Chapter Text
Lolita had gotten the letter that morning. Or, rather, found it, laying on the pillow opposite her. It must have been hand delivered, it wasn’t addressed; of course, except for the mark on its front. It was clearly made with the same precise motions as the swordstrikes she’d come to know, the mark he had left up and down the royal road. The mark of Zorro.
She’d opened it on the spot, sitting upright in bed. For Zorro to have come so close, so brazenly, when the tensions were so high; it must be important. As she unfolded the envelope, her heart leapt with hope. It could so easily be a declaration of love, even a proposal! He had never taken the time to write before, his poetry was always delivered face to face, it must-
The few lines were simple.
“Lolita,
My horse is in the stables of Don Vega.
I need you, please, to bring him to the lake this evening.
Do this for me, and be discreet.
Z“
That was all. A full page, filled with three lines. An inscription and three lines. Maybe it was good he didn’t write often, he was terrible at it. She put the letter down and stood up, readying for the day.
She brushed her hair out, and wondered what he could need her for, for this. Couldn’t Little Zorro handle the stupid horse? Why did it have to be her? And why would he go through all this trouble just for three stupid lines? He did like to keep some mystery about himself...
Though she wondered why he hadn’t woken her, told her himself. He might have frightened her, maybe, but... Oh, she just wanted a chance to talk, was all! There was so much to say...
Her mind dwelt all day, through chores and helping around the house. It lingered as, after nightfall, she slipped outside. She’d told her parents that she was going to Don Vega’s, which was... true. The walk was not far, she assured them when they offered the carriage. They worried over bandits, but she assured them she could be safe. Zorro wouldn’t let her be hurt. Nor would the pistol she carried, but they’d worry over that too. She’d hugged them both tightly, and said “see you soon!”
With what she wanted to ask Zorro though, she wasn’t so sure she would.
-Z-
The opening notes of Mexican independence have been played.
Tensions rise in accelerando, and there is talk in Alta California.
Talk of legitimacy, if the Bonapartes could take the crown so easily.
Talks that they could do better on their own;
without that Commander Raymond, without the army.
Without the Govenor-General.
Without Spain.
This even came from the capitol, where men protested in the streets,
and spoke openly against the Viceroy and the Crown itself.
Stories had even come, of late, that a priest in a town called Dolores
had taken up open, armed revolt.
Everyone knew it would reach Alta California soon.
The fear and odd mirth of the prospect spread like wildfire in manzanita.
People spoke in hushed frantics, in the bar-rooms and market alleys, of what to do.
What to do of Commander Raymond, the South India company,
the Govenor-General who had let them run roughshod over the people.
After all, they were all sent by the crown.
And who should bow to a false king’s command?
And they wondered where, in all this, Zorro would fall.
-Z-
Lolita’s parents had spoken of it, too. When they had thought her asleep or away, they had talked, to keep her from worrying. But, of course, she’d been there. She knew how they fell on the matters of politics, that was fine, but it was the more... military concerns she worried about, namely the ones they held for her.
Neither liked the danger she faced being so near Zorro, but they dared not stop that; they knew he kept her safe from the bandits and the army. But if there was a revolt too, a war, the people up in arms... Them being landowners as well, and french like the king... It simply wouldn’t be safe for her here, they had decided. And had already booked passage for her to Spain.
The worst part was, she knew they were right.
Her safety depended on Zorro, and while the people still knew the spectre Zorro, the phantom rider; she knew Zorro was just a man, who couldn’t be in two places at once. He couldn’t always be there to protect her, especially if there was fighting. The people would need his help.
Even though they were still uncertain, she knew that he would join them in revolt, when the time came. Publicly, until a few months ago, he’d tried to only talk about the local tyrants, the army. But he spoke freely to her, said how he felt about the tyrants in Spain. He hated them, perhaps more than anyone else, but wouldn’t speak out; for fear his words would provide the spark, light the powderkeg.
Frankly, Lolita had always just seen it as cowardice, like that Diego who wouldn’t say anything about anything. But recently he had begun to speak out, in no uncertain terms, against the Govenor-General. Even the Viceroy once, she’d heard, though perhaps not the crown. Which was for the best, that was all so muddled with France. But, still, he had gotten over himself, and she admired him all the more for it.
As this all ran through her head, she had reached the Casa Vega. The stable door was closed but unlocked, nobody on guard. She remained quiet, but knew Zorro had managed to clear the way for her. It was still puzzling why he’d needed her to do this, in this way, if he could have this all prepared.
Maybe she was right to hope, before, for a proposal, and he simply wanted to do it in person! She hoped again now, riding Viento out toward the forests. Lolita had always loved Zorro, since that first day he’d appeared, when Diego returned. It was always a contest, to her, between the two; but recently her feelings for Zorro had redoubled, some miracle had tipped the scales.
Something about him had changed; his fighting, his passion, his very being stronger and more beautiful than before. Whenever she saw him fight he was as lithe as the fox he was named for, each thrust more deft and each strike stronger.
And though it made her blush a bit, even riding alone, she couldn’t lie; the figure that danced in battle was looking better too. She’d heard it was fashionable for men to wear corsets now, to shape the waist, and maybe that was it. But something about him, a certain unnamed charm, enticed her heart even more.
She knew she had to be with Zorro, now. Her heart pulled her inexorably toward him, like a... like a... Like the horse moved her to the lake? She’d never been a poet, that was Zorro's job. But, having reached the appointed spot, she dismounted. And she knew.
When Zorro arrived, she would ask him to marry her, to run away together. If he wouldn't ask, then she would.