**Part four! And still going strong. This is becoming much more involved than I originally planned it to be (I thought, when writing part one, that it would be 3 parts only. How young and foolish I was. ;] ). But I hope that you will, as always, enjoy!**

 

They say that she would stand under the trees on the palace grounds in all weather, the way that no other Queen ever had before. The strawberry roan is still bolting straight ahead, and I realize that I’m still spurring him onward with quick digs of my heels into his sides. I stop and try to focus on steering us through the hillsides, toward a cluster of windblown and bare-branched trees. It’s the only plan I can come up with right now: head for the trees. Calixto groans.
“Calixto?” My voice sounds high-pitched and faint, as if the wind is stealing some of it away from me.
Calixto tries to move but immediately crumples back again.
“Hold on,” I say, switching the reins to one hand as we approach the trees rapidly. With my other hand I clutch Calixto’s shoulder, forgetting my previous shyness. He is wounded, but where and how badly I am not yet sure. We are under the trees now, and as if understanding what I want the strawberry roan comes to a stop, and I pat its neck. “Good horse,” I whisper. It flips its ears back in my direction for a second before sticking them straight up again. Now I must figure out how to slide off.
“Calixto?” I say again, making sure that my voice is loud and clear. He opens his eyes. “Try to sit up, just a little,” I say, and he does. I slide off the saddle with little grace, snagging my long woolen skirt in the process, but otherwise I am unharmed. Now I drape one of Calixto’s arms around my shoulders. “Just ease yourself down,” I say, and with effort he manages to get off the horse. But as soon as his feet hit the ground, he falls, clutching his right side. There is no blood visible, but he is wearing a thick coat.
“Shot,” he says, gulping down the cold air. His face is very pale now.
For a moment, I am as still as the trees. The wind is dying down around us, and the adrenaline within me is slowing. I feel trapped, suffocated, abandoned. What will I do?
A terrible thought hits me in the gut. What if there is nothing that can be done?
But Calixto is reacting now. He is pulling off his coat, and now I can see blood blooming scarlet against the crisp white of his shirt. He pulls a small knife from his belt and easily cuts off his sleeve, wadding up the fine material and pressing it against the wound. Shivering, he pulls his heavy velvet coat back on.
“So that man… he really shot you,” I murmur, the sky-shattering crack finally registering in my mind.
“Yes,” Calixto says, and winces, biting his lip as he gets back onto his feet. “Elsa?” His eyes hold concern. “Are you all right?”
I nod. “Yes. Fine. But we need to get you to a doctor.”
“We can’t go back. That man and his soldiers-- he shot me once and he won’t hesitate to do it again.” Calixto takes his horses’ reins and tries to climb back into the saddle, but I have to help him. He stretches out a hand to help me up, but I climb on myself, though it takes a minute or two of struggling.
“Where will we go, then?” I ask, biting my lip. It’s chapped and dry.
“I don’t know,” he says softly, and presses a hand against his side again. “Forward seems the only option.”
“You steer,” I say, “and I’ll try to slow the bleeding.” He takes his hand from his wound and mine replaces it. Calixto clicks at his horse and it starts trotting forward. He very lightly taps the roan’s sides with his feet, and it begins to gallop gracefully, not like the terror-induced bolt we had just experienced. There are more trees, and as we pass them the wind picks up again and makes their branches wave slightly, makes them creak and rub against each other. It sounds like deep, sad voices saying something that only they can understand.
We rise over the crest of one, the wind in our faces, my fingers stiff against Calixto’s side. His breath is catching in pain but he tries to hide it. I stretch my spine and neck upward to peer over his shoulder at the landscape ahead of us.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing with my free hand. Perched atop one of the seaside cliffs in the distance, I think I see something that resembles a very small house, maybe a seaside cottage or something that used to belong to the nobles of the palace. Calixto might know, if it was.
He squints. “What? I don’t see anything.” We’re at a complete stop now. I risk a glance over my shoulder and think of the men with guns, storming my city’s streets. Does my family know there is danger?
“There,” I say, the shattering crack echoing through my mind. I do my best to stifle it, to keep myself focused. I can’t think about my family right now; I have to work at keeping Calixto and myself alive if there’s any hope that we can return to the Capitol, help the others.
“Elsa, I can’t see it,” Calixto insists, pressing his fingers to mine for a brief second, and I realize that his are frozen, too. Strangely, the thought occurs to me that he ought to be wearing velvet gloves to match his cap, but he isn’t and his hands are as bare as mine. “But we are going to keep moving anyway, all right?”
“Yes,” I say. The dry, fiercely cold wind feels like it’s burning my skin as it pushes hard against us now. We are moving again, my eyes watering from the wind, and I can’t see that cottage anymore. Perhaps it had been only a mirage, only a glimpse of some crazy hope my subconscious cooked up.
On and on we ride, over and through hills, and I lose track of time. The sameness of the landscape broken up only by a few trees scattered here and there gives me a feeling like we’re not moving at all, just trapped under an invisible dome with the wind and the hills and the cold.

They say that she would stand atop a hill just listening, the way no other Queen ever had before. As the wind finally dies down I think that I hear the dead grass whispering, those branches creaking and groaning still despite that fact that they’re no longer moving. As if they are trying to tell me something, to speak to me. I wish for a moment that I could be like the now-dead Queen, to be able to listen to the hills when they speak. What are they saying? Or is it only noise, and nothing more?
I can hear the sea churning up icy spray and stinging salt against the sheer, stony cliffs. I close my eyes and breathe in the familiar smell of seawater. It would usually be a comfort to me, remind me of safety and home, but now it reminds me of that day watching the funeral boat disappear, looking at the curly-haired Calixto of the past, reminding me that he is with me now and he still desperately needs help. I can feel the strength pouring out of him even though the bleeding has mostly subsided.
“Elsa?”
I open my eyes at the sound of his hoarse, weary voice. “Calixto?”
“Look.”
I crane my neck and look over his shoulder, and there, as if materializing from a fog, is the cottage I thought I had seen earlier. But now, it is very near and present and… and…
“There’s smoke from the chimney!” I exclaim. Someone is there!
Calixto spurs the horse onward faster, making the roan break into a gallop once more. I feel hope rise in my chest. And then, we are beside the cottage made of stone probably hewn from these very cliffs, giving one last glance at the encouraging smoke curling up from the chimney. Calixto looks back at me, careful not to twist too much, and without a word I slide out of the saddle. Once my feet are on the ground, I help him as best I can until he is standing slightly bent beside me. He is hunching a little over his side, clearly gritting his teeth against a fresh burst of pain. He takes the horse’s reins and loops them around a rusted metal post that sticks crookedly out of the ground, then begins walking toward the front of the house. I follow.
Together we step up to the door. Calixto is still clutching his side, so it is I who bangs the black wrought iron knocker. For a few moments we stand there, the only sound coming from the sea below. I bang the knocker thrice more, hard and clear as I can. My fingers are so frozen that they can barely grasp at the metal, and when I pull them away they are curled tightly. I look at Calixto and for a moment our eyes meet.
The door opens.