomorrow."
"How is – I mean, how –" Glitch, who'd remained so very uncharacteristically quiet during the heated exchange, lifted his eyes from the table to rest them solely on Azkadellia. There was a certain catch to his voice, a stumble, one that could be easily overlooked for all his genuine concern, and yet the words that he managed to speak were so desperately wanting of the curiosity in his eyes. "Lavender is recovering?"
Azkadellia gave him a wisp of a smile. "She is, a miracle I can only attribute to my sister. And to you all."
Cain found himself chafing under her platitudes, however sincere they may be. He stood, watching only the young queen. "If we're finished, Your Majesty." She nodded mutely, and without a backward glance, he stalked from the Galehall, the colourful displays along the walls mocking him with the truth of their tellings.
Author's Note: About the delay - with the holidays, illness, computer issues, the birth of my nephew (who is damned cute), and more illness, I hope that you can forgive me. This story is never far from my mind, and neither are you, my lovely readers. Thank you for your patience!
