Show them the joy and the pain and the ending
With no new information offered to her following the interrogation, the night seems endless. She spends much of it tossing and turning in agonizing dread coupled with burning anger. Why would they let her sit here and simply stew? Why the hell couldn’t they figure out what to do with her?
So the next morning, when Jillee arrives to ready her for the day, Heartfire is already awake, staring at the ceiling with eyes reddened and bruised from lack of sleep. Jillee fusses over her state, clearly forgiving her much too easily for her earlier harsh treatment. Heartfire doesn’t have the energy to disagree this morning. Instead she allows her to fuss, for once grateful that she doesn’t actually have to do anything for herself. Grateful that she can simply eat her meal and soak in a hot bath without having to concern herself with a plethora of chores.
Afterwards however, she is left to her own devices. When the door opens as Jillee takes her leave, she glances out into the hall to see that, for the first time in five days, there is no guard standing outside. For a minute, she simply sits on the pale pink divan, dumbfounded by this revelation. But when the implication sinks in, she is on her feet and out the door in a heartbeat.
She has not had freedom in five days. Five long, terrible, ceaseless days.
Each step comes faster and faster as she moves through the palace. Before long, her skirts are in her hands and she is running. As she flies through a pair of French doors into the garden, no one tries to stop her. No one even says a word to her.
Once outside, she halts abruptly. Eyes sliding closed, she inhales deeply, feeling days of pent up tension, of frustration and anger, sliding from her as she does so.
When the tap on her shoulder comes, she cannot say that she is surprised. She had expected to be stopped the entire way out here. No doubt a guard has come to drag her back indoors, to lock her away for her treasonous behavior. But instead of turning to find a palace guard with an unfriendly expression, she finds Francis beside her with a lighter demeanor than she has seen since the day they had met.
He doesn’t speak at first, instead simply looping her arm into his and leading her further into the garden. For several minutes, she doesn’t quite know what to say. In truth, she had never expected to see him again. She had expected to be locked away, to be put on trial for her crimes. Instead she is walking quietly in the garden with a smiling Francis.
She is confused and happy and angry all at once. She cannot quite sort out the myriad of emotions vying for supremacy inside of her, and frankly, she’s not certain she would want to if she could. All of them would no doubt lead to only one thing: heartache.
When he finally halts, drawing her to a standstill beside him, she opens her mouth to say something, anything, really. But nothing comes out. She is only able to stand there in horrible, anticipatory silence, waiting for the worst. Even if she hadn’t said enough to incriminate herself last night, she doesn’t think they could possibly allow her to stay.
So when he says quietly, in a confidential tone, ”You’re the one.” she can only stare mutely at him for several minutes, mouth slightly agape.
”Heartfire,” he says quietly, reaching up to brush an errant lock of her wild red hair from her face, ”You captivated me from the first time a met you. You weren’t like the other girls. You were real, honest. You made me laugh.”
”But I helped them,” she blurts out, finally reacting to his confession. ”The rebels. I was there. I helped them.”
Maybe they should have used Francis as interrogator instead. Certainly he is proving to be just as, or more, effective.
He doesn’t react how she expects him to however. Instead he blows out a breath, tilting his head back to gaze briefly at the sky before he drops his gaze again, locking her blue eyes with his amber ones. ”I know,” he says finally. Heartfire opens her mouth, but quickly closes it again when she finds herself with nothing to say. ”I know, Heartfire. I think I’ve known for a while.” He smiles wryly at that. ”It was obvious, in the beginning, that you were not here for me. You didn’t hunger for power like some of the others. You didn’t scheme or plan or seduce.” Heartfire experiences a sudden surge of jealousy at that last statement. Seduce? Who would dare… But Francis continues, distracting her from her ire as easily as breathing. ”You were so… you.” He laughs at that, and Heartfire can’t help but smile in response. ”You have a good heart, and the interrogation only made that more clear.”
For several long minutes, Heartfire isn’t quite sure what to say. His confession has left her completely and utterly without words.
”Francis, I… Heartfire finally begins, still trying to formulate a response that encompasses the entirety of her feelings in that moment. ”I… never thought I would be saying this… You’re so different than I had expected.” She lets a huff of air, a kind of half-laugh at her thoughts. ”I guess my first opinions were not very complementary. But you’re not like people say you are. And I think that… well, I’m pretty sure that I… that I love you.”
She clears her throat, dropping her gaze to the ground as color stains her pale cheeks at her confession. That was perhaps the most difficult thing she has ever had to say in her life, even if it is – or perhaps especially because it is – true.
She flinches when Francis’ hand comes forward, but he is gentle as he tilts her chin up until her eyes are forced to meet his. There is a smile on his firm, mobile lips even as his eyes sparkle with happiness and humor. Her return smile feels rather wooden in contrast.
”Heartfire,” he says softly, a hint of humor and relief in his voice. ”You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that without the influence of drugs.” And suddenly he is leaning in, causing her heart to seize in her throat as his lips touch hers.
The kiss is nothing like she had expected and so much more than she could ever have hoped. She returns it with, if not skill, then at the very least enthusiasm. Drawing back slightly, Francis whispers softly against her mouth, ”I love you too.” She can feel the satisfied curve of his lips even if she can’t see it through her closed lids. And then he is kissing her again and happiness explodes through her on a wave of thrill and delight.
--
The next few weeks pass in a haze of joy and anxiety and preparations. After their confessions in the garden (after they had finally managed to extricate themselves from one another’s embrace and their ardor had cooled a bit) Francis had explained to her how the next several weeks would go.
Their wedding had been announced publicly, resulting in much celebration and good cheer. Festivities had ensued and a good time had been had by all. Plans and preparations have been made for the wedding and coronation, and the day has approached far too fast. For the most part, Francis and Heartfire’s decisions and inputs have been relatively trivial as the majority of the planning is being done by professionals.
Her parents had of course been brought to the palace. Both her mother and father are beyond delighted and can often be seen making the social rounds. With all the guests invited for the big event, this is an incredible boon with both Francis and Heartfire being pulled in a million other directions as well.
Heartfire, for her part, is having a difficult time keeping up with the constant demands upon her time. She can only be grateful that there are others planning most of her wedding, but she still has her hands full between dress fittings and cake tastings and socializing and diplomatic visits and rehearsals, as well as additional training for her eventual role as queen. Between all of this, she barely has two minutes to spend alone with Francis, much less time to spend doing anything meaningful with him.
So when the big day arrives, she is far more relieved than nervous. She has had barely any time to be nervous (or really, feel anything) about the wedding, let alone develop cold feet. If she had had the time, she probably would have fled long ago.
As it is, it isn’t until she is in her room just before the ceremony that would marry her to Francis and crown her princess that she realizes just how immensely frightening the prospect really is. Most of her team of servants have already gone. The only one left in the room with her is Jillee, who has rapidly become a rock that Heartfire has unashamedly leaned upon. She is the one face in a sea of faces that she knows, who had been there for her since the very beginning, who had, amazingly enough, not run screaming in the face of her terrible treatment a few weeks back. They have rapidly become close friends, and Jillee has proven herself steadfast and trustworthy even in the most trying of times.
And, in that moment, Heartfire quite desperately needs her.
She finds herself sitting, staring at her reflection in the dressing room mirror when Jillee comes in behind her. Heartfire looks positively stunning in a flawless white wedding dress, a beautiful contraption of intricate lace and seed pearls that is deceptively simple, with her vibrant red hair tamed and curled to perfection in an elegant coiffure at the nape of her neck. Her face has been expertly done, her eyes lightly painted and lips darkened to a rose color. But her cheeks are pale and her eyes wide as Jillee comes to her side, palm covering Heartfires gloved fingers in a simple sign of camaraderie.
Jillee’s smile is reassuring, giving Heartfire the strength and resolve she needs to rise from her chair and face her future. Before she can do so however, Jillee is pressing a small bundle into Heartfire’s fingers. ”This is for you, dear,” she says in a soft voice. ”Please, wait until I leave to open it, but you need to have it.”
Jillee’s next words cause a shiver to race down Heartfire’s spine as her wide blue eyes drop to stare at the innocuous bundle resting in her loose grasp. After the servant leaves, Heartfire waits a long minute before slowly unwrapping the parcel. The cloth falls away to reveal a small dagger and a note that flutters down to the table top before her. With slightly shaking fingers, she picks up the note and reads it.
Releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, she crumples the paper in her fist. Raising the dagger in her other hand, she stares at it, wondering what in the hell she is supposed to do now. A knock on the door causes her to jump. Leaping from her seat, she whips around as she hastily stuffs the knife into the folds of her dress to hide it. Taking a deep breath, she tosses the crumpled note into the slowly dying embers in the hearth as she walks passed before going to the door and opening it as regally as possible. Or at least as semi-composedly as possible.
In that moment, she fears Francis had made a terrible choice when he had chosen her.
--
She can hear the music before she even arrives at the grand hall where the ceremony is to take place. The decorations are incredibly beautiful and, of course, opulent – everything she is not. There is an abundance of roses and gilt and satin layered over every available surface, all in varying shades of white and cream, with gold and red sprinkled in to break the monotony of pale colors. It is so incredibly beautiful, and yet Heartfire can’t quite take it all in.
Before she knows it, she is standing at the end of the isle, elegant bouquet in hand as a swath of ivory stretches out before her, leading straight to Francis. Her Francis, who is standing there with a smile upon his handsome lips and a joyous twinkle in his eye. Her heart does a somersault in her chest as she takes that first step to her future.
But before she can take a second, a cry echoes out over the crowd, a frantic voice shouting about the death of the King and Queen. Before he can even finish the statement, pandemonium erupts. The crowd is surging from their seats even as Heartfire stands rooted to the ground.
Impossible! she thinks. But she knows it is true. She knows they have succeeded at last. And, in a moment of horrifying clarity, she realizes what the dagger had been given to her for. The bouquet falls from nerveless fingers as her heart contracts inside her chest, immediately rebelling at what she knows must be done.
But she can’t. She can’t do it.
Even as she finds Francis’ frantic gaze through the crowd, she knows that she is a fool. A fool in love with a man.
Her eyes glittering with unshed tears, she watches him as he nears, fighting his way through the crowd to get to her. And like the fool that she is, she still hasn’t moved from her spot. She can’t. Her heart hurts too much.
And then there, out of the corner of her eye, she sees a man heading straight for Francis. She recognizes him, though she has seen him only once or twice. Peregrine, the leader of the rebels, is making for the Prince. For her Prince.
As though a spell has broken, she finds herself suddenly able to move. ”FRANCIS!” she screams as she jerks forward, tugging the knife from her skirts as she does so. She inadvertently distracts him, giving Peregrine the perfect opportunity to lunge for him. ”No!” Her shout comes out broken, horrified, and she barrels forward.
Unfortunately she barrels right into the most unexpected person (perhaps she should have expected him, though). Jinx, his scruffy face absent of any of the good humor that normally resides there, catches her in his arms. ”Whoa there Heartfire!” he exclaims. ”You need t…” She doesn’t stop to find out what she needs to do. Instead she shoves him out of the way, determination suffusing her features, replacing all traces of fear.
Lurching forward, she reaches the grappling pair. Suddenly Francis stumbles backwards, giving Peregrine all the opportunity he needs to go for his knife. ”No!” Heartfire screams again, lunging at the rebels’ leader with her own knife bared. To her own surprised horror, her knife finds its target in the man’s neck just before her hand goes numb, falling slack by her side.
She can hear shouting, can hear Francis’ frantic voice. She can hear him saying her name as pain explodes in her shoulder, causing her to suck in an agonized breath. The moment feels almost surreal as she looks down at the knife sticking out of her flesh just below her collarbone. She sits abruptly, dropping to the ground as shock forces her legs to give way. Francis catches her, gripping her uninjured arm as he kneels down beside her. His hand is on her face, her neck, skimming gingerly over her shoulder as he speaks quickly in words she doesn’t quite catch.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Jinx is there, looming over them. She looks up at him, blinking as she tries to formulate words, an apology, something. But Francis is there, angry, scared, protective, and with a terrible shout, he lunges at Jinx. And he has a knife – a knife he had found somewhere, somehow. Reeling forward, she reaches out with her good hand, a desperate ”Francis!” hoarsely upon her lips as she tries to halt his trajectory.
But she is too slow. It is too late. She watches in horror as Jinx crumples, Francis’ knife in his chest.
With a sob, Heartfire falls backwards, covering her mouth with her good hand. In seconds, Francis is there, pulling her towards him, urging her to stand, to move, to do something. In an unseeing daze, she follows him, stumbling along as quickly as she can in spite of the pain and lightheadedness plaguing her.
He leads her to a safe room, locking them in to ride out the remainder of the attack. There he tends her wound with medical supplies left for just such a purpose. When he pulls the knife from her shoulder, she passes out in a rush of pain and blood. When she awakens, it is to find her shoulder clean and raggedly stitched, though still aching fiercely. Her once beautiful dress is entirely ruined, ripped and stained with blood. Francis looks just as disreputable, his once regal formal attire also stained and sitting askew.
Blue eyes searching out his amber ones, she reaches for him, needing something, anything, in that moment. He complies, needing the touch just as badly as she. ”Francis,” she whispers softly, voice cracking as she does so. ”I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head, momentarily at a loss for words. ”It’s not your fault,” he says finally, though his grief is clear in that simple statement. But somehow, despite his absolution, she still feels as though she is to blame, even if she knows it is not true.
She tugs him closer, and he wraps his arms gingerly around her, careful of her injured shoulder, as she does the same to him, curling her one good arm around him to hold him close. They stay like that, in silent, dreadful anticipation as they offer one another what comfort they can, until a guard comes by to give the all clear.
--
The aftermath of the interrupted wedding is a disaster. There were numerous deaths besides the King and Queen, mostly important figureheads and dignitaries. Her parents are safe, no doubt largely owing to the fact that the rebels had assumed she (and therefore her parents) were on their side. With the rebel leader dead, the fight had abruptly fallen apart and the guards had managed to prevail with relative ease from there. Heartfire, for her part, feels curiously void of emotion over the death of Peregrine. While she might have thought she would be more disturbed over having killed a man, she had not known Peregrine that well, and with the choice having been between him and Francis, she finds herself unable to regret her decision.
She is far more grief-stricken by Jinx’s death than by anyone else’s. He had been a true friend, a generally happy, good-natured soul, and he had not deserved to die as he had. She is torn, hurt. She loves Francis, and she knows she will forgive him (he had been trying to save her, after all), but she needs her time to grieve, just as he does. And so, they grieve, but in the end, they grieve together, for his loss and for hers.
--
After everything has finally settled down, all of the guests and remaining dignitaries are sent home. The wedding occurs several weeks later (after Heartfire has more fully recovered from her injury and finally regained most of the use of her arm), followed by an official coronation, both of which are much smaller affairs than had originally been intended.
And she, by some horribly ironic quirk of fate, has been crowned queen. She, perhaps the least suited candidate for such a position, has been given the power to decide the fate of the realm. And decide it she will. With headstrong determination and dogged persistence, she fights for the things she had joined the Resistance to accomplish. Francis, much to his mingled dismay and delight, quickly finds out just what his chosen wife can accomplish when she puts her mind to it. So they find a rhythm that works for them, he the head – with his aptitude for grace and diplomacy – and she the heart – strong and stubborn and determined. It is not easy, just as worthwhile things are never easy, but, together, they make it work.
Heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts