I finally finished this chapter! I've been struggling to find time, plus I had a raging case of Writer's Block. It's a killer. Anyway, I'm trying to post the chapter before I go back and edit it to death and bring on another case of THE BLOCK *shudder*. So, if you find inconsistencies, it's probably because it took about a month to write this and I forgot what was at the beginning. Please let me know (nicely) if you spot any major story problems and, as always, the dreaded grammar and spelling faux pas. I'm posting this now before I chicken out. You're welcome.
If the King had been watching, he would have not been able to find a fault in Princess Gabriella’s public display of mourning—due mostly to her numbness. He did not notice, however, so Gabriella’s demurely downcast eyes and tasteful black veils, rather than garner his praise, merely allowed her to avoid chastisement.
Most of his time was spent huddled with his ministers around maps and letters, plotting their next move while his wife played the role of the mourning queen.
For Gabriella, she remembered only bits of the next few days: standing behind her father as he publicly eulogized Prince Claudio and the other military leaders, then condemned the other city for defending themselves so artfully and planted a burning desire in the people for vengeance.
The fittings for her mourning wardrobe did not seem to impact her. It seemed surreal that the dressmaker measured out black crepe and discussed the number of dresses required to outfit a princess properly for six months of mourning.
Six months. She often repeated the words in her head and felt their strangeness in her mouth. What a short time. Meanwhile, each hour dragged laboriously on, coated in ashes and filling her lungs with heaviness.
All through the wake, she glanced around at the others privileged to attend this royal event—savvy men and their decorous wives, who cared only for Claudio as was publicly necessary for their political aims. Her own sedate mother, clad in a deep black satin and veil of her own, sat without moving, her back never touching the chair. The usual passive expression was on her face, though Gabby thought it might be a little more pale than usual. Gabby found herself wondering whether Queen Mama ever experienced emotions.
In the center of the great hall lay Prince Claudio, this shell of the boy who played at manly things, laid out in splendor. Brilliant blooms tucked into wreaths and garlands spat sweetness into the air, stinging Gabby’s nose. She marveled that she could be so calm while her brother lay there wearing his battle armor, arms crossed over his chest, holding his sword. Dimly, she thought that it couldn’t be him. He always wore velvet tunics and had slightly tousled hair. When had he ever worn that armor before he left?
Although the ringing in her ears continued to haunt her, she began to hope that she was stronger than this, that her inexplicable inability to cry testified of a new strength blossoming within her. She had tried to cry, had felt the pounding in her chest and a flood of blackness pressing against her, and yet the tears would not come. She could gaze impassively at her only childhood playmate throughout the long vigil.
Throughout the procession toward his grave, she remained the passive princess with downcast eyes. This was her first time outside the palace walls and as the people lining the streets peered curiously up at her for the first time, they remarked on her loveliness and talked for weeks about the way her calm sadness had brought elegance to her mourning.
Gabriella, aware of their eyes, but strangely unaffected, kept her eyes on the men on the street in front of her family’s open carriage who shouldered Claudio’s coffin. With each step, it swayed slightly, as though rocking a baby to sleep, and she could feel pressure building behind her eyes.
The ringing in her ears grew louder than the clopping of the horse’s hooves. It seemed to her that she was watching herself from someplace above her left shoulder, distantly aware of the parade’s progress through the crowded streets. The sun had come out from behind the clouds for the first time in days and it wasn’t possible to Gabriella as she floated along, observing herself from behind, that anything truly horrible could be happening on a day when the sun was warming the chilly air.
Once at the mausoleum, meant originally for her father, but hastily prepared for his son, the King gave another long speech to the quiet crowd, as did several of the ministers in his cabinet. Gabby did not move during any of them, her dust-filled limbs required too much effort to manage, especially with the throbbing that had begun behind her eyes. From her vantage point above her own left shoulder, these sensations felt foreign.
That was until the order was given and the men began to seal the mausoleum.
The crowd had mostly dispersed, leaving the royal family and a smattering of statesmen standing alone as they faced the stone tomb. As Gabby watched the doors closing, blocking her last view of Claudio, she had a flash of a memory.
Claudio was standing with her in the gardens, sun reflecting off his golden curls. He was laughing with his arm outstretched, offering her a rose he had just cut.
Then another memory: Claudio dancing with her at her first ball. She had been shaking with anxiety, but he carefully whispered the dance steps in her ear so she would not make the mistake she dreaded.
Another memory: The weight of the golden ball as he placed it in her hands.
And finally, she remembered the morning that he left for war. He had been so excited. She had watched him from behind as he disappeared in the dust of the army marching behind him. The last time she would ever hear his voice.
She would never again feel his hand in hers after King Daddy reprimanded her, never again climb to the corner tower and eat bread and cheese with him while they discussed the future. She would not see him grow old or play with his children. He would not rule the kingdom.
The heaviness behind her eyes popped and she felt a flood of warm liquid begin to flow down her cheeks, blurring her vision. It washed away the feeling of sawdust and left a raw, searing pain that robbed her of breath. She cried out, someone, perhaps Isabella, caught her around the shoulders and led her back to the carriage.
It seemed to Will that Gabby had been crying endlessly. She had not left her rooms for anything. Although he never saw her cry, he could hear her sobs echoing from her bedchamber and any time she came to the sitting room, her eyes remained red and watery. He was eating better than he had in years, but it seemed that little passed Princess Gabby’s lips.
One thing that bothered him was the haunted expression in her eyes. Although he’d only seen brief moments where she’d come alive, any glimmering of life had been sucked away, leaving a dark vacuum. He had seen that expression in his father’s eyes and he supposed it had been in his own as well. Looking into Gabby’s hollowed eyes made him feel the skinniness of his green arms and the inadequacy of his webbed fingers.
Dark recollections of his own seeped into his consciousness from their banishment and he wasn’t sure if the hours he spent bounding through the halls were to pound them into submission or to flee. At the end of each day, he would fall into an exhausted sleep on the corner of Gabby’s pillow, still wrestling with the knowledge that there was nothing his meatless biceps could do to put the vibrancy back into her face.
Perhaps most irksome of all was the unanswered question of why it mattered. Did he need her so he could be human or did he actually care about her happiness? Guilt tugged at him, whenever the first possibility occurred to him. That wasn’t the kind of man his father had raised. Yet, why should he care already? He had known her only a few days before this tragedy and truly enjoyed only a few moments in her company. It would be very early to have any actual feelings for her—especially because he’d never really cared about any girl before.
Meanwhile, the cold season dragged on, infusing the dim, cloudy days with dampness. To Gabby, the dimness seemed interminable. It was unfathomable that the luxurious warmth of the summer sun should ever kiss her skin again. There was only this chill that sucked at her bones.
Time stretched, lurching and dawdling, until Gabby no longer knew what day it was, nor was she sure she even cared. Budding strength seemed to belong to an era she unconsciously designated as Before. Now, she was living in a bleak, alien world called After. In this world of After, her attempts to fill out her own skin seemed to be the silly concern of a child. How naïve that she would fill her thoughts with naming horses and greeting friends when Claudio would shortly be sealed in a tomb to quietly turn to dust. It was naïve and also selfish.
Most of all, she wondered how she would survive for one more day, or even one more minute, when the only person who had ever soothed her was gone.
These thoughts consumed her until one night after going to bed, sleep again eluded her. She finally spoke some of them aloud.
“Will?” She could feel his weight nestled into a spot to the left of her ear.
“Hmmm?” His voice came as though it was fighting through the first layer of sleep.
“What do you think it is like to die?”
There was silence for a moment while Will processed his surprise. Her voice had startled him from the initial incoherence of dreams, but it was such a strange question and she hadn’t spoken to him at night since their conversation about magic. At first, he thought he might still be dreaming.
Finally, he answered, “I don’t know. I’ve never died before.” It seemed like a good idea when the words left his lips, though in the silence afterwards, he thought that she might not appreciate the joke. She hadn’t appreciated any jokes for months, if he were to judge by her unflinching blank expressions. He’d even tried the big guns: burping. The only reaction in the room had been from Acantha, and it hadn’t been a laugh.
“No. I’ve actually never thought much about it,” he tried again.
This time, she responded. “Have you ever had anyone you loved die?”
Will felt as though he’d been hit in the belly by a large stone. He really didn’t like talking about this. Actually, he’d never talked about it. Not to Lance. Not to anyone. It couldn’t really be so helpful to dredge up your sadness and spew words of misery. He’d only seen it bring tears. Wasn’t that what you were trying to avoid? Words didn’t make anything better.
In the darkness, he heard Gabby begin to sniffle and he felt himself cringe. The conversation wasn’t even in full swing and the waterworks were already starting. Escape plans began buzzing around in his head. The door to her room was closed, with a heavy draft guard blocking the gap at the bottom of the door. To ask Princess Gabby—especially right now—to let him out would probably result in him having to find another princess. The window was also closed, but even if he could get the catch open, it was a drop of several stories onto the stones below. How well could a frog’s body handle that impact? Probably not any better than a man’s. Scratch that one.
Plans began to grow more desperate. He could feign sleep, like that one girl had done once to Lance. However, he’d already responded coherently to the last question and she wouldn’t believe that he would have fallen asleep in so short a time. Blast.
There were no sharp objects with which to impale himself, or even inflict a small wound. Blood always offered an instant change of subject.
Nope, he was trapped.
With a heavy sigh, he said, “Yes.” The word seemed louder than necessary in the closeness of the canopied bed. “Both of my parents.”
Gabby raised her eyebrows, which he couldn’t see anyway. “Well, I mean someone you really loved, like a brother or a friend or something.”
Bristling a little, he said, “I did love my parents. They were nothing like yours are. My mom was fantastic and my dad…” He felt a lump start in his throat, “My dad was everything I want to be and everything your dad isn’t.” Maybe that response was a little too harsh, but it had spilled out from someplace behind his sternum. Swallowing repeatedly, he tried to rid himself of the catch in his voice.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “What were they like?” Then she quickly added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
Will knew it was hopeless, the second he opened his mouth. Warm tears filled his eyes and began to spill onto the pillow with a soft patter as he spoke. It was kind-of weird that a frog could cry, but that didn’t occur to him because he was thinking about other things.
“My mom was the kind of person who would stop and hug me every time she saw me. The first thing I remember about her is sitting on her lap while she read me a story about bears.” Softly, he added, “It was my favorite story.”
Emotional words had never come easily, but these ones began to push themselves forward, squirting out like water through a crack in a dam. “I know she was queen and everything,” he sniffed a little, “but I don’t remember much about what she did as queen. She was in the nursery with me, or taking me to see the animals, or playing games with me on a lawn.”
He laughed a small laugh, “It sounds stupid, but whenever I think of her, everything in my memory turns gold and rosy.”
“That doesn’t sound so stupid. Sometimes when I think of Claudio—“ her voice caught when she said his name. She hadn’t said it aloud since his funeral. “When I think of him, sometimes I can smell roses.”
“Maybe it’s not stupid at all then.” Memories began washing over him in rosy hues and he sunk into silence as tears ran freely down his face and dribbled to the pillow. This sucked. There was nothing helpful about this stupid conversation.
Gabby thought a little about Will’s mom and wondered what it would be like if her mother had been less placidly proper. “I wish I could have met your mom.”
“Yeah,” he swiped at his eyes with his inadequately short arms, “You would have liked her.” His voice cracked, “Everyone liked her.”
Before the silence deepened too much Gabby asked another question, “So, what about your dad. What was he like?”
At first, Will just shrugged, though as he was doing it, he realized that she couldn’t see. “I dunno. He was a great man—well, until my stepmom. I’m really not sure what happened to him because he really wasn’t himself after she came along, but before that, he had this manly gleam, you know?”
Gabby didn’t know, “Uh…”
“It was like manliness oozed from his pores. He was so strong that I could never really beat him at wrestling games, but sometimes he would let me win. He always told the truth, even if it wasn’t something you wanted to hear, and he never tried to hide how much he loved my mom. It was like he knew he was so manly that he didn’t have to pretend to be macho.”
“Huh.” This was definitely unlike her father. Wrestling games and letting the other person win were definitely not King Daddy’s style. He’d ruthlessly beaten Claudio at chess once every week since Claudio had been four years old.
Making another attempt to swab at his tears, Will added, “But the best part was that I never once heard him bully anyone. He had everyone’s respect, so he didn’t need to make them afraid. Everyone followed his commands.” Under his breath, he added, “Seniore Machiavelli doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Then, as though the ambassador had personally slapped Will’s father in the face, he added, “What an old goat.”
The pillow around him was spongy now, and he began to consider moving to another spot, but decided to wait until the pointless emotion-fest was over. There was no need to sully another perfectly good sleeping area.
“So, how did they die?”
Ugh. The worst question ever. He wished briefly that the heavy canopy would spontaneously collapse, crushing them both to death and effectively changing the subject forever.
“My mom died when I was five. There was some sort of complication while she was giving birth.” He rushed through the rest of the story, eager to have it finished. “The baby didn’t make it either. No one ever gave me the details and I never asked.”
Gabby sucked in her breath sharply. She’d at least gotten to know her brother before he’d died. Will had lost his mom and any chance of knowing his sibling all in one. She gulped, “And what about your dad?”
“I really don’t know. He just started getting sick and no doctor could figure it out. Nothing they did seemed to help. It went on for a long time, but then one day, he was just gone.” Sadness washed over him like a heavy wave. He had gone hunting with Lance and had never been summoned when his father had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. After such a long illness, how could he have predicted that it would all end so quickly? Guilt followed the wave of sadness. He should have been there.
For the first time, it occurred to Gabby that there might be someone else out there who would understand what she was enduring, had perhaps even gone through more.
“I never knew.” Gabby began crying again, but this time it wasn’t for herself. “I’m so sorry.”
Will shook his head, “What is there for you to be sorry about? You didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t be so literal. You know what I meant.”
“No, I don’t. Everyone wants to tell me they’re sorry for my loss. Why should they be sorry? They didn’t have anything to do with it.”
There was the bite of pent-up anger in his voice, a tune that Gabby recognized from her own voice.
Biting her lip, she thought for a minute. Then, she rolled onto her side to face Will and his soggy spot on the pillow. Slowly, she reached up and found his webbed hand, pressing it gently with her fingers. “I guess what I mean then, is that I am sad that you’ve lost such wonderful parents and that has to be very hard to live with. I am sorry that I never thought you might have something to be sad about, too.”
He could hear the stuffiness in her nose from crying, and it just made him cry harder. What a wimp I am! However, as they cried together in the dark for their lost family, Will began to feel a pressure in his chest lift, as though heavy sand were being washed away by his tears.
Finally, when there were no tears left for either of them, Gabby broke into the clean silence with a question she’d never been able to answer for herself, “Will, how did you go on living?”
There was more silence while Will thought. Strangely enough, it wasn’t about finding a way to escape answering the question. Eventually, he had an answer to something he’d never thought much about.
“It wasn’t a choice. Whether I wanted to or not, I was still alive and wishing my mom or dad hadn’t left didn’t change that I still had responsibilities and other people counting on me. It just seemed really selfish to quit and maybe I should have cried it all out sooner, but I still don’t think I made a bad choice to go on. It’s not like I could ever forget my mom or my dad.”
His response gave Gabby a lot to think about for the rest of the night. She didn’t sleep any more than she had in the past few months, but it wasn’t the tortured sleep it had been. When she drifted to sleep at last, the thought that carried her into dreaming was that perhaps tomorrow would be different after all.
And there it is. I've already started on the next chapter. So, if the holidays aren't totally crazy, I should have another one up soon. *knocking on wood* As always, I love feedback about reactions, thoughts, confusions, etc. Feel free to share the love via votes. :)