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25 October 1957, 3:38 pm
Soll Square, Holsord
“Today, the future belongs to the people. The future belongs to Sordland. The future belongs to you, the good people of the beautiful city of Holsord! I welcome you all!” Anton Rayne’s voice boomed over the microphone across Soll Square, crackling with energy. The crowd roared back in approval.
As they waited together backstage, Monica Rayne saw Lucian Galade shake his head with a slight smile, and she gave him an inquiring look.
“He’s already going off-script,” Lucian explained in a low voice, and Monica laughed.
“That doesn't surprise me,” she whispered back. “He’s in fine form today.”
“I have counted on Lucian Galade’s calm and calculated judgment in these difficult days,” Anton continued. “I am fortunate to have such a great vice president – and a very dear friend – by my side.” Lucian looked startled and more than a little touched by the words, and Monica smiled at him.
“You’re up!” she reminded him, patting his arm.
“Definitely off-script,” Lucian repeated under his breath, giving her a small, pleased smile over his shoulder as he strode out on the stage to join Anton, waving at the crowd. Monica watched as Anton clapped him on the shoulder, and the cheers of the crowd grew even louder.
“And I am grateful to walk this path in life with the brilliant, hard-working Monica Rayne, who has not only been an unwavering support to me these past four years, but has also led the charge to secure greater rights for Sordish women!”
Giving her hair one last pat, Monica walked out herself, smiling broadly and waving. She crossed the stage to stand on Anton’s other side, taking his hand and leaning in for a peck on the cheek.
“We have faced many challenges over the first four years of our administration,” Anton continued, his voice warm and resonant. “And I am proud to say that we as a people have risen to meet them. We reformed our broken constitution, we s–”
There was a loud crack that could be heard even over the wild cheers of the crowd and Anton staggered back a step, putting a hand up to his chest. He pulled his hand away, and it came back wet with dark red blood. A second crack echoed through the square, and Anton jerked back again, and started to crumple to the stage floor. Monica heard a shrill scream, only dimly realizing that it had come from her. Lucian had his arms around him in an instant, dragging him down from the stage to the small grassy area in front. She watched, frozen in horror, as he tore her husband's shirt open to reveal two bloody wounds, one in the chest, and one in the abdomen. Lucian peeled his own jacket off, bundling it up to press firmly against Anton's chest, then looked up at her.
“Get down here, get down now!” he demanded, urgent but controlled, and she forced her unwilling body into action, throwing herself off the stage on top of Anton. “Put pressure on it," Lucian instructed her, urgent but controlled, "put your hands right on top and –”
Karl Greiser came sprinting from behind the stage, three of his men hot on his heels, and flew at Lucian, fully tackling him to the ground.
“Stay down, sir! ” Karl shouted, as Lucian tried to break free to get back to Anton.
“Get off of me!” Lucian snarled, openly furious in a way Monica had never heard from him before. “You should be helping the president –”
“We are helping him, sir, but you have to stay down –”
“Then someone needs to cover Mrs. Rayne, now!” Lucian snapped. "What are you thinking -"
Seconds later, Serge Wolkner was next to Monica with one of the presidential guards, shielding her from the crowd with their bodies, trying desperately to staunch the blood flow from Anton’s wounds.
"Hang in there, Mr. President," he said quickly, breathing hard as he moved with deft professionalism. "Mrs. Rayne, are you injured?"
Monica shook her head numbly. "No, I'm fine."
Anton looked up at the sound of her voice, his eyes wide and unfocused, already going pale.
“Monica?” he mumbled, and she took his cold hand and squeezed it between both of hers.
“Just hold on, love,” she whispered. “I’m here with you.”
She could still hear Lucian struggling to break away from Karl.
“You can fire me tomorrow if you want, sir,” Karl gritted out, clearly out of breath, “but you’re still not getting up until –”
Three more gunshots rang out – Monica knew very little about firearms, but these sounded different than the first, and there were screams in the crowd. She ran a soothing hand down the side of Anton’s face as Karl’s radio crackled to life. As Karl was still fully occupied with pinning Lucian to the ground, one of his men took the call.
“They’re saying the subject is down, Chief,” he reported. “Seems to just be the one shooter.”
“Then get the president to the hospital, now!” Lucian commanded, as Karl finally let him up.
“The stretcher’s already on the way, sir,” the guard replied.
Lucian wasted no time in crawling back over to Anton, crouching between Monica and Serge.
“Sir – Anton,” he said, his voice preternaturally composed. “You're going to the hospital now, did you hear? So I need you to stay awake and stay with us.” Monica saw Lucian look down and take in the amount of blood seeping through the dark wool of his jacket with a grimace. “Please, stay with us.”
"Trying to –" Anton broke off into a wet-sounding cough that left a splatter of blood on his chin. With trembling fingers, Monica reached out to wipe it away, then looked up at Lucian, who sucked in a sharp breath at the sight.
A team of medics finally came running up, taking over as they loaded Anton onto the stretcher with brisk efficiency.
“Come along with us, ma’am,” one of the medics said to Monica. “We need to go now.”
“Lucian,” Anton whispered, holding up his hand as the medics hoisted up the stretcher. Lucian clasped his hand, slick with blood, and gripped it tightly, hurrying alongside the stretcher as they made their way to the ambulance. “Monica?”
Monica grabbed Anton’s other hand, trying to keep her footing as they jogged over the grass.
“I’m right here, Anton,” she assured him, trying to keep her voice calm and comforting.
“Good,” he mumbled, his eyes fluttering closed as they reached the ambulance. As soon as Anton’s stretcher was loaded, Lucian helped Monica step up into the ambulance, squeezing her hand before letting go.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” he called out as the doors closed, Karl hovering behind him. Monica knelt beside her husband as the ambulance raced through the streets of Holsord, trying to give him the strength to hold on. Trying to push away her growing certainty that it was all too late, she leaned over and kissed his forehead.
"I love you."
***
25 October 1957 5:15 pm
Artor S. Wisci Memorial Medical Center, Holsord
Nia Morgna flashed her Ministry of Justice identification at the armed officers guarding the entrance to the hospital and pushed through the swinging doors, her heels clicking on the polished floor. Chief Justice Ovid Grecer trailed behind her, pulling his judicial robe over his golf clothes. As they approached the small private waiting room, she spotted Karl Greiser and Serge Wolkner amongst the crowd of uniformed officers standing guard by the door. Serge’s jacket was covered in blood. Karl had a few dark splotches on the front of his uniform.
“Ms. Morgna,” Karl said, with a crisp salute. “Ma’am, I – I don’t know what to say. We were certain the area was secure. If I had any idea…” He trailed off, at an uncharacteristic loss for words.
“This isn’t the time for this discussion,” Nia said in a tone that she hoped was firm but not unkind. “What I’m immediately concerned with is internal stability and ensuring Mr. Galade succeeds to the presidency as prescribed by the constitution, especially under these circumstances. That’s why I went to find the chief justice as soon as the…” She faltered a bit, and closed her eyes for a moment, forcing the words out. “As soon as President Rayne’s death was confirmed.”
“The vice president – that is, the new president – needs to be sworn in as soon as possible,” Justice Grecer said, nodding his agreement.
“He’s in here, right?” Nia asked, reaching for the doorknob.
“Wait!” Serge said sharply, and Nia looked at him in surprise. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but…Mrs. Rayne is in there, too.”
Nia jerked her hand back from the door as if it had stung her, and peered through the small window in the door. Lucian and Monica sat huddled together on a small couch, motionless and silent. Lucian’s arm was wrapped around Monica, who was curled up against his side, her feet tucked up underneath her. Even from where Nia stood, she could see the blood on their clothes.
“They’ve been sitting like that since the doctor left them,” Karl said quietly from behind her. Nia stepped back from the door to face him.
“Can’t someone take Mrs. Rayne home?” Nia asked, choking back tears. “Or…somewhere better than this?”
“A driver is already en route to pick up Mrs. Evelyn Vectern – Mrs. Rayne will spend the night with her tonight, with a full security complement,” Karl replied. “She didn’t wish to return to the presidential residence tonight.”
“Right, of course,” Nia said, and then thought of something else. “What about the children?”
“We’ve been in contact with our agents in United Contana and Mr. Franc Rayne is confirmed as asleep in his dormitory in Kyow. It’s the middle of the night there, after all,” Karl replied.
“If you’ll pardon my saying so, someone needs to call the young man before the news hits in Contana,” Justice Grecer remarked, and Karl nodded.
“Agreed, sir. His mother wants to make that call herself.”
“And Deana?” Nia prompted.
“The little girl was already safely at her grandmother’s home in Lachaven for the weekend,” Karl continued. “Mr. Galade has already ordered extra security on the house tonight, just to be safe, but my feeling is that this was a single-target operation. The man we took down looks to be a professional. Arcasian, by my judgment.”
“There’s so much to do,” Nia murmured, mostly to herself, and looked back through the window. This time, the movement caught Lucian’s eye, and he looked up at her. He glanced at the clock on the wall, and held up one finger. Nia nodded. He leaned down and whispered something to Monica, who stirred, and then sat up, looking around. Lucian met Nia’s eyes again, and beckoned for her to enter.
Nia steeled herself, and pushed the door open.
“Mr. Galade,” she said. “Mrs. Rayne. Mrs. Rayne, I am so very sorry to disturb you at this time –”
Monica shook her head. “It’s all right, Nia, I understand.” Her normally warm voice was hoarse and hollow.
As Nia looked at the two shattered, bloodstained people clinging to each other in a too-bright hospital waiting room, she couldn’t help but remember how they had looked just a few short hours earlier, both radiantly happy and bursting with pride as they flanked President Rayne on the stage.
“Ms. Morgna, Mr. Chief Justice,” Lucian said with a nod. He looked at Nia. “I’m assuming you think I should be sworn in without delay?”
“Yes,” Nia said, with an uncomfortable glance in Monica’s direction. “I’m sorry to be insensitive at a time like this, but considering the administration’s somewhat precarious political situation, I think our best option for maintaining continuity of government is to move forward immediately.”
“I believe the minister of justice has the right idea, Mr. President,” Justice Grecer said, and everyone in the room froze for a moment at the new title being applied to Lucian. Nia knew – as did Lucian – that the chief justice was correct, that Lucian had become president automatically at the time of President Rayne’s death. It was still jarring to hear, especially with Monica sitting right there.
“Mrs. Rayne,” Lucian asked, his voice very gentle, “Would you like us to find another room to discuss this?” He looked around, spotting Serge hovering just outside the door. “Mr. Wolkner can stay here with you while you wait for Mrs. Vectern to arrive.”
“Sir,” Karl cut in, from his position guarding the door. “If I may –”
“Do you have something to say, Mr. Greiser?” Lucian's voice was level but icy. Nia knew Lucian well enough to see that he was furious with Karl. Karl also seemed very aware of this fact.
“Yes, sir. I’m not comfortable moving you from this room until we’re ready to leave the hospital, sir,” he said, very calmly. “We have this area as secure as we can get it, but considering that we can’t be certain that there’s any further threat, it would be best if you stay here until we are ready to return to the palace.” Karl paused for a moment, and pressed on. “As I explained before, according to protocol, you should have immediately been moved to a secure location –”
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Greiser,” Lucian cut him off. “Your opinion has been noted.” Karl snapped his mouth shut. Nia had observed their brief, heated argument back at the square over whether or not Lucian would follow the president to the hospital. Lucian had eventually prevailed by threatening to drive there himself.
“It’s all right, Lucian,” Monica said. “I understand. I’d prefer to stay here with you, anyway.”
“Yes, of course,” Lucian said, relaxing almost imperceptibly, and Nia realized that he wasn’t quite ready to let Monica Rayne out of his sight, either.
The door opened again, and Nia looked up to see the new arrival that Serge had let enter the small waiting room.
“Mr. Wisci,” she said, feeling a sense of relief at Deivid Wisci’s presence. He gave her a small, sad smile and patted her arm as he walked past.
“Mr. President,” he said, inclining his head to Lucian. “I came as soon as I –” He saw Monica sitting by Lucian’s side, and he stopped, his face twisting in sorrow. “Monica, my dear. Oh, my dear girl, I’m so very sorry.” He sat next on the couch on the other side of her, pulling her into an embrace.
“Oh, Deivid,” Monica whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. “Deivid, it’s just so horrible.”
With Deivid taking over the role of comforting Monica, Lucian stood up, wincing a little as he straightened. Nia realized he must have been sore not just from the position he’d been sitting in, but also from Karl’s flying tackle a few hours earlier – Lucian was nearly sixty, after all, and Karl had hit him hard.
“Nia,” he said. Nia was moderately surprised – Lucian rarely addressed her by her given name. “How are you doing?”
“Well…” She hesitated before responding. “To be perfectly honest, everything is so terrible that I just need to keep pushing forward for now. Because if I stop to really think about it, I don’t think I can keep going, and we have work to do. The country needs us to do our jobs to the best of our ability right now.”
“Yes,” Lucian replied, nodding. “Yes, exactly.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, clearly exhausted, and Nia took a good look at him. Despite the many late hours they’d worked together over the past four years, she’d rarely seen Lucian anything less than immaculately turned out. Now his jacket was long gone, his bloody sleeves – which had been absolutely saturated from his desperate attempts to keep pressure on Anton’s wounds – had been haphazardly pushed up to his elbows, and his trousers and the back of his shirt were streaked with grass stains and mud from when Karl wrestled him to the ground.
“What do you need from me?” she blurted out. “I want you to know that I’m here for you. I’m not about to let this administration go down without a fight.”
Lucian took a moment to respond, seemingly moved by her impulsive declaration of support.
“Thank you, Nia,” he said softly, and then he drew himself up into his typical straight posture. “If we’re doing the oath in here, we need to call in some press. Not too many, obviously, the security situation is paramount. But there’s no point in having the swearing-in here if it’s not going to be covered by the media.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “One television camera crew from the SBC, and a reporter and a photographer from…let’s go with the Times, if they’re immediately available. I’m assuming there’s already an accumulation of media outside?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Nia replied. “It seems like all the major outlets have at least someone here at the hospital.” Lucian nodded. He had snapped back into his cool professional mode, but there was a subtle difference, an air of easy command that she hadn’t seen from him before.
“I’ll need to do a televised address to the nation tonight – yes, we’ll do that back at the Palace, don’t give me that look, Mr. Greiser – but before that we should at least contact Chancellor Hegel, Chairman Chavatangakwunua, and –” Lucian looked over at Deivid. “President Walker?”
“At the very least,” Deivid replied. “We need to assure both our allies and the other regional powers that Sordland is secure and that the transfer of power has been seamless. I would suggest you talk to Hegel yourself tonight, since he and President Rayne had such a close relationship. I will reach out to my Contanan and Arcasian counterparts.”
“Anton was so fond of the chancellor,” Monica mumbled in a small voice, and everyone was quiet for a moment.
“Mr. President,” Deivid said, breaking the silence. “There’s something else we need to take into account.” He gave Lucian a meaningful look. “Where is Mr. Lancea?”
Lucian’s eyes narrowed, clearly taking Deivid’s point, and turned to Nia and Karl.
“I’m not sure, sir,” Karl responded, and Nia shook her head.
“Then find him,” Lucian ordered. “Please let him know that the president is requesting the honor of his presence. Immediately.” Nia nodded at Karl, and he snapped off a salute before ducking out of the room.
Lucian glanced quickly at Justice Grecer, who sat in the corner of the waiting room reading the previous day’s Holsord Post, conspicuously not paying attention. He beckoned Nia and Deivid to come closer.
“I don’t actually believe it was…” Lucian murmured, barely audible, and Deivid shook his head.
“No, neither do I. But I wouldn’t put it past the military to try to take advantage of the situation. He needs to be here showing clear support to your administration.”
“Should we try to get anyone else over here?” Nia asked in a low voice. “I take the point about Mr. Lancea, but moving more high-ranking officials around in this heightened security environment might send Karl over the edge.”
“I’m hardly going to make my decisions based on Mr. Greiser’s convenience,” Lucian replied dryly, arching a brow. “But yes, I think Iosef’s presence will suffice.”
“And what about…” Nia nodded toward Monica, who still sat on the couch, staring down at her hands, and Lucian’s expression softened.
He dropped down into a crouch in front of Monica, his demeanor changing to something gentle and almost vulnerable. He took both of her hands in his and looked up at her.
“Mrs. Rayne,” he said, in that same soft voice he had used with her earlier. “We’re going to be doing the oath of office in here very soon. You absolutely do not have to stay for that. If you feel at all up to it, I would like you to be here, but if it’s too much, I understand completely.”
Monica took a deep, shuddering breath.
“News cameras?” she asked faintly, and Lucian nodded. “I’ll stay. I can do it. I know it will help you.”
“Thank you, more than I can say,” Lucian said. “I’m truly sorry for asking this of you right now.”
Monica shook her head.
“I understand what you’re trying to do. I’m…I’m not so naive about politics these days.” That actually drew a hint of a smile from Lucian, and he gave her hands a quick squeeze and then stood back up, wincing again as his knee popped.
“Mrs. Rayne, would you like to get cleaned up a bit first?” Nia asked. “I’m sure we can find something –”
“No!” Monica said fiercely, and everyone turned to look at her. “I will not, and neither should you, Lucian. Let the public see what really happened, what they did to –” She cut herself off, stifling a sob, and just gestured to the dark bloodstains on her pale gold suit.
Lucian looked down at himself as if he were just realizing that he was still covered in the blood of Anton Rayne. He looked back up, and his expression had hardened again.
“You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Rayne,” he replied. “We'll let them see.”
***
"I do solemnly swear that I will respectfully execute the office of the President of Sordland,” Lucian repeated after the chief justice, his right hand in the air. Monica stood at his left and Nia at his right. The photographer from the Lachaven Times moved around the room to get different angles, his camera clicking away. Lucian reminded himself again not to look directly at the television camera.
"And to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the people and the constitution of the Republic of Sordland," Ovid Grecer continued.
"And to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the people and the constitution of the Republic of Sordland." He kept his voice smooth and steady, allowing just a hint of the emotion and exhaustion he was feeling to bleed through.
“Well…that’s it on my end, Mr. President,” Grecer said. “Anything you want to say?”
Lucian scanned the room, making brief but pointed eye contact with a scowling, uniformed Iosef Lancea. He noticed that Evelyn Vectern had appeared in the doorway.
“Thank you all for being here on such short notice,” he said. “I will address the nation later this evening from the Maroon Palace. For now, I will simply say that not only has our Republic suffered an immeasurable loss, but that this is a deeply personal tragedy for myself, as well.” He bowed his head for a moment, then continued. “I ask you all to keep Mrs. Rayne and her children in your thoughts and prayers. I promise that I will do my best to fulfill the sacred trust that has been placed upon me. Again, I thank you.”
Everyone was silent for a respectful beat, and then the little waiting room started to bustle with activity. The press contingent packed up their gear and left in a hurry, eager to file their stories. Chief Justice Grecer bade them good night, and headed for the door. Iosef, who had stood silent and impassive through the short ceremony, made to slip out after him, and Nia called out to him.
“Mr. Lancea, there will be a meeting of the full cabinet tomorrow morning to discuss the situation. I trust you’ll be available?”
Iosef turned around to face Nia, glancing behind her at Lucian, who merely raised an inquisitive brow.
“Yes, Ms. Morgna, I will be there,” Iosef replied gruffly. He nodded to Monica. “I’m very sorry for your loss, ma’am.” Then he was gone.
“Monica, are you ready to leave?” Mrs. Vectern asked quietly. Monica nodded, and looked over at Lucian.
“Lucian – I mean, Mr. President –” Her face started to crumple, and Lucian instinctively pulled her into his arms. He wasn't typically a person who sought out physical contact, but something had irrevocably changed between him and Monica as they had huddled together over Anton, powerless as he slipped away from them.
“For you, it’s always Lucian, do you understand?” he murmured in her ear, feeling awkward but wanting to make sure she understood. He pulled back, holding Monica by the shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. With her heels on, they were roughly the same height. “Anything you or the children need, any time, please call me immediately.”
“I will,” she promised, her eyes glistening with tears.
“We’ll fly you out to Lachaven to bring Deana home tomorrow morning,” he assured her. “Or if you would prefer to be out of the capital, you can stay with your mother for a few days. Whatever works best for you, I’ll make it happen, just let me know.” Lucian realized that he was beginning to babble, an experience he wasn't particularly familiar with. Nia Morgna was watching him with some alarm. Monica simply nodded.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” she said. “Please take care of yourself, Lucian.” He released her to walk over to Evelyn Vectern and the security detail that was waiting to escort them home. He felt Mrs. Vectern studying him as the two widows walked out together, and wondered if she were seeing the ghost of her late husband laid over him. For the very first time, Lucian was actually missing Petr himself. It was only four short years ago that he, Petr, and Anton had been a team, working tirelessly through the nights as the election drew near. Now he was the only one left.
“Mr. President?” Nia’s voice suddenly broke into his reverie.
“Yes, Ms. Morgna?” he asked.
“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” she asked, looking him over with concern. “After the statement you made to the press just now, we could wait until tomorrow. Maybe you could do with some sleep first.”
“I appreciate the concern, but there’s no need for it,” Lucian assured her. He doubted he would be able to sleep any time soon. Every time he closed his eyes he heard that sickening crack, saw Anton start to fall.
“If you say so,” she replied, seemingly dubious. “Then I’ll head over to the Palace now and start preparing.”
“Sir,” Karl said. “If you’re ready to move out, I should let Serge know so he can bring the car around, and we’ll get the security team in position. Do you need to stop at home for anything?”
“No, I have a change of clothes in my office,” Lucian replied, starting to reach into his jacket pocket for his ever-present notebook, before realizing he didn’t have a jacket. “Will someone please find me paper and something to write with?”
“Here,” Nia said, digging into her purse and extracting her own notepad and a pencil. “I’m heading over to the Palace now. I’ll see you there, Mr. President.”
Nia and Karl left together, leaving Lucian and Deivid in the tiny waiting room.
“Lucian,” Deivid said, and Lucian didn’t miss the deliberate shift to his given name now they were alone.“How are you holding up?”
“It's nothing that I can't handle,” he replied automatically. He stared down at his watch, distracted. It had been a birthday gift from Anton shortly after he had been appointed as vice president. Now there was a smear of dark blood across the face, probably from when Anton had desperately clasped his hand as they rushed to the ambulance. Lucian scraped at the dried blood with his thumbnail, watching it flake away.
“Are you sure?” Deivid asked, watching him carefully. “You can be honest with me.”
Lucian let out a mirthless laugh.
“You sound just like Anton, you know.”
“Who do you think he learned it from?” Deivid said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Deivid, I’m so sorry about this,” Lucian said quietly. “I know he was almost like a son to you.”
Deivid sighed, looking older and more exhausted than Lucian had ever seen him.
“I had hoped that we as a nation had moved beyond this sort of violence, but I would be lying if I said that part of me hadn’t been afraid of this outcome since the night Circas was killed.”
“Surely you don’t think that Ms. Graf –” Lucian began, his voice low, and Deivid shook his head.
“Lileas is in prison, and I don’t think whatever’s left of the Old Guard would try that same trick again, do you? Not after how it worked out last time?”
“No, I don’t,” Lucian replied, perching on the arm of the couch. “From what Mr. Greiser told me, this sounds like a professional hit. This was retaliation.”
“Retaliation from whom, though?” Deivid asked, and Lucian grimaced.
“My best guess is Tusk. Maybe Koronti. Maybe both of them together.”
“That…actually makes a lot of sense,” Deivid admitted. “Either of them would certainly have the resources to hire an Arcasian assassin. And the motivation, as well.”
“This is all my fault,” Lucian whispered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I knew he was pushing too far with the partial nationalizations. I did tell him, but I should have been more forceful. I should have made him listen to me.”
“Lucian, there’s no sense in blaming yourself,” Deivid said, putting a hand on his arm. “You were his most valued advisor, it’s true, but once he was set on a path that he thought was correct, even you and I together couldn’t dissuade him.”
“Once they fled the country, I had figured that was the end of it. I’ve still been keeping an eye on the activities of Mikhail Aven, but as far as I could tell he hadn’t been in touch with Tusk.” Lucian gritted his teeth. “Stupid, careless. I entrusted far too much to Karl Greiser. I’ve been distracted.”
“You’ve been in this game, as it were, since you were barely more than a boy, yes?” Deivid asked, and Lucian gave a reluctant nod. “You and I both know that no matter how careful you are, there are no guarantees.” He sounded more bitter and cynical than Lucian had ever heard him.
“I watched helplessly as my closest friend bled out before me, I held his sobbing widow in my arms, and now I have to prepare myself to look his children in the eye at the funeral, and for what, Deivid?” Lucian demanded.
“I know. I know,” Deivid said, tears in his eyes.
“And even now, I’m thinking about the election!” Lucian exclaimed. “Because I have to. I have two weeks to convince a public that supported a handsome, charismatic family man to instead vote for me.” He waved a hand at himself with a self-deprecating flourish. “And that means I have to get out there campaigning, whilst also planning a state funeral, without coming off as a power-hungry ghoul eager to step into a dead man’s shoes.” Lucian paused. “Which may well be the common viewpoint even within our administration.”
“Come now, Lucian, anyone who knows you knows how close you were to Anton,” Deivid assured him, and Lucian sighed. “I think we all understand how important it is that you win the election. If nothing else, I hardly see Mr. Kibener doing his utmost to pursue a full investigation into Anton’s murder.”
“It’s the only way to ensure that the reforms he worked so hard to enact are actually secured,” Lucian said. “It’s the only way to honor his legacy.”
Deivid cocked his head to the side, and smiled sadly.
“Well, I think you’ve written at least part of your campaign speech,” he said, and despite himself, Lucian smiled back.
There was a brisk knock, and Karl poked his head around the door.
“Ready to go when you are, sir,” he said. “I’ll be waiting right here.” Lucian nodded, and Karl closed the door.
“You’d better get going, Mr. President,” Deivid said, struggling to push himself up from the couch. Lucian stood and offered him an arm, ignoring the protests of his own aching body.
“Mr. Wisci, thank you,” he said, helping Deivid to his feet, and Deivid waved a dismissive hand.
“I’ll do what I can to help out over the coming weeks,” Deivid said. “I’ll even stay on as long as I can manage into the new term, if you need me.”
“I can’t ask you to do that; you’re retiring,” Lucian protested, and Deivid shook his head.
“Circumstances have changed,” he said. “I can manage a bit longer. For Anton’s sake.”
Lucian bowed his head in acknowledgment, and together, they headed for the door.
***
7 January 1958, 9:30
Hill of Pride, Holsord
“...and to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the people and the constitution of the Republic of Sordland.”
Deana Rayne bounced a bit in her seat as Mr. Galade finished reciting the oath of office. She had been excited to get out of the house and wear her new winter coat and pretty gold hair bow, but she didn’t remember the last inauguration – her papa’s – being quite so dull. Of course, she’d been very young then. She was nearly twelve now.
“How many more boring speeches do we have to sit through?” she whispered to her friend Carol. “This is worse than school!”
Carol giggled, even though Deana knew that her new friend was actually interested in history and politics. Carol Circas was smart and funny, and the only – the absolute only – bright spot of Deana’s life since her father had died was getting to spend so much time with her. Shortly after her father’s funeral, Carol’s mom Julia had reached out to Mama, suggesting they get together so the girls could get to know one another. Carol’s father had also been killed four years earlier, and Mrs. Circas thought it might be nice for Deana to spend time with someone her who had gone through the same thing. Deana remembered Mr. Circas being shot at the inaugural ball – it had been the scariest moment of her life – but she hadn’t realized that he had a daughter who was the same age as her.
They’d been basically inseparable since then. It was such a relief to be with Carol, who totally got it if Deana started crying at the littlest thing, but also understood that she still wanted to talk and laugh and be silly sometimes, and not always be sitting around thinking about how sad she was. She would come over to the house several times a week, and the girls would bundle up and roam around the presidential compound while their mothers drank tea and talked inside.
She was relieved to have Carol there with her at the inauguration. Since Mr. Galade didn’t seem to have any family of his own, he invited all of them to sit in the front row – Mama, Aunt Evelyn, Deana, Carol, and Carol’s mom. Deana wished Franc could be there, too, but he had flown back to United Contana right after the funeral to get ready for the next semester.
The best part of the inauguration so far had definitely been when Nia Morgna was sworn in as the first female vice president in all of Merkopa. Deana and Carol had both jumped to their feet and cheered, and Ms. Morgna gave them a little wave as she made her way back to her seat on the dais. Otherwise it had been a pretty subdued event. Deana knew it was out of respect for her father, and she did appreciate it, but it would have been nice to at least have some music other than the national anthem. Her papa wouldn’t have minded – he loved music.
“Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure President Galade’s speech will be the last one,” Carol whispered back to her. It was still so strange for Deana to hear that title given to anyone but her papa. Mama seemed to feel the same way – she was the only person Deana ever heard call Mr. Galade by his first name, Lucian.
“Settle down, girls,” Mrs. Circas reminded them with a gentle smile, and Deana and Carol went quiet as Mr. Galade approached the podium. Deana felt her mother tense up next to her, and turned her head to study her. Mama’s black-gloved hands gripped her handbag tightly, her lips drawn into a tight line.
Mr. Galade glanced at his notes, opened his mouth to speak, and stopped. He looked down at the front row, and met Mama’s eyes. They stared at each other, and Deana realized with a sudden shock that they were both afraid. Deana didn’t know all the details of what had happened to her papa, but from what she had gathered, she knew that Mr. Galade and her mama had been standing on the stage with him when he was shot. Despite everyone’s best efforts to keep it from her, she had managed to see the front page of the newspaper, where the two of them stood together, covered in her father's blood, as Mr. Galade took the oath of office in the hospital. Now, Deana realized, they must be remembering what had happened the last time the president of Sordland had been standing on a stage addressing a big crowd.
The crowd began to murmur restlessly, and Deana decided she needed to do something to help, because that's what her papa would have done. She waved her hand, catching Mr. Galade’s attention. He looked at her, obviously puzzled, and she smiled, giving him a thumbs-up.
Caught off-guard by the gesture, Mr. Galade smiled back at her, and some of the tension eased from his expression. He looked down at his notes, cleared his throat, and began to speak.
-end-