Chapter Thirty-Eight: Who We Become
"Gabriel. The name ring any bells?"
Regina raised an eyebrow as Emma spat out the accusation. The blonde was irate, her face flushed pink, and she stood blocking Regina's entrance into Mary Margaret's apartment. Regina had no idea where Emma had heard the name – she'd been careful to keep her relationship with Gabriel a secret from everyone, but obviously it had slipped out somehow.
Still… Emma seemed to think that her uncle was important, that Regina had kept him a secret because she wanted to protect the information he had. Clearly, Regina would have to disabuse her of that notion.
"I believe he goes by the name Christian here," Regina replied coolly. She glanced past Emma, saw Mary Margaret and David watching her suspiciously. "Are you going to let me in, dear? Or do you no longer need help with that protection spell?"
"Why didn't you tell us about him?" Emma demanded. There was something dark flashing in her eyes.
Regina shrugged carelessly. "Why would I? He doesn't know anything useful."
"How do you know that?" Emma challenged.
Regina gazed at her for a long moment, then said dryly, "Because I asked him, Miss Swan." Emma faltered for a moment, looking surprised by that revelation, and Regina added, "When my mother first arrived in Storybrooke, I approached him to see if he knew of a weakness of my mother's, one that I could use to protect Henry." She grimaced distastefully, recalling the conversation. It had been an utter waste of time. "He did not."
Mary Margaret drifted over to Emma's side, concern obvious in her gaze. "Did he know any of what Cora planned?" she asked, glancing between Regina and her daughter.
Regina rolled her eyes. "Of course not," she snapped. "If he had informed me of her plans, don't you think I would have told you?"
"Would he tell you?" Emma questioned. Regina pursed her lips, annoyed, but Emma shrugged off the other woman's silent scorn and said, "Well, it's not like you have a great relationship with your various family members. And you did curse him, after all. It wouldn't surprise me if he lied to you."
Regina winced inwardly at that pointed jab. Emma's remark hit a little too close to home, but she would not show weakness, and she would not dwell on the family she could have had.
Instead, she quirked a wry smile and said, "I assure you, Miss Swan, that whatever Uncle Gabriel might feel towards me, it does not outweigh what he feels about my mother. He answered every question I asked."
"Maybe you didn't ask the right questions," Emma countered.
Regina accepted that in silence, frowning at the possibility that Emma could be right. They'd known very little at that point, and she hadn't known what questions to ask. She'd been grasping at straws, desperate for anything that might help her protect Henry, and while she fully believed that Gabriel had answered all of her questions truthfully, she also suspected that he would not have volunteered unasked for information.
No, he would not have answered the questions she didn't ask.
Emma took her silence for what it was – acknowledgement that she had a point – and said, "I'm going to go talk to him."
Regina shrugged. "As you wish," she said, feigning disinterest. She had no real reason to argue against that course of action without arousing suspicion, and she was absolutely not going to admit to Emma that she didn't want anyone talking to Gabriel because she didn't want people to know what her childhood had been like.
Anyway, it wasn't like Regina could actually stop Emma from doing whatever she wanted.
The blonde was still studying Regina intently, but she finally, reluctantly, stepped aside and allowed the other woman entrance to the apartment.
"Thank you," Regina murmured sardonically as she brushed past Emma and Mary Margaret.
David glared at her, his arms folded over his chest, and said, "You should have told us about him." When Regina didn't immediately reply, he pressed, "Emma asked you if Cora had other family here and you lied. We shouldn't have had to find out the truth from Leah and Stefan."
Regina gave him a sharp look. "I didn't realize that they knew," she said, more to herself than to anyone else. It bothered her that they did, although she wasn't exactly certain why. It was more than just her dislike of people knowing her secrets – she didn't trust them, and she didn't like the fact that they had been prying into her life.
Had they talked to Gabriel?
If so, he'd obviously failed to convince them that Cora was a serious threat.
"That's not the point," David growled, cutting into Regina's thoughts. "Whether or not they knew is irrelevant. How can we trust you if you keep secrets like this?"
"Oh, so you want to trust me now?" Regina shot back sarcastically. But there was a lack of heat in her voice, and even David's accusation had seemed just a little… tired. The tempers that had so often flared when they'd disagreed were muted, faded.
Regina felt Mary Margaret's questioning gaze on her back.
David was an insufferable idiot who seemed to think he had ever right to pry into Regina's life, to dissect her past and present in order to satisfy his curiosity. But no matter how peremptory his behavior, Regina could not forget that he was also the man who had sat by her bed, making sure she would recover after that last disastrous attempt to connect with Emma had nearly killed her – and who had told her quite firmly that her death was not in Henry's best interests.
They would never be friends, but somehow the past few weeks had forged a bond between Regina and David – one she hadn't been aware of until that very moment.
It unnerved her.
David sighed and turned away from, as though he too had noticed a change. "Henry is upstairs," he said, "distracting Belle. We need to keep her away from magic for now." Regina nodded, wondering why he was telling her this, and then David said, "I promised I'd call him down as soon as the magic was over so he could see you."
Regina swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. Of course she had hoped that this trip to Mary Margaret's apartment would be an opportunity to see her son, but the fact that he had asked to see her, too…
She let out a breath. Why did it keep surprising her? Things had changed between her and Henry, and she had no doubt that her son loved her… even if he loved Emma more. Why did she still doubt that, why was she always waiting for him to pull away from her again?
Why couldn't she just let herself be happy with her son's love?
Neither David nor Emma seemed to notice her momentary silence, but Mary Margaret did – of course – and felt the need to give Regina's arm a squeeze, as though trying to reassure her that she would always have Henry.
Regina glanced at the warmth in Mary Margaret's gaze and felt relief… and a strong desire to slap her.
"So what do I do?" Emma asked impatiently, cutting into Regina's thoughts. "Henry said you did something with a spell and potion."
Regina nodded, turning her attention to Emma. "I did…" she paused, studying the blonde intently, "but you shouldn't have to."
"Why not?"
"Potions and spells are useful when the magic you are trying to do is… powerful," Regina explained. "They augment your own natural abilities." She shook her head, collecting her thoughts. Emma's extraordinary abilities still worried her, even if she couldn't get anyone else to see her point of view. Slowly, she said, "I needed their help, but you… you have enough raw power to do it on your own."
"On-on my own?" Emma asked a bit warily. She glanced over at Mary Margaret, her expression betraying how much the idea of using magic frightened her. But Mary Margaret smiled reassuringly – one of those trademark looks that always meant you can do this and I believe in you. Emma faltered, but then squared her shoulders and turned back to Regina. "What do I do?"
Regina chose to ignore the mother-daughter bonding moment, and said in a clinical tone, "The barrier needs to keep out everyone except you, your…" she waved a hand distastefully towards Mary Margaret and David, "parents, Henry, and myself. Oh, and I suppose Belle if she is to be staying here."
"Anyone else? Leroy or Archie or Ruby or…" Emma started, directing the question to Mary Margaret.
But Regina interjected quickly, "No. The more people you allow to bypass the barrier, the weaker it becomes." She gave Emma a critical look. "You have far more power than my mother, but I'd still rather not take any chances. Not with Henry."
Emma scowled and David looked unconvinced, but no one argued.
Taking the silence for acceptance, Regina continued, "Now you need to focus. Let your emotions awaken your power."
Emma closed her eyes tightly, her forehead wrinkling. Her hands curled into fists at her side, and she bit down on her lip. Nothing happened at first, then tiny sparks flicked off Emma's fingers, crackling in the air before dying out.
Regina blinked. That was entirely unexpected, and a little disconcerting. She'd had trouble learning magic initially, but in all her failed attempts, she'd never done anything like that. It was almost as though the magic was trying to escape from its owner.
How much magic did she have?
"I can't – it's not…" Emma muttered, her eyes still closed.
"Stop thinking," Regina snapped. "Magic isn't about logic. It's not intellectual."
Emma opened her eyes and glared at Regina. "It's kind of hard to concentrate with you snapping at me," she retorted.
Regina just rolled her eyes. "And it will be even harder to concentrate when my mother is throwing fireballs at you. Concentration isn't easy. Magic isn't easy. Did you think it would be?"
"Easier," Emma grumbled under her breath.
Regina let out a sigh. "Just… focus," she said in a slightly softer tone. "Focus on your emotions. Your anger, your pain, your fear." She paused, thinking of Henry, and then added gently, "Ask yourself – why am I doing this?"
There was no change in the room – nothing visible, anyway. But Regina felt it. It was almost like another presence, another being, alive and tangible and strong. It escaped outwards, flooding from Emma and filling the room, washing over everything. The air hummed.
"There," Regina murmured. "Did you feel that?"
"I did," Emma answered. She opened her fists and pressed her hands flat against her legs, turning to Mary Margaret. "It was…" But she couldn't seem to think of the right words.
"Powerful," Regina supplied, scowling.
"You say that like it is a bad things," Mary Margaret remarked, giving Regina a questioning stare.
But before Regina could reply – and what would she say, anyway, given that no one had been interested in hearing her concerns in the past? – David said, "I didn't feel anything."
"No, you wouldn't. Only those who use magic on a regular basis would have felt it." Regina glanced towards the stairs. "Which is good, I suppose, as it means your amnesiac houseguest will not have noticed anything." To Emma, she added, "It might feel a little strange the first few times you walk through the barrier. Like… like walking through a waterfall."
Emma nodded mutely, staring down at her hands. Her face was pale, her expression drawn, tired. But there was a wariness in her eyes – and something else. Something Regina couldn't identify, but that worried her nonetheless.
Her attention was dragged away from Emma, however, when David said, "I'll go sit with Belle for a little bit," and headed up the stairs.
"She's not taking this well," Mary Margaret explained quietly, gesturing about with her hands as though to encompass the entire town. "The whole not remembering, not knowing who she is, where she belongs…" She trailed off for a moment, a dark frown marring her features. "It was such a drastic step to take. I don't understand why she would have done it. I mean…" She glanced up at Regina, a sad smile of sympathy on her lips, "I know what Gold did, but still…"
Regina clenched her teeth and looked away. She didn't want Mary Margaret's pity now, just like she hadn't wanted Snow's understanding or forgiveness back then. Everything about Daniel's death and her subsequent slow descent into darkness had been complicated, messy, painful, and dwelling on it would do no one any good.
Her mother was in town; she couldn't afford distractions.
But she had to agree with Mary Margaret on one thing – she didn't understand why Belle had crossed the town line. Even now that she knew the role Rumplestilskin had played, she doubted she'd be able to willingly walk over that line. There was so much that she wanted to forget, but she still had at least one thing she wanted to remember.
"Mom!"
Henry shot down the stairs and crashed into her, hugging her tightly. Regina stumbled back a step as she returned the hug, a smile tugging up the corners of her lips. "Henry," she murmured, pressing a kiss into his hair. He grinned up at her, and she shook her head and said, "You act like you haven't seen me in years. It hasn't been that long."
"I know," Henry confided in a low tone, "but I was worried. I thought… I don't want anything to happen to you."
Regina felt the telltale burn of tears in her eyes and blinked quickly to keep them at bay. "Don't," she said sternly. "I'm the parent. It's my job to worry about you, not the other way around."
"I can't help it," Henry replied, dropping his arms and stepping away from her with a shrug. "A lot of people in the town want to hurt you. And so does your mother."
Regina swallowed uneasily. There would always be people who wanted to hurt her – she'd caused far too much destruction to believe that she would ever be free of the repercussions of it. And she did not want Henry to spend his childhood worrying about her safety.
Before she could think of the right response, Henry said, "Can you stay for dinner?"
Regina grimaced. As much as she wanted to spend time with Henry, the idea of sitting through another awkward family meal with Emma was downright horrifying. She knew it would only be a matter of time before the conversation devolved into veiled threats and irritated snipes, even if both she and Emma wanted to protect Henry from that.
Then Emma announced, "I'm going to go talk to Christian now."
"But… dinner…" Mary Margaret protested weakly. Regina slanted a derisive look in her direction. Honestly, the woman would probably insist on stopping in the middle of an all out magic battle to have a family dinner.
"I'm not really hungry, and I want to follow up on this lead tonight," Emma replied, sending a brief glare towards Regina. She ruffled Henry's hair. "But hold dessert for me. I'll be back for that."
"What makes you think we have a dessert?" Mary Margaret replied, frowning.
"No dessert?" Emma cried in mock horror, and Henry laughed, then quickly stifled his laughter when Mary Margaret turned raised eyebrows to him.
"It does seem wrong not to have dessert," he said seriously. "Also… I know you have ice cream in the freezer."
"Then it is settled," Emma declared, winking at Henry. "Ice cream before bed."
Regina pursed her lips. The exchange was so simple, so immaterial. And yet the ease in which Henry had fit into this family, the laughter and happiness in his eyes… it was everything she wanted Henry to have. Only she wanted him to have it with her.
"So can you stay?" Henry asked eagerly, turning to Regina. "Please?"
"Yes," Regina replied, smiling. "Yes, of course."
"Cool," Henry said enthusiastically. "I can tell you about my day." He wrinkled his forehead. "I mean, I haven't done much besides hang out with Belle because Mom – Emma, I mean – won't let me go to school." He pursed his lips. "I don't like being stuck in here. I miss school. And what if I get behind?"
"Mary Margaret can teach you," Emma replied distractedly, grabbing her car keys and stuffing her wallet into the pocket of her blue leather jacket. "That way you won't fall behind."
"It does seem like a suitable arrangement," Regina said, albeit a bit distastefully, "since Miss Blanchard is trapped here as well." Henry nodded skeptically, and Regina smiled and added far too optimistically, "And I am sure we can resolve the situation soon, and then you can return to school."
Henry gave her a disbelieving look, and she reflected, not for the first time, that he'd lost so much of his innocence. There was nothing she could do to change it now, no way she could give him back all the naiveté he'd had before Cora had come through the portal. And perhaps some of this was just normal growing pains, the realization that the world wasn't quite so black and white, and that Good didn't always win.
Still – she wished she could somehow get rid of that shadow in his gaze, that knowledge that sometimes life was simply unfair.
"Emma got me a new comic book. Want to see it?" Henry asked suddenly, his eyes lighting up.
"Of course," Regina replied, her desire to see Henry so happy outweighing her complete lack of interest in comic books.
Henry dashed up the stairs. Emma followed him a moment later, muttering something under her breath about needing to find her phone, and that left Regina alone in the living room with Mary Margaret. And the other woman was studying her intently.
"What?" she snapped.
Mary Margaret shrugged. "Nothing. It's just – you're smiling."
Regina raised an eyebrow. "I'm happy," she said shortly. "Henry makes me happy."
Mary Margaret nodded thoughtfully. "It looks good," she said. At Regina's confused stare, she elaborated, "Happiness. It looks good on you."
"I'd really hoped to be left alone," Christian said with a resigned sigh as he stepped aside and allowed Emma entrance into his house. He ran a hand through his gray-streaked dark hair, messing it up. His face was well-worn and deeply lined, and his dark eyes held a weary expression, as though he'd spent far too much of his life being beaten down.
Emma recognized that feeling, and felt a bizarre welling of pity for the man she'd never even met, the man who might have been keeping much-needed secrets about Cora.
She glanced about the nondescript living room of the nondescript house. She could tell very little about his personality from the furnishings. It was as though he'd done his best to make everything so completely boring that no one would bother staying in the house long enough to get to know him. It didn't really surprise her – his connection to Regina would make him an easy target for angry townspeople, and anonymity was the best defense.
"I'm Emma Swan," she introduced herself.
"I know who you are," he replied brusquely, gesturing for her to take a seat on the neutral-colored sofa.
Something sparked inside Emma at his blunt response – annoyance and irritation and something more. But she stamped it down, took a seat, and asked, "Do you prefer Christian or Gabriel?"
"It really doesn't matter," Christian answered flatly. "I'm hoping you won't stay long enough to need to use my name much."
His candid demeanor was disconcerting. It was unlike Regina's sudden bursts of temper or stilted formality, unlike Cora's sickly sweet words or abruptly vicious actions. He seemed unconcerned, though definitely annoyed, by her presence. Did he truly not know anything of use?
"I'd like to talk about Cora," Emma said.
Had she not been looking for it, she might have missed the flash of fear in his eyes. It was only there for a fraction of a second, an involuntary reaction indicative of something in the past, some memory he had tried to bury.
"As I told Regina," Christian said softly, taking a seat opposite her, "I haven't seen Cora since before my niece's wedding to King Leopold. I doubt I have anything useful to tell you."
"She hasn't contacted you since her arrival?" Emma pressed.
"No," Christian replied, and Emma was inclined to believe he was telling the truth. More to the point, he seemed as surprised as she was by Cora's absence. Clearly, he had expected his sister-in-law to track him down – and probably not for anything good.
Her inaction had given him a reprieve – but who knew how long it would last?
"Do you think she will contact you?" Emma asked, leaning forward and studying Christian carefully.
He smiled mockingly. "If she does, I promise you'll be the first person I tell." He paused, considering his words, then amended the statement, "Possibly the second. Depending on why she seeks me out, I might go to Regina first."
"You believe Cora is a threat to Regina," Emma stated.
"And you don't?" Christian retorted, his brow furrowed. He tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. "I've been staying as hidden as I can, but I still see what is happening in this town. You and your parents closed rank around Regina. Begrudgingly, perhaps. But you obviously think she is in danger… and you want to protect her."
Emma didn't respond. Christian's comments weren't far off the mark, and no matter how much she told herself she only cared about Regina because if anything happened to her Henry would be devastated, she knew it was more than that. It was the feeling that had first appeared when she'd wandered around Regina's empty castle, when she'd recognized the loneliness that practically clung to the walls. It was the recognition of how empty Regina's life must have been.
It was sympathy.
No. It was empathy.
But it did not change what Regina had done. It didn't excuse the violence she had visited on others – the lives she'd destroyed, the families she'd torn apart, the curse she'd cast.
"Do you know anything about Cora's endgame?" Emma asked, her conflicted thoughts making her tone sharper than she had intended. She wanted to reach out and grab Christian's shoulders, to shake him until he spilled everything he knew. He was too calm, too serene. Didn't he know the town was on the brink of disaster?
"I imagine she wants to destroy the entire town," Christian said carelessly. "Particularly the royalty."
"You don't seem too concerned about the idea of destroying all the royalty," Emma commented dryly, unable to fully hide her own agreement with his sentiment.
But Christian surprised her by saying, "I've been royalty. It's overrated."
"You were royalty?" Emma repeated, dumbfounded. "Cora was royalty?" She'd no idea that Regina had come from royalty. In fact, she wasn't sure that Regina knew that.
"Cora was a peasant," Christian corrected, "who married into royalty and became a princess." A bitter, humorless smile curled his lips. "It would be quite the fairytale, wouldn't it? If only she hadn't turned out to be a vengeful psychopath who was banished by the king and destroyed the entire kingdom in revenge."
Emma blinked, nonplussed. After a moment of silence, she asked, "Did you tell Regina that?"
"No." At Emma's look, he shrugged and said, "She never asked."
"And you didn't think it was relevant?" Emma demanded fiercely. Her palms itched, and she rubbed them against her legs. How could he have kept this a secret? "Cora is a threat, and any information we have on her…"
"Do you think it matters?" Christian interrupted her tirade. "Will it help you, knowing that Cora was once royalty? That my family was once…" He paused, then averted his gaze and trailed off with a heavy sigh. Emma could see the resignation in his eyes, the belief that Cora would destroy everything before she was stopped.
Emma had no intention of letting that happen.
"What happened after Cora was banished?"
Christian shut his eyes, remembering, and when he spoke his words were unemotional, as though he was reciting someone else's story. He'd done much to distance himself from Cora, to forget how it had all fallen apart, and Emma could tell that she was picking at old wounds.
She didn't care. She had a town to save, and nothing was going to stand in her way.
"She was banished from court, and from the royal city, but not from the kingdom. My brother Francis who was then the king sent her to a manor in the countryside. Henry – Regina's father – went with her."
"He was banished as well?"
"No." Christian opened his eyes, and Emma saw the faintest hint of derision in his gaze. "No, Henry chose to accompany his wife… and to bring Regina with them."
"You didn't like your brother," Emma said. It was a statement, not a question.
But Christian shook his head vehemently. "I loved my brother dearly. But he could never see Cora for what she truly was." He smiled vaguely, and added, "A flaw that stayed with him. He never saw Regina for who she became, either."
They were getting off topic, and although Emma found herself intrigued by Christian's insights into Regina's life, she needed to get the conversation back on track.
"Why hasn't Cora done anything yet? Why hasn't she attacked?"
Christian raised an eyebrow, that mocking smile firmly back in place. "I was under the impression that you believed her responsible for murdering Moe French, framing Ruby Lucas, framing Mary Margaret Blanchard for helping Miss Lucas, and then murdering Katherine Nolan. That's hardly doing nothing."
"But she could have destroyed the entire town by now," Emma snapped back. "She has enough magic, and with Gold refusing to work against her… well," she shrugged, "she must think that there is no one here to stop her."
"There is quite a bit of unrest in the town – between the mob mentality, the attacks on the sheriff's station and town hall, burning down Leah and Stefan's home… I would guess she has influenced most of that. This town is a tinderbox, and all she needs to do is strike the match."
"Then why hasn't she?" Emma pressed. "Why is she waiting?"
"I don't know."
Emma surged to her feet, looming over Christian angrily. "You must know something," she practically snarled. Her earlier concern that Christian may be working with Cora was now gone, replaced by an entirely different realization. Christian was hiding, keeping all of his secrets close to his chest in an attempt to evade everyone's notice. He wanted to survive the upcoming war, meaning he would stay as neutral as possible, and he obviously didn't care who got hurt because of it.
Irritation crossed Christian's features before he smoothed his expression back into its impenetrable mask. "First Regina, then Stefan, now you. You can ask all the questions you want, but I can't tell you what I don't know."
Emma huffed impatiently. "Then tell me what you think," she ordered tersely, resentment coiling in her stomach.
Christian was quiet for a long moment, then he said, "My best guess is that destroying the town is only her secondary aim. She will do it when it suits her, but for now she is focusing on something – or someone – else."
"Regina?" Emma questioned. Christian did not give an answer one way or another, but Emma's thoughts were already racing forward. Cora would come after Regina, that much was a given even her ultimate goal for her daughter was unclear. Regina herself had admitted that she and her mother had a complicated relationship, one that did not fall neatly into the categories of love or hate. Cora would need to move slowly, would know that Regina did not trust her.
But what if this was about far more than just Regina? After all, hadn't Cora admitted that she harbored a burning hatred for someone else?
"Did you know Eva?" Emma asked. "Snow White's mother?"
Christian pursed his lips. "The princess from the Northern Kingdom," he said, rolling his eyes. "She came to visit us a few times when she was younger, before everything changed. Her parents and my father were involved in several trade deals."
"I understand Cora did not like her," Emma probed warily, resuming her seat on the sofa.
Christian nodded. "It was a stupid, petty thing at first. But then it all got out of hand-" he stopped, choking off the words almost as though he did not want to say them. His expression was haunted, his words hard, bitter, "Cora blamed Eva for ruining her life."
Emma raised an eyebrow. "And… did Eva ruin her life?"
Christian shrugged. "That would depend on your point of view. Eva certainly didn't help matters, but Cora made her own choices."
Emma leaned forward. "Eva was the reason Cora was banished," she guessed shrewdly. Some of the pieces were coming together now, painting the beginnings of a picture. "Eva was the one who had her kicked out of her home, relegated to a life away from royalty."
But Christian surprised her once more, saying, "Oh no, Eva did something far worse than that." His lips twitched, a strange amusement lightening his eyes. "She saved Cora, and made herself the hero."
The Enchanted Forest, some time in the past…
"Francis, please," Eva said, hurrying down the corridor after the king. He was striding angrily, determinedly, and she had to rush to keep up with him. "Please – think about this. Think about what you are saying."
He whirled around to face her, and she saw the color creeping up his neck and slowly suffusing his face. "What would you have me do, Eva? I can't just-" He stopped, shook his head. "She is a threat to my family, my kingdom, my people… to everything I hold dear."
"Leopold thinks…"
Francis disregarded her protest with an impatient wave of his hand. "Leopold doesn't know her, and neither do you."
"The potion did this to her," Eva said, the words almost sticking in her throat. She couldn't quite bring herself to say that she had done this, that she had been the one to so completely ruin Cora's life. She'd already admitted to it once, in front of Francis and Blanche and all their courtiers… and Leopold.
She still remembered the look of distaste that had so briefly flickered through Blanche's eyes at her admission. The idea that she had trusted the Dark One, that she had taken his potion without demanding specifics, that she had used it not knowing exactly what it would do…
Blanche had clearly disapproved of that.
But Francis hadn't.
"The potion only brought out what was already there," Francis retorted. He ran a hand through his hair. "I spoke to her. I gave her every opportunity to tell me that it was all a misunderstanding, that she didn't mean what she had said." He shook his head and shrugged. "I can't force her to take the leniency I've offered."
"She's proud," Eva murmured. "Too proud. And she's afraid of losing what she has. That's why she won't… that's why she couldn't show weakness."
Francis gave her a searching look, then asked, "Is that your opinion, or Leopold's?"
Eva flushed hotly, and snapped, "Aren't I allowed to have compassion for Cora?" But even as she said the words, she knew how false they sounded. She'd never had compassion for Cora before; but then, she'd never been able to see Cora's point of view, either. She'd spent a lot of time thinking over Leopold's assessment of Cora, and the more she dwelled on his words, the more sense they made. And if he was right, then all her assumptions about Cora may have been wrong.
Francis frowned at her. "She was demanding that I cut off trade with your kingdom. That would have ruined you. Your kingdom would falter, your people would starve."
"I know," Eva replied, "my parents already told me about that conversation." She hesitated, then said slowly, "And I hate Cora for that, for using my… my pettiness… as an excuse to hurt the people of my parents' kingdom. But…" Again, she hesitated. Could she really do this? Could she bring herself to argue for Cora's sake?
"But what?" Francis asked.
"But I truly believe she is just afraid," Eva said in a rush. "Cora used to be a peasant. Her life used to be so much harder. She was lashing out at me and my family… at you and Blanche… because she saw us as threats to her newfound security. That's not greed, Francis. It's fear."
"Funny," Francis said wryly, "Leopold said exactly the same thing."
Eva wrapped her arms around her chest. "I know," she said softly. "I know what he thinks. I know he agrees with me… or, rather, I agree with him."
Francis heaved a sigh. "So what would you have me do? I can't let her return to my court. I won't have her around my wife or children. Surely that much you can agree with."
Eva chewed her lip, then nodded reluctantly. "But there has to be another way. Something other than death or the dungeons." Francis didn't look convinced, and as he started to turn away, Eva caught his shirt and practically begged, "Please."
"I'm going with her," Henry said.
Blanche gazed at him in complete surprise, Gabriel shook his head in disgust, but Francis just nodded. He'd clearly expected this – or, at least, considered that it was a possibility.
"Henry," Blanche said softly, "you don't need to do this."
"Yes, I do," Henry said simply, "She's my wife."
Francis looked away, resigned.
In truth, Gabriel wasn't particularly surprised either. Henry had never seen Cora for who she truly was, too infatuated with her to recognize the cruelty lurking underneath her smiles. And Gabriel understood that, at least a little. There was something about Cora, a vitality that drew a person in, made them want to be near her.
But if Francis and Blanche had seen through her, if Gabriel himself had managed it, why couldn't Henry do the same?
"This is permanent," Francis said. "Once she leaves, she can't ever come back."
"I know," Henry replied. He smiled, a strained expression that did not reach his eyes.
"Are you sure this is for the best?" Gabriel questioned. "Wouldn't it be better if you stayed here with Regina?"
Henry turned to him, a frown marring his features. When he spoke, his words were hard, flat, displaying a rare strength, "I can't separate Cora from her daughter. She needs Regina. She loves her. I would never do that to my own wife."
"It is commendable that you are thinking about the welfare of your wife," Gabriel said dryly, "but what about the welfare of your daughter? Are you sure this is what is best for her?"
"Of course," Henry said firmly. "How could it not be what is best for her? Cora is her mother."
Gabriel didn't reply. His concerns would fall on deaf ears. Henry was unwilling or unable to see what he was doing, to understand the life he was condemning himself and his daughter to. But Gabriel could not force him to confront the truth.
"Well, I won't banish my own brother to wander about homeless," Francis said at last. "There's an old manor near the border of our kingdom. It should have plenty of room for the three of you and any servants you hire, and it is less than a day's ride from a village where you may buy whatever food and supplies you need. The manor will need to be aired out a bit; I don't think it has been used since Father chose it as a summer retreat, before…" He trailed off and didn't finish the thought.
Before Cora came, before the kingdom was wealthy again. Before he had enough gold to buy any land he wanted, to build an entirely new summer home for himself.
Henry nodded, and said quietly, "Thank you."
"I'll come visit," Gabriel proposed. He slanted a quick look at Francis to make sure he had not overstepped some line, but Francis merely nodded, giving his consent. It went without saying that Francis and Blanche would never visit the manor, and this banishment would be a permanent separation between the brothers. But Gabriel didn't need to give up his relationship with Henry.
Henry looked surprised and clearly touched. "Thank you," he said, accepting. Then he paused, and added, stumbling over the words, "But maybe… maybe wait until… I am sure Cora will want to visit the nearby town. It might be best if you only come on days when she isn't… well, we'll try to arrange it for the best."
Gabriel couldn't stop the disdain from welling in his chest, even as he nodded in agreement with Henry's words. He loved his brother, but… How could Henry agree to banishment with a woman he was so clearly terrified of upsetting? How could he agree to spend the rest of his life from someone he didn't believe should ever be in the same home as his own brother?
How could he ever hope to protect Regina from Cora if he couldn't even stand up for himself?
"You and Regina would be welcome back at the court anytime," Blanche offered.
Henry smiled at her, but did not reply. To Francis, he said stiffly, "Well… I should tell Cora the outcome of your deliberations." He turned to leave, his next words flat, "That she is banished from court."
"Henry," Francis said, reaching out to him, "I don't have a choice. Surely you understand that."
Henry looked back at Francis, his gaze unyielding as though he wanted to argue. But after a moment he sighed, and seemed to deflate. "I do," he admitted softly. And without another word, he walked from the room.
After a moment of tense silence, Blanche murmured something about needing to speak with Eva before she and her parents departed, and drifted away as well.
"Francis," Gabriel said now that they were alone, "you know the kingdom can't survive without Cora's gold."
Francis squared his shoulders. "I know it will be hard," he said, "but we have no other choice. Cora would have ruined us if we let her stay."
Gabriel couldn't argue with that sentiment – but he was pretty sure that Cora would ruin them by her absence, also. The kingdom had been doomed since the day Cora had shown up at the masque and declared she could spin straw into gold.
The silence in the carriage was deafening.
Regina had screamed most of the way, unhappy with the heat, and the jostling of the carriage, and the confines of the heavy curtains over the windows. Her miserable cries had nearly driven Cora insane before Henry had managed to finally calm the child. Now even her whimpers had died down, replace by a pouty silence.
Cora hated the silence.
Henry sat across from her, but for once he seemed to understand that his presence really wasn't wanted. He held Regina in his arms and gazed off into space, leaving Cora to her bitter, vengeful thoughts.
Was she supposed to be pleased? Eva's intervention had saved her from death or the dungeons, Henry's decision to accompany her had turned what would have been complete banishment and loss of all her material comforts into merely removal from court. Was she supposed to thank them? Was she supposed to feel gratitude?
Eva had done this to her.
Eva, and Rumplestilskin.
Once, she might have been content to live out her days in some distant manor home, far away from those fools who called themselves royalty. When she had been nothing more than a miller's daughter, desperate for a steady income, for food and shelter and a father she could count on, the idea of a manor where she could ride horses all day, where she would have servants to look after her needs and no fear of the future… yes, she would have wanted that.
But that was before she had tasted power. That was before she had known what it was like to have an entire kingdom at her feet, to have every person in the land bend to her whims. And now they thought they could tear it away from her?
Well.
She set her lips into a thin line. The kingdom would fall soon, unable to sustain itself without her gold. She knew enough of the land's finances to understand that. Whatever lies Francis told himself were simply that, lies – the kingdom could not be saved. It would be bankrupt before the year was over.
And when it had all fallen to pieces, that would be her revenge.
But it would only be a revenge against Francis and Blanche. She had yet to figure out how to strike back at Eva and Rumplestilskin. But she would form a plan. They would not get away with what they had done to her.
The carriage came to a grinding stop, jolting Cora from her thoughts. She looked up sharply as the door opened.
They had stopped at an inn. The sun had disappeared over the horizon, though the air was still warm. A footman extended his arm to help Cora from the carriage, and she descended into a night scented with crushed pine and heather.
Henry followed her from the carriage, holding Regina in his arms.
"Francis said it was a three-day journey to the manor," he said, "so we are already a third of the way there." He gave her a smile that she pointedly ignored, and said, "I know staying at an inn isn't the most comfortable, but we'll only need do it for a couple nights." When she still did not respond, he added desperately, "At least there are inns on this road and we don't need to camp."
"Yes, yes," she said, mostly just to get him to stop speaking. "Let's go inside."
The inn itself was comfortable enough, if not lavish, and Cora found her private rooms and slid out of her dusty traveling clothes with relief. She had relegated Henry and Regina to sharing a room separate from her own. Her head ached from hours in the stifling carriage, hours of Regina screaming. She just wanted a moment alone.
She walked over to the window and yanked open the shutters, eager to let the cool night air into the room. The moon was rising over the tops of the trees surrounding the inn. Below, she could see the road twisting into the distance, into the woods, and out of sight. Two more days on that path until she reached her new home? Francis truly had banished her to the very outskirts of his kingdom.
She inhaled deeply.
From below, she heard the sound of muted voices as the innkeeper and the other guests went about locking the inn for the night. Their actions were so mundane, the people here so ordinary. How could she have ever been like them?
She was about to turn away from the window when she heard her own name. Her eyebrows rose as she leaned forward, straining to catch the faint words.
"…Princess Cora and Prince Henry."
"Oh, but I… aren't anymore."
"Aren't what?"
"Royal."
Cora curled her fingers around the windowsill. How quickly information spread. Though she supposed she couldn't expect anything less. She had once been like the idiots downstairs, eager for gossip about the royalty. She'd once viewed the people who lived in that palace as somehow so much more than mere humans, and she'd once wanted nothing more than to be among them.
Oh, what a fool she'd been.
"…heard they… banished. Well, the princess… anyway. Guess we… call her Cora, now."
"Banished? But… do such a thing? It's…"
"…threatened… attacked… nearly killed… had to be stopped… by fifteen guards…"
Cora almost laughed. And, as with all gossip, the story had been embellished, turned into something so far removed from the truth. She'd threatened, yes. But she'd barely attacked, and she certainly hadn't nearly killed anyone. As for the fifteen guards who had apparently been forced to drag her away from Francis and Blanche, well…
"…but treason… punishable by death… I can't believe… let her go free."
A guest of wind abruptly flung open the shutters on one of the unlocked windows from below, allowing Cora to clearly hear the rest of the conversation.
"I heard some visiting princess begged the king not to hurt her. One of the footmen I spoke to said the king only let the princess – Cora, I mean – go free because of the other princess' pleas."
"Why would she do that? Was she friends with Cora?" came the eager response.
"No. She hated Cora." There was a pause. "I suppose she protected Cora because she thought it was the right thing to do. Maybe she thought Cora deserved a second chance."
"She must be extraordinarily compassionate."
Cora slammed the shutters closed and stumbled away from the window. She collapsed onto the bed as a half-crazed laugh bubbled in her throat. Of course this would happen. Of course Eva would somehow manage to make Cora the villain, and turn herself into the hero. The kind princess who protected everyone, who believed in second chances, who tried to do what was right and good.
Oh, Eva was going to pay for this.
In the year since Cora's banishment, Blanche had not seen Eva. It wasn't unusual for members of royalty to go years without visiting each other's kingdoms. After all, they had their own lands to attend to, and they had ambassadors and lesser nobles to maintain the relationships between kingdoms for them.
Still, that did not mean that the two were unaware of each other's situations, and when Blanche arrived with a diplomatic delegation in the court of Eva's parents, they both knew why she was there.
At the earliest moment possible, Blanche slipped away from the stilted formality of the diplomatic conversations and wandered through one of the ornate gardens, waiting for Eva to find her.
It didn't take long.
"It seems my father and your ambassador are unable to agree on anything," Eva said as she stepped out from one of the paths that lead between rows of tall hedges.
Blanche smiled wearily. "My kingdom is about to crumble," she said flatly. "Your father shouldn't agree to anything. Why make deals with us when we have nothing to offer but debt?"
"There is no saving it?" Eva asked tentatively.
Blanche shook her head. She wandered down the path a little ways, found a bench protected by shade and hidden from the view of the open windows above them. Sitting down, she smoothed a hand over her skirts and looked up at Eva.
"We held out longer than anyone thought we could," she said. "But…" she shrugged gracefully.
Eva nodded. "What happens when you have nothing left?"
Blanche lowered her gaze. She'd spent so many sleepless nights asking herself that exact question. She had long since reconciled herself to her own fate. Francis could not save them, or their children, or Gabriel. But what haunted her now was the realization that they couldn't save their people, either.
"Will it really be that bad?" Eva asked, coming to sit next to her on the bench.
"Already, we have no food. Our people have never been farmers, Eva. We've had some farms, yes, out in the countryside, but not enough to support everyone. We've always needed to import food, and for that we need gold…" She swallowed convulsively. "Xavier made us so reliant on gold."
"Is there any way you could…?" Eva couldn't bring herself to finish the question, but she didn't need to. Blanche knew what she was asking.
"Francis would never allow it. She… she threatened to kill all of us. He won't…" Blanche licked her dry lips. "Gabriel visited Henry and Regina last month. He's been a few times, usually when she isn't there. But this time…"
"What happened?" Eva asked. "What did Cora do?"
Blanche flinched at the name. "Gabriel said she was waiting for him on the road when he left. Waiting to accost him." She slanted a quick, sideways glance at Eva. "She has magic now. More than just spinning straw into gold."
Eva's expression reflected Blanche's own horror. The idea of Cora with that much power at her fingertips was disturbing.
"Is Gabriel alright?"
Blanche nodded wordlessly. Gabriel had done his best to hide the emotional consequences of whatever Cora had done to him, though they had all seen the bruises. But Blanche and Francis both had seen through his façade, and knew that Cora was now a completely irredeemable enemy.
Not that Francis would have truly considered forgiving her before.
"What do you want me to do?" Eva asked.
Blanche offered a tremulous smile, feeling a sudden relief. She had hoped that Eva would agree to help them, had insisted on joining the diplomatic delegation specifically so she could speak to the princess. But she hadn't been willing to let herself believe that it could be fixed, that her people could be saved. That Eva could protect them. She'd needed to hear Eva say it first.
It was strange, how her opinion of Eva had changed. But then, Eva had changed, too. She'd been a spoiled princess before, someone Blanche didn't particularly like and would never have gone to for help. But Eva had grown, had proven herself to far more caring and compassionate than Blanche had realized – no doubt due, in part, to Leopold's influence.
And now Blanche was hearing, relying on Eva to save everything.
"This is my fault," Eva murmured. "The least I can do is help fix it."
"It's not," Blanche countered. "Not really." Eva looked like she wanted to argue, but Blanche said, "Do you really think Cora would have been content as Henry's wife? Sister-in-law to the king? She wanted more than that, and she didn't care who she hurt in the process. Your actions made the confrontation come sooner rather than later, but…" She shrugged. "I honestly believe it would have happened eventually."
"If I had seen things from her point of view," Eva countered, "if I had understood her fears… I could have stopped this. I should have done things differently, I should have…" She shook her head in frustration. "I should have been different. Better."
Blanche suddenly laughed. It sounded hollow, dull, even to her own ears. "Do you know what they think of you in my land?" she asked. Eva wordlessly shook her head, and Blanche said, "You're this practically mythical hero. The story has changed so much in the retelling. The way people talk about it now, you would think Cora was attacking everyone at the palace left and right and Francis was rushing about, eager to commit murder just for fun and you – kind, sweet, loving, good – you stopped it. Convinced Cora to stop her plotting, convinced Francis to show mercy."
Eva's mouth dropped open.
Blanche continued to smile, that same hollow, defeated look in her eyes. "You might not be quite the hero everyone says you were, but… people make their own choices. Cora made hers. It's in the past now, and I won't dwell on it. I have to worry about the future."
"Tell me what you need me to do," Eva said.
"You know what will happen when the kingdom falls," Blanche murmured, and Eva nodded. They'd both seen it happen before. A kingdom lost everything, and the surrounding kingdoms went to war, tearing apart the land and claiming the spoils for themselves. And in the process, the one-time kingdom was destroyed, it's people displaced by hunger and disease, by invading soldiers, it's economy and infrastructure destroyed by war.
It was always the common people who suffered.
"Unless…" Blanche faced Eva fully, "unless there was a reason not to attack. Unless another kingdom claimed it, and was powerful enough to prevent anyone from disputing that claim."
"The Northern Kingdom isn't powerful enough to…"
"It is if you join with Leopold," Blanche interrupted. Eva gave her a blank look, and Blanche hurried on, "You border our kingdom to the north, Leopold to the east. If your kingdoms ban together to absorb ours, no one is going to challenge you. You will be too strong, and you will already control two of the borders. Our third border faces the sea, and only the Maritime kingdom has a strong enough Navy to attack that way. And they won't, because they rely on trade with Leopold." She reached out and grasped Eva's hand. "I've thought this through. Francis and I have discussed it. It's the only way, and it will work. It will prevent a war. It will keep our people safe."
"But we'd still have to divide your land between ours and Leopold's, and this will create a weakness…"
"But that's the beauty of the plan," Blanche interrupted. "You don't have to divide it. Leopold is the king of his land, you are the sole heir to your parents' kingdom. When you two marry, your lands will join. So my kingdom need never be divided, because it will simply become part of yours. Part of the kingdom you and Leopold build together."
"Marry?" Eva repeated, dumbfounded.
Blanche paused. "Well… you are going to marry, aren't you?" she asked, suddenly unsure. The plan required that Leopold and Eva be joined together. But that couldn't possibly be a problem. She knew they were in love. All the kingdoms seemed to know that they were in love. It had been discussed in so many diplomatic meetings over the past year, because once the two of them married and Eva inherited the throne their kingdom would become the largest and most powerful in the realm. It would tip the balance of power decidedly in their favor… and Blanche was determined to use that to save her people.
Eva chewed her lip, blushing slightly. "I mean… we've talked about it, but we haven't… we haven't set dates or anything like that. But… yes. We are going to marry." She frowned. "Does everyone know?"
"Yes," Blanche stated flatly.
"Oh… well. Alright." Eva hesitated, considering Blanche's proposal, then asked, "But what about you and Francis? Will you be comfortable as lesser nobles in someone else's kingdom?"
Blanche gave a wan smile. "We won't be staying," she replied. "Francis… this past year has truly drained him. He wants to try living in anonymity, to leave, to travel around a bit. So we will take the children and see what life is like somewhere else."
"Are you… sure?" Eva asked.
Blanche nodded resolutely. "Yes, we are sure." She peered at Eva expectantly. "Can you do it? Can you convince your parents and Leopold?"
Eva took Blanche's hands in her own, squeezing them reassuringly. "Yes," she promised.
And after the deals were made and the kingdoms were joined, after the battles were averted, after Leopold and Eva were married, the common people hailed Eva and the kind and gracious queen who had saved them all from war.
"How dare you? That's mine! It's not for a servant."
Eva frowned as Snow stormed over to Johanna, shaking with all the righteous indignation a child could muster.
"It was my mistake," Johanna said apologetically, her gaze flicking between the irate child and her much calmer mother.
"Servants don't wear crowns," Snow declared.
"Enough," Eva interjected firmly.
She saw far too much of herself in Snow. Every parent wanted to see themselves reflected in their children, but only the best of themselves. And Snow, though she had the potential for great compassion, great benevolence, had far too much of the arrogance and temper Eva herself had had.
"I'm sorry, your Majesty," Johanna started, but Eva held up a hand to forestall her apology.
"No, I was talking to Snow."
Her daughter turned to her, eyes wide, mouth falling open. "Me?" she asked, surprised. It was rare that Eva raised her voice at her daughter, rare that she admonished Snow for anything. But Snow had been acting more and more haughty over the past few months as her birthday celebration loomed closer, and it was time for that to end.
"I thought I raised you better than that, Snow," she chided gently. "It doesn't matter whether one is a servant or royalty. Everyone in the kingdom deserves our love and respect."
It was a lesson she had not learned until far too late in life, and by the time she had finally understood, an entire kingdom had been destroyed. She would not let Snow make the same mistakes.
"But she took my tiara…"
"She apologized," Eva interjected. "And it isn't yours yet."
"Your Majesty," Johanna said softly, drawing Eva's attention away from her daughter, "it's alright."
Eva smiled warmly. "You are kind, Johanna," she said, "but Snow must learn."
Johanna had been the one to look after Snow whenever Leopold and Eva were forced to attend to the business of running the kingdom. She had raised Snow almost as much as Eva had. She deserved Snow's respect more than most, and it was unacceptable for Snow to treat her so dismissively.
"My dear," she said to Snow, "we are all the same."
"But I thought we were royal," Snow protested. The pout was gone, as was the superiority. Now, she looked simply confused.
"We are," Eva replied, "but that doesn't make us better than anyone else." It was a lesson not enough royalty embraced. She herself hadn't, and that had ended in disaster. But Snow would understand. Snow would be the just and good ruler that the kingdom deserved. She would see to that. "The upcoming ball, for instance – can you tell me what it is for?"
"It's to honor me on my birthday," Snow answered.
"No. It is for you to honor our people, by showing them that you will be a kind and benevolent leader when the time comes." She reached out her hand to Johanna, "Please," and the older woman placed the tiara in her palm. "When you are crowned with this on your birthday, it will be a symbol that you will always hold goodness in your heart and rule justly."
Snow gazed at the tiara, her expression solemn. She was still young enough to learn, and to not make the mistakes that her mother had.
"Now do you understand?"
Snow raised her eyes to Eva's face. "I do, mother."