Red Queen One-Shots

The Peak

Clara POV

She held my hand as we left the cable car and she still did when I took the lead, out of the station and onto the platform just beneath the peak of the highest mountain in Montfort open for visitors.

"Zip your jacket close, Clara," she reminded me, ever the worrying mom. "And remember the sunglasses."

I did not like the sunglasses. But I obeyed, although I had the urge to lift them again and peer at the brightness of the sun up here, warming the place despite its height and the crisp, strong winds. It felt ... odd.

Mama almost bumped into me as I stopped. "Not as cold as in the reports," she mumbled, and her other hand patted my shoulder. I breathed in and stepped forward again, but actually, the height was getting at me. I looked over the edge of the rail, over the mountain slopes. It wasn't as great as I'd imagined – the clouds beneath us hid much of the view of the lands below.

"Let's sit down on the bench," Mama said as I hesitated to move. I nodded. It was really odd here. The thin air made me dizzy, but only a little, while this weird feeling lingered, like a whispering, on-going tune in my ears. I shook my head and sat down with Mama next to me, her arm over my shoulders.

It was easier to take in the view and be awed while seated. On the drive up to the lower cable car station, we passed forested hills and slopes and ridges from the curviest roads, but here were only bare earth and stones. Dark, jagged rocks.

Mama sighed, looking around like me. Maybe wondering if raiders or rebels had ever hidden here. Then she searched through her bag and handed me a bottle of water. At least she didn't tell me to drink or eat this time.

"I'd like to go around now," I said, after a sip from the bottle.

Mama still fumbled, likely for food. "Okay," she said and smiled faintly. Besides her sunglasses, I saw the thin wrinkles around her eyes, although she still looked young otherwise, despite her scars. The sunlight gleamed golden on her hair, now longer and fixed in a tiny ponytail with numerous hairclips. A few curls had become loose by the wind, though fewer than mine.

I felt her watching my steps over the uneven path. Even when she didn't remind or warn me about something, she looked out for me. When she was with me. But then I could rely on her, I knew.

Yet once her gaze strayed and I happened to notice. Maybe I was watching her, too. Her eyes had fallen on a young man with a child. He wore only a T-shirt, unlike us, with arms slightly darker than mine. Mama looked away soon, but I saw the envy in her eyes. Because I felt the same. My dad could be a man like that, but he wasn't with us. None of us could forget. It wasn't that Mama wanted a replacement for him or thought such a guy or her girlfriend Ada could be one. I miss what could've been, she'd told me once. It would've been lovely. She'd been close to tears that day.

But the man beside us wasn't my dad, he might not even be anyone's. He was only a guide of the park and the station and the child went back to their real family. I squeezed Mama's hand. I wished I could forget this feeling, for a moment. I just wanted this trip to be nice. And I liked it, didn't I? The weather was extreme and tired me, but it also made me feel bigger, more than a kid of eight years. Although a place like this might make people feel small.

But it shouldn't surprise me it was different for me. I'd learned to walk on the steep streets of Montfortan towns, always going either up or down, what was the difference to a "real" mountain peak?

Once we'd walked the path around the platform, a group awaited us, and Mama lowered her face. She didn't want to be recognized, to be saluted as General Farley on our family trip. I wanted the same, my mother, not the war hero. I sidled to a bench, letting go of her hand for the first time. I urged the people beside me to make space, so Mama could join me. She smiled wryly. Thoughtful. I took a bread roll this time and we ate with the mountainscape in sight.

Eventually, Mama gathered our boxes again. "We can queue for the next ride going down," she said. I nodded. Her eyes fixed on me even behind the dark shades. Do you like it here?" she asked.

I hesitated. I did like it. But that wasn't really the point, was it? If I said, yes, thank you Mama, it's great, it'd feel fake. Like a half truth.

"You don't have to do something special with me when you come back," I said. "It's enough that you're here." I couldn't say more, or I'd cry. I'd talk about the fear coming every time she left, gripping me until she hugged me first thing when she returned. I'd talk about being left alone, no matter that my grandparents and uncles and aunts were around. If she didn't come back one day, if something happened to her, I would've lost both my parents to the war. It felt so unfair just to think of it.

Mama took my hand again and I leaned against her, but she'd sat up straight and was a little stiff. Only her quivering lip moved. "Mama," I said, "I know you have to. It's important, and for me too, but ..." I sniffed, and she pulled me onto her lap.

"I've never made promises to you," she whispered. "About coming home, since I can never be certain. I don't want to lie to you, dove, not ever." I shook my head and she went on. "But I swear, I'll always do my best to stay safe and return to you."

"I know."

"Good," she replied, with her typical smirk. I'd heard her enemies found it scary, and her in general too, or so Mare said. But I only saw my loving badass mom.