They left the palace at last. The trip back was feeling as long as the trip there. And when they got out, they found themselves....
"She didn't seem to think it would end like this," Abigail said.
Well, with nothing.
Nothing at all, as Abigail had just pointed out. That vehicle, he still wasn't sure what it was called, wasn't waiting for them. It was gone. But, come to think of it...
"Yeah. That lowered my opinion of her just a little." But only a little. He'd already come to that same conclusion on the boat, after all. That, naturally, Charlotte was used to getting her way. Because life so far had taught her that that was like a rule of the universe. Her potential drowned in her own privilege. "Anyway, I suppose it's for the best."
"What do you mean?"
"We'd attract a lot of attention, riding in a vehicle only available to the royal family."
Desmond couldn't believe he'd just thought of that. Charlotte's arrogance had actually done them a favor.
Or it could be that she wasn't arrogant at all.
That she had done it for precisely that reason.
"Desmond. That vehicle has brought us here, no matter what, everyone has seen us. I'm sure they've already started talking about it.
Oh.
Desmond blushed slightly. True. Embarrassing, but true.
At this point, avoiding attention was completely impossible and beyond repair. To hope that not many people had noticed was, of course, a lost cause too. And even if it was like that, the news would be spreading like wildfire regardless. The royal family's personal vehicle, used by people who didn't belong to the royal family.
Shit, he thought.
Why didn't I fucking think of this before?
"Oh. You're right."
They walked home, then. Maybe that was how they should have gone to the palace in the first place.
He wondered if Charlotte had arranged things that way for some purpose or just hadn't thought about the possible consequences, as he had. He supposed that perhaps it was a bit ridiculous to expect grand and elaborate plans from a girl even younger than he was. But, at the same time...
Underestimating the princess wouldn't just be ridiculous. It could also cost him dearly.
Anyway.
He didn't want to think about that.
He didn't want to think about any of those things, if there was no need. And there wasn't. They had heeded the princess's call.
They had done their part, so to speak. Well not really... But now they were free. Now they could go home and just spend the day together. Doing anything. Talking about nothing in particular.
Carefree.
As they deserved.
They deserved to live happily and carefree. Desmond couldn't wait for the day when they could live like this forever. No interruptions.
No obligations.
He couldn't wait, no.
When they got home, they had nothing to do... as he had just said. And at first they had a hard time. For some reason, it seemed to be very difficult to talk about nothing in particular. It was slow, with lots of halting, awkward silences.
But eventually the conversation began to flow and Desmond felt good.
Better than ever, he wouldn't say. That would be too much. But igood. He could get used to this.
But, in order to keep this up, he needed to destroy all his enemies.
And there is one enemy you can't destroy, a voice in his mind whispered maliciously. Abigail herself.
Her, that is, her death wish.
Desmond certainly couldn't kill that with his sword. But...
The day passed as if nothing had happened. When he looked out the window and saw that it had grown dark, he couldn't help but exclaim: really? And the next day continued along the same lines. The ideal life he had dreamed of.
Something suddenly changed, however.
Abigail stopped suddenly. She didn't remember what they had been talking about, but she had stopped in a very unnatural way. Desmond fidgeted, as if she could have read his mind or something.
"Abigail?"
There was no answer to his call.
Abigail was standing very stiffly. Looking straight ahead, but not seeing. And Desmond was starting to worry. He was really starting to worry. He licked his lips.
"Is something wrong? Are you all right?"
That didn't get any response either.
Shit, my heart's beating a mile a minute.
"Abigail?"
Something always has to happen, he thought. Should have known, something always has to go to shit. Desmond couldn't even begin to think about what could have gone wrong, though. How, when. He didn't understand anything.
He didn't get an answer, either.
At first.
But then... Abigail woke up. In a manner of speaking. She looked into his eyes, really looked at him again. And she spoke.
"Your friend is trying to get in touch with us. With you. What do I tell her?"
It took him several seconds to process it. When he finished, he felt tremendously stupid. Was that all it had been at the end? Gods, he'd almost had a heart attack. No, not almost at all. He'd had a panic attack and he was still in the middle of it, actually. What a scare she'd given him. For nothing.
His friend, trying to contact them. Amy.
Now, at least for the moment, he had to think about that and put such considerations aside. Besides. It would take the scare out of his mind.
Replace one worry with an even bigger worry. Great plan, he told himself sarcastically.
Great plan or not, he had to do it.
Desmond had told himself that he only needed Abigail. That he had to worry only about making her happy....
But, such a thing, it was easier said what to do.
Ignore their calls, put them aside, in the past.
He didn't think he was capable of doing that.
Maybe it was all over. Maybe that dream had already been throttled. But... he didn't see himself capable of doing that.
He would like to be more decisive.
But... insensitive, cruel... Rather than that, Desmond preferred to be indecisive.
"Put her on."
Desmond swallowed, gathering his breath, as much determination as he could muster. He couldn't say he was ready. Not at all.
But the moment had come.
One way or another, the moment had come.
Still... he thought it wouldn't be so bad to tell Abigail to ask her to wait. To get back in touch with her, with them, a few hours later. So he could have time to get his thoughts in order.
Desmond thought about it, but didn't say it.
He knew it would make things worse, if he did anything at all. That he would be as unprepared for the conversation that was coming in a few hours as he was right now. So it was better to just accept that it was going to happen, one way or another. And dive in.
Amy appeared between them, they were sitting at a table across from each other.
Of course, she wasn't really there. But her image was as real as if he could reach out and touch her.
Desmond swallowed. If we could be together, all together, how good would it be...? But could he really afford to dream about that? Dreaming wasn't free. Dreaming was dangerous. And how. He had learned that lesson long ago.
"We didn't know what to do." It was a good thing Amy had taken the initiative. If it had been up to him alone, who knew how long they would have been mired in silence. "We were so afraid that you had failed. That you had died, or worse..... It's good to see you well... Yes. Wish you could do the same. Christina."
It had been hard. They almost hadn't made it. But as hard as it had been for the two of them, it had been hard for them too. Christina and Amy. His team, his... Of course it would have been.
Alone, far away from the capital, knowing he was going on a suicide mission and not being able to do anything but worry about him. And wish him well. No control over the situation. Not being able to change or even try to influence something you feared was one of the worst feelings in the world.
A dream. A dream he didn't want to stop dreaming about.
A dream that maybe, just maybe, they could make come true? Yes. How nice that would be. Desmond lowered his head and smiled to himself, head in the clouds.
"Listen, Desmond... We have a proposal."
But he snapped back to reality when he heard that.
He lifted his head, returning her gaze again, wondering what she might be referring to. Willing to listen, one way or another.
The proposal caught him completely by surprise.
——
Desmond laid his cards on the table. Metaphorically.
He had no cards to lay on a table. Nor, incidentally, was there a table.
"Is this what you want? "Charlotte asked.
They could only come to her for this.
"What we both want," Abigail pointed out. It was surprisingly true. Or maybe not so surprising...
Yes, it wasn't really surprising.
Abigail wanted to make him happy.
That was the very reason she was here in the first place. That was why she had gone against her personal wishes.
"All right. I'm on your side. If that's what you really want, I'll do it."
So far so good.
However... he could almost hear the but. He could almost see it floating in the air. That's what he said.
"But?"
"I can't help worrying. After all, they are my subjects. Do you think they are ready for something like this? You're the same age. But you have an advantage they don't."
Did she mean it?
Well, of course. She had no reason to refuse.
Quite the opposite, in fact. Fulfilling this would, necessarily, make them more receptive to whatever it was she asked of them.
So her concern had to be real.
Which spoke well of her.
She was right, it would be dangerous. Of course it would be dangerous. That was why he had hesitated at first.
That's why Desmond's first instinct had been to say no.
But Amy... no, between the three of them they had convinced him he was wrong.
"We fought together in the attack on The Four Seasons. We dealt, too, with a mole in our ranks. A traitor posing as one of the teachers. They are prepared. They are by no means normal students. But then again..."
Quite possibly they were more reliable than many of the queen's soldiers.
They were great fighters.
Their spirit unbreakable.
But, also... above all...
"From what you tell us, things are going badly. Sooner rather than later, for sure, even the students will be mobilized to attend the war. So, I ask you, what difference does it make?"
Princess Charlotte looked at him in silence for a long time.
Perhaps he was speaking too casually, even harshly, to her. But Desmond didn't want to give him the impression that he could push him around like the rest.
That was true. She could push him around.
If she pushed, he would give in. But she didn't think so, and that's why she had tiptoed around him so far, being very careful with him, willing to make concessions.
If Desmondwas too respectful or accommodating, that would change.
"None," she said at last. "None, I suppose, and that I shouldn't delude myself that I can avoid things like that. That they should never have to happen. " She sighed heavily. She took her role very seriously. That... he couldn't question it, at least that much. "All right. I'll do it."
Desmond nodded.
"I appreciate it."
Hands clasped behind her back, Charlotte leaned forward. As if to get a better look at him. For some reason, that gesture made him uncomfortable. Desmond leaned back, but only a little, so he wouldn't notice her displeasure.
"Have you, by any chance, changed your mind?"
"No."
"It's all right. I had to ask." She said it as if she was going to just shrug and give up, or as if she'd already forgotten about that plan. Which wasn't true. Certainly.
He'd bet everything that this wouldn't be the last time she tried to get them to change their minds.
It was futile.
Abigail wouldn't change her mind. If it had to be done, she would do it herself. And Desmond wouldn't change his mind. Because he would not under any circumstances consent that the person most important to him should suffer unnecessarily. So her attempts were doomed to failure.
As far as that was concerned, at least. But ultimately she'd get her way, if only because they shared the same goal. Different reasons, but same goal.
But that day wouldn't be today. Of that at least he was sure. Their paths diverged again.
——
They didn't immediately leave the palace to return home. He thought she would do that, but Abigail swerved, stepping out onto a balcony. She rested her arms on the railing and leaned forward. He wondered what she was looking at. Or looking for.
If that was what it was all about.
In any case, he joined her.
Desmond stood beside her, both hands on the railing.
The silence stretched to the point where Desmond came to think that maybe there was no purpose at all.
That she had just wanted to take a break.
Then Abigail spoke up.
"We owe that woman more and more.
Desmond thought about what to respond, how to respond. To reassure her? He couldn't do that even if it was necessary.
After all, she wasn't wrong.
"It's a mutually beneficial relationship." It was a safe answer that didn't really say anything. So Abigail could explain herself and buy time to think. Even someone like him could learn a few tricks.
Although referring to something that for normal people was surely as natural as breathing as a trick was a bit embarrassing. Oh well.
"I suppose. Which is what makes it so dangerous, precisely."
She hadn't explained herself, but repeated the same thing in different words, essentially.
I want this to go well, he thought.
Maybe I want too many things for my own good, Desmond thought, not for the first or last time.
"That... Well. You're right. But it doesn't have to go wrong."
That, at least, he could say without it sounding like a lie. Because it wasn't. It could go right. It could. But anything was theoretically possible. So that wasn't saying much. Another non" answer. Would Abigail be getting irritated with him? And why would you assume she isn't already, an inner voice replied in a malicious whisper.
"That's true. Maybe it is. Maybe not. At least one thing I know for sure." He couldn't tell if she was being sincere. In any case...
"What's it about?"
"Time is on our side. Always."
The words spoken hung in the air with a strange quality, powerful as a latent prophecy. But that was not the only thing that struck him about them. It was that they did not seem like Abigail's own words to him, that was the main reason.
That opinion left her lips before he could ask himself whether it was a good idea or not.
And come to the obvious conclusion.
That is, no. Not at all.
"Strange you should say that. For you time is a curse you want to get rid of."
Abigail smiled wryly.
"You're right. And so am I. The two things are mutually true. The truth is not a simple thing, Desmond."
"Yes."
Had he let too much of his resentment slip out in saying that?
If he had, Abigail would still have responded normally. Well. He supposed it was natural.
Well she knew he didn't like the idea of her dying.
It was what she wanted. Peace. And he would give it to her.
But...
Desmond didn't like that her greatest wish in life was the peace of death. He didn't like to hear her talk about it, didn't like to even think about it.
She knew that very well.
She had always known it, he couldn't hide it.
So it didn't matter.
"Time is on our side," Abigail said, "No matter what they try, we'll come out on top in the end. Even if sometimes it seems like the opposite is possible. I want you to remember that, Desmond. Because we are in for, I'm sure, the biggest challenge of our lives."
Desmond stiffened as if he expected a fight right here, right now.
In the middle of the palace.
"I will remember," he promised.
Abigail turned around. A graceful twist, her long wavy hair behind her like a curtain or a cape.
Fascinated.
"Let's get out of here," Abigail said, and started walking.
Desmond was, as always, fascinated by her every move.
Even with the smallest and most unremarkable movements, like that of her hair thanks to the blowing air, or that of her lips when she spoke.
He never tired of saying that Abigail possessed an inhuman beauty. For it was true.
Or perhaps a beauty more human than that of any human.
Of course, not that he...felt that sort of thing for his mother. Abigail was like a painting. A great work of art.
Admired by everyone.
He felt out of place here.
The looks on everyone's faces said more than enough about it.
For Abigail, however, the opposite was true. She... She looked more like a princess, no, a queen, than Charlotte herself. It wasn't just something he thought, he was sure.
Today, just like the day before, everyone's eyes were on Abigail.
They sought her out.
They admired her.
It was impossible for her to go unnoticed.
It was impossible for anyone not to notice her.... her...
Her majesty. Plain and simple.
He had no strange feelings for his mother. Abigail had been mistaken in thinking that this was what he wanted from her, what he sought in her.
Long ago, on that shore stained with the blood of his enemies....
So long ago that it seemed like a dream to him, he had felt her lips on his.
But that was not what he wanted.
No. No. No. No.
Definitely not.
Still, he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a certain sense of superiority as a man walking beside her like this. Being closer to her than anyone else in this world.
Desmond caught a man gawking at Abigail, and he chose just that one.
Desmond looked at him and smiled mockingly.
She's mine, he thought so intensely that, for a second when his heart almost stopped, he thought he had said it out loud. Only mine...
And I am hers.
——
Days later, they went to the train station to wait for the two of them to arrive. He'd preferred that to having the princess's men take them to their residence. For obvious reasons.
There were not many people at the station. They were practically alone. Just the way he liked it.
Peace. Tranquility. And the most important person to him.
That was all he needed.
Everything else was superfluous.
He felt nervous to see them again, in person. Especially Christina. He remembered all too well her face twisted in anger.
The tears that had run down it.
And her last words, sharp as a knife.
Entirely deserved. Because, after Christina had begged him to stay, he had spat in her face.
He'd betrayed her trust... their trust... what was and could be between them....
But he didn't feel as nervous as he had thought, despite everything.
It was just a slight prickle on his skin. Most of all he was excited. Anticipating the moment to come.
That was the truth. Though he didn't understand it too well himself.
They remained in a calm silence, which could only be maintained between people who were comfortable with each other.
That's why...
When Abigail spoke, he felt as if he had awakened from a lethargic sleep.
"I hate people," she said suddenly, looking straight ahead, her hands clasped in her lap. "The things I've seen. What I've done. I can't help but see them for what they are, animals."
Was there a hidden 'but' in her voice, or perhaps an 'besides'? He couldn't tell.
"But…"
So there was a but.
"Nature is a wonderful thing," Abigail continued. "I've always known that, but I've been running around for so long, unable to do anything else.... Without being able to stop and smell the roses, that I'd almost forgotten."
Desmond stared at her, not answering. This is what he wanted, he thought for some reason.
He lowered his head toward Abigail's hands.
He thought about putting a hand over hers. He thought about squeezing. He didn't. He held himself still.
He couldn't agree with her.
She wasn't the kind of person who stopped to admire the scenery. His eyes looked through everything as if it were the set of some cheap play " as if the world were as deep as cardboard.
But...
"Yes. It's beautiful."
This instant is beautiful.
That precious instant stretched out.
But an instant was only an instant. It came to an end, and it was time to face reality.
The train stopped at the station. The doors opened, a tide of people came out of it. The station, which had been nearly empty for so long, was suddenly crowded to the point that it was claustrophobic.
Desmond got up to go looking for them in the crowd.
However, Abigail grabbed one of his sleeves, pulled him down.
"Don't bother. Stay here. Sooner or later we'll see them."
She was right, so he listened to her.
The crowd was thinning. Each one going their own way. And finally he saw them. He swallowed hard.
How long had it been since they had last seen each other in person?
He couldn't remember.
It hadn't been a long time. But, at the same time, it seemed to him that an eternity had passed.
Desmond stood up again. Unsure. Shaky.
I must look like a toddler learning to walk, he thought as he approached them.
Too little or too long...
Things had changed. One way or another, things had changed.
You could see it in their faces. In the way they looked at him. They were happy about this reunion. He thought. But, at the same time...
Could things change again? For the better?
"It's been a long time." Christina was the first to speak.
Desmond gasped. Not just from surprise. Was that what it was like... what her voice sounded like? They hadn't been apart that long, but it already sounded strange to him.
He felt like crying, suddenly.
For something like that of all things.
He could be... very silly, yes.... Very silly...
"Yes," Desmond said, slowly, haltingly. Too long.
He swallowed, again.
He couldn't find what to say. But maybe he didn't need to say anything. Maybe...
Christina and Desmond melted into an embrace.
Maybe this was more than enough.
A little later, Amy joined their embrace. Desmond didn't cry. His eyes stung, but he didn't cry. Not that he was forcing himself to hold back. It was silly to hold back like that.
"What are you doing?" Someone said, Amy said, and Desmond wondered what she meant.
He understood when noticing which direction the girl was facing.
Toward the back.
Toward Abigail, who was standing there, watching and smiling.
"Standing on the sidelines."
"You... You're part of this team too," it made him happy to hear her express that sentiment.
He could wonder if Amy was being sincere later.
For the moment, he was happy to enjoy that feeling. This warmth.
" You heard her," Desmond said, turning his head to look at her.
Abigail thought about it.
But not too much.
She joined in the embrace.
The four of them together again. As Christina had rightly said, they were a team. For better or worse. Now they were together, and the future was like a blank page in front of their eyes. Waiting to be written.
This meeting was like a miracle.
Its possibilities, limitless.
Watches those flames get higher and higher (2): END