(continued from Part XXVI | Act I | Act II | Part XXVIII)
A sudden yelp and a crash of papers sent Lou and Alphonse nearly to the ground. She chided herself for just barging into his tent to see if he was there; if she'd been a little more careful, she wouldn't have run right into him precisely at the moment when he stepped out of the opening.
As soon as the troupe's playwright had stumbled back onto his feet, he hurriedly fussed over her. "Lou, I am so sorry! You're not hurt, are you?" He put the gentlest hand on her shoulder as he looked her up and down, nary a thought given to the scattered pages on the grass.
"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Lou replied, more embarrassed over their collision than anything. "I'm sorry, I should've said something before running in."
Alphonse let out a relieved breath, his usual smile returning almost instantly. "Oh, I'm glad to hear you're okay." He gave the shoulder he was holding a tiny pat. "You should go rest! The next trip is a big one. The next show, as well."
Lou gave him a weak smile, her eyes fleeing his. "Yeah! I'm, uh... I'm sure I'll be ready this time."
"There are always more shows, do not worry. Better a late premiere than a bad one. Besides, every correction makes the script better, does it not?" Alphonse knelt down to retrieve his things, his movements more slow and methodical than usual on account of the bandages around his bare chest, under his captain's jacket. "Is everyone packed up?"
"Oh, right! Françoise is bringing Betsy around, she said to tell you your wagon's gonna be in the caboose spot again." Lou reflexively crouched down to help him pick up the fallen sheets and folded letters, eyeing the dark stains that had soaked through Alphonse's bandages on one side, belying the ink-black shapes that lay underneath both fabric and skin. "Are you okay? I hope I didn't—"
Alphonse cut her off with a laugh. "I'm okay! Yesterday's session was a long one, I am taking my time replacing the wrappings. It will take more than this to slow me down." He quickly gathered up the last of the papers, including the handful of freshly-sealed letters that Lou had picked up—but not before she was able to read who they were addressed to.
All of them were meant for Adélaïde.
Adélaïde the actress, veteran of the Shepherd's Troupe before she had been recruited by the Crown. Adélaïde the royal decoy, who had soaked up every bit of decorum and daily minutiae in her exemplary years in service of the ruler whose body hers had been molded to imitate. Adélaïde the student, whose limits Lou herself had prodded and pushed from up close and from afar for years, forging her as one would a blade. Adélaïde the master fencer, the cunning negotiator, the captivating entertainer... the free agent.
A slight twinge of worry had made itself known deep within Lou's chest, coiling around her lungs, threatening to make breathing difficult.
It would be Adélaïde standing here now, playing this role to perfection, if Lou hadn't snatched it out from under her. Not intentionally, of course; it had been a stroke of luck that she showed up when she did, Chiffon's recommendation letter in hand. But that didn't make Lou feel any less responsible.
"Is... is everything okay?" Lou asked as the two of them stood up.
Maybe with her the show would have already become a success at this point instead of remaining a twinkle in Alphonse's eye, stuck in a perpetual cycle of rehearsals and rewrites.
The playwright looked at her for a long, long moment, his smile never breaking. Then, with a gentle pat on her shoulder, gentler even than before, he gave her a courteous nod. "Everything is fine, Lou. Do not worry. Go and rest."
She awoke with a gasp.
Gone was Alphonse, his tent and his letters. Gone was the grass beneath her feet, replaced by an unsteady floor open to the stars. Behind her two familiar voices spoke loudly, flowing into one another, muffled by layers of wood and subsumed by an ever-present rumble.
The Shepherd's Troupe was making its way to the next show.
It would be a big one. Maybe even the debut of the play she had been training for all this time. Her first chance to show she was ready... or her last.
Lou braced her arms against the wooden lip of the wagon. She had fallen asleep just outside the back door, her feet dangling in the space between this car and the next, the hem of her dress and the tips of her hair fluttering in the cool evening air. She looked up at the night sky, slowly taking in her surroundings as her breathing slowed from its sudden panicked peak. The creaking of the wood, the turning of the wheels, the gentle swaying left and right... Over time, she had grown to crave its soothing effects.
She closed her eyes. How easy it would be to just let her shoulders slump, her head rest against the wall, her feet dangle off the edge a little bit further; how good it would feel to abandon herself to the midnight breeze, and let sleep overtake the worries whispering in her ears. Already the wagons were rocking her back to sleep. Already...
No! she thought as she scrambled back to her feet, shaky as they still were in her pair of training heels. The sudden movement, coupled with the uneven motion of the wagon, threw her forward more than she had anticipated, right into the gap in front of her. But this wasn't her first tumble; she hopped the short distance and caught herself on the exterior wall of the car behind. Luckily, thankfully, she'd also managed to do so without making too much noise. She snuck a peek through the window.
The moonlight was enough to make out the sea of little faces fast asleep in their cots, beds, and cradles. Their second guardian for the night was sleeping peacefully among them, in the overly comfortable chair that had been set up at the center of the children's wagon. Lou shook her head and smiled. Lin deserved the rest, especially after somehow making it through a rare double shift in the kitchen.
Why the night chef had decided to follow that up with caretaking duties was beyond Lou, but she knew a little shut-eye wouldn't slow her colleague down. Like many times before, Lin would invariably wake up at the slightest mutter of discomfort from any of those in her charge.
Meanwhile, Lou was still struggling to shake off the effects of her own impromptu nap under the stars. She'd barely made it two steps out of the wagon after her own shift had ended before succumbing to exhaustion. Despite that, she wouldn't hesitate to sign up for this again. She had taken on many roles since joining the troupe—actress, consultant, instructor, to name a few—but caretaker had been the one she had least expected to accept, much less like.
And yet, here she was.
She put her palm up against the glass, absentmindedly slipping a foot out of its practice heel, flexing in relief. The temptation was there; just a few steps and she'd be reunited with the little ones whose care she shared with so many others in the troupe. She could join them in slumber and no one would bat an eye. No one would mind.
No.
She'd come too far to stop now.
Lou slipped her aching foot back in its shoe. She had pushed through the tears and the pain; she could push through this. There would be plenty of time after evening rehearsal, provided she hadn't missed it already like she had many times before. She turned around and hopped over the gap once more. She had work to do. She had a ghost to outpace, one who was rapidly closing in on her.
Lou balled up her hands into fists. During her first days here, she'd had to explain to many of the older troupe kids that she wasn't Adélaïde. That her name was Lou, that she was someone entirely different, no matter how much she looked like the person they remembered from their early years. The person they had admired.
She leaned forward, resting her fist on the windowless door to the next wagon, the muffled voices beyond it growing louder.
Lou couldn't make out what they were saying, but she could hear the voices: the peaks and lulls of Libellule's singsong Witch-Fiend, the rumble of Roy's thunderous Le Loup. Would they be just as accepting of her tonight as they had been in the past, back before she started missing rehearsals time after time? Back before all her constant nitpicking, her fussing over every detail?
Back when she was full of promise, instead of mired by stagnation?
She still felt no closer to portraying the memory of Her Majesty, a fabrication many times over, a character doubly so. The most fictional role in the entire show, even when played by the closest facsimile there ever was. An impossible task, for an actress who had yet to take the stage. Roy and Libellule must have seen it, too.
They had to know. Lou scoured her memory, pored over her last interactions with them. Going over script changes with Roy, practicing stage fright rituals with Libellule... Had there been less care in the way they said hello, in the words they exchanged with her? Had the warmth of their smiles started to fade?
The night air had gotten cold.
She stood there frozen, leaning against the door, staring down at the floorboards. Part of her felt there must have been a reason, a rational explanation for the people closest to her not kicking up a fuss about her lack of progress, but the rest of her wouldn't believe it. The rest of her was back at the castle gatehouse, begging for the chance to clutch at the scraps of what her life had once been.
Lou's breaths became short, hurried, ragged.
She would've laughed if she'd been able to. The person she had been back then had no idea how big the world truly was outside the castle walls. The person she was now knew otherwise. The person she was now knew just how limited her chances would be outside the warmth and care of the troupe.
The person she was now had so much more to lose.
She heard them, felt them through the door just a few steps away, but they may as well have been across the continent. All she could focus on was the floor at her feet; no amount of willpower was enough to move even a single muscle. Her whole body was frozen in place. She'd already given up the sword, given up everything she'd ever worked and trained for. If she couldn't learn anything else, what good was she to anyone?
She had covered so much distance, only to find herself right back where she'd started with nothing to show for it. Her legs started to shake.
No, she told herself. That wasn't right. She was somewhere different now. Somewhere better. Somewhere she didn't want to leave. Her fingers curled up against the door, nails leaving minuscule trails in the wood. She didn't want to leave!
The familiar twisting sensation deep in her chest was back in earnest. Part of her wanted to plead. To beg, to do whatever it took to stay. But that part of her was still at the castle; the rest of her had moved on. Lou tried to take deeper breaths, tried to stop her legs from trembling. She thought back to the first day she'd met the troupe. She pictured that moment in her mind, walking down the trail with Soix, steeling herself for the conversation to come.
'The captain will bear any burden, carry out any duty, fulfill any commitment to the end...' is that how Frederic had put it?
That's who she was, deep down. That's who she needed to become again: the stone that meets the sharp edge of adversity head-on. She would peel away however much of herself was needed to keep going, without flinching. She would step forward, and grab the blade with both hands.
But she wouldn't get to do any of it if she was too afraid to open the door!
Through gritted teeth, Lou finally managed a single deep breath. That's what this was, wasn't it? Fear. She could only think of all the little things that could go wrong, and it was stopping her from moving forward. It was no different from stage fright—either one prevented her from reaching the stage.
Lou closed her eyes, going through the motions that Libellule had taught her. Her breathing became deeper; her movements, slower.
No more wagons.
No more road, no more noise.
Just her and the stage ahead, suspended in time; her aches and fears and worries a fine mist around her. All she had to do was step forward and leave them behind.
As she exhaled, she opened the door.
— end of preview
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