Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mycen strode amongst the soldiers’ bodies, checking for signs of life. To his relief, there were none. The leader—Slayde, Mycen thought his name was—lay a few feet away from the others, Mycen’s lance still in his side.

Gods. Only a handful of men, and they came so close to ruining everything.

If Slayde had managed to escape, Mycen would’ve had to take Celica away – to Novis, probably; it was the only place left where her safety could be guaranteed.

But now Celica was only one of six frightened children whom Mycen had to take home. They’d found a place amongst the trees to conceal themselves, and he approached their hiding place with great care, trying not to spook them. Celica was still gripping her dagger—a shortsword in her small hands—and shaking like a leaf.

She tossed it aside when she saw Mycen and ran towards him, Kliff and Faye hot on her heels. All of Mycen’s worries that they might be afraid of him for speaking so harshly earlier melted away as the three children attached themselves to his legs like tiny limpets.

Kliff tried to disguise his sniffling. Mycen patted the top of his and Celica’s head. Gray and Tobin trailed behind.

“I didn’t mean it, you know,” Tobin said, tugging on Kliff’s sleeve. “It was a little scary.”

Gray watched Mycen for a moment and then patted Faye’s back, making her hiccup with laughter.

Mycen’s gave was inevitably drawn to Alm, lingering. He picked up Celica’s dagger and turned it over in his hands, staring as though it might hold some special meaning. Perhaps it did now. If only the innocence of childhood could last forever…

But all the children tonight had seen blood and nearly come to harm themselves. Mycen intended to get ever one of them into a warm bed before he returned to take care of the bodies. Other things, like the nightmares Mycen distantly remembered from his own first taste of combat, would have to wait.

“Come along now,” he said, gently nudging the children to get them moving.

Kliff rubbed his eyes. “What about the horse?”

Mycen stopped, concealing a wince. He had hoped none of the children would think of it, but of course Kliff would—Kliff, so perceptive for his age that he’d driven the younger children, and many adults, of the village away with his sharpness.

“It’s too good,” Kliff continued. “It’ll be noticed.”

It was, indeed, a fine horse – far too fine not to stick out like a sore thumb around Ram village, and Mycen intended to remove any trace of the soldiers ever having been here. No one could be allowed to discover Celica. It would be a shame to destroy such a beautiful animal, but—

“Maybe it could be a present for Celica?” Faye suggested timidly.

Celica finally lifted her face with a tentative smile, and Mycen’s resolve crumbled.

He limited himself to saying, “Perhaps. We’ll discuss it more tomorrow.”

The walk back to Ram was solemn and quiet, the surge of energy that came with a battle having left the children exhausted. They yawned and rubbed their eyes even though it was only the late afternoon.

They stopped at Kliff’s house first, both because his father was the most important man in the village, and because his mother loved to gossip and would’ve demanded a full explanation anyway – this way Mycen saved time by telling her as much as he was willing, and then directing the other parents to her.

Tobin’s family had barely noticed he was missing, his mother having her arms full with the twins. Mycen tried to reassure her when he mentioned trouble in the woods and a guilty expression flickered across her face.

“He came to no harm,” Mycen said. “He was very brave.”

Tobin beamed at the praise, but his mother sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she murmured. “Thank you for bringing him home, Sir.”

At Faye’s house, she stopped and fiddled anxiously with her pigtails, ignoring her parents’ calls to come inside. Eventually she bit her lip and hugged Mycen’s legs again, and then Celica—but she paused for a long moment in front of Alm.

“Thank you for coming to save me,” she whispered, before kissing his cheek and dashing inside.

Alm blinked and waved goodbye with a confused expression.

Mycen shook his head. The boy will learn eventually.

The last house was Gray’s, and his oldest sister was already waiting at the gate. “Bill came by and said there had been trouble,” she explained, frowning at her little brother. “Gray, what have I told you about getting in over your head?”

“I was trying to protect you and Violet,” the boy grumbled. “And this is the thanks I get?”

“My hero,” Melissa said dryly, but she bent down to wrap her arms around Gray.

Mycen noticed how tightly he held onto his sister and wondered what Slayde and the other soldiers might’ve said. Or maybe Gray was just more frightened than he’d let on to the others? Mycen hadn’t thought to ask the children what happened before he arrived, but perhaps that had been a mistake. It would have to wait until tomorrow now.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I have a favour to ask of you. Could Alm and Celica spend the night here? I’m afraid I have things to… take care of.”

“Of course, Sir Mycen.” Melissa took Celica’s hand with a kind smile. “You can share with Violet and me. Violet snores, though.”

“So do you,” Gray said.

“You little brat, I do not!”

Celica giggled as the two of them descended into familiar bickering.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning to take you both home,” Mycen said to Alm.

The boy still had not let go of Celica’s dagger. Mycen expected Alm to be afraid, but he only smiled. “Don’t worry, Grandpa. I’ll take care of Celica until you come back.”

“I’m sure you will,” Mycen replied very gravely, because Alm couldn’t bear to be a disappointment right now.

But Mycen saw that small blade in his hands, comfortable and natural – and even though he’d always known this day was coming, a piece of his heart broke, knowing the days of peace were coming to an end.

After seeing Alm and Celica settled with Gray’s family, he returned to the woods. The best thing would be to burn the bodies, but the smoke would be visible for miles and Mycen couldn’t risk anyone else coming to investigate and possibly finding Celica. Ram village was tiny and out of the way, in the most south-westerly corner of Valentia, but if there did happen to be a patrol this way…

Instead, he had to dig. Deep in the woods he worked for hours, digging a hole nearly as deep as he was tall. The patch of disturbed ground would be obvious, but the only people likely to stumble across it would be the people of Ram, who would know better than to mention it to anyone. Mycen had settled there because it was so out of the way, but he was gladder of it now than ever; Ram was fiercely protective of its own, and Mycen and Alm—and Celica, more recently—had been welcomed with open arms. He knew none of the villagers there would ever willingly betray them.

Afternoon faded into the pitch black of night, and then into the first hints of the approaching dawn. Mycen worked carefully, conjuring a small amount of fire to find the last of the spears left by the soldiers. He’d never had much talent for magic, but thirty years as a soldier was enough to teach one a few tricks—such as a little nightlight.

Finally, there was just Slayde’s horse. It watched Mycen placidly the whole night, remaining tied to the tree where he left it. It grazed and slept with barely a flick of its ear to show that it was bothered by the blood and death around it. Even when Mycen stride up to it with a sword, it didn’t blink.

Good breeding, or just boredom? Mycen wondered, amused despite the situation.

The sensible thing to do would be to kill it and bury it with the rest. If he sold it on or let it wander, there was the possibility that it would be recognised as Slayde’s mount and traced back to Ram—to Celica.

It seemed such a waste of a good horse, though, and he knew that it would upset Celica and the other children. Not that horses trained for war were generally fit for children…

Mycen sighed and put the sword away. The horse seemed to take this as some sort of cue, and tried to nose at his pockets. He laughed and gently pushed the head away. Already, he was making plans for to explain it away to anyone who might ask. An old acquaintance, a retired knight, who couldn’t afford to take care of a mount any longer? Leave the horse on short rations for a while, neglect to brush the coat and hooves, and it just might pass muster.

I’m going soft in my old age, Mycen thought, shaking his head.

The thought of those delighted little faces softened the blow considerably, however. He would leave the naming to the children. The gods only knew if the beast would ever answer to it, but the children could have that joy. If Rudolf was right about the destiny that awaited Alm – and therefore Celica – then there would be precious little joy to go round in the future.

Far be it from Mycen to give them a harder time than necessary.

Chapter Text

Alm kicked a rock in the direction of the fence around the sheep's pen, and then regretted it, since it was a childish thing to do and only proved Grandfather's point.

But damn it, what do we have to do to prove that we're ready?

He'd taken every lesson that Grandfather shared to heart, and so had Celica. She'd even managed to improve her magic, despite Grandfather forbidding either of them from leaving the village for the last two years. Not that Alm didn't understand the caution with how dangerous things were outside of the village, but...

"He just wants to protect us," Celica said. She seemed somehow uneasy - but then, Celica had never really cared for arguing.

"I know, but he can't protect us forever," Alm said. "And how more prepared can we be?"

"You can always be more prepared," she replied.

It was something Grandfather had said in his lessons, but Alm wasn't sure if it was really true. Surely there had to be a point where waiting was only going to make things worse? For your nerves, if nothing else.

Still disappointed, he didn't want to face Grandfather again. He walked towards the village, Celica trailing behind. "Faye said she was going to come visit. I wonder where she is?"

Alm shrugged. Faye came by a lot. He assumed it was because Celica was the only girl in the village close to her in age, but - and he'd never say this out loud - sometimes it was just a little... stifling.

As they approached the square, Alm saw it was more crowded than normal. It seemed like half of Ram had come out to 'draw water from the well' at exactly the same time. Those gossips, Alm thought fondly. Actually, he was surprised that Kliff's mother wasn't there. He couldn't see Kliff or any of the others, for that matter.

"Oh, you two!" Mrs Rosa said. "You'll never guess – a knight has come from the palace! He's brought important news!"

Alm glanced over to Celica. She'd gone very pale. Alm was suddenly glad that he hadn't bothered to unstrap his sword after practise. "What news?" he said, trying to sound casual.

"I don't right know," Rosa said. "Your friends went to ask him – wanted to make sure he was who he said he was.”

He relaxed a little. It had been seven years ago, of course the first thing that they’d would do on hearing a knight was in town would be to make sure he didn’t have bad intentions towards the village. Or towards Celica.

Mrs Rosa didn’t seem to notice his reaction. “You've all grown up so much! I remember when you were only as tall as my knees." She smiled at them. "And little Celica who made flower crowns for everyone! How beautiful and strong you've become. A proper warrior lady."

Well, Alm could certainly agree with that. It was strange to talk to Celica now – she was exactly the same as she'd always been, and yet, it was somehow... different. Sometimes he got tongue-tied over the simplest things.

Mrs Rosa was giving him a suspiciously knowing look that brought heat to Alm's cheeks. After a moment she just laughed at him and said, "I did hear that he was asking after Sir Mycen, though."

"Grandfather?" That was strange. He didn't normally get visitors, even though he was well known in Zofia.

Alm looked at Celica. He could see where she was biting the inside of her lip, considering, but there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

"Let's go meet them," she decided. She glanced down at herself and wrinkled her nose. "I hope there's no trouble, though. I'm not exactly dressed for battle."

Since she was wearing an old dress of one of Gray's sisters, faded and patched in places – though by the skilful hand of Faye, so you could barely tell—it was a bit of an understatement. Faye had dyed it green for Celica, insisting that it was a good colour for her. Alm thought Celica looked better in yellow—

Not that that was important. Or relevant. Ever. It was just... an opinion.

He heard what she really meant, which was: I don't think I'll be recognised.

Since the trouble with bandits started a few years ago, the village walls had been built up and strengthened, leaving only one entrance to Ram, from the main road. Celica began to trail behind him a little as they made their way towards the entrance. Alm caught a glimpse of red hair surrounded by his friends, but the stranger seemed pretty relaxed about it. He wasn’t sure if it was because everyone was being subtle, or if the stranger thought he could take them.

What, what am I talking about? Gray and Tobin were there; of course they weren’t being subtle about it.

Still, Gray looked pretty relaxed as he glanced over his shoulder at them. “Oh, hey! Speak of the devil!”

“Do you ever stop talking about me?” Alm said.

Faye waved to Celica, and she came over as well. “They said you had news from the capital, Sir…?”

“Lukas,” the stranger said, frowning. “I did not realise how bad communication has been in the south. None of the news is good, I’m afraid. King Lima IV has been dead this past month, and Chancellor Desaix usurped the throne.”

“What?” He said it with such a steady tone that Alm could almost believe he’d misheard. “The king is… dead?”

“I’m afraid so,” Sir Lukas said.

It wasn’t until Alm spotted Kliff’s narrowed eyes and followed his gaze that he noticed how pale Celica had gone. Not just pale—she looked like she might faint.

Alm put a hand in the small of her back to support her, and then felt the sudden urge to take it away again. His hand felt like it was burning suddenly, and he wondered if Celica would notice.

She blinked and smiled at him, standing a little straighter. Then it seemed inappropriate to leave his hand at her back, but he didn’t want to take it away, which was so ridiculous—

“I take it there has been fighting?” Celica said to Lukas.

If he thought her behaviour strange, he didn’t show it. In fact, he didn’t seem to be paying any special attention to Celica at all, which Alm thought was a good sign. “You guess correctly. The Deliverance, led by Sir Clive of the Knights of Zofia…”

Lukas laid out the entire situation for them.

“A civil war, huh,” Kliff said softly.

That must’ve been what had Celica so disturbed. Even Alm found the idea of fighting other Zofians to be disturbing, and he’d barely set foot outside of Ram. Celica had lived in the wider world, once—she must have some people, even just neighbours, that she was worried for.

“Well, I see why you want to speak to my grandfather,” Alm said.

Sir Lukas seemed placid and Alm wasn’t sure that he completely trusted him, but the situation was undeniably urgent. He gave him directions to their house – he nearly offered to show him the way, but Celica shook her head before he could open his mouth.

When Lukas had gone, she said, “I think…” She swallowed. “I think we should go.”

Kliff looked at Celica liked she'd grown a second head. "You... are actually serious. Unbelievable!"

"We're not soldiers," Faye said. "We—"

"But this is our home," Celica said quietly. Despite the volume, it was powerful. Faye's voice faded away and Alm found himself standing straighter. "These are our people, too. And I know we can do something to defend them."

"Sure," Kliff said bitingly. "Maybe we can make a nice human shield for some snotty knight."

"No, Celica's right," Alm said. "We can make a difference. Grandfather trained all of us, didn't he?"

"He raises a good point," Gray said. He grinned. "You know what? I'm in!"

"Gray!" Faye snarled in his ear, making him flinch away for a second. "This is serious! This isn't a... a walk in the woods or... it's going to be war."

"I mean, a walk in the woods is a pretty serious undertaking itself these days," Gray said, waving her away. “Might as well be ambitious!”

He was only half-joking. The bandit problem had been getting steadily worse over the years.

Faye puffed out her cheeks but couldn't seem to find anything to say.

"I don't know..." Tobin said. "I understand what you mean, but—well... Ma and Pa and everyone..."

Kliff was even more blunt. "It's suicide. Don't go, Celica."

Alm could see by the slight tilt of Celica’s chin that she wasn’t about to change her mind, but she seemed disappointed by their reaction. Kliff and Celica had learned magic together, so… maybe she’d been hoping he would go.

The others drifted away a little, Faye still trying to persuade Gray not to go, and Kliff occasionally offering his own sarcastic comments which didn’t really help at all.

“I think it’s important,” Celica said softly, watching them argue. “You still want to go?”

“Of course,” Alm said. The way her hair caught the light, it was like a cascade of fire. “I’ll go with you anywhere.”

Celica turned and met his eyes. Slowly, a smile spread across her face, making Alm’s heart flutter.

“Thank you,” she said. “It really… it means so much to me to hear you say that.”

*

In the end, everyone decided to come – even Kliff and Faye.

Faye looked between Celica, Alm, Gray, and Tobin, the corners of her mouth turned down in disapproval. “So you’re serious about this.”

”Sorry, Faye,” Alm said. He wasn’t apologising for leaving, but he hoped that Faye would see they didn’t mean to cause her pain. “I promise we’ll write—”

”Write?” At the expression on her face, Alm promptly shut up. “That’s—do you even…” She trailed off, looking away and not meeting their eyes, before she recovered her scowl and planted her hands on her hips. “If you’re going to be like that, then I have to come too!”

”What?” Gray said.

Alm was confused by the logic too, but he wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud.

Faye prodded Gray in the chest. “You want to write letters? When you’re going off to war and that might be the last thing… the last thing I ever hear from you.” Gray winced, and Faye softened a little. “I’m not going to lose any of you if I can help it. Understood?”

”We’d be glad to have you, Faye,” Celica said. Alm had always considered her the diplomatic one.

”And you’re going too now?” Kliff said in dismay. Even though he was talking about Faye, he was looking at Celica. She met his gaze resolutely, and Alm held his breath. Eventually, Kliff must’ve decided something, because he said, “Oh, fine, be that way. I’m coming too then.”

”Are you sure?” Tobin said.

Kliff shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to see the world anyway. Might as well do it now.” He smirked. “Anyway, Ram would be so boring if you all left. You can’t leave me to face my mother alone.”

There were bandits outside the village – it almost seemed like it was always that way now – and chasing them down led them to the old shrine.

“I apologise for the diversion, Lukas,” Celica said – in a distracted way, as she was peering carefully into the dark and gloomy entrance. They’d already left Kieran grazing in the woods nearby; since he rarely wanted to go anywhere that wasn’t with Celica, they could be confident he wouldn’t run off, but he would still be able to escape if someone tried to steal him. “With Grandpapa gone who knows where, it would sit better on my conscience if we could make an attempt to deal with some of the bandits around here. And once Alm heard that they’d taken a woman captive…”

“There’s no need to apologise,” Lukas replied. “I understand your concerns. Since you’re being generous enough to lend the Deliverance your aid, helping you is the least I can do.”

Even though Lukas was very reserved, Alm was beginning to like him. He was sort of placid – but in a warm sense. He’d only made a token effort to reprimand Alm for fighting in the bandits, and Alm suspected it was more because he hadn’t warned the rest of them than because Lukas objected to the rescue.

"Some of the men escaped from our last fight. No doubt they made their way here afterwards to lick their wounds. I see no reason for stealth." He held his lance in his hand very casually as he said this. Alm had seen him in action with it, though, and he would certainly take fighting Lukas seriously. And preferably never fight him, ever.

Celica nodded and conjured a ball of fire, much more impressive than what she'd been able to create when she first came to the village. They arranged themselves behind her, Alm, Gray and Lukas in the front, and Kliff, Faye and Tobin in the rear.

Actually, Alm was surprised to see Celica taking charge. Normally, she let Alm take the lead and would chip in whenever she felt he was being too excessive – but then again, it was smart in this case, since Alm would've either had to carry a lantern and hampered his ability to fight, or had Celica cast a fire by his shoulder and risk his hair being set on fire.

She still blushed when he mentioned that.

They went deeper into the cave. It must've been very old, Alm thought; in the flickering fire, he could make out where hundreds of years of hands had worn the stone smooth. There had probably been a shrine to Mother Mila here since people had lived in Valentia. Even if the Mother's bounty wasn't providing in the way it used to, with the unusual famines, it was still sad to think that such a sacred place had become home to bandits.

After a minute, they heard the murmur of voices, too indistinct to make out any words. Alm tightened his grip on his sword, drawing it from its sheath.

The long, low tunnel with the carved staircase opened up into an enormous cavern. Alm caught a glimpse of a set of table and chairs, overturned, along with barrels of something – probably stolen – stacked in the corners, before half a dozen bandits emerged out of the darkness.

Celica didn’t falter, holding the flame high above her head and filling it with power so that for a moment, it shone like a miniature sun.

The bandits stumbled back, squinting and trying to shield their eyes.

That was when Alm saw Celica hesitate. They'd never any of them fought a helpless enemy before. Even though they were still trying to attack them—

But Lukas didn't hesitate, putting himself between Celica and the bandits. Gray followed him a moment later - Alm wasn't sure if he had hesitated himself or if he just hadn't quite been ready.

Alm forced his feet to move. The bandits weren't really helpless, as proven when Alm engaged one and he blocked Alm's sword with his axe. If they were left alone, they'd just go on ambushing travellers and trying to launch attacks against the village. Even if it felt dishonourable, it wasn't really--

And arrow whistled over his shoulder and another bandit let out an ugly cry and fell over, an arrow in his eye. Alm's opponent was distracted by the noise, which let Alm batter his axe away and stab him in the chest.

"Tobin!" Alm called. "That was a little too close!"

"Sorry!" came the reply. "I keep forgetting how big and clumsy you are!"

The banter was familiar, reminding Alm of the days they'd spent sparring one another under Grandfather's watchful eyes, and helped to calm his nerves. He dived back into the fight. For a while it was a blur of parrying and thrusting, dodging and twisting—and then it was over.

Alm paused for a moment, feeling disbeleiving. He kept expecting to see someone move in the darkness, but no one jumped out at them. The smell of burnt flesh and smoke lingered in the air from Kliff and Celica's fire magic, so heavy and thick that he could almost taste it.

It seemed too easy. It felt like there should be more.

"Is the woman here?" Celica said, and Alm remembered that there was more.

"No," Gray said, checking through the bodies, whilst Kliff used his own magic to look in the corners of the room. "There should be the shrine proper in the back, though, right?"

"I imagine she's there." Lukas seemed as calm as ever – only the fact that his breathing was a little heavier signified that he'd been fighting at all. "The longer we spend here, the more time we give them to prepare."

"You're right." Celica looked determined, but her mouth was pinched and she looked a little ill. Alm stretched his hand out towards her, about to say something, but she turned away. "Let's go."

He watched Celica's back, leading the way. It felt… cold, almost, but he told himself that was a selfish thought. Celica was probably just worried about the woman who’d been taken, and Alm couldn’t deny that half the urge to comfort her had been to distract himself from the blood on his sword and the smell of battle in the air. It was the first time they’d killed anybody—except Gray and Lukas, presumably. There wasn’t time to think of it now but it was just a little weight, a little something that Alm carried.

Celica was strong, but she didn’t like to fight. She must be feeling it worse than he was. He’d have to make sure to talk to her after.

*

The whole thing was starting to feel just a little bit creepy to Tobin, to be honest. Like there was someone using them as puppets and making all these crazy coincidences happen. What were the chances of the kidnapped woman being sent my Sir Mycen’s friend with Mila’s Turnwheel – literally a token of the goddess herself! Tobin knew Mycen was a big deal and all, but what kind of favours did he have to pull to get that sent his way – but then she was also happy to hand it over to Alm and Celica on their word. And okay, Alm couldn’t lie to save his life but still, it all felt very poetic and far too coincidental. Something was going to go bad soon.

They sat in the shrine for a while, letting Silque, the cleric, recover a little. Gray sidled up to Tobin in a none-too-subtle fashion.

“I’m not sharing my food with you,” Tobin said flatly, curling his hands protectively around the small bad at his belt.

Gray frowned. “What? Wait—” He rolled his arm. “I’m not here to steal your jerky, Tobes.”

“You say that every time.”

“Well, I mean it this time.” Gray flopped down next to him on a patch of mossy stone which wasn’t quite as cold and chilly as the rest of the shrine. “Don’t you think something is going on with Celica?”

“…No more than normal?” Because Celica got this far away look in her eyes sometimes, and said strange things, and then there was the knights—but she’d always been that way. “Why?”

“Dunno,” Gray said. “I can’t put my finger on it. She’s just… different. I think Kliff knows something but he won’t say.” He paused. “But it’s just… you know Alm has that cool birthmark?”

“Yeah?”

“Silque recognised it, I think. That’s why she gave him the Turnwheel.”

“I didn’t see that…” Tobin started to see what Gray was getting at. “Celica has a really similar birthmark, right? Even though she always wears gloves to hide it.”

Gray nodded.

Tobin glanced over at them—or he expected it to be them, because Alm and Celica always seemed to come as a pair, but she was quietly talking to Lukas about something, and Alm was with Silque. Which wasn’t really… of course there wasn’t anything wrong with them being not-together. But Tobin swore that Celica had been talking to Silque herself a few minutes ago.

He frowned, wishing he’d been paying more attention to Celica before now. He’d been so hyped up on the excitement of leaving the village and adventure to pay much attention to what anyone else had been doing, which was clearly a mistake.

Gods, I can’t leave these kids alone for two minutes.

(He was only joking a little.)

“I guess I’ll keep an eye on her and let you know if we need to stage an intervention,” Tobin said.

“Knew I could count on you, Tobi-poo!” Gray said, stuffing a piece of jerky into his mouth—

“GRAY!” Tobin snatched the bag out of his grip and peering outside. Three pieces missing! “Ugh, you’re awful. I hope you choke on it!”

“Blame your ma for making it taste so good,” Gray mumbled around his stolen jerky. That… jerk.

But he offered the last piece in his hand to Tobin.

Oh no! You don’t get forgiveness that easy!

Tobin folded his arms and scowled. Gray made an attempt at a winsome smile, but he only frowned harder. Gray smiled wider in response.

Eventually Tobin was physically incapable of scowling any harder and every muscle in his face hurt, whilst Gray's smile made him look manic and slightly terrifying.

They stared at each other for another moment, eyes locked together.

And then Gray lost it and snorted. He tried to recover, but it turned into a full belly laugh within a minute, and then Tobin lost it too.

Laughing, he said, "Haha! I won—"

And then choked when Gray shoved the last piece of jerky into his mouth.

Gray was laughing so hard that he was struggling to breathe, and probably everyone was staring at them weirdly because the sound echoed around the empty space like it was inhabited by really demented ghosts, but Tobin struggled to care because he was trying to cram the whole piece of jerky into his mouth at once without 1) choking on it, or 2) looking like a total mess.

He suspected her may already have failed at the latter.

Lukas looked at them with slightly narrowed eyes. It was the first actual change in expression Tobin had seen on him. Progress? He hadn’t been intending to get the guy to loosen up but, why not? Progress!

“Are you… ready to leave?” Lukas said dubiously.

"...Idiots," Kliff said loudly.

Obviously a mistake on his part. Gray's eyes lit up and he leapt to his feet, still laughing a little. "Kliff!" he said, in a sing-song voice. "Baby! Don't say that!"

Kliff made a noise like a startled puppy and scrambled to his feet. “Gray, don’t you dare—”

Too late: Gray was already picking him up and putting him over his shoulder. “What’s that? Best friend Gray, can you carry me out of here like the spoiled princess I am?”

“Gray, I swear, if you don’t put me down I will set your hair on fire!” Kliff snarled. Ineffectually, because he’d been threatening this ever since Celica first taught him the fire spell and had yet to follow through on it.

Tobin had to give Kliff credit, though; even after all these years, he still sounded like he meant it every time!

“I hate you,” Kliff said vehemently, as Gray very casually picked up his own pack and then Kliff’s. But he had stopped beating Gray’s back so he was probably resigned to it.

Gray would put him down. You know, eventually.

Man, I could really use another few moment’s rest…

“Alm!” Tobin said dramatically, knowing it was a long shot. “You can’t let your sidekick upstage you like that, can you?”

“Yes, I can,” Alm replied very firmly. He was smiling a little, though. “I absolutely can. Watch me.”

“Actually,” the cleric said in a wavering voice, “I’m still a little…”

Being the do-gooder that he was, Alm immediately turned around with an abortive movement to pick her up as Silque began to giggle madly.

“S-Sorry,” she said, “I just—I couldn’t resist.”

Tobin and Gray shared identical beaming smiles, and, presumably, thoughts: I like her!

Then Faye cut in, face stony. “Gray, that’s enough. Put him down.”

Tobin blinked at her as Gray began to protest. Faye’s tolerance for their jokes wasn’t nearly as low as Kliff’s—was anyone’s?—and she normally only stepped in when they were about to do something genuinely stupid or when they’d crossed a line without realising. But even Kliff seemed confused about why she was interfering.

Tobin glanced over at the others to see if anyone else thought it was as weird as he did, only to catch sight of Celica’s expression – close to tears, like all her defences had crumbled at once.

What?

She didn’t seem to notice that he’d seen her, but she took a deep breath and then her mask was back in place. But it still looked funny. Fake, like she was trying too hard to—well, to be emotionless like Lukas. No offence to the guy, but it was very creepy on Celica. Was this what Gray had been seeing all day…?

Gray and Faye’s argument was growing more heated. Tobin couldn’t hear the words anymore, but he could see the tension in Gray’s folded arms and how clipped and short Faye’s answers were.

He made some kind of motion at Kliff, who was still standing near them—even Tobin didn’t know what it meant—to just… do something.

Kliff stared at him.

…Alright, maybe my random flailing wasn’t very helpful, but—

“You two,” Alm said.

Faye stopped mid-sentence and flushed, looking down at the ground. Gray looked like he wanted to say something, but Kliff (finally) did something and elbowed him. “Come on, let’s just go.”

Tobin’s mood was totally ruined, to say the least.

Gray still looked close to mutinous, though, so Tobin caught him on the way out with a gentle nudge. “Did you see Celica?”

“Uh, no?” Gray said. “I was busy being lectured—”

“She was really upset.”

That brought him up short. The scowl softened. “…But we didn’t do anything, right?”

“I don’t think so?” Tobin answered. “I mean… not on purpose, but, you know, sometimes you don’t have to do something wrong if someone’s already feeling…” He paused. “I think Faye was just trying to get us to stop. But, uh…”

“Girls!” Gray hissed, rolling his eyes. But there wasn’t any anger in it. Well, not as much anger. “I’ll talk to her later. I guess.”

“We’ll need her to plan an intervention.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, shoulders slumped. “That we might.”

Chapter Text

By the time they reached the Southern Outpost that Lukas had mentioned, Alm was certain that something wasn't right with Celica, and equally sure that she didn't want to talk to him about it. He wasn't sure what he had done wrong, so he couldn't apologise and make amends, and every time he tried to ask Celica herself, she found a reason to avoid him or to cut the conversation short.

More worryingly, nobody else seemed to know what was up with her either. Oh, Celica. If you won't talk to me, I wish you would talk to somebody...

It made for awkward evenings around the campfire the two nights on the road; even Gray and Tobin were subdued—nothing like their usual selves. Whilst it probably gave Lukas a better impression of their group, it also just made things... a little depressing.

Alm tried to stay positive. What they were doing was important, after all. But it was a big change—maybe Celica was just... taking some time to sort out her own feelings before she shared them with anyone. Surely, that must be it. Everything... Everything would be back to normal with them soon.

It had to be.

So when the Deliverance soldier from the outpost found Lukas to tell him that the place had been overrun and someone called 'Lady Clair' captured, Alm jumped at the chance to help.

Lukas surveyed their numbers with a raised eyebrow when Alm made the suggestion.

Alright, so it was pretty ambitious to retake an outpost with just the eight of them--and he didn't think Silque was much of a fighter, even if her healing abilities had been invaluable. The handful of soldiers who'd managed to escape from the outpost were injured and needed rest, so they wouldn't be able to help...

"The enemy will have taken casualties from taking the fort," he pointed out. "And even their troops who aren't injured will be tired, and we've done virtually nothing today. By the time we get back to Deliverance headquarters and get reinforcements, they'll have had the chance to do the same!"

Lukas actually smiled. "You know, I believe that you may have a point. We also have the advantage of knowing the outpost very well—let's go."

Alm couldn't help but beam. He was confident in Grandfather's teachings, of course, but... well... it was nice to know he could apply it practically as well.

"It seems reckless," Celica said. It was the first thing she’d said other than some cursory ‘good mornings’ earlier in the day. “Is there no way to negotiate? These are also people of Zofia – we should try to avoid fighting with them if possible.”

“If only they thought so kindly of us,” one of the outpost’s soldiers muttered.

Lukas glanced at them, which was enough for the mutterings to die away. “It’s not a bad thought,” he reassured Celica. “In the past, we’ve avoided several battles this way; some of those who remained with Desaix were only too afraid to oppose him—some of them had their families held hostage to ensure their cooperation—and many others merely had no serious quarrel with us and weren’t eager to harm their fellow Zofians either. But I’m afraid Desaix has grown wise to this tactic. Now he only sends his most loyal troops against us.”

“Could we not at least negotiate for Lady Clair and the other soldiers’ release?”

Lukas hesitated. “Perhaps for the soldiers,” he said, “though I’m not sure we have much of value to offer to secure their release. But they would never part with Lady Clair – she is our leader, Sir Clive’s, younger sister. Far too valuable to part with.”

Celica seemed resigned, which was not an expression that Alm was used to seeing on her. He looked to Kliff, who was the only one Celica had been even close to normal behaviour around. They always got along as the only ones who could use magic; Kliff was even outright nice to her sometimes. "It can't ever be easy, can it?" she said softly.

But with the issue settled, they settled around Lukas when he sketched out a rough outline of the Southern Outpost and, with help from the soldiers who'd escaped about enemy placements, they hashed out a plan together.

*

They didn't have the troops to hold the outpost after taking it, so they grabbed whatever they could manage - mainly weapons and food - and prepared to leave. Kieran was invaluable for carrying some of the goods, although he was a little bit put out by being loaded down with heavy equipment and not even getting to carry Celica. He was appeased when she agreed to walk alongside him. That horse is really such a softy, Alm thought fondly.

But not hours after they'd left, before the Southern Outpost was even really out of sight, a detachment of knights came upon them.

"This is just great," Kliff said. "Well, it's was terrible knowing you all."

Lady Clair, who'd been scouting from the air on her pegasus - she insisted she was well enough - touched down next to them. "Fear not!" she said, delighted. "I recognise the lead rider. Please excuse me!"

Before anyone could ask anything, the pegasus took to the air again.

"...That means it's not an enemy, right?" Tobin said. "Just, y'know. I could take 'em right now, but... I'd rather nap."

"It's not an enemy," Lukas confirmed. The corners of his mouth were downturned just the slightest bit. Alm couldn't tell if he was upset or just tired. "I recognise them, too."

"Oh, so they're a friend of yours?" Faye said.

"Well," Lukas said heavily, "they are an ally, at least."

"If it's a friendly face, we'll take it," Alm said. The saw the distant figure of Clair's pegasus touch down near the riders. "We should push on to meet them. I don't think we really want to linger here..."

It took a while before the riders began to approach again, but it took only a few more minutes before they all met, Clair walking her pegasus alongside the lead rider. He must’ve been a noble, because he was wearing elaborate green armour, and he had that kind of… pointy, delicate look that seemed to be a thing with Zofian nobles.

The meeting didn't start off that well. Gray said, "Uh, hi?" after there was a lengthy pause when no one said anything.

"This is Fernand," Lady Clair said quickly, as Fernand's lip began to curl in disgust.

It actually curled. Alm had always thought that was a figure of speech, but no, he really was so repulsed by them that he curled his lip.

Kliff's eyes, paradoxically, lit up. Oh no, Alm thought. He's going to enjoy this, isn't he?

But whatever (probably insulting) thing Fernand had planned to say, he didn't voice it. Instead, he stopped, frozen for a moment.

"Who are you?" he demanded. The sneer was gone.

He was looking at Celica.

She looked like she’d seen a ghost – or rather, she looked like she was a ghost for a moment, barely present, eyes looking away to something that was no longer there. A strange silence had fallen, and even Clair seemed tense, watching Fernand like she expected him to explode.

Fernand did not take his eyes away from Celica. “You—you are Lady Liprica’s—?”

“Daughter,” Celica finished. Her hand gripped the pendant around her neck tightly. A memento from her mother, she had always called it – but since her mother had died shortly after Celica was born, she didn’t like to talk about her.

Was… Celica a noble? Was that why she’d been in hiding all this time?

Fernand drew back a little, apparently satisfied. He glanced around at the rest of them—there was that sneer again—but he didn’t say anything. “Perhaps Sir Mycen was worth more than I thought,” he said, dismissive. Alm bristled, but before he could say anything, Fernand continued, “This changes things significantly. I must take the news to Clive at once.”

“Fernand?” Clair said.

“I’m sorry I cannot stay,” he answered softly. It was such a change in his expression, an apologetic smile, that Alm couldn’t bring himself to interrupt. “Of course, Clive will be delighted to hear that you’re safe, as am I. Please take care of yourself.”

With that, he was away.

“I apologise for Fernand,” Clair said. “He is not normally so… terse.”

Alm barely heard her, and he was not sure that anybody else did, either. They were all staring at Celica. She was still clutching her necklace, and she looked even paler than usual. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut, and for some reason Alm was suddenly angry.

What had she been hiding from them, for all these years? What kind of secret? They’d all known she was hiding something, had accepted it—Alm had accepted it. He’d accepted that they might be in danger because of Celica’s secret; he’d chosen to protect her anyway. But he’d always assumed that she would tell them when the time was right – well, a total stranger knew more about Celica than they did. Now was the time, and she wouldn’t even look at them.

“What—?” Gray started to say.

“Please don’t ask me!” Celica burst out. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Alm said. It came out harsher than he meant, but all the dissatisfaction was still churning in his gut. They’d known Celica for years, what did she think would happen; even after all this time, did she not trust them—?

“Celica,” Kliff said gently. She opened her eyes and actually looked at him. “Don’t you think it would be better to hear it from you?”

Did Kliff know something? Alm thought he knew Celica best. Why tell Kliff and not the rest of them?

“I—” Celica licked her lips nervously. “I’ll tell you—later. When we make camp. I just need… time.”

The rest of them seemed to accept this. Alm stewed, letting himself trail a little behind. There wasn’t much opportunity to talk, anyway, just constantly placing one foot in front of the other. Clair spent some time scouting in the skies above, looking behind and ahead, and some time walking her pegasus with the others.

Alm tried to focus on the pegasus instead –“Aero”, Clair said his name was. He’d never seen a pegasus before. They were very rare in Valentia, but if Clair was a Lady, he supposed she could’ve gotten one from Akanea to the east—

Who was Lady Liprica?

He shook his head, trying to chase the thoughts away. But the name seemed familiar and continued to nag at him. Marching was boring and didn’t provide much of a distraction.

Why was Celica so reluctant to tell them anything? They were her friends!

It was stupid to keep thinking about it. Obviously Celica didn’t trust them enough to tell them and she was only doing it because she was being more or less made to. That wasn’t Alm’s fault. Even if he kept trying to think, was there something he said or they said, to make her think we wouldn’t like her, wouldn’t accept her; did he spill a secret that he should’ve kept, making her distrust him without Alm ever knowing—

He couldn’t think of anything, but in some ways that was even worse. If he’d done something wrong, he could apologise, or he could prove he was better now. If he didn’t even know what was wrong… then he wasn’t any better at all. And Celica was right not to trust him.

Shut up, shut up. This is Celica’s issue. It’s not my fault. I—

Mainly Alm just didn’t want to think about it at all. He wasn’t having much luck until Clair touched down again as the afternoon gave way to evening.

“I saw an abandoned hovel not too far away,” she said. “It should not take more than an hour to get there on foot, and I think it would make quite a decent rest stop for one night.”

Since she’d told this to Alm rather than Lukas, he supposed it was meant to start a conversation. A distraction couldn’t hurt. “So, when you say ‘hovel’, what are we talking? Does it have a roof?”

“Oh gracious, yes!” Clair said, looking positively shaken at the idea of there not being a roof. “Watching the stars is very romantic, of course, but it does get quite cold in the night at this time of year.” She glanced over at him with wide eyes, and then added, “Not that I am too fussy to camp out when necessary! I am a knight of Zofia, after all.”

She seemed to be searching for reassurance, so Alm made his best effort at a smile. “Well, camping is never going to be anybody’s first choice.”

Clair beamed. “Yes, that is exactly what I always say!” She continued muttering under her breath, “See, Fernand, I am not fussy, I am merely grousing. It’s companionable!” but Alm was not sure if he was supposed to have heard that part.

Maybe she wasn’t quite as snobby as her first impression, although it was even more mind-boggling to think that a noble could grow up with so little interaction with commoners. It’s not like we make up most of the country, or anything…

“Your friend Celica…” she began.

Alm winced.

She stopped, letting silence fall for a few moments. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. Let us talk about something else then.” She frowned for a moment, and then her expression cleared. “Oh! You are Sir Mycen’s grandson, are you not? What was he like as a teacher? I have heard great stories about him, but I never met the man myself!”

He relaxed and began to tell Clair about one of his favourite memories, the first time he ever won in a spar against Celica. Of course she couldn’t use magic then—and wasn’t even after she learned it to do it properly, since there was too much chance of serious injuries beyond their ability to deal with, or damage to the rest of the village if a fire caught and spread. Still, it was one of the proudest moments of Alm’s life. He was pretty sure that Celica had had some teaching in fighting before she came to Ram, so to him it represented an important moment in his progress, and Grandfather’s skill as a teacher.

Clair’s interest didn’t wane. As she asked questions, Alm found himself talking more and more about their lessons. Strategy and tactics, logistics… and, of course, how to fight.

All of them had their skills and Grandfather had found a way to raise everyone to their best. They all knew the basics of fighting with a sword or a bow, of riding a horse. Alm and Gray were the best with a sword, and although Alm would never risk inflating Gray’s ego by telling him this, sometimes he was hard pressed to defend himself against him. Tobin had a natural talent for aiming with a bow, which Grandfather had encouraged with increasingly rigorous training – as much as Alm joked in the shrine about Tobin barely missing him, he hadn’t seen Tobin hit anything other than the target in more than three years.

Kliff, of course, was their specialist in magic – even more than Celica, in a sense. Celica’s advantage came from the fact that she could comfortably switch between sword and spells with ease, but Kliff made up for that deficit with raw power… and the ability to practise new spells away from Grandfather’s watchful gaze. Alm had seen him working on spells he’d never even seen before, which he assumed Kliff had gotten from the books his father bought him.

Faye wasn’t quite as accurate as Tobin with a bow, nor was she quite as good as Gray and Alm with a sword – but, like Celica, her advantage came from her ability to choose depending on the situation. She also had surprising strength for her size, Grandfather had said several times. She could never really surprise their group since they knew her too well, but the one time an older boy in the village tried to start trouble with her, she’d broken his nose and left him with a black eye, whilst her only complaint had been that she hurt her hand a little from punching him too hard.

Gray still liked to tease her about that comment, because Gray was not the smartest person who had ever lived.

“I hadn’t realised that you were all trained by Sir Mycen,” Clair said.

She seemed to be looking at them all with new eyes, which pleased Alm a bit. She seemed to have latched on to him a bit for whatever reason, but he didn’t want her thinking of the rest of his friends as nobodies. Also, it was really the least he could do for Gray to leave her with a good first impression. Wait, did Alm say ‘least’? He meant ‘most’. The most he would do for Gray.

“He’s a great teacher.”

“I’m so jealous of you all! I wonder why he did not want to come.”

Alm shrank back a bit. He’d been wondering that too—not that he didn’t doubt that Grandfather had his reasons! But, well, he couldn’t expect total strangers to trust Grandfather’s judgement as easily as he did. It made him uncomfortable to think that some might assume Grandfather was a coward, or past his prime, or…

“Even so, I’m pleased to have met all of you,” she said. “The Deliverance is lucky to have you, Alm.”

“Clair,” Lukas called out suddenly, “is this the place you were talking about?”

“Oh, yes! There’s another outbuilding hidden behind those bushes, too.” She seemed almost disappointed. “I suppose that means we will be turning in for the night soon. Hopefully Lukas will allow a fire. It was a pleasure talking with you, Alm.”

“Sure, it was nice,” he said.

She beamed. “And tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to my brother!”

*

Around the campfire later, all of Alm's squirming nerves and anger and worry returned to him. Lukas, Silque, and Clair had left to 'scout the area before sundown', which they'd all known was just a polite fiction to give them some space.

Celica looked sick. Alm wanted to reach out to hug her, but the urge fizzled out and died before it could get beyond a thought, warring against what if she doesn't want...? and why would she keep a big secret from us like this?

It was silent except for the cracking of the burning wood. Lukas had deemed it safe enough for a fire, since they were in de facto Deliverance territory now and the fire itself would be hidden in the run-down stone outbuilding they'd claimed as their shelter for the night.

Finally, Celica took a deep shuddering breath. Alm tensed, but then she didn't say anything, her eyes flickering to everyone's faces as she shrank in on herself.

But eventually, she managed a whisper. "Grandpapa rescued me from the villa."

Alm didn't know what villa she was talking about, or what it had to do with the secret she'd been keeping. But Celica didn't seem to know where else to start, because she recited the tale with a wooden expression in a monotone, simply talking over the handful of attempts to interrupt without acknowledging them. Alm watched her hands fisted tightly in the material of her dress as she described the fire and the smoke - thick and black and choking, her streaming eyes. How she had heard screaming, but had not been able to do anything. How Sir Mycen had suddenly burst in to save her.

And how she turned back whilst he was riding away, seeing fires consuming the whole building, Sir Mycen saying it was too late to save anyone else in the villa.

"I'd already lost some of my elder siblings," Celica said. She had never mentioned before that she'd ever had siblings. "Some of them were supposed to be accidents – riding accidents, or falling down the stairs, Desaix would have us believe – but that night I... I lost everyone. They were all gone.

"Grandpapa said he would have to hide me away, that it wasn't safe. If they knew I lived, they would just try to kill me again. So I stayed in hiding, in Ram, with all of you. And... you all became like a family to me, too, and I—I wanted to forget. I wanted so badly to just be Celica. I thought there would be more children to replace me, and I could just stay with all of you forever."

She stared into the fire with dull and lifeless eyes.

"But that was a selfish wish. The country has come to civil war and I've just dragged you all into it. That's why I never told you this before. It wasn't because I didn't trust you." Her voice shook. "It's because I wanted to pretend it wasn't true."

Celica clasped her mother's necklace tightly, seeming to draw strength from it. A little colour came back into her cheeks – or maybe that was just a trick of the flickering firelight. But still, when she spoke, her voice was clear and strong:

"My father was King Lima IV. My birth name is Anthiese. And since I'm the last of my siblings, I..." She swallowed and dropped to a whisper again, "That makes me the Crown Princess."

Alm stared at her.

Celica’s a princess.

Celica is the princess.

“Holy shit,” Gray whispered, but it came out as loud as a firecracker in the silence that followed Celica’s proclamation. Anthiese.

It was like a damn broke and the comments started.

“You lost all your siblings! Celica—why didn’t you ever say—”

“I thought you were highly born, but not that high.”

“So, do we call you Anthiese now or…?”

“…We’re gonna get at least a knighthood out this though, right princess?”

Of course, that was said by Gray. Without communicating at all, Tobin and Faye rolled their eyes and shoved him. Gray ended up flat on his back.

“I was joking, you know!” he said, pushing himself up and rubbing his head. “Honestly, you guys are so mean to me, I don’t know why I grace you with my presence…”

“In case you get a knighthood out of it?” Kliff said dryly. “Sir Gray. Can you imagine?”

“Well obviously it sounds stupid if you say it like that—"

And just like that, everything was back to normal. Gray and Kliff bickered whilst Tobin and Faye tried to keep the peace. Celica laughed at their antics, and Alm—

Alm wanted to pretend that it was back to normal too. But he kept thinking about Celica’s smile, how beautiful she looked in that yellow summer dress, the way she’d taken his hand and said ‘it means a lot to hear you say that’ and he’d been hoping—

But princesses weren’t free creatures. Queens. If all was right, Celica would be a queen, wouldn’t she? The queen of Zofia.

Even if it hadn’t been wishful thinking to think that Celica might have some feelings for him—or that she would, one day—

Queens didn’t marry commoners. If Queen Anthiese ever returned those feelings, they would go unfulfilled. Well... King Lima had kept mistresses—quite openly, in fact. But Alm couldn’t imagine Celica doing such a thing. If she married someone she would take that seriously. She wasn’t one of those nobles.

Celica was looking at him. Alm forced himself to smile, watched as the last bits of tension eased out of her and she returned the smile threefold.

“I don’t know why I’m so surprised,” he said, keeping his tone light. “I always knew you were special.”

“Oh, Alm!” She threw her arms around him, laughing delightedly. “Thank you, thank you! I was so worried you would be angry with me—”

He felt even worse because he had been angry with her. Even now there was a little voice at the back of his head, demanding to know why she hadn’t told him sooner, why did you let me fall in love with you first?

Alm tried his best to bury it. Celica needed him right now—needed all of them. Even if… even if things couldn’t be as he’d hoped, he still wanted to see Celica safe and happy. That was the most important thing.

“She didn’t thank us,” Gray muttered.

Faye elbowed him in the ribs. “For gods’ sake! Is there no moment you will not ruin?”

Alm broke and started to laugh. It was a little hysterical, but nobody else seemed to notice, and soon, they were all laughing – even Celica. She looked better by the time it died down, better than she had done in days, in fact.

Oh, Celica. You’ve been worrying about it all this time, haven’t you?

“Don’t ever change,” she said. “All of you. I mean it.”

“Even Gray?” Tobin said.

Gray looked at him with a comically exaggerated expression of betrayal.

“Even Gray,” Celica confirmed, her eyes glittering with humour. “I don’t want… well, maybe you’ll have to call me Anthiese on some formal occasions. But it will just be for show!” Now her eyes weren’t glittering with humour, but with unshed tears. “Celica is who I really am. And all of you are so dear to me—”

Alm’s heart, stupidly, fluttered again.

“—I don’t want anything to come between us. Especially not this.”

Gray put a hand on his heart. “I promise I will be my usual self, your Majesty.”

Faye sighed, probably because, like all of them, she’d seen that line coming. “Couldn’t you ask him to change just a bit?”

“Too late!” Gray said. He slung an arm around Faye’s shoulders. “I already promised. You’re stuck with me.”

“Yay,” she said, in the flattest possible voice. But her lips kept twitching with a suppressed smile.

“Do you have any proof that you’re the princess?” Kliff said.

Tobin groaned. “Now?”

“I’m not saying I don’t believe Celica.” Kliff huffed and folded his arms defensively. “But other people won’t.”

“That knight recognised her,” Alm protested. “From her resemblance to her mother.”

“Yes, and I’m sure the Deliverance would accept that, because it’s in their interests to have a legitimate heir to undermine Desaix, but most commoners don’t know Lady Liprica from the Mother. You have to have more than that.”

“I do have my dagger,” Celica said, a little sheepish. “It’s… it’s actually the Beloved Zofia—”

“What?” Gray spluttered.

“The king had it reforged to my size when I showed promise at swordfighting,” she explained. “It’s about the only nice thing he ever did for me…”

“But—” Gray faltered a little under the weight of everyone’s gaze. Tread carefully. “That’s a, uh, nice thought… I guess.” It seemed as though that had been physically painful for him to say. “But that’s the ancestral sword of the royal family! It was wielded by Queen Zofia I herself! You can’t just—just have it reforged!”

Ever practical, Kliff added, “I don’t think anyone would really know the sword either, so it’s not really proof of Celica’s claim—even if it is a nice memento.”

“I might have a solution,” came a gentle voice.

Alm started when the cleric Silque walked into the light of the fire. She smiled at Celica and took a seat beside her, rubbing her hands together and holding them out towards the fire.

“Sorry to interrupt. I promise I wasn’t listening in; I only heard the last few lines,” Silque said. “But it is rather cold out there.”

“Oh yeah,” Tobin said, getting to his feet. “I’ll go tell Lukas and Clair they don’t have to freeze anymore.”

“He is an underrated person,” Gray said fondly as Tobin left the cottage.

Kliff snorted. “You could’ve offered to go instead.”

“Ha, no.”

“What do you mean, Silque?” Celica said.

“Your brand, of course.”

Celica blinked at her.

Silque tilted her head to the side a little. “Oh, do you not know? I suppose you were very young; perhaps no one mentioned it to you.” She withdrew her hands from the fire and hovered over Celica’s gloved hands, which she’d left on because of the cold.

“You mean my birthmark?” Celica said, removing the glove of her left hand. The strange sigil was dark against her otherwise pale skin. Celica’s hands rarely saw the light of day. “I mean, it’s distinctive, so if the people at the palace remember me…”

“I’m sure some of them will, but you’re not the first to have this mark,” Silque said. “It has appeared a number of times within the Zofian royal family. I read about it on the Novis Priory. It is said that the Mother Mila’s brand marks only the worthiest of Queen Zofia’s descendants. Traditionally, the bearer of the Brand is considered the heir to the throne above all others.”

“Most commoners aren’t going to know about the Brand, either!” Even Kliff sounded a bit tired of this refrain by now.

“We aren’t all quite as sceptical as you either, Kliff,” Alm said dryly. “She’s got a Brand, a sword, and people to vouch for her – that’s got to at least get the people’s attention.”

Kliff made an indistinct noise that could’ve been agreement or disagreement. “I suppose we’ll find out,” he said softly.

Nice and ominous, Alm thought. I’m sure he’s enjoying this.

At that moment, Tobin came back with Lukas and Clair. She beamed at Celica, so giddy that she was actually shaking. Or maybe that was the cold. “The lost princess of Zofia, I can’t believe it! Oh, it’s such an honour to meet you—I knew you carried yourself in a more refined way!”

Silque’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Oh. I wanted to surprise them…”

Chapter Text

The Deliverance headquarters was located quite close, but it took them nearly a whole day to reach. Lukas lead them slowly, making sure that they didn’t leave tracks which might be found by someone else. Even Clair’s pegasus was grounded for the most part. “This one hasn’t been discovered yet,” he said, “and we’d like to keep it that way for the time being. It’s one of our few advantages.”

It was a hard trek, but they were grateful to make it in the end. Alm did start having a few second thoughts when Lukas led them into a dark and dank cave.

“The old catacombs?” Celica said. She was tracing pictures and writing on the walls which Alm, in his exhaustion, hadn’t even noticed. Her voice was quiet, like she was half-speaking to herself.

Some of her ancestors might be buried here, Alm thought uncomfortably. The gulf between them seemed to loom large for a moment, but it was hard to be too impressed by the stench of mold in the air and crumbling columns. This place had obviously been abandoned a long time ago.

It was sad, after a fashion. The walls had been done with a careful hand, elegant and curved writing in an ancient tongue that Alm didn’t understand, with detailed illustrations that, although faded and worn away in places, still looked beautiful.

“Ho! Who goes there?” a voice called from the darkness.

Lukas actually smiled and his shoulders relaxed. It was only a small smile, but it spoke volumes. “Python!”

A lantern emerged from a passageway that Alm hadn’t even seen, and behind it, a man dressed in blue. He held a bow loosely in his hands, and slung it over his shoulders as he caught sight of them. “Lukas, you ginger stud, you still draw breath! With how cheerful Hoity-Toity was when he waltzed in, I thought you might be dead.”

“Not as of yet,” Lukas said.

Python seemed to know Lukas better than they did, because he laughed like he’d told a great joke. “And I suppose these are the new recruits, huh?”

“That’s us,” Alm said, when nobody else answered.

“’S quite a crowd you got here.” Python’s voice didn’t ever seem to move out of a lazy drawl. “Well, just make sure you don’t disturb the Terrors. They get grouchy at this time of day.” He paused. “And every time of day.”

“Terrors?” Faye said, sounding a little bit shaky. “You have Terrors in your hideout?”

Python scratched the back of his head, seemingly unbothered. “Well, it’s more like Terrors have rebels in their catacombs, if you catch my meaning. Anyway, more rise up every time we put them down, and they get all agitated. Just ignore them, and if you tread quiet, they should do the same to you, ya see?”

Then he actually yawned.

“Wow,” Gray said, in an admiring undertone.

“Come on,” Lukas said. “Sir Clive will be expecting us.”

He clapped Python on the shoulder as he passed, and Python gave him a friendly sort of wink and a slap on the back.

They walked in an exaggerated sort of hush – well, Alm and his friends did. Clair and Lukas, presumably used to the hideout, were a little less twitchy, but even they spoke in murmurs and only when necessary. Clair kept randomly beaming at Celica, to Alm’s amusement. At least the atmosphere isn’t getting to her. True to Python’s word, they heard nothing more than the odd snarl from the Terrors; ominous, certainly, but not life-threatening. It certainly explained why the Deliverance could hide here so well. Who in their right mind would set up base amongst Terrors?

It was essentially just one long, wide corridor until they came to a flight of stairs. They had probably been grand in their day, but now they were crumbling in places.

“Be careful with your footing,” Clair whispered, patting Alm’s arm.

And then immediately slipped and nearly fell – he just managed to grab her arm to prevent her from losing her balance. “You okay?”

“How embarrassing,” she said, but she was smiling. “Thank you, Alm.”

He gave her a weak smile in return, trying not to let his nerves show too badly. Celica would almost certainly be under more scrutiny, but he was about to meet the leader of the Deliverance! The head of the knight of Zofia, Sir Clive! And from what Clair had said about her brother, he didn’t seem to be as much of a turd as the last set of knights they’d had a run-in with.

At the bottom of the stairs, the ceiling opened up into a large cavern, where there was another shrine to the Mother, and a crowd of soldiers – including Fernand. As Alm had expected, every eye fell on Celica when she entered, and whispers ran around the room. Fernand smiled at Clair and Celica and passed his eyes over the rest of them without comment. Which from Alm’s – admittedly poor – first impression, was not actually that bad an outcome.

Celica made an intake of breath as she walked into the room, a little behind Lukas and Clair. Alm walked a little closer to her, reminding her without words that they were all behind her. Her fingers ghosted the skin near his wrist, and she stood a little straighter, meeting everyone’s eyes without hesitation.

That’s our Celica.

“This is my brother, Sir Clive,” Clair announced joyfully, running up to a blond man in armour nearly as elaborate as Fernand’s and wrapping her arms around him. “Did you miss me?”

Sir Clive laughed. “Of course I did,” he said, returning her embrace. “I’m glad to see you well. And I understand we have these people to thank for your rescue?”

It sounded a little rehearsed, and Alm supposed that since they had an audience, it might well be. That made him feel uncomfortable, like they were lying, but Kliff had the right of it in his own cynical fashion – Celica’s claim would be hard to believe for many, and if Sir Clive wanted her to lead the Deliverance, then first impressions would be important.

Sir Clive’s eyes went wide when his gaze fell on Celica. So if it was a little orchestrated, Alm thought the way that his mouth fell open in shock was genuine. “I see what you mean, Fernand,” he said carefully. “She looks almost exactly like Lady Liprica.”

Alm saw Kliff nudge Celica, and she said, “Lady Liprica was my mother’s name.”

The whispers grew louder in volume. Alm squinted into the crowd, but he still couldn’t quite tell who was making them, as the men and women at the front seemed tight-lipped. It was like the room had a life of its own.

“And your name is?” Sir Clive prompted.

“Well… for the last seven years, I’ve been known as Celica,” she said. “But my real name is Anthiese.”

“Princess Anthiese!” someone yelled at the back of the room.

When Celica had spoken to them, she’d called Anthiese her ‘birth name’, not her real name.

“Princess Anthiese was supposed to have died in a fire,” Clive said.

“I nearly did,” Celica admitted. “But Sir Mycen rescued me—” At the sound of Grandfather’s name, the excitement in the room went up another notch. “—and he’s been keeping me safe these past years. But…” Her eyes flickered around the room. “I didn’t want to hide anymore. Not when the people of Zofia need me.”

There was more to it – almost like Kliff was standing at their shoulders and whispering directions into their ear, Sir Clive and Fernand asked about proof of Celica’s heritage, and she presented the sword to them, and Silque revealed the Brand on her hand with some improvised dramatics – well, at least one person was enjoying themselves – and then the knights began to ask her a little about life in the palace, her siblings and King Lima IV, the fire set by Desaix…

It was impossible to miss how the atmosphere in the room changed as the speech went on. People had been excited in the beginning – excited, like watching a show. As Celica continued, they became interested. The tight-lipped soldiers at the front of the room leant forward like they were afraid they might miss something, which was not an unfounded concern as people started not just to whisper, but to cheer and boo at all the correct moments… mainly when the Chancellor’s name was mentioned. He seemed somewhat unpopular.

When Celica’s voice seemed like it was about to give out, Sir Clive turned and addressed the room at large. “It indeed seems that the Mother Mila has granted us a miracle. Crown Princess Anthiese lives, and she’s come to help us.

“Now I ask of you: will you let Chancellor Desaix go unpunished for his murder of the royal children for his own selfish ends?”

“No!” the room replied, as aloud as a thunderclap.

“Will you help Princess Anthiese reclaim her birthright?”

“Yes!” came the deafening reply.

Celica stared at the smiling faces, looking on the verge of being overwhelmed.

Without thinking, Alm leaned over and took her hand. She didn’t look at him, but her hand tightened around his, and she wouldn’t let him take it back for several long seconds. When she let go, she sank to one knee with her head bowed. Fernand scowled at the display, but the crowd hushed a little.

When Celica spoke in a clear, strong voice that echoed around the room. “I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. From this day forward, I pledge myself to you, to the people of Zofia!”

For a moment that seemed to last a liftetime to Alm, there was silence. Then the soldiers roared with approval and took up her name as a chant. “An-thiese! An-thiese!”

Alm nearly burst from pride, and if Grandfather had been here, he knew he would’ve been proud of Celica, too.

*

Once the drama was all finished with, there was practical stuff to take care of. Sir Clive whisked Celica away to practise being queenly or something, Alm sulked because they weren’t joined at the hip until he was invited to the meetings on the strength of being Sir Mycen’s grandson – purely another clever piece of propaganda, but if Alm wasn’t smart enough to see that, Kliff wasn’t about to tell him.

Alm was pretty smart though, so Kliff was sure he knew.

The rest of them from Ram, plus Silque, were taken under the wing of Lukas, who seemed one of the only nobles there who remembered there had been more than two recruits from Ram village. He was a decent sort, barely a noble at all according to the nobles like Fernand.

Kliff and his parents had always suspected that Celica was related to nobility, but maybe… a noble’s bastard daughter or something. Not the crown princess!

Lukas showed them the ropes, where the soldiers slept, how to get sorted with weapons – he seemed impressed, in a mild sort of way, when Kliff said that he could use magic. But Lukas insisted he take a sword along as well. They got trained in marching orders and the formations they used, in avoiding detection and patrols, codes to use with Deliverance agents in the nearby towns and cities in case of emergency.

“We don’t have the men to spend their lives recklessly,” Lukas said. “And I certainly don’t have the inclination to lead men to their deaths. If you feel in over your head – you get out, you get everyone else out. Those are the rules.”

“Are those Fernand’s rules?” Kliff asked.

Lukas gave him a very thin smile. “Fernand doesn’t make the rules, so his opinion is irrelevant.”

“Ah,” Kliff said. “I’ll tell him that if he ever tries to give me orders, then.”

Python laughed. “I gotta see that.”

“Fernand is one of the deputy commanders,” Forsyth protested, although not as strenuously as he was capable of. Kliff’s ears were grateful. “You should treat him with some respect. With all the respect he is due.”

“But I do,” Python said, very innocently.

Forsyth grumbled under his breath, but Kliff was used to tuning him out by now, and obviously so was Python, because he just smirked and waggled his eyebrows at Lukas until the corners of his mouth twitched.

Celica and Alm were so busy that he only heard about the planned attack from Lukas, a few days before they were due to march out.

“Retake Zofia Castle?” Kliff said. “That seems… ambitious.”

“Rumours of Princess Anthiese have led to a number of desertions,” Lukas said with an air of faint satisfaction. “And since Desaix only recently made peace with Rigel, a lot of troops are still tied up at the border. It’s now or never.”

“Oh, joy,” Python said. “I didn’t expect to have to die for fake monarchy so soon! Forsyth, we’re leading the suicide charge, you should be happy about this.”

“Don’t talk about Celica like that,” Kliff snapped.

Python raised an eyebrow. “Come on, a smart kid like you? You don’t believe all this stuff about lost princesses, do you?”

Kliff couldn’t explain to him the years of waiting, of expecting—well, not this, but something like this. He couldn’t explain how mad he’d been when Celica insisted on going with Lukas, knowing that she was choosing to throw her life away for the nobles she’d known before coming to Ram. He understood why she’d been so insistent, now. But he was still a little mad that the world couldn’t just let Celica be Celica.

“Celica isn’t lying,” he said stiffly. “Absolute cynicism isn’t a replacement for actually thinking, you know. And she’s not asking you to throw your life away for her.”

“A mighty defence for someone who hasn’t seen his little princess friend in nearly a week.”

Kliff scoffed. “If you’re needy enough to think your friends have abandoned you because they’ve been busy for a few days, that’s on you.”

Python frowned. “Now look—”

“Now is not the time to be fighting amongst ourselves!” Forsyth declared, stepping between the two of them Python was forced to lean back to avoid Forsyth actually shoving his face. “And Python! How dare you say such things about the princess! Why, she has been nothing but thoughtful and kind and honourable and—”

Python groaned, and Kliff slipped away.

He paused when Lukas caught his arm. “Don’t mind Python too much. He may be cynical, but he’s still reliable when it comes down to it. You’ll be lucky to be fighting with him at your side.”

“Sure,” Kliff said.

He was sceptical of the idea of Python putting his ‘best effort’ into anything, except maybe being annoying, but if there was anyone who could be relied upon to give the unbiased truth, it was probably Lukas.

*

“Your majesty?”

Celica blinked, realising the meeting had broken up without her noticing. I should get more sleep, she told herself, but there was always so much to do.

“I’m sorry, Fernand,” she said. “What were you asking?”

Fernand chuckled offering his arm. “I was only asking how you were feeling, Princess, but I think I already have my answer.”

Celica hesitated, but took his arm. “I don’t mean to worry anyone.”

“Not at all,” Fernand said graciously. “It’s understandable to have trouble adjusting, after living so long in hiding.”

She didn’t say that she had not lived a very princess-like life even before Desaix’s machinations. King Lima had not been a very serious father – he treated his children, and his mistresses, more like toys for his entertainment. She watched her eldest siblings—the children of women he’d long grown bored with—try desperately to stay in his good graces at court, so their families wouldn’t be thrown out and left to fend for themselves. And the way he’d treated Conrad’s mother, the Rigelian Lady Vittoria…

Celica knew that it was a little impolitic to remind everyone of the vastly unpopular King Lima IV when they were trying to win support away from Desaix – but if she didn’t know Desaix to be the sort of man to murder children for his own advancement, she might be tempted to let him have the throne.

“I don’t know how you stood it for so long,” Fernand was saying, “living with those dreadful peons.”

“I didn’t have to stand anything. It was wonderful.” She sighed. She still missed Ram – they’d been so kind to her the whole time; Mrs Rose who treated all the village children like her own, Gray’s sisters who’d made alterations to the old dresses they’d given her until they were like new.

“How can you say such a thing?” Fernand said.

Celica had heard about what happened to his family. She understood the pain of losing everyone you held dear – but you couldn’t blame everyone for something only a small number of people had done to you. Otherwise, she’d want nothing to do with the nobility at all.

“They were very kind to me,” Celica said. “Like another family. I would have stayed if I could, but—”

“Princess, you mustn’t say such things! You are worth far more than to be given token appreciation by some… pig farmers—”

“Fernand.” Celica grit her teeth. She disliked using this newfound authority for such frivolous things, but she really could not bear to hear him talk like this. “If you will insist on speaking to me on this subject in this way, we will have no more discussions at all. Understood?”

Fernand was silent for a long time, and there was only the noise of their footsteps as he led the way to the officers’ mess. Eventually, he said, “Very well, your highness. I know you have your own… opinions on this subject.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. It was hard to dislike Fernand at other times – he was charming and considerate, and had made a point to have her quarters done in the style she was comfortable with, without asking questions; he was constantly wary of her health, but not to the point of annoyance; and he had helped Celica to remember the courtly etiquette she’d forgotten without being asked, without any words of reprobation.

But he also had a very marked disdain for Alm which he barely kept in check, and even with all the allowances one could make, his hatred of commoners made Celica positively queasy.

Fernand was stiff and silent for a while longer, but by the time they sat down to dinner, he was somewhat returned to his normal self, with a pleasant smile and conversation.

"May I ask something, Fernand?"

"Of course, your majesty."

"Did you... know my mother?"

Fernand paused, the smile frozen on his face.

Celica hadn't meant to bring up anything that might be unpleasant, but she knew so little about her mother – little enough when she was still living at the palace, but even those little snippets of information had vanished when she had to flee the villa. Sir Mycen hadn't known her mother at all, and all Celica knew about her life before she was chosen by King Lima IV was that she'd been a priestess, but not where she had served or whom under.

"...I only met her a handful of times," Fernand said eventually, "but it was enough to leave a lasting impression."

"That's how you recognised me?" Celica knew people said she looked very much like her mother. It was a connection she'd treasured, but she hadn't realised how strong the resemblance was, if Fernand was able to recognise her perhaps twenty years after seeing Lady Liprica in the flesh.

“To be honest, Lady Liprica was a friend of my aunt for a time at court.” Fernand hesitated. “I was only 8 years old at the time, so I did not know the whole story, but… I believe my aunt caught the king’s… attention… and – well.”

She knew all too well that when the king showed an interest in a woman, he didn’t take their own desires into account. Conrad’s mother had been forced to trade herself in return for food for Rigel. Unsurprisingly, she’d developed a bitter hatred for the king, but she’d always been kind to Celica – like a mother.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

Fernand shook his head. “The past is the past. We cannot change these things.”

He was distracted and there was a distant look in his eyes. Had his aunt perished with the rest of his family? At another time? The way he spoke of her, it didn’t seem that she was still alive.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said carefully. “Another time… I’d like to hear about my mother and your aunt.”

He smiled. “Anything for you, your majesty.”

*

“Oh, Faye!” Silque called, waving her arms. “Over here!”

Faye paused in the mess hall… well, they called it a mess hall, but it only served a small portion of the normal army, because too many people in one place at one time would agitate the Terrors. Which was upsetting to Faye on so many levels. And Gray wasn’t even here to commiserate and crack bad jokes.

“Did you need something, Silque?”

“Not especially.” Silque linked her arm through the one of Faye’s that wasn’t carrying a plate of food. “I just thought there were so few women here, it would be nice to have a good old gossip.”

“Oh.” Faye wondered if there was a way to say this that wouldn’t come out as rude. “…I don’t really like that sort of thing.”

“You don’t?” Silque seemed surprised for some reason. Did Faye give off ‘gossiper’ vibes? Was it because of the pigtails? “Well, nevermind. I can teach you the arts of gossip!”

“But…”

She was already dragging Faye in the direction of the tables. She seemed so excited, it seemed a bit mean to shut her down. And to think she’d been missing Gray a second ago. This was a punishment from the gods, wasn’t it? Be careful what you wish for?

Silque went on for some time about various people that Faye didn't know at all. Once she mentioned Python, the man they'd met at the entrance with Lukas, but all Silque said about him was that he'd been caught by Sir Clive napping on duty and gotten an earful.

"I don't even know who these guys are," Faye protested. "Why should I care who got in trouble for what?"

"Wow, you really aren't a gossip, are you?" Silque sighed. "I hoped we might have more in common."

She seemed a little disappointed. Faye searched for another topic. "Well... uh... you could tell me about yourself! You said you're from the priory on Novis? What is it like there?"

Silque perked up. "Oh! It's a beautiful little island. The priory is one of the oldest religious sites in the Faith, short of the temple where the Mother herself resides; it's very elegant. You should see it someday! There's also the lovely beaches... I used to go walking there with the other children at the priory, and we used to find the most magnificent shells!"

Faye ate her plain food with half an ear to the story. It did sound like a wonderful place, and it was obvious that Silque was fond of it. Faye still missed the woods and vineyards of Ram, but maybe it would be nice to visit somewhere like Novis once in a while.

“You know, I bet Kliff would love to hear about Novis,” she hinted gently. “He’s always wanted to travel outside of Ram village.”

“Oh, but I haven’t just lived in Novis! I used to travel all over Valentia with my mother. She was a cleric too, you know.” There was a distant look on her face. “I even visited Rigel with her, when things were more peaceful between us.”

Faye was about to say something, an awkward attempt at comfort, when Silque shook herself and brightened. “Ah, but there’s plenty enough doom and gloom to go around right now. Let’s not dwell on that.” She smiled. “Thank you, Faye. You’re a great listener.”

“…I am?”

Silque just giggled gently and left.

Faye was still confused. At least she’s happy, I guess?

Chapter Text

"...Are you sure it's okay if I come to the meeting?" Alm asked Clair.

"Of course!" she said. "My brother values your opinion. You were trained by Sir Mycen himself, after all!"

That was true, Alm supposed. He probably knew as much about war as was possible without having been in one. He wasn't sure how helpful that actually was compared to... well, having been in one. Sir Clive seemed to lean on the connection to Sir Mycen rather a lot considering that the most Alm had done was find one minor problem with the supplies, correct one incorrect figure in Fernand's papers (admittedly, that had been satisfing), and agree with whatever plan was already in place.

Still, at least it let him be close to Celica. She was still rather busy outside of meetings, but he got to see her in them. She often smiled at him and they managed to silently communicate whilst the more knowledgeable people were arguing the details; she seemed tired, but otherwise okay.

“And Celica depends on you a lot,” Clair added. “It’ll be her first time leading a battle, so it’s important that she can focus on that and have someone else to keep up with the tactical decisions.”

“Right,” Alm said.

It must have come out wrong, because her eyes widened. “N-Not that I think she would do badly with tactical decisions, of course! I just—”

“No, I understand!” Alm said hastily. “You’re just trying to look out for her. I appreciate that.”

Clair breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it was because she was in the strategy meetings as a result of Clive’s inability to say no to her, but she was the only noble besides Lukas who had taken to using ‘Celica’ rather than ‘Princess Anthiese’, as Celica requested. Alm knew it meant a lot to her, to still be treated like the same person, and he appreciated Clair being so considerate towards her.

“I do hope she’s okay…” Clair said. “She has a tendency to keep things to herself, I’ve noticed.”

“Ah, yeah. It’s a bad habit of hers at times.”

Clair shook her head. “Well, this simply won’t do. I know! I will distract my brother and Fernand, and you can take Celica away to visit all your friends!”

Alm laughed. “I think they might notice that.”

She smiled a little and blushed, showing that it had been a joke. “Well, I suppose. All the same, I think we will be wise to insist that the princess has some time to make social calls before the big battle.”

Perhaps ‘social calls’ wasn’t the phrase that he would’ve used – these could, though he hated to even think it, be the last time Celica got to speak with one of her friends – but the intent was the same. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ll tag team them.”

“Oh, I’ve never been in a tag team before!”

To be honest, I’d be surprised if you ever needed a second party before. You certainly have your brother wrapped around your little finger…

*

Celica was automatically nervous about being led into the farther reaches of the catacombs, places that not even the Deliverance, with its sprawling network of rooms for mess halls and dorms, regularly touched with their patrols. Alm said it would be worth it for the surprise, but the hairs on the back of her neck were standing stiff, and she felt like she was about to be leapt on by some monster.

Alm turned into one of the disused rooms, brushing cobwebs off his shoulders, and—

“Boo!”

Celica quickly smothered her shriek with her hands, and everyone – Kliff, Faye, Tobin, Alm and Gray, who else – all froze in place, straining their ears. Nothing happened, and gradually they all relaxed.

Faye punched Gray in the shoulder really hard.

He winced. “I know, I know! It was dumb, you don’t have to do that! Celica, I’m really sorry…”

“Oh, you’re such an idiot,” Celica said, nearly in tears, and threw her arms around him.

“Wait, no—” Gray protested, barely managing to catch her. “Oh man they’re gonna be so mad if I drop the princess on her ass—"

She hadn’t realised until that moment how frightened she was of losing them all, how much it had eaten away at her that all her pleas might’ve been for nothing and they’d assume they weren’t welcome, she didn’t want them…

Except Alm, but he’d always been a special case.

“Alm, they’ve obviously been working her too hard if she’s this happy to see Gray,” Tobin said with an air of concern.

“Hey, people can be happy to see me!” Gray said, setting Celica down on her feet.

“But are they, though? Like, ever?”

She took the moment of distraction as a chance to wipe her eyes, although she was pretty sure that everyone had seen already and were only avoiding mentioning it to be kind.

“You look tired,” said Faye – as ever, at Celica’s shoulder whilst the boys bickered. “They really have been working you too hard. I can give you my supply of chamomile tea to help you sleep?”

“I’ll be fine, but thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Kliff hovered, tapping the fingers of his right hand against his thumb in sequence, something he did as an outlet for agitation. “I mean, you’re supposed to be the big rallying point for morale, right? I think that will be undermined a bit if you topple of your horse and fall asleep at the side of the road.”

Poor Kliff – it was so rare for him to express concern for someone out loud. He was not very well practised at it, either, but it was the thought that mattered to Celica.

“I’m certain,” she assured Kliff. “What about you? I hope they haven’t been working you too hard.”

“Ah, it’s easy,” he said. “I finally cracked that thunder spell from the book – I’ll show you.”

“Uh, wait, no no—” Tobin broke off his argument with Gray to slide between them “C’mon, Celica’s exhausted enough already, and you were dead on your feet when you cast that for the first time. Also, I told you not to practise without supervision!”

“Sorry, Mother.”

Celica smiled, just enjoying the atmosphere and being together with all of them. She hoped to never lose this.

I think from now on, I’ll sleep just fine.

*

The day of the attack dawned bright and early, but it was still uncomfortably cold in the air, and damp from low-lying cloud. Clair knew it was a silly thing to worry what the moisture might do to her hair, given everything that lay ahead today, but… Alm might see her before the attack started in earnest.

Stop it! She scolded herself. You’re a knight of Zofia and you will act like it!

Anyway, she was pretty sure it was a hopeless cause before it had even really begun. If the princess wasn’t head over heels for Alm already, Clair would eat her helmet. And whilst she was not certain Celica would be completely free to choose whom she married, Clair was not ill-bred enough to pursue a man under his love’s nose, nor was she content to be merely someone’s ‘second choice’.

Still, he is so handsome… and kind…

She sighed. If only the other men in the Deliverance were of the same calibre as Alm or Clive.

Clair sighed and pulled her cloak tighter around her, nudging Aero to dip low for a moment. Out of the low-lying cloud, she scanned the road ahead. No sign of enemy movement, but that would change as they got close to Zofia Castle. Hopefully the sun would clear out some of the clouds by then and she would be able to see further. She would also lose some of her cover, but they weren't intending to be totally stealthy anyway, so it didn't really matter if she was spotted.

She assumed her brother must've had this plan in the works for a long time, because it had all come together remarkably quickly after Celica's arrival. Lukas said that Python found the timing suspicious, but she wondered how many of the Deliverance agreed with him. Maybe there had been more in the beginning, but she was sure that Celica had won them over.

Oh, she's such a perfect princess!

Beautiful and kind and brave and noble of heart as well as blood – it was like something out of a storybook. Maybe that was why Clair didn't feel so bad about Celica and Alm; she'd always loved fairytales.

She turned Aero to return to the main army. It wasn't really possible to hide this many soldiers, but Clive had been sending out smaller squads to make their way through the countryside at a more leisurely pace, building up their forces around Zofia Castle unnoticed. With the feint from their forces at Zofia Harbour forcing Desaix to leave the castle under-defended for a few weeks before the return of the bulk of his armed forces from the border... they should have the opening to take back the castle. With it secure, they could proclaim Celica's heritage, and seal the divides in Zofia by uniting everyone behind their true queen!

Clair knew it wouldn't be that easy, of course. Desaix had his loyalists, too, and many might be sceptical of Celica's claim of noble blood. But a decisive victory would make a big difference.

“How does it look, Clair?” Lukas said as she touched down at the head of the column.

“No signs of trouble yet.”

“Good. Take some time to rest yourselves.” He nodded to Aero too, but kept a respectful distance. His courteousness towards Aero had always pleased her. Her brother was truly lucky to have such a thoughtful deputy. “We’ll need your insights when it comes to the battle, too – if the tide turns against us at a crucial moment, we’ll be relying on you to sound the retreat.”

“I know,” Clair said. She wasn’t a greenhorn anymore—she was no longer incapable of recognising her limits, and Aero’s, and pushing herself too far too early, ending up useless later. “I’ll be fighting fit, you’ll see.”

Lukas seemed satisfied with this, seeming more cheerful. What a difficult man he was to read. She couldn’t tell if he was as nervous as she at all.

As the day wore on it grew hotter and hotter, as temperamental as ever for springtime. Clair took to the skies a few more times, but it wasn't until they were stopped for a break and food at noon that she spotted any sign of the enemy.

"A patrol," she told Lukas. "A large one - a force of fifteen. Footsoldiers only. They must have spotted the dustclouds."

"They won't be the first," Lukas said, getting to his feet.

He glanced around at the soldiers, considering. He seemed to have a special consideration for Python and Forsyth, so Clair wasn't surprised when he tapped them on the shoulders, urging them to come – but she was surprised when he called over the new recruits from Ram, including Alm.

Gray gave her a friendly wave, which she returned. She had not spent that much time with Alm’s friends as of yet, but she was looking forward to getting to know them better.

She watched anxiously as they left to engage the enemy squad, keeping to the trees, because it was more important not to be seen this time. Mother Mila, please see to their safety.

There was the faint noise of hoofbeats, and Clair tensed, but it was only Celica riding up to meet her on her old warhorse – what did she call it, again?

"Is something wrong?" she said.

"Oh, no." Clair tried to sound reassuring despite her own nerves. There's only a small scouting party down the road. Lukas has taken a party to engage them."

She thought she had been quite successful in sounding unworried, but still Celica seemed melancholy. "It feels wrong," she said, to Clair's questioning look. "To be fighting our own people – if we had escaped their notice until after the battle, would they have welcomed us with open arms?" She sighed. "Clive and Fernand said a lot of the soldiers here are Desaix's most loyal, so perhaps not. I still can't help but think..."

Clair’s heart swelled with pride, which was a strange thing when she’d had no part in making Celica the woman she was, but—how wonderful it was, to be fighting for a ruler who truly cared for everyone. Clair had never felt more at ease with all the necessities of being a knight of Zofia, the fighting and killing, knowing that it would be worthwhile when Celica could make the happy and just kingdom they were all fighting for.

*

Gray flexed his fingers, trying to control his nerves. Not that anyone would blame a guy for being nervous before his first big battle, which also happened to be the most important fight for the Deliverance yet, and… someone put him in the first charge, for some reason? Who had that bright idea?

He wished that Tobin was here. He more or less seemed to know the right things to say to make things better, but he wasn’t even with their archers – he’d been assigned to the diversion on the weak eastern wall. They, meanwhile, were waiting at the back door to the Palace (that is, the least grand entrance used by merchant caravans, which was still pretty grand, with two enormous oak doors set into the wall with perfect symmetry).

Gray hoped Tobin was okay. Actually, he hoped everyone was okay. Well not literally everyone, Desaix was a pretty evil dude so he could jump off a cliff so far as Gray was concerned, and some of the guys on the other side seemed to support him and they couldn’t all be misguided, right—

Clair’s pegasus took to the skies suddenly and his thoughts came to a screeching halt. His mind was oddly blank as he watched her dip below the wall and disappear. The whole thing had taken maybe a few seconds but his mouth was dry with fear. What if someone saw her? Or the inside man the Deliverance was supposed to have had been found out, double crossed them, or—?

Maybe it was for the best that none of his friends were nearby if he was this worried about ‘cute pegasus girl’, who’d been a knight for years, probably, and had definitely seen more than one battle.

The only sounds were those of the distant battle taking place at the east wall and the sound of Gray’s heart pounding loudly in his own ears. When the signal went up, he was incapable of doing anything about it until the soldiers around him started to move and his brain caught up to what his eyes were seeing.

Oh, he thought. This is it.

He tried not to think of Tobin, or Faye or Kliff or Alm or Celica, because thinking about what they would do if he did something stupid and got himself killed was nearly as bad as thinking about them dying. Instead, Gray concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, the adrenaline running through the army and crackling like thunder in the air, or maybe that was only Gray’s nerves being made tangible—

They poured through the leftmost door as it opened before them. Gray saw Clair leap onto her pegasus and take to the skies again, heading for the other door to let in the other half of the main army. An archer patrolling on the walls, attracted by the noise, took aim at her and Gray opened his mouth to shout – but an arrow, then a second, punctured the archer’s chest and he toppled off the battlements and plummeted to the floor without nocking a single shot.

“She can thank me later,” said a familiar voice near Gray’s ear – he glanced over to see that it was Python, who looked almost bored.

Python winked at Gray when their eyes met. “Don’t stop and gawk, greenie, you’re going to get shot yourself.”

Gray took his point and let himself get swept up in the surge of bodies moving forwards.

As they’d expected, the resistance this near to the gates was nearly non-existent. There had been a few guards in the gatehouse, but they were all dead by the time Gray got there; he spared them a glance to be sure, but there really was a lot of blood and also that guy was missing a head which would make backstabbing difficult, so he kept going.

As they pushed closer to the inner walls – the last barrier between them and the keep – that was when they did start to run into trouble.

The barracks burst open and soldiers started to pour out, most of them armed with spears but a handful brandishing swords and axes – no one mounted, no knights, as of yet, but dozens of ordinary soldiers, more than Gray could even estimate at a glance. And this place was supposed to be the least defended.

Gray was starting to get an idea of why Alm had called the Deliverance’s plan “ambitious”.

Still, he pressed forward, because going back at this point would’ve been impossible. Desaix’s soldiers had been taken by surprise and the first wave went down under the Deliverance’s swords and spears, but after a few minutes of exchange they started to centre themselves and push back. Some of them – archers, again, made their way to the stairs to mount the walls and shoot down on them; some of them were cut down on the way but several more made it up the stairs. Python took another before the man could take a shot – he was still near Gray – but the others—

And then Gray was pushed into the fighting himself and he lost track of everything else that was going on, catching someone’s sword with his, kicking their knee to unsteady them; someone else stabbed them in the back and Gray nodded, mindlessly, not even directing thanks in their direction, and moved out of the way of a stabbing spear. He grabbed it and pulled and the soldier stumbled forward, and Gray cut him down.

It was a series of exchanges and barely time to breath, let alone think, for what seemed like days but was probably only a few minutes. Gray was breathing in great, heaving gasps, even though he didn’t even feel that tired, his entire body singing…

Then the man next to him went down with an arrow in his throat and Gray thought, Oh, those guys.

He was an ally but Gray didn’t know his name, couldn’t pause to close his eyes or hear his last breaths or even to wipe away the man’s blood, which trickled uncomfortably down Gray’s neck and under his shirt, as an enemy moved to fill the gap and Gray was forced to parry, thrust, riposte – all those old words he’d learnt from Sir Mycen which had sounded strange and alien on his tongue translated into movement that came to him like blinking.

He had a sinking suspicion that he stepped on that ally’s face at one point in the struggle, and hoped the poor guy was already dead by then.

One of Desaix’s soldiers had a shield; Gray stole it off him when he killed him, even though it cost him a few precious seconds of exposure, and then charged the staircase whilst holding it above his head—

Wait, what am I doing? This is a stupid idea!

But it was too late by then and Gray was, as he was often told, fundamentally an idiot, so he probably shouldn’t have been surprised when two, three arrows thocked into the shield with enough force to make Gray knock himself over the head with it, but he kept going and just straight up pushed the first archer over the wall. As soon as he disappeared, Gray whirled around only to get an arrow in the thigh, where he didn’t expect it at all; he gasped and hunched over as he staggered forward, which might have saved his life as another arrow went sailing over his head.

He stabbed the next man in the gut, and then, because that was a really mean and slow way to die, slashed his throat. He brought the shield up to race at the next one, feeling like it was his arm itself that was made of iron, only to blink stupidly when the archer was already dead on the floor.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” Python demanded. “Are you an idiot, charging up here all my yourself?”

“I think I stepped on someone,” Gray blurted—oh, is that why I did it?—but that wasn’t really a proper answer so then he added, “Yeah, yeah I kinda am an idiot.”

Python blinked at him, and then started laughing. “Well, at least you’re a self-aware idiot.” He pulled the shield off Gray’s arm in two swift movements, and then picked up the enemy archer’s bow into his hands. “Can you shoot?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Gray said. Tobin and Faye were the only ones who were actually good at archery, but Sir Mycen – and, later, Faye, who thought it was a practical skill that everyone should know, the little drill sergeant – had made sure everyone was competent with a bow.

“Alright then.” Python nudged him. “Psst—it’s time to start shooting.”

Gray realised that the shield he’d borrowed had been handed over to Forsyth, who was occupying the stairs like a very overexcited boulder, stopping a surge of Desaix’s soldiers from getting to them.

Oh. Oh, they came up here after me, didn’t they?

He felt a little bad about that, but he couldn’t afford to think too hard about it then, so he just nocked an arrow and made sure to aim well clear of anyone wearing the Deliverance’s colours. He wasn’t Tobin, and now was really not the time to try making those stupid trick shots to show off.

Luckily the battlements were well-stocked with arrows, so when he and Python ran out in their quivers, they restocked from there. A few other archers fought their way up in Deliverance colours, and it was sort of companionable, the steady rhythm of draw, aim, release, even if Gray’s arms started to feel like puppets that he was merely directing instead of his own flesh-and-blood limbs. If only it didn’t give him a perfect view of the field of battle. He tried not to look at first, but soon found that that was actually worse, catching people going down out of the corner of his eye and then thinking, wait, but maybe I could’ve…

So then he started scanning the field, firing off shots to get Deliverance folks breathing space or to take an enemy down for them, and that felt good and all but there were still too many times that he saw someone fall.

Still, after a while, he began to realise that the Deliverance colours outnumbered Desaix’s people, and then a little while later he noticed that there were very few of Desaix’s people left at all, and many of them were just throwing down their weapons or just trying to barricade themselves in the barracks.

“Looks like the first part is over,” Python said. “Now we just have to take the keep.”

Gray was about to say something sarcastic, like ‘oh, that simple?’ but then Forsyth said, in a loud, booming voice, “Come, comrades! Let us join the rest for the next stage of the attack!” and really, what kind of tired sarcasm could stand up to that?

By now, obviously, the soldiers in the inner walls had realised something was up, but also the Deliverance were due reinforcements from the aborted attack on the eastern wall at any minute now.

“How’re we getting through there?” Gray said. This part of the plan had been explained to him before, but like hell he was able to remember it right now.

“Same way we got these gates open,” Python said, and then his expression turned grim and uncharacteristically serious as Clair took to the air. “Bugger shit fuck she’s supposed to wait for the signal! Go, go!”

Then it was a race to catch up to Clair, dodging arrows in the sky and all the while circling lower and lower, looking for a landing site on the other side of the wall. Python took out three archers by himself but Gray wasn’t even confident of being able to fire an arrow that far, and his leg was starting to seriously ache now, slowing him down, so he shouldered the bow for the time being and drew his sword again.

There wasn’t the same surge, this time, as the gates opened, more like a gentle wave, apart from all the swords and spears which made it not very gentle at all—alright, need to work on that metaphor if I’m ever gonna write ‘The Epoch of Gray and Those Other Guys’—and Gray just had a moment to see Clair’s pegasus being physically held down, a spear in its side, as Clair was hauled from the saddle by her hair—

Python’s arrow took someone straight in the eye, so that Clair was able to get to her feet, lance in hand with her back to Aero the pegasus, and Forsyth dashed forward with frankly demoralising speed from a guy wearing so much heavy armour.

Gray found himself moving forward, too, momentarily forgetting about his bad leg, even forgetting for that moment about those ‘saving the girl’ jokes he’d made at the Outpost; he just moved, and someone’s head was separated from their shoulders, he did that and oh wow gross too much blood but there were more and more people piling in and he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Forsyth and they just wouldn’t stop, but then they were next to Clair.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said, sounding like she’d never been worried at all. Gray wasn’t sure whether he ought to be impressed or if he should strangle her.

Then the faces of Desaix’s men turned fearful as the ground under Gray’s feet began to rumble with the pounding of hooves. Gray expected to feel triumphant at the arrival of the Deliverance’s knights, but instead he just felt exasperated. What took them so long?

“Votes for giving them the difficult job next time?” he said, exhausted.

Forsyth spluttered indignantly, but Python smirked and said, “Seconded.”

Clair shook her head, but there was a tiny smile at the corner of her mouth. “Motion carried, then!”

*

Berkut had never had much confidence in the abilities of Desaix – a slimy, grasping character if ever there was one, and cowardly to boot. Berkut was sure the man had no intentions of staying outside with his men as the tide of the battle turned against him, the battle having surpassed even Berkut’s meagre expectations to turn into an utter failure.

Against the wall was the dracoshield which Berkut had gifted to Desaix on behalf of his uncle. Berkut snorted and picked it up, testing the weight. Made from necrodragon skin, it was surprisingly light for its size and toughness, but still, he worried that…

“Rinea, my dear?”

The door to the room opened and Rinea slid inside, an anxious expression marring her beautiful features. “Lord Berkut, fighting has broken out in the castle!”

“So soon?” This was much worse than they’d expected. No wonder the Chancellor had come crawling on hands and knees to Rigel, offering such generous terms of surrender. They should’ve just rode right over him and taken whatever they wanted.

“Yes, my lord,” Rinea said. “The castle servants have decided to help the rebels, and have been opening all sorts of doorways into the castle.”

“The peasants are only doing their duty, I suppose, if the rebel leader really is the missing Crown Princess.” Given Desaix’s incompetence today, it no longer surprised Berkut to learn that at least one royal child had survived. Perhaps she would prove a worthy adversary to him. He gave the shield to Rinea. “Will you be able to carry this? I would hate for any harm to come to you.”

She struggled with it for a moment, and Berkut could see that the weight of it was greater than she could bear for any length of time. “I… I think I can manage it, my lord.”

“Rinea.” He stepped closer to her, brushing her cheek and smiling when she leaned into his touch. “How many times have I told you? You need not keep up these formalities when we are in private.”

“Of course,” she whispered, smiling. “Berkut.”

He loved to her his name in her sweet voice, and despite the dangers, he could not resist pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth and laughing gently when she blushed. “Let us away then, my dear.”

She nodded. “Your men are making their own way out. I’ve spoken to the maid Maria, and she’s secured us a secret route behind the kitchens, which comes out near the stables.”

“Well done, my dear.”

Rinea seemed to hesitate. “I said you and your men wouldn’t hurt anyone as we were leaving. You will show mercy, won’t you?”

“If you ask, of course I will,” Berkut said, taking her arm and guiding her out of the room, sword in hand. “Besides, I know you were fond of her.”

They hurried away, leaving Desaix to whatever fate awaited him. Berkut thought the man would probably manage to get away; preserving his own life seemed to be only thing for which he held any talent.

Cries of ‘For the princess!’ rang throughout the castle, creating a demented echo in the servant’s passageway behind the kitchens.

I wonder when we’ll meet again, Princess Anthiese?

Chapter Text

After taking the castle, everything was chaos for a while. First of all there was the keep, with all the hidden nooks and crannies that Celica remembered – and more than she didn’t. Even with the help of the castle servants, it would take days to be certain that the castle was free of enemies… if they could ever be certain. For the time being, Celica went everywhere flanked by bodyguards. At least Alm and Fernand were friendly faces, to her if not to each other.

“How did the battle go?” she asked.

“Casualties were a little higher than we expected,” Fernand said, seemingly uncaring. “But we still have plenty of men to hold the castle, especially when the reinforcements from Zofia Harbour return.”

Celica nodded. Higher casualties than we expected. There would probably be exact numbers soon. She’d asked that they count the dead among Desaix’s men, too; even if they’d been fighting against them, they were still Zofians and deserved a proper burial and for their families to be contacted on their behalf, if possible.

She turned to Alm next, the words getting stuck in her throat. She was the princess with a responsibility to all of Zofia; wasn’t it wrong for her to prioritise the lives of some of her subjects over the others?

But she did, nonetheless.

“Everyone made it through,” Alm said, smiling warmly, and Celica nearly sagged with relief. “Gray—and Clair—took the worst injuries, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with some healing and a few days of rest—”

Fernand rounded on Alm. “What happened to Clair?”

“You’ll have to ask her yourself. She made me promise not to tell you.”

To Celica’s alarm, Fernand didn’t back down, stepping further into Alm’s personal space. Alm didn’t even blink. “What. Happened.”

“Fernand, she’s safe and she’s going to be fine,” Alm said gently.

“You can’t ask Alm to betray a friend’s trust,” Celica put in, before things could escalate further.

“Alm should not be associating with a lady of Clair’s stature in the—”

Celica lost her temper and shouted, “Enough, Fernand!”

Silence fell. Fernand closed his jaws with a snap, still looking mulish and angry. Celica almost felt bad for talking to him so harshly in front of an audience, but the way he went on was just inexcusable. She wouldn’t allow anyone to talk to her friends in that way. Clive and Clair had been far too indulgent of Fernand’s prejudice, but just because his family’s death was tragic didn’t give him the right to say such things. If Celica couldn’t show him that he was wrong overnight, she could at least discourage him from voicing those thoughts to other people.

“We are going to visit the wounded,” Celica said carefully, “and if I hear anything from you that is not an expression of sympathy or a thanks for all their hard work, there will be consequences.”

Fernand’s lips turned into a thin white line in his face, but he did not reply.

Celica found that she didn’t know what to do with her anger. She felt restless and her fingers twitched, like they wanted to throw sparks and light a fire under his feet. That was not a helpful impulse, but it took a moment to swallow it down.

Everyone was looking at her. She realised she’d forgotten the other two bodyguards’ names; she’d met so many people recently…

“Well, there’s no time like the present.” Alm jerked his thumb towards the stairs, which led to the second floor and the temporary medical quarters. “Gray’s probably annoying the nurses by now, anyway.”

Celica felt her anger melt away. “You’re right,” she said. “We must rescue them from his terrible jokes.”

“Even worse,” Alm said, starting for the stairs. Although Celica was supposed to be leading now, she fell into step with him automatically. “He could be flirting.”

She thought she could hear Fernand grinding his teeth.

In the hospital wing, Gray’s bed wasn’t within easy reach of the doors; eager not to be seen showing too much favouritism, Celica went round all the beds in order, talking to the men and women of the Deliverance, asking them how they were feeling. There was little she could really do, in all honesty, except to offer words of comfort – she trusted that the nurses and clerics would have already done their best for the patients, and if Celica ordered more pillows for this one, or more pain relief for that, or can’t you close up this cut now, she would only be getting in the way.

It was uncomfortable to talk to many of them with the hero worship in their eyes, although Celica did her best to hide her discomfort behind a pleasant mask she was close to perfecting.

There was one woman that began to cry as soon as Celica sat by her bedside. Instinctively, she took the woman’s hand, which seemed to jolt her a bit.

“I-I’m sorry, your Majesty.” She sniffed. “I appreciate you comin’ down here to see us all.”

“What’s your name?”

“Elicia, your Majesty.”

Celica smiled encouragingly. “Why are you upset?”

“It’s my brother,” Elicia whispered. “He’s… He didn’t make it. He was all I had left and I…”

And she began to cry again in earnest.

Conrad.

Celica didn’t think about him often, because it was still too painful. His shy smile and the way he would trail after her, ready to defend her against any of their larger siblings, but the mere thought of a ghost or a monster would send him scurrying away to hide behind Lady Vittoria’s skirts.

What sort of man would he have grown up to be?

Celica wrapped her arms around Elicia’s shuddering frame. She still smelt of blood from the battle.

“Princess!” someone behind Celica hissed, but she paid them no heed.

Elicia seemed to hear, though, because she pushed Celica away, trying to wipe away the tears that still flowed freely down her face. “Pardon me, Princess.”

“I cannot offer you pardon if you’ve done nothing wrong.” She tried to smile. “Elicia… I understand how you feel. To lose all your family is something I would never wish on anyone. And it will never go away completely.” She thought of the screams she’d heard in the fire. Never could she forget those voices. “But there are reasons to keep going. Family is not only those bound to you by blood, but the loved ones we choose to surround ourselves with. It’s hard, but eventually, you can find those people for yourself and be happy again.”

She reached out and squeezed Elicia’s hand.

“And,” she said, “I know that’s what your brother would want for you.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Elicia said. She was still crying, but in a dazed sort of way. Celica remembered that feeling. After crying the entire journey to Ram, she’d just been left empty and directionless. If her words to Elicia could alleviate that but a little… “I’ll… I’ll try. And I—I’m sorry about your family too an’ all.”

Celica gave her her best wishes for recovery, and began to move on to the next bed.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Fernand said softly.

“I—” Elicia swallowed. She must have known the rumours about him in the Deliverance, but after a moment, she only bowed her head. “Thank you, my lord.”

It wasn’t appropriate for Celica to smile, although she felt like it a little, a warm, expansive feeling in her chest. They’d passed dozens of bedsides, and it was the first word that Fernand had spoken at any of them.

She could see that he was—displeased with himself, holding himself too stiffly to be really natural or comfortable, but she didn’t want to let the moment go unacknowledged. “It was kind of you to offer your sympathies, Fernand,” she said gently.

“It’s as you said.” He avoided meeting her eyes. “It’s something I would never wish on anyone.”

Celica left it at that. Fernand did not say another word, but she thought he seemed more wrapped up in himself than stubbornly refusing to talk to the ‘peasants’, as he had been when he came in.

Alm nudged her and said, in an undertone, “You handle him well.”

Considering how often Alm was the target of Fernand’s harsh critiques, it meant a lot to hear him say that – and to think she wasn’t wasting her time.

Finally, they had seen everyone but Gray and Clair, and Celica was exhausted from smiling so much and offering so much comfort. It was harder than she’d expected to see all these people laid out in their beds, knowing that she had been part of the reason why many of them were in this state.

She tried not to dwell on those thoughts. Clive said they had been planning an attack on Zofia Castle anyway; her reappearance, and the new recruits it had brought, only allowed them to accelerate those plans. No one could guarantee things would’ve gone the same way in another universe, but it was possible some of those people would’ve been just as injured, or even worse off. Or maybe they would’ve come through unscathed, but someone else would’ve taken that blow in their place. Even the Turnwheels couldn’t offer such specific guidance.

“Hey, Celica,” Gray said, as she near sank into a chair by his bedside. “Wow, you look exhausted. Long day?”

“Yes,” she answered simply. “And what did you do to yourself, mister?”

“He decided to charge three archers at once by himself!” Clair called from the next bed over.

Fernand, who was standing near her bed, bent down to say something to her, which started a small but hushed argument – Celica could only hear their whispers and no distinct words.

“Wow, Gray,” Alm said dryly, “I think that is some strong competition for your worst idea yet. Congratulations.”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Gray grinned at them, apparently pleased with himself, but Celica saw the undercurrent of fear in his eyes, and she was sure Alm noticed it too.

She shook her head. “I’m glad you’re in one piece, anyway. Just don’t worry us like that again.”

“Well, I’ll try,” Gray said. He pointed at Clair accusingly, “Anyway, like you’re one to talk about being reckless! Python told me you were supposed to—”

“No!” Clair tried to shush him with frantic gestures, but by then, of course, Fernand had caught on.

He glowered with an impressively scary look for his delicate features. “What is he talking about, Clair?”

“I… It’s nothing, really,” she tried to say, and then wilted under Fernand’s angry gaze. “Well, I… I may have been somewhat premature in my eagerness to open the way to the inner courtyard, but—”

Fernand covered his face with his hands. “Don’t tell me… you went ahead without waiting for everyone to get into position, didn’t you?”

“I merely saw an opportunity, and I took it.”

“Clair!” Fernand hissed. “You cannot treat your own life so cavalierly! Do you know what it would do to your brother and I if you were to die?”

“Well, that’s never stopped you, now, has it?” Clair snapped, making Fernand jerk away. “You cannot sit here, with that furious expression, and tell me that I am too reckless! Do you know how many times I’ve seen you overreach and escape by a hair’s breadth? Both of you—all of you!”

Fernand flinched. “What happened to Mathilda was—”

“Because she was reckless!” Clair countered. “Because we have to be! Because we’re a small force and we have to make our own luck!” She fell back onto the bed and continued in a quieter voice. “That’s fine. I understand why you have to do that. But you—you must stop treating me like a little girl, Fernand. I am a knight of Zofia, too, and I will do what is necessary.”

Fernand gaped at her for a moment. “But you…” he began weakly.

Celica made a concerted effort to turn away and let them have some privacy, only to find Gray listening to the conversation with rapt attention.

She poked him, and he shook himself, but there was an odd gleam in his eye. “I’m gonna marry her,” he said.

Alm scratched his head. “Uhh…”

“Also—” Gray pointed back towards Clair’s bed. “Everything she said? Definitely my reason too. Making our own luck. Yeah! So no yelling.”

“That sounds like a great excuse, Gray,” Celica said lightly. “Maybe you had better spend some time rehearsing it before Faye comes to see you.”

She felt mean for laughing when all the colour drained out of his face.

*

It took a week for things to settle down after taking the castle, and then everything was thrown into chaos again when Sir Clive began to arrange a hasty coronation.

“We should secure the princess’s claim to the throne as soon as possible,” he said. “And it gives the people a reason to celebrate.”

Alm thought that giving food out to the people, rather than holding a feast here, would give them more reason to celebrate, but he didn’t expect Celica to take him seriously when he mentioned it to her.

“But you must have some kind of celebration befitting your station,” Fernand said.

“I’ll have a crown; that’s good enough,” Celica said firmly. Alm saw the aborted movement to touch the circlet on her head – one that had been worn by one of her elder sisters, she said. A servant had dug it out of storage when the Deliverance arrived at the castle, and a proper crown was being prepared in record time for the coronation itself.

“There can still be a party,” Alm suggested. “Music and dancing—but we have to remember that there’s a famine going on outside these walls. If people see Celica feasting whilst they can barely feed themselves, they aren’t going to be celebrating. Besides, with how dangerous the roads have been, news travels slower than normal. Not everyone in the borders will even know Cel—that Princess Anthiese is alive.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Celica said, taking up the argument. “And providing them with much needed food will give a better impression than announcing my reign with—with a new tax, or similar.”

“I do see your logic…” Clive said, although he still sounded a little dubious about the whole thing. He had been acting oddly, recently, particularly towards Alm. “It will take a lot of men to ensure that the supplies aren’t simply seized by bandits, which we don’t currently have the resources to achieve.”

But a few days later, the army returned from the Rigelian border, and almost to a man, they bent the knee to Princess Anthiese.

Though that may have been something to do with the man who came at the head of the army.

“Grandpapa!” Celica called. It wasn’t very princess-like, and Fernand shouted a reprimand when she dashed forward and let herself be swept up into Grandfather’s arms, but it made Alm smile so hard that his cheeks hurt.

“And you,” Sir Mycen said, clapping a hand on Alm’s shoulder before drawing him into a hug as well. “A real warrior now, boy. It will only get harder from here, never easier.” He paused, taking in the sight of both of them. “But I am proud of what you’ve accomplished so far.”

“Is this where you were all this time, Grandpapa?” Celica said, letting him escort her at a more sedate pace.

“When that man came to the village, I knew you would want to go,” Grandfather said. “So I decided to head for the border and secure the bulk of your forces. It seems I still have some old friends amongst the officers.”

“You didn’t tell us that Celica was a princess,” Alm said, with just a hint of accusation.

He was happy to see Grandfather again, of course he was, but—to keep the secret all this time…

“I was trying to keep both of you safe,” Sir Mycen said. “As I still am.”

Grandfather did not apologise, and Alm had not expected him to; he was rarely sorry about anything.

But it was hard to dwell on it when he could the leaders and officers of the Deliverance slowly grow more and more excited when they realised who was approaching.

“That’s Forsyth,” Celica whispered. There was a glint of mischief in her eye. “Would you shake his hand, Grandpa? It would make him so happy.”

Alm could see Grandfather hesitated, so he added, “Forsyth and his friend Python helped save Gray’s life in the battle.” Oh, Faye’s fury when she’d gotten the whole story out of Gray had been a sight to behold.

That seemed to win Grandfather over, because when Celica introduced him to the leaders of the Deliverance, he paused in front of Forsyth, who looked like he might be about to faint from sheer happiness.

“I hear that you saved the life of one of my students?”

“I—uh—well—” Python stomped on Forsyth’s foot. “Yes—that is… yes!”

Luckily, Grandfather seemed amused by Forsyth’s tongue-tied response. “You have my thanks,” he said, and shook Forsyth’s hand.

Forsyth made a small, squeaky noise of excitement, and stared rapturously at his hand.

After introductions, Clive and Fernand wanted them to talk inside. Alm grabbed one of the messengers and asked him to find Kliff, Tobin, Gray (recently released), and Faye, who would obviously want to see Grandfather too.

“I know he shook your hand, I was standing right there,” Alm heard Python say irritably as they were leaving. “Forsyth—Forsyth, stop crying, you twit!”

*

Having Sir Mycen at her back seemed to give Celica an authority that she hadn’t had before. It was such a subtle difference that he wasn’t sure at first if he was really seeing anything, until Kliff noticed it to.

“It’s because people have confidence in Sir Mycen,” he said. “It’s one thing to hear that he saved Celica’s life – it’s another to have him here, supporting her.”

“Supporting her?”

“As queen.” Kliff watched Sir Mycen talking with Clive about something. Clive’s face looked a little pinched. “It will give people a lot of confidence if they see that Sir Mycen is willing to listen to her.”

“Celica, giving Grandfather orders?” Alm laughed. “I can’t imagine it.”

“Well, you better get used to the idea quickly,” Kliff said. “Mark my words, Sir Clive will want Celica to show she’s not beholden to Mycen. The nobility never really liked him.”

“He was a Count,” Alm pointed out.

Kliff snorted. “He was made a Count. You heard what Fernand says about Lukas, and the only thing wrong with him is that he’s a Baron’s second son.”

As much as Alm hated to admit it, he thought Kliff might be on to something there. Grandfather was very popular – Alm had lost count of the number of people who’d wanted to meet him just for being the man’s grandson – but his popularity was amongst the common people. And Sir Clive… well, he wasn’t always as welcoming to commoners in the Deliverance as he wanted to be. Alm thought he was genuinely trying, but… maybe he would have less reason to try so hard with most of the reinstated nobility breathing down his neck.

“I’ll talk to Celica about it,” Alm decided. “Thanks, Kliff.”

“You guys would be so lost without me.” Kliff smiled, though, and there was no heat in it. “If you want some advice, I’d go to Lukas. He might only be a Baron’s second son, but he knows the ins and outs of this courtly stuff.”

“And Clair,” Alm said to himself. “Clair will know how the nobility feel about Celica.”

“…You know she’s Sir Clive’s sister, right?”

“I know she’s a good friend, and she genuinely wants to make Zofia better,” Alm replied, a little pointedly.

Kliff shrugged. “If you say so.”

*

The coronation was still an extravagant affair as far as Alm was concerned – the castle hadn’t exactly been plain before but now it was decorated within an inch of its life and, in all honesty, looked borderline gaudy to him. Celica had pulled a face at the decorations too. Most every one else seemed to be happy, though, so Alm left it be.

First there was the coronation ceremony itself, which was relatively small because it was held in the throne room and even that could only fit in so many people at one time. Celica made a good argument for inviting some of the soldiers who had been wounded in the taking of Zofia Castle – even the commoners, shock and horror! – that even Fernand had to begrudgingly accept was a smart proposition and would boost morale even higher.

Elicia, the woman who’d lost her whole family, had been the first name on Celica’s list—even above all her friends from Ram village. Tobin pretended to be wounded but they all understood that it was an important thing for her. Alm thought that having Elicia stand next to Fernand was pushing her luck a bit far, though.

Silque, as the highest-ranking member of the Faith present, was the one to crown Celica. The new crown itself was a simple and elegant thing, not overstated – Alm actually liked it. Of course, that was only because they’d been so short on time, and he’d heard Clair talk about getting a new one made when the war was over. He was starting to think that nobles just had a really bad sense of fashion. It was a thin gold circlet, similar to the one she’d been wearing, but with what appeared to be flames leaping up it and rubies and amethysts set into it to look a little like fire. It was topped off with a medium sized diamond in the centre.

It looked wrong on Celica’s head. Like she was playing very expensive dress up. But… this was Celica now. They were calling her Queen Anthiese and bowing and scraping, and Celica was holding herself in and only showing the queenly mask that she’d been practising—a neutral expression, showing only the vaguest signs of warmth.

No matter what she said, things would be different now. Oh, Alm had no doubt she would be their friend until the end of time. That she’d meant it when she said she didn’t want this to change anything between them, and that she would fight tooth and claw to keep it that way. But… she was going to be busy, obviously, as queen. She was going to have to marry someone suitable for her station. She was going to have to think bigger than her friends, to put their safety behind the safety of the kingdom.

Alm wouldn’t have her do anything less, but it was hard to say goodbye to the Celica he’d known from Ram village – an extraordinary girl, still, but one who could have done or been anything. He said goodbye to the dreams of them exploring the world together, walking side by side, maybe making the crossing to Archanea to see a new culture. And one day, when they’d seen everything the world had to offer, they’d find some place to settle down – some place like Ram, a kind village which needed guardians like Sir Mycen had been. They’d have tales to tell to all the village children, maybe their own and maybe not, and their legends would echo on for years after they were gone.

They were just dreams, Alm tried to tell himself.

But still, he felt his heart sink right down to his toes as the crown was set on Celica’s head, and Silque proclaimed her, “Queen Anthiese of Zofia, the first of her name!”

The hall erupted into cheers—except from Alm himself, and Kliff, standing next to him, who merely clapped his hands and sighed. “Well,” he said, “things will certainly be different now.”

“You gonna stick around to see them?” Alm asked. He planned to stay with Celica, but he knew Kliff had always wanted to see the world.

“Huh? Are you kidding? She’s barely gotten started.” Kliff folded his arms. “Anyway, I still haven’t had a chance to teach her the thunder spell. I still owe her one for when we were kids.”

No, you don’t, Kliff. “And we all know how much you hate owing people.”

“Exactly!” He laughed a little. “But, seriously… the world is still going to be there in a few years when Celica’s settled in. Now? I’d feel bad leaving you all to fend for yourselves. Desaix still has strongholds in the west, and the treaty with Rigel isn’t worth the paper it’s written on now.”

“Like Grandfather said. It’ll only get harder, not easier.”

“A wise man, Sir Mycen.” Kliff lowered his voice a little. “Don’t worry too much about Celica, okay? You’re still the first person in her life. Even a crown can’t change that. She just… needs to learn how to be someone else for a while, first.”

“Yeah,” Alm said. Celica raised her arm as she was led by a hand-picked escort – including Faye, Tobin and Grandfather; she’d insisted – towards the staircase, where there was a grand speech meant to be addressed to the people outside. “Yeah, I know.”

END OF ACT 1

Chapter Text

“Nomah, your grace,” one of the clerics burst in. “There’s been another pirate attack on the west coast.”

Nomah winced and laboured himself out of his seat. He had been busy as of late, and had not had time to visit the beaches as he used to, taking in that wonderful sea breeze. He was sure that was why his bones were suffering. It couldn’t possibly be because he was getting old, of course. Nomah was sure he had another ten years in him, at least! After all, he had to wait until young Boey was of age before he could retire and pass the head of the Faith onto him. He couldn’t imagine a better candidate, and more to the point, he couldn’t imagine a good temporary candidate.

But Nomah’s duties were not only to the Mila Faithful, but to the island of Novis itself, a place he had called home for nearly fifty years. He’d seen loved ones die here, and be born, and people of all kinds and creeds come and go. Pirates, though, had not been this bad on Novis for some time.

It’s not a surprise, though, he thought. Considering the trouble with Mother Mila.

Nomah had not had a missive from the Mother’s Temple in over two months. Over the last few years, there had been little word from the Temple, none from Mother Mila herself, and nothing which gave a good explanation for the famine affecting Zofia except vague platitudes that Nomah and the faithful should ‘pray to the Mother for forgiveness and guidance’.

Obviously, that had not been dictated by Mila herself. Nomah had spoken with the goddess directly on many an occasion over the years, and of the many things she asked – and there were quite a few as of late – prayers were never among them. The Mother gave fertile soil to her children as a gift; it was not a gift if one demanded payment in return. Besides which, Mila had been quite indifferent to humans as of late, even forgetting Nomah’s name once. Prayers? She had no use for those.

It troubled Nomah more than he was comfortable letting on to any of the others in the Faithful. If only there was an easy way to get in touch with Halcyon—but the protections around the Sage’s Hamlet meant magical projections could only be sent out of the village, not into it, and so Nomah had no way of approaching Halcyon if Halcyon did not initiate a conversation. He could certainly see why Halcyon had been preoccupied as of late – the Duma Faithful, the new ones under Jedah, had been active even in Zofia. Some of the families opposed to Desaix had lost daughters to Jedah’s men in unspeakable ways. Nomah could not find anything in the archives to heal those wounds or soothe that pain, although he had set others on the job and had not given up trying, yet.

But the problems of the church were overrun by the more immediate problems of getting supplies to Novis Island. Nomah had hoped that their strong defence would encourage the pirates to seek calmer waters, where the knights on the mainland would deal with them (if they could stop their bloody civil war for a time) – but such had not happened. Maybe the pirates feared the knights.

Now it was time to deal with the problem himself.

Now, what was the name of that mercenary in the tavern? He is supposed to be famous, if I recall correctly…?

*

Saber was getting bored of this small little island with its small little problems and its frankly unremarkable collection of booze, so when the note came in from the higher ups at the Priory about an escort to Mila Temple with a sideline in killing pirates, he thought it would be easy money and a ticket out of this place, so he took it gratefully.

Rookie mistake. Always meet your employer first, Saber!

“Ah, so it is Saber, is it?” said Nomah, the head of the Mila Faithful, probably the most church-y person it was ever possible to meet. For a variety of reasons, Saber and the faithful types had never really gotten along.

“That’s me,” Saber replied.

He didn’t show any discomfort. That kind of thing tended to make clients antsy, thinking of all those stereotypes of mercenaries who would sell out their employer for a sack of grain – although maybe that was a worthwhile trade, now, come to think of it – and Saber had no desire to be lumped in with those short-sighted idiots or to get on the bad side of one of the most powerful magic users on the continent.

It was a shame, too, because the old guy had brought an entourage, and Saber was tired of that kind of cheeky behaviour. “The contract was just for one, you know,” he pointed out. “The kids’re sweet and all, but they ain’t under my protection. Unless you want to pay extra, that is!”

“Oh?” Nomah beamed at him in a quite unnerving way. “Cannot I impose upon your sense of goodwill and mutual obligation?”

“Yeah, that’ll still cost you extra,” Saber said dryly. It was also a bad idea to let on to employers that they might be intimating to you. Tended to make negotiations end poorly.

“Oho! A man of his word! I like it.” Nomah nodded to himself. That was not what Saber had meant, but he couldn’t complain about making a good impression. “Well, how about this, then? Every time to have to intervene to help my acolytes, add it to a tally, and we’ll arrange additional payment when the job is complete.”

Saber considered. Maybe Nomah thought he would forget? But it wasn’t like he was taking all the payment upfront for this one anyway. A man like Nomah, with a certain reputation to uphold, couldn’t really afford to stiff a big name like Saber on payment.

“If that suits you, we can hash it out on the road,” he said, because it didn’t pay to be too accommodating.

*

“Mae,” Boey hissed. “This is a serious mission for the faith. Stop grinning.”

Mae, of course, paid him exactly zero attention because why would she ever? “Can you believe Nomah asked us to go with him?! This is so exciting!”

Boey pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to stem his oncoming headache. No, I can’t believe Nomah asked you to come on this mission, he did not say out loud. Well, he sort of could – Mae was one of the most powerful magic users in the priory, despite… well… literally everything else about her.

Anyway, if he and Mae were going all the way to Mila Temple together, he should make the effort not to start out on the wrong foot with her. If only she would make the same amount of effort…

Quiet footsteps echoed on the deck, and Boey turned to find Genny approaching. “Hey! Are you feeling better?”

“Oh, yes!” she said. “I—I think it was just nerves. I don’t think I’ve ever been to sea, unless you count when Silque would take us out on the bay with a rowboat on calm days.”

“Not quite the same, is it?” Boey smiled.

Genny seemed younger than her fifteen years sometimes—he had to keep reminding himself that he was only a year older, and if he complained about Nomah taking Genny along, it would be hypocritical not to head home himself. Which he had no intention of doing.

Maybe it’s the fluffy hair?

“Oh, Genny!” Mae dashed over excitedly and grabbed Genny’s wrist. “Come on, you can see the mainland from here!”

Boey could just barely see a smudge on the horizon, which might be what Mae was referring to. He sighed. He quite often forgot that Mae was supposed to be older than him.

“Keep it down, kids,” Saber said. “Trouble on the horizon.”

There was a ship approaching – a little smaller than theirs, but it was flying a familiar flag. Boey swallowed. “Pirates?”

“Couldn’t avoid ‘em forever.” Saber shrugged. “Don’t make me babysit you folks, that’s all I’m saying.”

“…We’ll try not to be a burden,” Boey said.

The mercenary seemed satisfied with this and walked off to the front of the ship to talk to the captain.

Mae snorted. “Who does that guy think he is?”

“I don’t know.” Boey watched Saber’s gestures as he talked to the captain. At a guess, he wanted the crew below decks? “Nomah says he’s pretty famous. And experienced.”

“Well, he would say that. ‘Experienced’ is just another word for ‘old’.”

Boey took a deep breath to stop himself from snapping at her.

“What?” Mae demanded, obviously catching his look. “He is old! That’s just true!”

“He’s the leader of the Faithful, you should be more respectful!”

She just rolled her eyes. “It’s not disrespectful to say that a seventy-whatever age guy is old, Boey.”

“He knows what he’s doing,” Boey insisted.

“Can’t you just—”

“U-Um…” Genny was clutching her healing staff tightly. Boey realised she’d been trying to interrupt them for a minute now. “The ship… is getting closer fast.”

Boey looked again and saw that she was right. They were at full sails and obviously had the wind at their back. The pirates would be on them in no time – and the ship was larger than he’d first thought. “I hope there aren’t too many…”

“Pfft, I can take ‘em!” Mae said. She nudged Genny with a grin. “So don’t you worry about them, alright?”

“Be serious about this, Mae!” Boey snapped. Sure she was annoying, but he didn’t want her to die or anything…

“I just told Genny, I can take ‘em. Who came top of the class in every magic lesson, huh?”

“That’s not going to mean anything if you just go around acting recklessly—”

“Children, come now, there’s no need for this sort of arguing.”

Boey winced, having not heard Nomah’s approach. “I’m sorry—I just… was concerned.”

Mae raised an eyebrow at him – but I was! – but even she looked chastised. “Sorry, Nomah. I don’t mean to fight! Well, not with Boey…”

Nomah chuckled. “Anyway, before the pirates are upon us, let me tell you the plan. The captain says these pirates have a habit of using gangplanks to bridge the gap between ships, which is also a convenient place to hold them and push back if we can hold them there. Genny, I want you to side with the crew and heal any of them if they take injuries – they’re not used to fighting, so act as soon as you see that someone is hurt. It’s not like your tutors at the Priory, who’d had engagements with monsters…”

“Um, yes!” Genny bobbed her head like a nervous pink sheep.

“Boey and Mae, you’ll be with me.” Nomah smiled. “We’ll be providing support to Saber.”

“…Wait, Saber is going to hold a gangplank all by himself?” Boey said. “Is, that, uh…”

“He seems confident that he can do it.” Nomah stroked his beard. “And I suppose that if he’s wrong, we at least won’t have to pay him.”

“I heard that!”

“What about you, Nomah?” Mae said.

“I’ll be with you two. I do have healing magic too, you know. But I wanted to say this – if any of you feel overwhelmed or exhausted, you must take shelter below decks.” Nomah looked each of them in the eye. Boey felt itchy and nervous under his gaze, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong. “We – that is, the crew and I – want to prioritise your safety. Things should not get so bad that you need exhaust yourselves with magic, but I wanted you to be aware…”

“Of course, Nomah,” Boey said, silently promising that he’d stay above decks to help out, no matter what. “We’ll be sensible.”

“Good, good,” Nomah said.

Then he wandered away to speak to the captain again.

Mae watched him go for a moment, until he was definitely out of earshot. She still spoke to Boey in a conspiratorial undertone. “…You’re not actually going to go below decks, right?”

“Not willingly.”

She beamed at him. “That’s the spirit! Maybe you’re made of tougher stuff than I thought!” Her eyes darted towards Genny. “But we can only be so reckless because we know you and Nomah will be able to fix us up afterwards, so make sure you put your safety first, okay Genny? Healers are always more important than attackers, everyone knows that.”

“Of course I will!” Genny said brightly.

Mae and Boey exchanged a doubtful look, for once perfectly in sync.

…I wonder if our responses to Nomah were just as transparently false.

With the plans set, they watched the ship sail closer towards them. Boey’s stomach seemed to be curled up into a tight ball and trying to escape out his throat by the time the pirate ship pulled up near alongside them and the pirates aboard started to jeer and shout.

Mae nudged him. “Don’t be nervous! They can probably smell fear.”

“What do you think they are?” Boey said dryly. “Bears?”

Actually, Boey would probably rather face a bear right now. At least bears were just animals doing their thing and wouldn’t delight in hurting you.

…Though maybe that wouldn’t be much of a comfort if you were being mauled by one.

The gangplanks came down shortly after and Boey’s body seemed to suddenly seemed to be, unhelpfully, made of lead and maybe also weighed down with rocks.

Mae seemed to have no such problems, though. She tapped his chest with the back of her hand. “Nomah’s over there! Come on, let’s go!”

Saber glanced over at them and nodded when they arrived, none of his usual scarcasm or talking down to those present at all. That somehow made Boey feel worse – if even Saber was taking this seriously…

But the first pirate came at him and Boey saw that Saber, at least, didn’t have very much reason to worry. He barely even saw Saber move, just a quick sort of jump with his feet, and he’d driven his sword through the pirates’ chest and knocked him off into the water.

The pirate behind him jerked back, looking nervous, which is when Mae’s fireball hit him in the face and he stumbled and fell off the plank, screaming.

It really was quite a terrible sound. Boey gathered fire in his hands, gently feeding it energy like he’d been taught, making it grow – but it seemed to take a lot longer than it had done in the lessons taught by the sages, and when it came to throwing it at a pirate, he hesitated. The Terrors in the graveyard had been one thing because, well, as creepy as they were, they were dead. They didn’t feel pain, and they didn’t scream or cry—

Fighting people was… different to what he’d expected.

But Mae was doing it and he didn’t want to be useless, he didn’t want to have to be babied and protected by her. So he tossed the fireball at an angle, sailing over the heads of the pirates at the front and exploding in a wave of heat near the edge of the gangplank connected to the priates’ ship. Several of them ran away before they’d even got halfway across, trying to smother their shirts which were on fire.

“Not a bad idea, kid,” Saber spared a moment to say.

It seemed like false praise when Boey hadn’t been thinking smart, just wondering if it would be better if their faces weren’t so close when the fire hit them. For a moment, it actually was better; Boey could think of it as more like a game, and the next fireball grew between his hands just as fast as he’d ever done it.

Then the wind changed, blowing into Boey’s face, and his mouth was filled with the stench of burned flesh and hair, so thick on the air that he could almost taste it. He gagged and swallowed bile, but threw the fireball anyway.

These people have been terrorising us for months, he reminded himself. They’ve been stealing people to sell to slavery, killing indiscriminately… they had their chances to be merciful.

It didn’t help much against the screeches rattling in his ears, or the dumbfounded look on the dead men as they plummeted into the sea below, but he had to keep going. He couldn’t let Mae do all the work, and Boey found that if he retreated inside his own head a bit, it wasn’t as painful and he could just glaze over and keep the magic going—

He didn’t have the space in his head to think about how the crew were doing, but he sensed Nomah drift away after some time. Saber shook his head and mumbled a short curse, but he looked barely even tired, let alone injured. Maybe he really was as good as Nomah had said.

Then suddenly it was over. Or rather, it wasn’t sudden, but Boey realised there were no more pirates piling on the gangplanks; rather, they were running about the deck, pulling them back in, putting out fires on their deck, pushing away from their ship and turning tail…

It took minutes, but he still found himself staring, dumbfounded. Was it really possible for it to just be… finished? The fight was over, just like that? It had seemed to take no time at all, or maybe to take days. His head was a whirlwind and he wasn’t sure what to feel, except grateful when the direction of the wind changed again and all he could smell was the salty sea breeze.

Boey had a fire spell in his hands without knowing what to do with it. He watched the magic spinning in it, keeping it burning and growing for a moment. This is what this spell is for.

That was a bit of a stupid thing to think, because of course it was. The lessons had been very clear about that – one of the jobs of the Faith was to protect and guide the citizens of Zofia, and sometimes that protection was more literal and violent than at others. This was something that he’d always known.

It felt different to put it into practise.

He cut the magic running the fire spell and let it wind down safely, as the energy ran off and the fireball shrank and shrank until it was only embers on Boey’s magically reinforced gloves, which he blew away with a soft breath over his palm.

His heartbeat was back to normal—steady, reliable. That felt wrong. He wanted to be tired, he wanted his lungs to burn with the effort. But really it hadn’t been hard at all.

“Oof, they were stubborn.” Saber rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers. His sword was already sheathed and put away. “Normally, pirates retreat at the first sign of resistance.”

“Well, there isn’t that much for them to steal on Novis anymore…” Mae said.

Saber chuckled at that. “I guess even the pirates are down on their luck.”

He seemed so… unaffected, and Boey didn’t understand it. For that matter, he didn’t understand how Mae could be so unaffected. This was her first fight, too! Why didn’t she look as lost as Boey felt?

“Um…” said a small voice to his left. “Are you okay?”

Boey blinked, trying to smile for Genny and failing. “Ah, I’m fine,” he said, though his voice cracked a bit and it didn’t sound as reassuring as he hoped. “It’s just…”

He trailed off because he couldn’t think of a way to reduce it to ‘just’ anything.

Genny nodded, but he wasn’t sure if she understood. “The crew are all okay at least,” she said. “There’s a few serious injuries, but Nomah is taking care of them, and he says they should be fully recovered.”

“Oh, we didn’t lose anyone?” Saber looked impressed. “Might have to work with you Mila folks more often. Healing sure does come in handy.”

The small group broke up as they went to their duties aboard the ship. Boey, Mae and Genny didn’t normally have that much to do aboard, but with some of the crew down to recover injuries, they were roped in to run small errands. Nomah eventually sent Genny back to the cabin to rest – she did look quite faint. Boey was disappointed in himself for not noticing, but he felt sort of disconnected from what was happening around him – like he was seeing it through a smudged lens, observing, not really present.

Mae was her usual self and that unnerved him in ways he couldn’t totally put into words. She’d made friends with the crew very easily before, laughing and joking – one of the things even Boey would admit about her was that she made friends easily. She had a way of making you relax your guard and laugh even in the worst circumstances. But now it seemed—it didn’t seem false and that was worse, because how could she do that, how could she burn people alive and then turn around and talk like nothing had happened? Like she wasn’t bothered at all? Who could do that?

Something suspicious started to sprout in his mind, and it wasn’t quite jealousy even though there was a little of that, too, wanting to be the one who impressed Nomah and not get that comforting hand on the shoulder. He wanted to prove himself and not be babied. But Mae—

“You, uh, you lost in there?” Mae said.

It had turned to night, and Mae and Boey had been left to relax and recover, finally. There was a comforting burn in Boey’s muscles from running around after the crew, and that was good, it made him felt like he’d actually worked.

But now he was doubly tired and Mae had crept up on him without him noticing and there was a twitchy part of himself which worried that that might be really, really dangerous, even though compared to pirates Mae’s sniping was not really… anything.

“I don’t know.” Boey was caught between not wanting to meet her eyes, and not wanting to look away from her. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, across the ocean, but still able to see Mae out of the corner of his eye. “It was just. Well. You know, we haven’t done this before.”

“Oh, I guess not.” She sounded untroubled. But surely Mae couldn’t be one of those people who took to killing so easily. She was always kind to Genny, to the other orphans at the priory, insisting they all call her ‘big sister’ and pretending to be very offended when they objected.

“It was—” Boey stopped. He wasn’t sure what to say. “…They didn’t make it sound so hard. In lessons.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know,” he said, hoping she did. “The—smell. Watching someone die.”

Mae was silent for a long moment. “Yeah,” she replied, and it was the first time he’d heard her sound really, honestly tired. “I guess. It was pretty gross. I… wasn’t really thinking about that.”

Boey’s stomach churned uncomfortably and he said nothing.

Maybe something showed on his face, because Mae sat down next to him and said, “You know, there was this family who used to live on the northern coast.”

“…Yeah?” Lots of families lived there, or used to at any rate. Many of them had retreated after the pirate scourge became a threat too big for them to handle.

“My family and I live in the south, so I didn’t really know them, you know?” Mae continued. “I didn’t know their names or anything. But Novis is small, so you get to meet and recognise people even if you don’t really know them.”

“Sure,” Boey said. It was one of the really exhausting things about living on a small island. As though his enormous family wasn’t cramped and interfering enough, sometimes it was like the whole population of Novis were his extended family.

“Anyway, this family, there was a kid—” Mae smiled, her eyes distant. “He was the sweetest thing. In the marketplace he was famous because he always wanted to help everybody to carry everything, his mother was always running around after him! It was super cute.”

Dread crept into Boey’s heart.

“And one day he wasn’t there anymore,” Mae said. “I never saw him again.”

“Pirates,” Boey said, resigned.

Mae barely seemed to hear him. “So when I saw those guys today I just—I just got so mad. I thought, how dare you? How dare you take that little boy away? I didn’t even know his name but I heard all these rumours and I—just—how could they? How could they—”

Her shoulders were shaking and when Boey looked at her properly for the first time since they started talking and saw that she was crying.

Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” She wiped her eyes. “He’s still dead and I don’t feel any better.”

“Well…” He searched for something to say. “You probably don’t look… as dead as me?”

Mae snorted. “I guess there’s that. You were shuffling around like a revenant all afternoon.” He smile faded again. “You don’t think… Genny’s going to think any different of me, is she? Because…”

Boey’s face burned, thinking of how he’d been thinking Mae was some kind of… sinister person not a few minutes ago. “Nope,” he said. “You’re still you’re annoying old self. I’m sure Genny will see that.”

Mae shoved him playfully, but her tone was entirely serious when she said, “Thanks, Boey.”

Chapter Text

I should have asked for more money, Kamui thought glumly.

“Valbar,” Leon was saying, a hitch in his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Kamui had missed something important. “You can’t—it’s suicide—”

“Then it’s suicide for you to come along too,” Valbar said.

He seemed strangely calm, despite the wound in his side which was bleeding steadily. He’d introduced himself to Kamui as a professional soldier, so the strange calm even after they landed on the pirates’ island and everything went to absolute shit seemed… well, just a soldier thing, Kamui assumed. But now it occurred to him that it wasn’t one of those calms—someone who was able to keep their head.

It was someone who didn’t care what was coming.

“We’re low on supplies, you’re nearly out of arrows…” Valbar continued. He laid a heavy hand on Leon’s shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

“I’m not leaving without you!” Leon nearly shouted. There were tears in his eyes.

Kamui tried to keep calm and still so Leon wouldn’t remember he had an audience to this emotional moment. They’d managed to find an old… well, ‘fort’ was a generous term for it—there was no roof and the two walls that were still standing barely hid them from view even when they crouched down behind them. But it was a more defensible position than they’d had the last few days, so Kamui would take what he could get.

“You have to,” Valbar said. He looked almost awkward, which was quite an achievement for a man as physical imposing as him, on a suicidal run of revenge at that. “Come on, Leon, you’ve got so much more to do! I… well, I don’t got nothing much anymore.”

“Valbar.” Leon grabbed his hand and gripped it tightly. “You don’t have to do this. We can come back—”

“Nah,” Valbar replied, almost laughing. “You know the place is crawling with pirates now. You’d need a distraction just to even get out. I can do that!”

Leon stared at him, working his mouth, but nothing could come out because he knew—just like Kamui did—that Valbar was right.

“Sorry,” Valbar said, and Kamui realised he was addressing him, not Leon. “Guess I miscalculated, huh? Didn’t mean to pull you into a big mess.”

Ugh, and now Kamui felt bad. He wasn’t being paid to get all… emotionally invested. He shrugged. “These things happen.”

Valbar cracked a smile at that. “Y’see?” he said to Leon, still smiling. “Sometimes you just have to accept things like this.”

Leon stared at him.

Gods, this is painful to watch. How could Valbar have gone this long without realising Leon was in love with him? For a final goodbye, you really needed to give someone who loved you a bit… more.

Kamui was definitely not paid enough to sort out any mess of that kind, but he considered doing it anyway, just for his own peace of mind—but then he heard a clanging sound followed by the distant rumble of voices.

He held up a hand, silencing Leon mid-sentence. He nocked an arrow to his bow. At least there was that—Leon and Valbar were good. Kamui felt better having them at his back, even despite the tough situation.

He took a peek over the edge of the walls and saw a large group—more than a dozen—of the pirates, ducking back down again and hoping they hadn’t seen him.

“Well,” he said, “it looks like they’ve learnt better than to come out in twos and threes now. There were… I don’t know, maybe twenty?”

Leon’s grip on his bow tightened.

Valbar stroked his chin. “Well, they were always going to find us eventually.”

“You—" Leon choked on the words.

Kamui didn’t really want to go through that whole argument again, so he jumped in. “If there’s a lot of them looking for us, the ships will be relatively undefended. We should make a push to the jetty and—”

“Those guys would spot you before you got even halfway there,” Valbar said.

It was pretty telling that he said ‘you’ rather than ‘us’. Kamui didn’t want Valbar to throw his life away, but he also didn’t want to die, and if there was any of them that could buy time against those numbers, it was Valbar.

Leon shook his head, but Kamui was also pretty sure he didn’t want to die. Valbar gave him a meaningful look, anyway, one which very clearly said: Get Leon out. And he was the one who paid Kamui, so…

“I’ll circle round through the hills, see if I can make ‘em think I came from somewhere else.” Valbar pulled a face. “But I’m not real good at sneak attacks, so if they spot me, just make a run for it.” He paused, looking uncertain for the first time. “I’m no good with fancy words, but… you guys are a couple of real class acts, you know?”

He got up to leave, letting the sand and grasses of the dunes soften his footprints. Kamui grabbed Leon’s arm when he made to follow.

“What are you doing?” Leon hissed.

Kamui felt like it would be beneath him to even reply to that. After a moment, Leon sighed and stopped fighting his grip.

“You can’t stop him,” he offered. “Not someone like that.”

“I know, but…” Leon spread his hands helplessly. “I thought if I could get him through this, he’d remember that he did have things to live for.”

Kamui didn’t know what to say to that—but he didn’t have to think of a response, because suddenly there came the sound of shouting and the clanging of metal. Shit, he got found out fast.

“Let’s go,” he said, but it took Leon another few seconds before he would move, eyes lingering in the distance—

But then he did move. They scrambled out of their meagre cover, Kamui’s feet slipping in the sands, and raced for the southern tip of the island.

*

They had to stop and law low another three times, and between them kill another half a dozen men, before they made it to the jetty. The pirates had been abducting ships from Zofia Harbour and Novis, but the tiny island they’d taken over was surrounded by shallow waters—far too shallow for the large ships to anchor in the bay. Instead, there was a small jetty with a mishmash of smaller craft tied up to it, which they used to move goods between the ships and the shore.

It was evening by the time they got there, and Kamui felt safer under the dim light of a half moon. The idea of sailing all the way to Novis, or to Zofia Harbour if they were very ambitious, in one of those tiny boats did not feel safe at all. “I vote we wait until morning.”

“We might’ve been discovered by morning,” Leon said, and then, startled: “Who’s that?”

Kamui squinted in the direction of his finger, but could only see the slightly darker outline of what may have been another ship. Or just some low-lying cloud. “I’ll take your word for it,” he muttered.

“I haven’t seen that one amongst them before,” Leon said. “Maybe someone is finally coming to deal with these scum.”

Too little, too late, his tone said. “Or it could just be they captured another ship,” Kamui said. “Let’s not get too optimistic here.”

“It isn’t flying their flag, though.”

Isn’t it? How could he tell that from here? “So they ran out of spares.”

Leon shrugged. “Well, anyway, when it docks, they’ll be distracted. We can make our escape then.”

It was probably not the worst plan that had ever been made, or at the very least Kamui couldn’t think of anything better. “Let’s find a better spot to wait, then,” he said.

*

The ship slowly got closer and closer, until even Kamui could see the details Leon had made out earlier. He noticed that the pirates in the bay started to shout to one another, raising barriers and defences, so they, at least, were suspicious of a ship not flying their colours.

It wasn’t until the ship passed the pirates’ ships, and kept going, that Kamui realised it was a shallow-bottomed boat and they were about to…

He winced as the ship ploughed into the jetty, cracking it and destroying several of the small boats that were moored there. “Let’s hope they are friendly, or we’re going to have trouble getting out of here.”

Leon gasped suddenly. “I think they’re from the Novis Priory.”

“What makes you—”

A dazzling ball of light, which Kamui recognised as a seraphim spell, crashed into the ground near the approaching pirates; he only just managed to cover his and Leon’s eyes in time.

“Nevermind.”

The ship’s crew threw rope ladders down the side of the ship whilst the pirates clutched at their eyes, and the first one to begin climbing was an old man with a long, white beard.

“That’s the leader of the Faithful,” Leon said, almost impressed. “So he came himself.”

Kamui didn’t really feel like fighting after spending the entire night awake, but he supposed he and Leon ought to go and introduce themselves before anybody had the chance to mistake them for pirates and start slinging spell their way. He rolled his neck, wincing as he felt it crack a few times. “I hope I get to nap after this…”

Leon didn’t say anything. He merely nocked an arrow and took aim at the first pirate who looked like he was coming to his senses.

The old man got to the bottom of the rope and turned around to see Kamui pulling his sword out of a pirate’s chest. He grinned. “Hail, friend!” he said brightly, not questioning what on earth Kamui was doing there.

Suddenly there were footsteps at Kamui’s back, and he tensed until the old man said, “Ah, my mistake. Hail, friends!”

“You’re Nomah, aren’t you?” Leon said. “I recognise you.”

“I’ve been told I stick out in a crowd,” Nomah agreed. “Are you from Novis?”

Leon’s answer was sharp. “No, but my friend Valbar used to live there.”

“Ah.” The old man’s shoulders slumped. “I see. I suppose that is why you are here?”

“You’re too late,” Leon said, through gritted teeth. “He’s already dead.”

Kamui kind of liked Leon, and wanted to let him grieve for his love. But he also didn’t want one of the most important men in Zofia to think he was ungrateful for being rescued. “He could have been later,” he said to Leon, carefully. He only gave Kamui a disgusted look, but whilst Kamui liked Valbar, it wasn’t such a big deal to him that the man was dead. These things happened, and Valbar got the revenge he wanted first, right?

“Did you bring many men with you?” Kamui said, when it became clear Leon was only in the mood for glaring.

Nomah stroked his beard. “Well, we have a score of volunteers amongst the crew, some of my acolytes, and a mercenary I found on Novis. Will that do?”

The pirates had about twice that number. Kamui sighed. Leon and I should’ve just taken a boat and made a run for it.

“Old man, are you sure this captain knows what he’s doing?” said a gruff voice. More people were piling down the ladder, headed by the speaker, a red-haired man with a sword at his belt. “He nearly threw me overboard with that move.”

He reached the bottom and turned, and then Kamui recognised him. Saber. They had Saber. Maybe they actually could take on twice their numbers. What the hell had Saber been doing hiding out on Novis Island?

There was a sparkle in Nomah’s eye which made Kamui suspicious that that had been the joke. Kamui really hated people who thought they were funny.

Saber looked between Kamui and Leon. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, I knew I’d forgotten something!” Nomah said. Saber’s expression mimicked Kamui’s feelings perfectly, so it was a relief to see he wasn’t the only one totally done with the old man’s jokes. “I am, indeed, Nomah of Novis Priory, and this is Saber, the lady just climbing out the ladder is Mae, the lad right behind her is Boey, and Genny will be down in just a moment, I’m sure. And you are?”

“Leon and Kamui.”

“Kamui?” Saber said, raising and eyebrow. “Last I heard you were at the border.”

“Ah, they let us go when Desaix signed the treaty.” Kamui shrugged, trying to play cool even though Saber knew who he was. The Saber! “Then they went right back to war again, but that’s none of my business.”

“Did something happen on the mainland?” For the first time, Nomah looked aware and interested, and there was a gleam of intelligence in his eye. “We’ve been cut off by the pirates, you see; the last we’d heard, King Lima IV was dead, and Desaix had taken the throne.”

“Then you are out of touch,” Leon said.

Saber put a hand out. “This is all very interestin’, but we should take care of the pirates first. Now, are we heading inside the fort, or waiting for these suckers in the bay to come to us.”

The boy Nomah had called Boey eyed the fort with trepidation. “They look pretty secure in there. Maybe it would be better…”

“There’s a section of the back wall missing if you go round the corner.” Kamui stuck his thumb over his shoulder for emphasis. “They’ll know we’re coming, but that’s better than the pirates rushing out to pin us on the shore while we’re fighting those guys.”

“I like the sound of that better than being mincemeat.” Saber scowled and called up to the men still making their way down the ladders. “Come on, we don’t got all day!”

*

It took a good few days to clear the pirates out – not all of ‘em were willing to stay and be slaughtered, of course, but the small numbers they’d attacked with had seemingly made those on the ships overconfident, and at least half of them had come down, expecting to make a triumphant entrance to relieve the men in the fort, only to find the fort all but emptied and Saber and the rest waiting for them. Another crew of pirates returned to the island the next day, so it only made sense to deal with them as well.

Meeting Saber in real life felt like a very strange kind of dream. Kamui kept being tempted to pinch himself. He really was as good as they said, if not better.

Nomah was the strange one. Kamui expected a man of the faith to be against bloodshed, and he supposed Nomah had given the pirates plenty of opportunity to surrender—but the man wasn’t exactly merciful, either. Leon, of course, thought this was only right, but since the Kamui and the pirates were not that far removed from one another in morality—or a man like Nomah could quite easily take them as such—he preferred to keep a wide berth of him. Even after Nomah returned to his jovial, mildly irritating self when he began to teach the kids, Mae and Boey, thunder magic.

They spent a day to recover in the blood-soaked fort, but then it was time to leave.

“We’re sailing on to Zofia Harbour,” Nomah explained. “I have a friend I’m due to meet with there. Shall we leave you there, or do you plan to return with the crew to Novis?”

Kamui looked at Leon.

“What?” Leon said.

Kamui scratched the back of his head. “Well, Valbar paid in advance, so…”

“I,” Leon said bitingly, “am not Valbar.”

“No, but I figure since he had no family left, he’d leave all his worldly goods to his best friend.” Kamui shrugged. “That includes our contract, so I’m at your service for a while longer. Or we can part ways at Zofia Harbour. I’m not that bothered, really.”

“Since I don’t suppose you do refunds, fine then, tag along with me.”

He’d been kind of hoping Leon would say that. Valbar had paid in advance and had been generous enough—men who thought they were already dead were often generous with their money—that Kamui would’ve considered himself ‘bought and paid’ for by him for another two months, at least. But he was stretching the definition of ‘contract’ a little to pass it on to Leon. Really, he just seemed like an interesting person, and Kamui was a little concerned that Leon was going to go off and do something stupid himself. So he planned to stick around for a while longer to make sure nothing too stupid happened.

Saber raised an eyebrow at their exchange, but didn’t say anything.

“Do you think Princess Anthiese managed to take Zofia Castle?” the youngest girl, Genny, asked excitedly. “Oh, I hope so! It would be just like something out of a story.”

“You think she’s really the princess?” Saber snorted. “They probably found some lookalike—”

“Oh no,” Nomah said calmly, “she’s the genuine article.”

And then sat back and looked satisfied with himself, like he hadn’t dropped that bombshell into the conversation on purpose.

“How can you be sure?” was Saber’s immediate response, a question that had been right on the tip of Kamui’s tongue, too.

“Sir Mycen is an old acquaintance of mine,” Nomah said.

“Sir Mycen?!” Genny hissed. “You never mentioned—”

Nomah pretended that she hadn’t said anything. “And he rescued her personally from one of Desaix’s assassination attempts. Not to mention the Brand…”

When he’d finished, it all sounded a little too convenient to Kamui, but Nomah was convincing enough that he supposed even the real world must be convenient sometimes.

“A lost princess raised as a commoner, huh?” Leon seemed thoughtful. “I did used to be a soldier. That was mainly to be with Valbar, but maybe I ought to meet her, see if she’s worth all this grand talk.”

He looked at Kamui, who only shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. She’s not my princess.”

Leon tutted. “I’ll decide on the way and let you know.”

Kamui was distracted when young Genny walked up to Nomah and tugged on his robes until he sat down next to her on the deck. “You never told us you met Sir Mycen!” she said, puffing out her cheeks in annoyance. “You have to tell me the story. Now.”

Nomah laughed a little nervously, but soon gave in under the strength of Genny’s demands.

“Finally, he gets his comeuppance,” Kamui muttered.

He didn’t realise that Saber was nearby until he began to laugh.

*

Zofia Harbour was busy—bustling, Conrad supposed, although he'd never been anywhere fitting that description before.

"Oh, sir!" one of the men in the watchtower called down to him. "Where have you come from? What news?"

Conrad couldn't tell if they'd mistaken him for a noble or if that was just a generic address. He was in armour and riding a horse, so it was easy to mistake him for a noble. Or would he be considered a noble here, just by virtue of being the king's son?

He raised an arm in greeting. "From the northeast," he said, suitably vague. "The border is quiet. What news here?"

"Queen Anthiese has been crowned, the Mother be praised!" the other man answered. "And she has sent supplies out all over the kingdom! We are free of Desaix's tyranny!"

Conrad smiled and nodded. Anthiese was doing well, and she was already doing all she could to be a better ruler than their father. His heart swelled in pride. "That is good news indeed. Tell me, gentlemen, is there anywhere I might stay in town?”

"Lissy keeps some rooms above the inn," was the answer. "You might ask there."

"Thank you," Conrad said, and they let him pass through with no further questions.

He’d been worried they would be suspicious. Did his accent seem too Rigelian? Was his accent even Rigelian at all? He’d spent all his time in the Zofian court and then in the Sage’s Hamlet with Halcyon, so he wasn’t even sure if his accent could be called Rigelian. Rigelians weren’t unheard of in Zofia, anyway, so maybe it just wasn’t that strange to their ears.

In the town itself, the gossip was equally split between Queen Anthiese’s coronation and the defeat of the pirates that had been plaguing the southeast coast for several months. Some mercenaries, and…

“The head of the Faithful himself, Nomah, came to defeat the pirates!” someone whispered.

Their friend snorted, less than impressed. “Took him long enough, didn’t it?”

Conrad wasn’t as interested in the pirates as he was to hear that the head of the Mila Faith had left his stronghold at the priory. Didn’t he realise how dangerous that was? Conrad knew he was in contact with Halcyon, who had been keeping abreast of the movement’s of Jedah’s men as best he could. Even now his agents crawled over Zofia, searching for the Children of Fate… but they wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to weaken the Mila Faithful by killing their leader, either.

“Excuse me.” A woman with green hair and battered armour—an experienced soldier, then—stepped into his path, breaking Conrad’s train of thought. “You’ve come from out of town, haven’t you? Pray tell, have you heard any rumours about a young girl being taken north?”

Conrad shook his head. “Sorry, I haven’t heard anything.”

“Are you sure?” the woman pressed. “She would’ve been taken with a pegasus. Please, she’s my little sister.”

Conrad swallowed. I’m trying to keep my little sister safe, too. “I didn’t hear anything. But… your sister, is she perchance a pegasus knight?”

“Yes!” The woman perked up at this. “We serve under the Princess Minerva in Archanea. Est, my sister, retired from service, but then she was kidnapped by pirates…”

He hesitated. Really, he ought to be hurrying to the docklands – if he missed Nomah now, he might not get a chance to speak to him again, or to warn him about Jedah’s agents. But he couldn’t help but understand the stranger’s pain, and his conscience whittled down his rational thoughts. “I see. In that case, I may know where she’s been taken. There’s a bandit king with a stronghold in the desert—his name is Grieth. Pegasi, as I’m sure you know, are incredibly rare in Valentia—much less the women trained to ride them. I’m sorry to say it, but you sister would be a valuable commodity for him. If he has her, she will have been taken there.”

“Thank you! That’s more than we’ve had to go on before.” She grasped his hand tightly and beamed. “My name is Palla, by the way. My sister Catria is here as well. Thank you for your help.”

“I would caution against attacking alone, however,” Conrad said. “The desert itself is formidable enough a foe, and Grieth defends himself with a number of powerful allies, not to mention if even half the stories told about his own feats in battle are true…”

Palla did not seem much unnerved by this. “I thank you for the warning, but Catria and I must still make the attempt. Do not fear for our sake – we were trained by the very best. I promise, we’ll be cautious.”

Conrad had to accept that answer, as he was already itching to make his way to the docklands. Nomah and his friends were long gone, of course, but there was talk enough about them all—Saber, a famous mercenary; and did you know that that nice young man who came through a few days ago was killed by the pirates, how sad, his friend seemed so heartbroken…

But Nomah must’ve been craftier than Conrad assumed, because no matter who he asked, all he heard were amusing stories – Nomah telling his acolytes to put on a show in the town square was a favourite, it seemed – and almost no clue at all where he was supposed to be heading.

Is it possible I missed him on the road?

He was sure that Nomah’s ultimate destination was Mila’s Temple. Well, he was mostly sure. Conrad had taken pains to give it a wide berth on the way down, having heard far too many strange rumours about the Mother’s behaviour to want to keep going. The talk here was that Mila had left her Temple, but many seemed to find that inevitable in the face of the famine that had been plaguing the Zofians lands for the last several years – the most popular rumour was that the Mother was losing her power, but others muttered darkly that she was only losing her compassion for them, right when Rigel was at its strongest and they most needed her. None of them knew the truth about the degradation of dragons, and with Mila’s bizarre behaviour… Conrad hadn’t wanted to present her with a descendant of the Zofian royal blood mixed with her brother’s followers.

The other place that Nomah may have gone was Zofia Castle. Conrad could see less reason for this, but he also didn’t know the situation around Anthiese’s ascension well enough to say whether that would draw Nomah’s attention…

But in the end, Conrad couldn’t resist the desire to see his sister again. Without bothering to stay the night, he left by the eastern gate to seek Zofia Castle, promising himself that if Nomah wasn’t there, he would head directly for the northern road to the Temple and hope to catch him on the way there.

The road between Zofia Harbour and the castle, although rough from lack of upkeep, was nonetheless well-travelled and patrolled, and Conrad had a smooth day’s ride there. The woods surrounding the castle were not the well-kept leisure spots, filled with neatly maintained flower meadows and carefully stocked with impressive – but not too wild – beasts for hunting that Conrad remembered from his childhood. Instead, they were overgrown and gnarly, the meadows being swallowed by sapling trees and rough brambles.

He did not know whether to mourn that or not. The forest had been tamed and false, but it had also been beautiful. Another piece of his childhood lost.

The castle doors were wide open and within sight when the hairs on the back of Conrad’s neck stood on end, a sudden surge of power leaving him feeling chill. That’s Duma’s magic!

He urged his tired horse on, leaping fallen trees and eventually dismounting when the bushes became too tangled for it to cross. He heard the scream of another horse, and followed the sound until he came upon another clearing—he remembered this one; it was the largest of all, and King Lim IV had liked to hold extravagant parties here. Most of the exotic flower bushes had died out, unable to sustain themselves without the care of the palace servants and Mila’s blessing to make the lands fertile.

It was in that clearing that he saw one of Jedah's agents, the deep purple tint of his skin showing his power. A red-haired young woman held a sword steady, a magic spell burning in her hand, behind a royal knight in elaborate armour. A horse lay thrashing, dying, a few feet away, which had brought the two a temporary reprieve from the cantor.

"Who are you?" the woman demanded. "What did you call me?"

The cantor cackled, and then howled when the woman's spell hit him directly in the face.

It must be Anthiese. They're after her already.

"Jedah demands—" the cantor said.

He never finished, as Conrad's spear caught him in the chest and he hacked and spluttered. As Anthiese turned to gap at Conrad, the knight raised his sword and beheaded the cantor.

"You—thank you for coming to our aid, stranger," Anthiese said.

She didn't recognise him. Of course she didn't; Conrad had on the mask which Halcyon had suggested he wear, she believed her brother dead, and it had been years since they had seen one another besides.

He studied the crown on her head, a delicate thing that suited her well. The coronation had only been a week ago, the people in the harbour had said, and here she was, facing danger from all corners. Would she welcome a miraculously surviving brother now? More to the point, would her allies accept a half-Rigelian prince? He knew her enemies would be pleased to hear it, even if Conrad would rather die than be used to hurt his sister.

Maybe it would be better if Conrad stayed dead?

“Who are you?” Anthiese’s pale-haired knight demanded.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Anthiese added.

Conrad pulled his spear from the cantor’s corpse to avoid having to look at Anthiese directly. “Jedah’s agents can be found throughout Zofia. You should take more care, your Majesty.”

“Who—?”

“Peace, Fernand.” Anthiese watched him with curious eyes. Was there a spark of recognition in them? “Let the man have his secrets. He obviously means me no harm.”

“You cannot take for granted…”

Conrad let their voices fade into the distance as he walked away. It felt like he was leaving behind the past for good.

It isn’t like that. After all this is over, I can see her again.

If he survived. If she survived.

Conrad gripped the lance even more tightly. He would pray, but some things were out of even the hands of the gods. Besides, the Anthiese that he knew was no fool. After this, she would be more cautious, there would be more guards… that knight had seemed devoted enough to her protection; there would be others willing to protect royalty at any cost. There always were.

No, Anthiese was not the one who needed saving.

*

“Oh, good, you’re still here,” Conrad said. “Palla, was it? And I assume this is your other sister that you mentioned.”

“Catria,” the stern-faced woman said. “This is the knight you met the other day.”

“Yes.” Palla shook his hand. “Though you didn’t give me your name, Sir…?”

“Just Conrad,” he said. There was no point hiding his name from these Archanean knights; it would have no significance to them. He doubted it would have much significance to anyone these days, except Anthiese. “I have need to go north, and I thought, as you were planning to travel in that direction, I would lend my strength to your sister’s safe return.”

The warm reception blossomed into a true smile. “You will…? Oh, that’s wonderful news. We’re only a small party, but we can’t afford much delay.”

“You managed to find someone else?” said a new voice.

“This is Leon and Kamui,” Catria said, gesturing at each in turn, but it was Leon—an archer, obvious from the bow—that she addressed when she added, “This is the man who told us about Grieth.”

Kamui looked at Leon and shrugged his shoulders. “I already told you all I knew about the guy. Last chance to back out.”

“Just so long as you’re not going to turn tail and run at an unfortunate moment.” Leon sniffed. “Or at least give us fair warning if you do.”

“I’ll serve out my time, don’t you fear.” Kamui grinned at him cheekily. “A bad reputation can be the end of you in this business just as easily as a sword or an arrow.”

A mercenary then?

An odd group to be trying to take down the bandit-king – but with Anthiese on the throne and Grieth’s men knowing his time was up, he must be losing men daily. Perhaps if they were smart and fast, they could still pull this off.

Who knows? Perhaps we’ll find more allies along the way.

END OF ACT 2

Chapter Text

“We’ve taken back the castle, but the threats to Zofia haven’t gone away. Desaix has retreated to the Western Palace and Rigel is recouping for another attack on our borders. Desaix let bandits claim the northeastern parts of Zofia. We cannot fix all these problems now, but we have to do what we can. Please, join with me as we finally rid Zofia of Desaix’s treachery!”

Celica stopped and took in a deep breath.

“Yeah, that needs to be a bit shorter,” Alm said. “It’ll look bad if you faint from lack of breath.”

“Needs more punch,” Gray said. Tobin punched the air with a questioning look, and Gray stuck a thumb in his direction. “As demonstrated by my lovely assistant here.”

“Why did you mention the bandits in the northeast?” Faye asked. “You can’t deal with them right now, you don’t have the men and the most direct route is blocked off. Doesn’t it make you look weak?”

“Sir Clive said that, but I want to keep it in,” Celica explained. “I don’t want people to think they’ve been forgotten.”

Faye nodded.

Meanwhile, Silque was writing something down in her notebook. Alm wasn’t sure when exactly she had wormed her way into the group, but he quite liked her, and she seemed to have made friends with Faye somehow, which was an impressive feat. Faye still looked confused by it sometimes.

Silque showed her work to Kliff, and he shook his head and took this quill off her. It seemed like he put a line through some words, but Silque just shrugged and laughed. “Sir Alm did say short, I suppose! Even if blandishment is my favourite word.”

“They got the framing all wrong,” Kliff said, handing the notebook off to Celica. “No wonder you were having trouble with it.”

Alm watched Celica’s determined eyes scan the page and then light up in realisation, leaving her looking bright and beautiful for a brief moment. Then she was back to tired and serious. “Yes, I see what you mean. It makes more sense to mention Rigel first as our ultimate goal, then to focus on Desaix as the immediate problem… thank you both.”

“Nomah often had me read over his speeches,” Silque said cheerily. “Although that was mainly because he let Genny write them, and whilst she has some wonderful turns of phrase, I’m afraid brevity is not her strong suit.”

“You okay, Celica?” Tobin said. “Don’t let them work you too hard. Queens need their beauty sleep too! Maybe especially queens.”

Celica touched the crown on the table, before sighing. “I’ll be fine. It just feels… like such a long road to peace. But I knew it would be hard work.”

“Don’t be afraid to rely on us, okay?” Alm said. “I know none of us are experts, but we’ll know your thoughts, at least, if it comes to policies and… those… things.”

Celica smiled. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of doing this without any of you.”

“Aw, man,” Gray said, under his breath. “I thought I’d get let off light for work.”

Faye trod on his foot.

*

Being back in the palace again – being invited to be in the palace again – was somewhat surreal to Fernand. Though the place looked very different to its heyday under King Lima IV, when one could barely go two paces without nearly bumping into some expensive item of art, a tapestry or a vase or painting or occasionally a live theatre troupe in the middle of performing in the hallway, it still looked nearly identical to how it had been when the Deliverance held it.

Walking these halls again was like being transported back in time. Months had passed, and Fernand thought he had something of a grip on his emotions now, that he was at least finished with the embarrassing outbursts even if he would never be finished mourning. But it seemed that the course of grief did not run in a straight line. He’d come across a corner of the castle that he remembered crying in, alone, after receiving the news of his family’s deaths, and it was like the entire thing came rushing back to him all in one go.

He was sure that that was when he’d displeased the queen, but he couldn’t remember exactly what he had said to displease the queen. Her habits of pandering to the troglodytes, especially that grandson of Sir Mycen that she insisted follow her everywhere, were simply infuriating, but she was also Fernand’s liege, and he’d sworn himself to her service. He hoped in time he could persuade her of the futility of offering the smallest olive branch to the rats of the lower classes, but that hope faded the more time he spent with her.

Oh, in all other respects, Queen Anthiese – Celica, she asked to be called Celica – was a perfect ruler. Though still young, she was well educated and had worked hard to get to grips with the ins and outs of government. At the same time, she did not simply accept them meekly, a slave to tradition; only the other day in a meeting of the privy council, she had expressed her wish for the drafting of new, simplified taxation laws for after the war, and had proposed that the practise of tax-farming – a wasteful procedure that corrupt nobles used only for their own profit, as Fernand’s father had said on many an occasion – be abolished. She was beautiful and kind and not afraid to lead from the front, everything that the Brand promised, the best of Mila’s chosen royals.

But still, she clung to this name, Celica, a commoner’s name that didn’t suit her, and kept inappropriate company, and she was far too attached to Sir Mycen’s grandson—

“Fernand, how are you doing?”

On hearing Clive’s voice, he jumped. “You startled me!”

“So I see,” Clive said, smiling but apologetic. “Sorry, that was not my intention. I came to make sure that you were not brooding too badly.”

“I hope you are not, either,” Fernand said, instead of admitting that had been more or less what he had been doing.

Clive’s face fell. “I’ve been trying not to dwell on it, but…” He shook himself. “Fernand, how can it be possible to be giddy with excitement, yet sick with nerves at the same time?”

“We’ll get her back,” Fernand said. “Celica will see to it.”

The alternative was unthinkable.

Clive seemed relieved. A slow smile spread across his face. “Celica, is it?”

Fernand gritted his teeth. “That is what she asked me to call her.”

“Oh, of course. I never doubted that you would have permission.”

“Clive…”

He laughed, not taking Fernand’s consternation at all seriously. “Ah, but you do make it so easy.”

Only because Fernand could not tell his best friend that he was in love with Mathilda, Clive’s fiancée. Instead, he said, “Perhaps it is time for you to move on to more challenging comedic material, then.”

“No, no, I am being serious for once,” Clive said.

Fernand could not find his voice.

“Not now, of course,” Clive continued. “Things are too chaotic, and we wouldn’t want to make it look like Queen Anthiese was only our puppet-monarch – we’d be no better than Desaix. But you are not so far apart in age, and she needs to marry from one of the nobility; the two of you seem to get along well... I see no reason why not you.”

His mouth opened, but no sound would come out. Fernand was used to Clive’s light-hearted teasing – to hear him seriously suggesting that Fernand should marry Celica? That Fernand should be King? It seemed beyond parody. Fernand was half-tempted to pinch himself, just to be sure it wasn’t a bizarre fever dream.

“No,” he managed at last. “I… no. I could not.”

Clive seemed disappointed. “Well, I won’t press the issue if you insist. But do let me know if you reconsider? It’s something that will need to be sorted eventually.”

“I think the Queen is already quite settled on who she wishes to marry,” Fernand said dryly.

“She actually said that to you?”

Clive seemed alarmed. “Not as such,” Fernand said. “She knows I would advise against it. But you must have seen them together.”

“Alm.”

“Who else?”

Fernand was confused when Clive’s shoulders slumped. He, of course, had and would always object to Celica’s interest in the boy, but he was also aware that Clive didn’t share his feelings. Maybe he still felt that Alm was not a suitable candidate for the queen’s hand, which was all to the good, but that didn’t explain his sudden downturn in mood.

“What troubles you, Clive?”

“It’s something I heard from one of the servants here…” He shook his head. “One of them said that… Sir Mycen had no family. Alm cannot be his grandson.”

Fernand frowned. “Well, I’d never heard of Sir Mycen being married, I grant you, but he wouldn’t be the first man to adopt the children of his bastards back into the family, keeping the bloodline but avoiding the scandal…”

“This servant knew Sir Mycen for years, he said – he was very clear. Sir Mycen had no family.”

“Did you try asking Sir Mycen?”

“He brushed it off, but he didn’t deny it.”

Fernand shook his head. “To be frank, I still find it hard to believe that they aren’t related. If they weren’t, why would Sir Mycen, or Alm himself, not simply say he was his ward? Celica calls Mycen family, but she doesn’t pretend that they’re kin.”

Much as he disliked Alm, after seemed him in privy council meetings, he could not deny that Alm was certainly… above average for his station – compared to the likes of, say, Python. Remarkable people did occasionally come from all walks of life, even the commons. Of course that didn’t mean Alm was anywhere close to worthy of being married to Celica, a noble, but… well, what were the chances of two remarkable, but unrelated, commoners falling in with the royal family? More likely that Alm really was Mycen’s grandson and had inherited some meagre amount of talent from him.

The question was somewhat irrelevant in the end, anyway. “You know that won’t make any difference to Celica’s reasoning, anyway? If you wish to persuade her not to marry Alm, you’ll have to take a different approach.”

Clive scowled. “I thought we might be of one mind in this.”

“We are,” Fernand said, exasperated. “I just don’t want you to waste time on this approach. We must find a different way to persuade her to marry properly. Look, she has already shown herself to be amenable to choosing practicality over her ideals; if we present her with a sensible marriage to a decent man, I’m sure she can be persuaded to accept it.”

Clive opened his mouth.

“Don’t say me; you know I have nothing to bring to the table except my loyalty, which she already has.”

Eventually, he sighed and clapped Fernand on the shoulder. “You’re right, Fernand. I think I already knew it would be fruitless, I just wanted to get my concerns off my chest. I let him come to meetings, for gods’ sake, and now he’s attending the privy council!”

“Don’t dwell on it too much, Clive, we all make mistakes.” Fernand smiled ruefully. “Besides, given her attachment to him, I’m sure Alm would’ve been attending those meetings anyway. I am only grateful that the rest of the queen’s common friends keep away.”

Clive laughed. “There is that.”

*

Faye flexed her fingers, and then folded them together to stop herself from messing with her pigtails. “Silque?”

Silque looked up from her box of bandages with a smile. “Oh, Faye! You’re just in time! Someone left this a total mess; will you help me to tidy it up? We really can’t leave it in such a state. It will be impossible to find anything when we come to need them. It could cost lives.” She tutted, continuing to mutter under her breath. “I know the mood over the past week has been light, but really, such carelessness…”

“Of course I’ll help,” she said, folding her knees under her and beginning to untangle one roll of bandages from the rest.

It was therapeutic work. Faye enjoyed it, winding the bandages round and round into a tight ball. She had not known, before helping Silque, that there were different types of bandages. Some of them were even blessed with a purifying spell to counter the effects of offensive magic, which didn’t just cause burns from the flames that Kliff and Celica could conjure, but also injured the target on a deeper level, sapping their energy.

Faye thought that the burns were a lot more effective in stopping an enemy, but it was interesting to know nonetheless. And Silque said that the loss of energy inhibited recovery, which explained why the special bandages were needed in addition to the usual treatment for burns.

It was a nice, practical thing to be doing, and Faye liked to be helpful. Being in the palace – being known as a favourite of the queen – still left her dizzy. It was all so unreal. She wanted to just be Faye, not fending off would-be suitors of Celica’s, or…

Or fighting in a war.

She hadn’t been able to pick up a bow since the end of the battle, and everyone was beginning to catch on; she could only offer Tobin so many excuses as to why she couldn’t join him for archery practise. After Gray came so close to dying, she thought that they might understand, but – it looked like she was the only one having second thoughts. Which was strange, but they were all idiots. Her idiots. She couldn’t leave them, and she couldn’t leave Celica either.

But the idea of picking up that bow again—it had been nearly alright, when they’d fought the bandits back when they first left Ram. Faye had had a long time to build up her hatred for those men who preyed on the weak, and she had only killed one of them herself, anyway. The soldiers at the fort had been different, as well – she’d heard Lukas’s juniors talk about their cruelty. They were just bandits with helmets and an air of legitimacy. That was easy.

At the battle for Zofia Castle—

She didn’t know exactly what it was. Maybe the fact that the surge of energy that had carried her through their other skirmishes, keeping her from really thinking or seeing anything, had died long before the end of the battle in the castle. She’d loosed arrow after arrow from the bow, lining up her shots carefully, aiming for the chests of men who looked just as scared as she felt. Because they were wearing different colours to her? Because they hadn’t grown up with Celica and couldn’t know that she was the real deal?

Faye had used the bow for hunting and it had been a relief to only shoot at pigeons and pheasants.

But she wanted to be useful. She didn’t want to sit and wring her hands whilst her friends bled and perhaps died. She didn’t want to be a burden that people only tolerated because she had the queen’s favour.

Silque, she thought, would understand. She might be a woman of the cloth and love to gossip, but she was more practical than Faye had first suspected. She knew all sorts about wild plants and animals, what was safe to eat; she could read the weather and find north by looking at the stars; most of all, Faye had stumbled out of the battle to hear how Silque personally stitched Gray’s wounds back together, saving his life.

“Silque,” Faye said. “Do you think… you would be able to teach me healing magic?”

“Of course I will,” she answered immediately. “What are friends for?”

“Right.” Faye ducked her head. “Thank you.”

She remembered the promise she’d made in Ram village. ‘None of you will die if I can help it.’

And not you either, Silque, Faye promised.

*

It seemed like no time at all before they were on the march again. Alm felt like one minute he was running around Zofia Castle, organising last minute orders and supplies, and the next thing they were on the road, choking on dust clouds kicked up by their feet and mindless walking for hours and hours.

It could’ve been a couple of weeks back in time, still fighting with the Deliverance, Celica barely now a princess nevermind a queen.

…She’d only been a queen for a couple of weeks. The queen. Queen Anthiese. Alm had sworn vows to her, had an official position in the royal household and everything – but it all seemed to be happening in some weird kind of dream. He couldn’t even remember what his position was supposed to do or what his official title was! All he knew was that his job was to be close to Celica.

He’d barely left her side in weeks, but it seemed like that was some strange distance between them, like an invisible wall sprang up whenever he got too close.

It’s probably just my imagination, Alm thought. Celica didn’t seem to be treating him any differently—well, not any differently than he thought she would’ve done, now being ruler and having to make important decisions and lean on Alm for advice…

Maybe it was just that because everything around her was so… queenly. It just kept reminding him of things that couldn’t be.

He hated this. Stupid jealousy stirring whenever she had to talk to someone. It wasn’t even like he’d had her to himself all the time in Ram – she used to spend time with Kliff, Gray and Tobin, Faye, or just being by herself. He didn’t own her and he didn’t want to feel possessive like this. It was all so stupid. Why were feelings stupid?

Alm considered talking to Kliff, but Kliff would probably just say something sensible like ‘talk to her about how you’re feeling’ but, you know, blunter, and that was fine and all and even a good idea but Alm just couldn’t bring himself to tell Celica how he felt about her. It would… bring things out into the open that he didn’t want to share with anyone. And Celica already had enough on her plate already! She didn’t need to deal with Alm’s feelings as well.

So he just kept silent, internally wincing every time Celica laughed at something Fernand said, knowing he was a total idiot and it didn’t mean anything other than Celica was actually having some moments of fun amongst all the stress and hard work.

When Celica asked someone to visit the Forrester village and ask what news they had of Desaix, Alm volunteered. Faye came along too, along with a few other soldiers of the Deliverance – Elisia and two men that Alm didn’t know the names of. With Rigel massing again at the border and the bulk of Desaix’s forces lost to him, Celica had suggested that they take the old Deliverance men to fight Desaix whilst the bulk of the main army went to the border under Grandfather’s control—that is, Sir… no, Celica had officially annulled his sentence of banishment so he was Count Mycen again now.

…He was the grandson of a Count. Huh.

He didn’t use that line when he introduced himself to the elder of the village, a man named Sarkos, just saying that he was one of the queen’s men and they’d come to take care of Desaix.

“Oh. More soldiers.” The elder didn’t quite roll his eyes at Alm but he was obviously not feeling too charitable towards them. “Desaix’s men have already hit us for supplies, so we’re cleared out. We have nothing for you.”

“No, we only wanted to ask if you knew anything,” Alm said. The man was still glaring. It felt obvious and like a bribe, which was not what Alm wanted – he would’ve done this anyway – but he said in an aside to Faye, “Run back to camp, ask the queen to have some supplies delivered to the village – how many are you here, sir? Eighty?”

“Near as damn,” the man said, relaxing only fragmentally. “I’d say we don’t care for your charity, but beggars can’t be choosers – and we’re nearly at the point of being beggars.”

“I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to your village,” Alm said, “but Queen Anthiese is preparing to end the conflict with Desaix. Please, if your people have noticed anything of their soldiers’ movements…”

“Oh, we’ve seen enough, and you’ll hear enough of it, I imagine.” Sarkos folded his arms. “But Desaix ain’t the only one you have to worry about. Rigel’s got their agents all over the countryside as well.”

“…We’re aware that cantors of the Duma Faithful have infiltrated Zofia.” Alm was thinking of the attack on Celica but he knew he couldn’t mention it. “We haven’t heard any reports that they’ve been targeting civilians. Was that wrong?”

“They took my sister!” someone shouted from the back.

“Luthier,” Sarkos hissed. “The queen isn’t going to bother with—”

“No, please.” Elicia stepped forward before Alm could say anything. “Queen Anthiese will help you if it’s in her power. She understands the pain of losing a sibling. She—” Then her eyes went wide and her gaze darted towards Alm. “That is, I’m sure Sir Alm knows better than I…”

He shook his head with a small smile to show her that it was okay. “Elisia is right; the queen will want to hear this. I can’t promise that we’ll be able to help, but if there is anything we can do…”

Luthier visibly brightened. “I’ll tell you everything I know – about Desaix, too.”

Alm couldn’t help but feel sorry for Luthier when he recounted the story of how his younger sister Delthea had been taken by one of the Rigelian cantors, Tatarrah. He couldn’t imagine how he would feel if… well, he didn’t really have any younger siblings, so it was hard to understand. Kliff was probably the closest thing because he was a few years younger than the rest of them, but even he spoke to Alm like an equal.

What would it be like to have a family? Celica was… well, she wasn’t the same sort of family. Tobin seemed to spend half of his life being annoyed by his little siblings and the other half worrying his head off about them. And Gray had two big sisters, but they didn’t seem to worry about him in the same way Tobin worried about his younger siblings…

“It’s reassuring to know the queen is looking out for all of her subjects,” Luthier said. He was an awkward and formal person, but he seemed sincere. “Maybe more pressing than Delthea is that knight Desaix is holding – Lady Mathilda.”

“What about her?”

“He plans to execute her in two weeks’ time.”

[After writing this I realised I’d messed up the timeline a bit and Luthier needed more to himself but never got the chance to go back and fix it.]

Chapter Text

As they moved north, Conrad heard more tales of the bandits’ reign of terror in this part of Zofia. He'd known Desaix to be treacherous slime, but he'd had no idea even he would go so far for gold –giving up innocent citizens to Grieth's mercy for a token tribute. What a waste.

It strengthened his resolve that he was doing the right thing by helping the Whitewing sisters – as they were known in Archanea – rescue their sister, but he couldn't help but be made anxious by the devastating rockslides that had separated the two halves of Zofia. If he wanted to go back to Anthiese, he would have to go all the way south again to Zofia Harbour and catch a ship to somewhere further down the coast. With Desaix still at large and the Rigelian Empire eager to go to war again, he doubted the issue would be solved before then.

Anthiese… Please be safe.

Although he'd been sure Nomah would make the journey north, Conrad didn't see him along the way, although he asked in every village they stopped by. Was it possible that Nomah was stuck on the other side of Zofia? If so, he would have to go the long way round to reach Mila's Temple - it would add weeks to his journey.

And as they journeyed further north, and the grasslands gave way to deserts, Conrad saw the urgency of Nomah's mission. Lands that had been fertile under Mila's blessing were now turned to desert. They passed villages along the way which stood empty, sand swept into doorways and piled up over windows from storms.

“This is sinister…” Palla commented. “I’d heard people say that this used to be fields and farms. Is that really true?”

“It is,” Conrad replied, almost sounding like he’d witnessed it for himself. Perhaps he had, on the long escape from the burning villa to Halcyon’s hamlet, but his only memories of that journey were a blur of tears and desperately wanting his mother back.

“How extraordinary,” Catria said, begrudgingly impressed. She shook her head. “Dragons.”

“You’ve had dealing with dragons in Archanea?”

“...Some,” Palla said.

Conrad recognised that they didn’t want to talk about it and inclined his head, instead switching topics. “There is a town in the mountains up here which may be our last rest stop before Grieth. We ought to stock up on supplies there; ideally, we’d be able to pick up a guide as well. Crossing the desert would be quite a feat, but we also need to be in fighting condition when we get there.”

“That’s a good plan.” Palla smiled. “It would be nice to have one moment of relaxation before we rescue Est. And we might hear something about that man you’ve been looking for, Conrad. Leon, Kamui, I assume you have no objections?”

“None here,” Kamui said.

“It sounds like a sensible plan.” Conrad was surprised when Leon added, “If it’s the last bastion of civilisation before Grieth’s territory, they may have been raided by the bandit king themselves. We should see what we could do for them.”

Palla nodded. “You have a point. Perhaps we’ll find allies there.”

Leon had not been very talkative so far on the journey. He was not… hostile, but his replies were short and kept to the point. He didn’t invite conversation. Even Palla’s younger sister Catria, whom Conrad had discovered was practical and level-headed to a fault, was not quite as reticent. Kamui was a bit more of a personality, but he was also quite clear that his loyalty was to the man he considered to be his employer for the time being, which was Leon, and he kept his secrets. He hinted only that Leon had suffered a painful loss recently.

Conrad had thought Anthiese dead for many years, so he could understand wanting to withdraw from the world after the loss of a loved one.

“Oh, is that why you’ve been going into every tavern we passed?” Kamui said. “I thought that was just because you were hoping to get lucky.”

Catria gave Kamui a disapproving look, and Conrad felt his eye twitch. Kamui’s skills as a swordsman were appreciated, but his sense of humour left something to be desired. “An old man called Nomah. He’s—”

Leon started at this. “That old man?”

Conrad was equally startled. “You know him?”

“Not well. He inadvertently came to our rescue when we were trapped on the pirate’s island and was kind enough to take us to Zofia Harbour.” Leon gave Conrad a curious look. “You missed him by less than a day.”

Conrad sighed. “I suspected as much, but I had… errands… to take care of.”

The conversation was left at that, and the others drifted away. Catria was their scout for the moment whilst Palla let her mount rest by walking. Conrad had never seen a pegasus up close, and he found himself fascinated by the beautiful wings and the way it walked on the sand without leaving any footprints. Palla had explained that pegasi used magic to fly, rather than their wings, and that magic also gave them a light touch on the ground.

“You can pet her, you know,” Palla said gently. Conrad twitched, not realising that had been drifting closer and closer whilst they walked.

“I thought pegasi disliked men?”

“Oh, they’ll only bond with women, and some won’t let men ride them at all. But Saffron is quite mellow – she won’t mind.”

Slowly, Conrad stretched out his hand. Saffron’s coat was surprisingly coarse, but there was a strange kind of warmth coming from her – a joyful feeling that reminded Conrad of that brief feeling of weightlessness after dropping a heavy load.

Saffron whinnied and he took his hand away, but Palla only laughed. “She’s just saying hello.”

“Ah.” Conrad cleared his throat. “Hello… Saffron?”

Saffron snorted. He looked to Palla for guidance.

She hid a smile behind her hand - poorly. “I see you aren’t a natural with animals? Nevermind. I’m sure the two of you will be fast friends soon enough.”

*

Eventually, they came to the mountain village, a hodgepodge of stone and wooden buildings set into the steep hillside, just before it gave way to slate and shale. They saw the place a while before they came upon it, with the advantage of Palla and Catria the pegasus knights, but even Conrad saw the place a few hours before they reached it, trails of smoke marking the place like beacons in the clear sky.

At the foot of the hill, there was a watchtower – hastily constructed, Conrad assumed, because it looked as though it had been patched multiple times. There were several men and women, all thickly muscled, guarding it with pikes.

“They don’t look pleased to see us,” Kamui murmured, keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Don’t provoke them,” Conrad hissed.

“Hail, travellers,” said one of the group – an older woman, solidly built and tall, with burn marks and scars lining her bare arms. A blacksmith? Her words were friendly, but the tone was flat and steely. “What brings you to these parts?”

“We only seek rest and supplies before moving on,” Palla said calmly. “And information, if you have any, about a man named Grieth.”

“That would depend on what you want with him,” the woman replied. “I must warn you, if you seek work with him, you won’t find welcome here—”

“He took our sister,” Catria interrupted.

The woman’s expression cleared, suspicion giving way to sympathy. “Is that so?” She glanced between the sisters’ mounts. “I had heard rumour that he’d captured a pegasus knight from overseas, but I didn’t credit it much until now.”

Palla’s face lit up with hope. “That’s Est! Do you know if she’s alright?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t say. I only know that he would’ve taken someone valuable like her to his stronghold in the east.” Seeing Palla’s crestfallen expression, she added, “But a pegasus knight would be valuable to him, and he’s careful with his… merchandise.”

Palla nodded, although to Conrad’s eyes she still seemed bitterly disappointed. “I suppose that’s something.”

“Sorry I can’t give you better news,” the woman said. “But come! Any enemy of Grieth’s is a friend of ours. My name’s Reba, and I’m the blacksmith here. If your weapons need mending, I can see to them.”

The rest of the watch stepped aside to let Reba lead them into the village proper. It was a steep climb up the slope, but when they reached the entrance to the village, Conrad turned to look behind them and gasped. The valley beneath them was breathtaking, a sea of green with the river winding gently through it like a delicate ribbon. On the distant horizon there was a small streak of yellow, which Conrad took to be the desert.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Reba said sadly. “There used to be settlements all over this valley. Grieth’s destroyed most of them now. The survivors settled here, so you’ll forgive us if we can’t accommodate you in your usual manner.”

Conrad blinked. “Whatever room you can spare is fine,” he replied carefully.

Reba nodded and stepped away to talk to an elderly gentleman.

“Are you not a noble?” Palla said. “I suppose I had just assumed from your manner of dress, but I never thought to ask.”

He'd put away the mask before coming to Zofia Harbour for the second time, thinking that there was little point in wearing it, if the handful of people capable of recognising him were going to be far away. But perhaps that was not all that Sage Halcyon had been thinking in instructing him to wear it. Conrad's identity was still a secret - he didn't have to be recognised for knowledge of his survival to reach Rigel, for them to seek to use him against Anthiese. Or for Anthiese's enemies within Zofia to use that knowledge. He'd been careless in talking with Palla, finding her pleasant and friendly, enjoying being able to talk to someone without... expectations.

But he also couldn't find it in him to lie to Palla, whom he already considered a friend. "I wasn't... raised in luxury," he said after a rather awkward pause.

"I see." Palla's smile was strained. "Sorry for prying."

Before it could get any more awkward, Reba returned. "Gerard is going to arrange something for you," she said without preamble. "I can take you to my shop in a moment. But whilst you're here, there's someone that you should talk to—"

She was interrupted when a young man burst out from around the corner and blurted, "Reba, Gerard said there were visitors, they're going to fight Grieth, and..."

He stopped, registering their presence. He was tall and heavily muscled – even in comparison to Reba herself, which was saying something – with shoulder length grey hair and tanned skin. Conrad could only assume that he was a native to the area, because he was practically shirtless despite the cold mountain air. He cut... an impressive figure.

"Atlas," Reba said dryly. "These folks've got a bone to pick with Grieth. Figured they'd be someone you'd want to talk to."

"Oh, yeah." Atlas smiled sheepishly. "Pleased to meet y'all and that. I'm—wait, you already know that..."

The awkward introduction did make him seem significantly less intimidating. Conrad could already see Catria's eyebrows slowly creeping up as she grew more incredulous. "Do you... have fighting experience?"

"Oh, yeah!" Atlas brightened, seemingly more comfortable with this topic. "Uh, yeah, I took a comission in the army for a while, I was on the front up near Dansek—"

Leon let out a low whistle, and Conrad remembered that he'd also been in the Zofian army until recently. "I heard the fighting was at its worst there."

"I guess?" Atlas said. "I mean, we were busy."

Kamui mouthed 'we were busy' to himself with a strange expression which was either admiration or disgust or both; Conrad could not precisely identify it.

Catria seemed begrudgingly impressed. She'd formed a positive opinion of Leon and seemed to be willing to take his word on the matter. "In that case, perhaps we could help each other. Grieth took out younger sister."

"My younger brothers," Atlas said. There was an unpleasant twist to mouth, as though even hearing Grieth's name was poison to him. "And other folks from the village. I knew I should never have gone to the army..."

"You wouldn't have been able to do much against him as only one person," Leon said gently. He seemed normal enough to Conrad, but Kamui gave Leon an alarmed look, so perhaps something was more wrong than it seemed?

Conrad had not spoken to Leon much, but maybe it was time to rectify that.

"I guess." Atlas cracked his knuckles and squared his shoulders, which somehow gave the impression of him being even larger. "But now I'm ready to take the fight to him! I'm ready to knock some heads together."

Reba coughed. "...These good folks might like to rest at least one night first, Atlas."

"Oh." Atlas deflated again. "Right. Of course. I'll just... go...uh, prepare to leave then. See you folks around."

He shuffled away awkwardly as Reba shook her head.

"Is he... reliable?" Catria said delicately. At least, Conrad thought she was trying to be diplomatic when she added, "I'm sure it's difficult for him, to cope with the idea that he wasn't there to help his brothers, but..."

"Trust me." There was an unmistakeable touch of pride in Reba's voice. "When things get tough, you could do a lot worse than to have Atlas at your side. He's lived here his whole life and he's nearly as tough as the mountain itself."

Catria still seemed dubious, but when Palla gave her a quelling look, she swallowed whatever objections remained.

It didn't seem that anyone else was going to say anything, so Conrad said, "We'd be glad to have him."

"Good." Reba nodded, satisfied. "Alright then, let's see you well equipped before you go running off after Grieth."

"There is something else we wanted to ask," Palla said. "Conrad was looking for a friend of his master. An old man, with a long white beard–"

"The Sage Nomah?" Reba said, staring at Conrad in surprise.

"They knew each other when they were younger," he explained, feeling uneasy at the eyes on him.

Stupid, stupid. He had not thought anything of telling Palla that at the time, and doubtless for the same reason she had had no qualms about sharing it. But all of these things were details, information that could be used to figure out his true identity, or the location of the Sage's Hamlet, putting Halcyon and all of his faithful in danger. How could I have been so careless?

Reba eyed him for a moment longer, before adding, "Well, the Sage did pass through, healed some of our wounded, but he wasn't here for long. He stayed only one night and then he and his companions pressed on to the Mother's Temple." She sniffed. "Not that they're like to find help from that quarter, but I suppose the Sage has to try."

"The Temple is directly north of here, isn't it?" Leon said.

"More or less."

"When was he here?" Catria said.

"Only two days ago."

"Not far ahead of us," she mused. "I suppose a man of his age doesn't travel fast. Conrad, if you need to speak to this man, Palla could probably fly you there. Or I could take a message on your behalf; Floris is faster than Saffron. If the Sage leaves the Mila Temple, who knows where he could go from there."

He looked to Palla, expecting her somehow to object, but she only blinked back at him in return, waiting for an answer.

Conrad was taken aback by her offer - brisk and business-like, as Catria seemed to be in most things, but to have made the offer with her sister kidnapped must have meant she gave a great deal of thought to it. Had he given the impression his business was so urgent? Maybe the secrecy of the whole affair made it seem so.

Sage Halcyon's words weighed on Conrad. He was the one who had wanted him to meet with Nomah. And... Conrad trusted Halcyon, the man who had raised him, who'd taught him the lessons from Duma the Father before he was corrupted, who encouraged Conrad to take up the lance...

It had been very easy to believe everything that Halcyon said there, within the Sage's Hamlet, shrouded from the outside world as much as the outside world was prevented from entering. Not that Conrad doubted his words now, exactly, but he did not have the clarity to believe in them fully as he had before he left the enclave. It seemed... callous and cruel to prioritise a message for Nomah over Est, over Atlas's brothers, over the people of Zofia, who'd had nobody to guide them for years and years. It was all for the good of Conrad's sister, Sage Halcyon had said, but Conrad had already seen that Anthiese had at least one fierce defender. Things changed so quickly out here in the wider world. Who would be these people's defender?

Clearly, people were willing. For a man with Atlas's casual strength, Conrad could well believe him when he said he had planned to go after Grieth on his own, even if it would've been an unwise plan in reality. And he didn't doubt that the Whitewing sisters were capable, that Leon and Kamui were capable. But what if Conrad's absence was the reason one of them was hurt or worse? What if Palla were to take him to Nomah, and then the exertion of the flight did her harm when she tried to fight?

It was a risk that he couldn't bear.

"It is a kind offer," Conrad said. "But I ask that you think no more about the matter. Rescuing Grieth's victims and getting your sister back safely should be our highest priority. I intend to do everything I can to help you."

Palla smiled warmly and reached out to grasp his hand, making Conrad jump. "Thank you," she said.

Conrad wondered if there was a way to extract his hand without appearing rude. Travelling in close quarters with these strangers was bad enough, never mind the casual, friendly touches which seemed to be normal amongst Zofians and Palla and Catria's people. He was still getting used to being with new people – he'd known everyone in the Sage's Hamlet by name, not family, but familiar.

Here things could seem both too claustrophobic and too open at the same time; bustling people, all strangers, Conrad not knowing what they might do at any given moment – yet at the same time, he could gaze upon the horizon in every direction if he wished. There were roads, but the whole world seemed open to possibility. It was frightening rather than promising, but the teachings of Duma instructed one to close one's heart to fear.

Conrad had never been able to do that as well as he should. But he could manage it well enough to help to set things in Zofia right—for his new friends as well as for Anthiese.

Chapter Text

“Mathilda is obviously an enormous bit of leverage for Desaix,” Lukas said, when it was clear that no one else at the meeting had the heart to say something so harsh in front of Sir Clive. “He’s using the threat of her execution to force us into conflict before we’re fully ready. And I don’t doubt that he will be willing to use her as a hostage to bargain for his own life.”

Alm, thankfully, picked up on Lukas’s hints. “So we need to have a plan to rescue her before we can go all in on Desaix. Do we know the layout of the Western Fortress? Any idea where she might be being kept?”

“The layout of the western fortress has been unchanged since it was built two centuries ago. If Lady Mathilda is being kept there, then she will be in the holding cells in the basement,” Fernand said stiffly. “That’s assuming that he hasn’t got her stashed elsewhere – it would take months to comb all the possible hidey-holes out in those woodlands.”

“No, Desaix will want to keep her close at hand,” Lukas said. For some reason, Fernand glared at him, even though this fact ought to have been reassuring. “With his loss of Zofia Castle, his power is considerably weakened. He will be finding it hard to control the men he has; he wouldn’t want some of them to get the bright idea of buying their freedom by bringing Lady Mathilda to us.”

“Yes, well…” The queen paused. “Be that as it may, would it be possible to get a small group into the fortress to go after Lady Mathilda whilst the bulk of our forces attack from outside? I feel the best way to keep her safe would be to pre-empt Desaix’s plans.”

“I will take some scouts and look into it.” Python, probably? He had good eyes and might spot something that Lukas missed. Who else? Someone with knowledge of the fortress would be best, but he didn’t know if he could find such a person. “But we will be pressed to be ready to meet Desaix’s forces by this artificial deadline as it is. We should also make plans to attack on the appointed day of the execution.”

“The risk to Mathilda is far too great!” Sir Clive said. “If we’re late…”

“I don’t think the risk is quite as great as you fear…” Lukas tapped the courtyard in their sketch of the western fortress. “If he wants a public execution, he will choose this spot. Defendable, but still open enough to make his point. But the purpose of the execution is to draw us out. When he’s accomplished that, he can still use Mathilda as a bargaining chip—”

“Perhaps he won't,” Clive said grimly. “He was always a prideful man, and he must know that we can't grant him mercy, even if we wanted to.”

Lukas had not been important enough to speak to the Chancellor personally, so on that front, he would have to take Clive at his word. “Then the only remaining option would be to mount a charge early on to rush to her aid. But that would… carry severe risk.”

“I would happily volunteer for such a task,”Fernand said.

“I do not know Lady Mathilda, but I cannot imagine she would be happy to hear you say such a thing.” The queen shook her head and turned to Lukas. “I can't let anyone put themselves in such danger for the sake of one person, so we must put our hopes on being able to infiltrate the fortress before then. Lukas, I will ask you to consider including me on this mission. I—”

“Your majesty!”

“Celica, you can't—”

Queen Anthiese silenced them with a glare. “I lived at the western Palace for two years. I grant you that was some time ago, and I know my presence will increase the risk to the party, so, Lukas, if you can find someone more suitable, by all means take them instead. But I think we are unlikely to find anyone who knows the place better than I.”

She had a point; Python might spot some kind of passageway that existed, but then again, he also might not. But if they were discovered with the queen, it would be disastrous.

Well then, they'd just have to avoid detection.

“I agree in principle, as long as you understand you will have to obey my orders without question - just like any other soldier.”

“Of course,” the queen said, even as Fernand began to splutter with suppressed outrage. Lukas could not be very upset at the sight.

“Your majesty,” Sir Clive said hastily. “I must protest – what if we are in need of your guidance?”

“Nonsense. I trust that you and Fernand will be able to keep everything running smoothly in my absence. If you truly need my input, you will consult Alm – he knows me better than anyone.”

Fernand was beginning to turn purple with rage, and Sir Clive also frowned unhappily – strange, Lukas had thought him impressed with Alm's skills – but neither of them said anything.

“Well then.” Queen Anthiese smiled. “Lukas, let me know when you have need of me, and I'll be ready.”

*

“You sure we gotta take her Highness along?” Python asked, in the drawl he used when he was particularly unimpressed.

“Oh, just call me Celica while we’re out,” the queen said.

She was distracted by strapping herself into leather armour, and Lukas was sure that she hadn’t fully heard what Python was saying, but it was amusing to watch him whirl around with a pale face.

Until he elbowed Lukas. “You knew she was there.”

“I did,” Lukas admitted. “She’s just another soldier for this mission, Python. Just remember that and I’m sure it will go well.”

“Just another soldier,” Python repeated, nose crinkled in distaste. “What, you think she won’t go back to being a queen whenever it suits her?”

“No.”

Based off the brief period after leaving Ram village, Lukas didn’t foresee any problems. The queen had respected his authority and experience then and did not seem to have undergone a major personality shift since the reveal of her identity.

Python only snorted.

Lukas could understand his scepticism; given that it was Python, he would’ve been concerned if the man wasn’t a little sceptical. But he did wish that Python would take Lukas at his word a little more often. He enjoyed working with Python and, probably, trusted him the most out of everyone in the Deliverance. He was certainly a good balance to Forsyth’s determined brand of idealism. Lukas had merely hoped the favour would be somewhat returned by now.

But that thought wasn’t particularly relevant to the mission, so Lukas put it aside for the time being. The important matter was—

“I know that look,” Python said dryly. “Don’t worry. I’ll play nice.”

Lukas smiled. “I never doubted you would.”

After another round of checks to her equipment by Fernand, Queen Anthiese – or rather Celica for the time being – was ready to go.

They headed east for a little while first before going north, planning to make a wide circle around the territory under Desaix’s control. With his fortified position at the western palace, he rarely chose to send out scouting parties over areas patrolled by raiding parties according to the local villages, but ideally they wanted to meet with neither.

“Kliff said you’d been friends with Forsyth since you were children. Is that true?” Celica asked Python.

Python gave Lukas a baleful look, but he hadn’t specified that they should walk in silence, and he didn’t particularly see a need, so he only gave Python a wide-eyed look.

Cursing under his breath, Python said, “Yeah, I guess.”

She laughed lightly, either not picking up on Python’s distaste or choosing to ignore it. “You seem so different! I can’t imagine the two of you being friends.”

“Yeah, well, he’s gotta have someone to reign him in.”

“And you need someone to keep you going now and then.” Python looked at her sharply, but Celica was staring into the middle distance. “A little like Tobin and Kliff, I suppose...” she muttered to herself.

Lukas had always thought that Python relied on Forsyth as a counterbalance to his own cynicism more than Python himself would care to admit, or possibly even more than he realised, and was pleased that someone else had observed the same thing. Sometimes he worried that he did not understand Python as well as he thought he did, and whilst that was a somewhat illogical thought considering the year they’d worked closely together now, Lukas was nonetheless pleased to have someone’s support in the matter, however unintentional.

He thought Python’s mood towards Celica might improve over the course of the day, since she seemed to be fond of Forsyth, but the day wore on and Python’s face was still set in a hard, thin line. Celica, Lukas was now sure, was purposefully ignoring Python’s disagreeableness in an attempt to make friends, but even she was beginning to get discouraged.

Why Python was so determined to be angry did not become clear for some time.

“Grandpapa—that is, Sir Mycen—seemed to think he was overly enthusiastic, but I thought it was very sweet, how excited he was to meet—“

“He’s not a joke,” Python said quietly.

“Pardon?” Celica said.

Python did not repeat himself. Instead, he added, “It’s a stupid thing to want, but he’s serious about it. He’s not… a toy. You shouldn’t raise his hopes.”

Lukas’s heart sank, and he began to see what was the matter. Python didn’t like to admit it, but he was actually quite protective of his friend—perhaps the reason why he was so insistent on reminding Forsyth that he was ‘never’ going to be made a knight, to avoid raising his hopes only to have them dashed.

And if Lukas were very uncharitable, and cynical, and had little to no reason to expect anything from the nobility, especially those that he barely knew like the queen—in short, if he were Python—he might take Celica’s smiles and comments on how lovely Forsyth seemed as a kind of patronising interest, a way of poking fun – look at the commoner who thinks he can be more.

“I’m not raising any hopes,” Celica said. “At least not any that I don’t think oughtn’t be raised. Forsyth is very capable, and I don’t see why, in the future—“

“In the future,” Python said deliberately, cutting Celica off. (No, he was definitely talking to Queen Anthiese right now, whether she liked it or not.) “It’s always in the future. Scraps. Forsyth doesn’t understand it, but I know that kind of piecemeal peacemaking when I see it, stringing people along...”

“If everything was ready, I’d knight him tomorrow,” Anthiese said sharply. “It’s wonderful for you to defend your friend, but you have to understand – what do you think would happen if I made him the first commoner granted a knighthood since Sir Mycen? He would be under scrutiny from everyone, and he would work himself to death to try to live up to those expectations. It isn’t fair to put Forsyth in the spotlight in that way.”

Python was at a loss for words, a feat that Lukas had not seen performed for some time. Cautiously, he decided to throw his hat into the ring. “Whilst I certainly think that Forsyth is capable of performing at the same level as many knights that I know, I also believe that the queen is right. The Deliverance has not made as much progress in changing minds amongst the nobility as some people hoped. If a commoner were to be knighted, they would certainly attract undue attention at this time.”

Python did not look convinced, the corner of his mouth still downturned.

“Don’t you think,” Lukas continued, trying to be reasonable, “that Queen Anthiese would’ve knighted her friends from Ram if she believed there would be no serious consequences?”

This, at least, seemed to make sense to Python. He merely shrugged, but there was less tension in his body. Lukas swiftly diverted Celica’s attention to the areas they were most likely to discover some kind of hidden or poorly guarded entrance so that she could not inadvertently draw Python’s ire again.

*

Their circuitous route meant it took them until dusk to reach the palace – far too late to do any real scouting. But at least they hadn’t been seen.

“We’ll have to set up camp for the night.” Lukas frowned, trying to make a quick survey of their forces in the dying light. There were a handful of soldiers on the parapets, made into shadows by the sun setting behind them, but he couldn’t tell if they were alert or not… he was confident they wouldn’t be spotted, at least. “No fires, rotating watches throughout the night. Python, you take first watch, I’ll take the middle. Celica, you get us up just before dawn.”

Python sighed and grumbled under his breath, but Lukas knew he’d do as he had asked. He wasn’t sure if Celica would have the internal clock that experienced soldiers tended to develop; by rights, she shouldn’t, but Sir Mycen had been rather thorough in Alm’s education and Lukas would not have been surprised if it had been drilled into them at one point.

His own watch was the most arduous, giving a disturbed sleep, but Lukas was well used to getting by on little sleep. Python looked at Celica askance, perhaps expecting her to raise some objection to the prospect of a cold dinner and uncomfortable sleep, but she said nothing on that front. Instead, she drew a small pouch out of her pack, and offered around some strips of jerky from it.

It was subtly spiced and surprisingly pleasant; certainly better than what Lukas had expected to eat. “This is not the standard rations,” he commented.

“He means he likes it,” Python added dryly.

Was that not what I said?

“Tobin got a parcel from his folks at home,” Celica answered. She shook her head fondly. “He worries.”

The beef jerky wasn’t going to keep Celica safe, but the feelings behind the gesture were sweet, nonetheless.

*

In the morning, Lukas was not quite refreshed, but he was fit and wakeful enough for the task ahead.

“The northwestern side is our best bet, I think,” Celica said. “There was supposed to be an old jetty down here, fifty years ago when there were pirate attacks along this coast, and a quick way in and out of the palace to get to it in case of emergency. The entrance was...” She closed her eyes and screwed her face up in concentration. “...boarded up… I think… but the servants used to use it to meet secretly, so it should still give us a way in.”

“Meet secretly, huh?” Python said, wiggling his eyebrows at Lukas.

“Python.” He sighed. That incurable gossip. “Is now really the time?”

“Well, I guess not.”

They made their way through the woods surrounding the palace carefully. Although it was still dark, the sky was rapidly turning pink with the new dawn, and there was activity on the parapets—but they had to remain within visual distance of the place, or else the whole exercise would be pointless.

“Okay, somewhere around here,” Celica whispered.

“You know you don’t have to actually whisper,” Python said dryly, but Lukas couldn’t blame Celica. It was the kind of atmosphere that demanded quiet, even if Python was almost allergic to following those kind of conventions except when it suited him.

Lukas scanned the walls, but he couldn’t see anything as his eyes kept being drawn to the soldiers on the parapets.

“I think I see somethin’,” Python said after a few minutes. “The wall there – don’t it look fresh done up to you?”

Lukas could not see anything special about the wall at this distance, but Celica nodded. “It does look a different colour than the rest. Do you think that could be it…?”

“Well, the only other entrance I see was the small gate on the northern side, but it’s pretty heavily guarded.”

“Does this fit with where you would expect to find this entrance?” Lukas said.

Celica closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and concentrating. “I think… yes.”

Python’s expression showed him to still be sceptical, but he said nothing.

“Can you draw us out a rough sketch of the tunnels?” Lukas asked. “At least where you think they are, even if you can’t be sure.”

She bit her lip and glanced up at the castle. “I’ll have to try, I suppose.”

The map they got at the end was not the most informative. Celica wrote and drew very neatly over existing blueprints of the palace that they had brought with them for this purpose, but the end result was filled with question marks and at least three different secret tunnels that might or might not be connected to the entrance they’d seen on this side of the building.

Celica seemed displeased with her own handiwork, looking at it with pursed lips. “We should probably see if we can get an idea of their troop movements,” she said. “We might as well get something out of this.”

*

On the way back to the main army, Celica seemed subdued. Lukas didn’t wonder at it too much, so he was surprised when she fell into step beside him on the way back.

“I know I said I would be under your command for the duration of the mission,” she said, “but this is something that I feel must be settled before we return. So I will tell you the conclusions I’ve drawn, and you can give me your honest agreement or disagreement, as my superior officer. Is that alright?”

“Of course.”

Celica took a deep breath. “This expedition was a wild goose chase. The chances of such a stealth rescue mission being pulled off were always astronomically small. I put my heart before my head, thinking of Sir Clive’s and Fernand’s feelings for Mathilda, and took a great risk in coming out here myself in a small group – far greater a risk than I had any realistic expectation of being returned.”

She finished this all in one breath, and looked almost surprised to have gotten all the words out.

Python, who had evidently been listening more closely than Lukas realise, snorted. “Well, at least you’re capable of reflection. I, for one, am glad this hasn’t been a total waste of time.”

“It was not a waste of time,” Lukas corrected gently.

He recognised the determined expression on Celica’s face: someone who’d thought they’d done poorly, and were trying to suppress all their defensive instincts in hearing criticism. Lady Clair had been much the same in her first command. But it was not wise to totally suppress that feeling of self-defence, either.

“It is true that your Majesty’s presence introduced a greater risk than was strictly necessary,” he said, “and it is equally true that using these tunnels to stage an early rescue of Lady Mathilda is a far greater risk than I could ever countenance. But this was always going to be a small scouting party, deep in enemy territory, with only their own wits and blades to defend themselves if discovered. It was always high risk.” He patted the queen’s shoulder. “Besides which, this specific knowledge is not useless to us: it provides us another line of entry into the palace, forcing Desaix’s men to mount a defence on two or three fronts rather than just one. Forcing Desaix to spread his forces more thinly can only increase Lady Mathilda’s chances of being ignored until the fighting is over.”

He was relieved to see her expression settle a little, thoughtful rather than defensive—whilst it was necessary to be able to take criticism, it also did not do to be too wedded to taking criticism. Refusing to see the upsides of your actions could be just as damaging a blind spot as refusing to accept mistakes.

Lukas made a point of adding, after seeing Python rolling his eyes again, “Also, your willingness to consider the feelings of your subjects as individuals has won you a lot of love and respect from the men. Without being too arrogant, I feel confident in saying that I am not the least of them.”

Celica broke out into a wide smile. “It really means a lot to hear you say that, Lukas. Thank you. Please, though, never be afraid to tell me when you think I’m going wrong. I truly rely on your input.” Her eyes slid to Python, who was pretending not to listen again, but Lukas knew that the slight tilt of his head in the direction of their conversation was him trying to catch every word. “On everyone’s input.”

He hoped Python was willing to hear that message, too.

Chapter Text

Atlas, although an inhabitant of the mountains, turned out to have invaluable knowledge of how to navigate the desert.

"It went to desert near us first," he said, by way of explanation. "You know, farthest away from the Mother's Temple and all that. S'pose she just stopped caring about the people all the way out here. Anyway, so I know there's an oasis around here..."

He said it in such an off the cuff, matter-of-fact way, not even noticing when Conrad winced at the blunt description. The Mother just stopped caring. True, in all likelihood, but a terrible thought to contemplate. He could only hope that it wasn't too late to stop the dragons from causing harm.

With the two pegasi and Conrad's horse, they were going to require a lot of water—not something that one found in plentiful supply in the desert. Whilst Conrad offered to leave his horse behind in Atlas's village, since he was also trained in fighting on foot, Palla and Catria couldn't very well leave Saffron and Floris, and it was decided that the saving in water they would make by leaving Conrad's horse wasn't worth the trade off of piling more supplies on their own backs.

So they plotted a somewhat circuitous route through the desert, planning rest stops at two oases that Atlas knew of before they arrived at Grieth's first stronghold in the desert: the ancient Mother's Fortress. Built at the founding of Zofia, it had been long abandoned even before Grieth established his bandit kingdom in the northeastern part of Zofia. According to Atlas, Grieth hadn't bothered with it at first, but as the desert had grown larger and harsher, even he needed some kind of rest stop for his men.

"So it will be well supplied." Catria glanced over the map where they'd marked that route, lingering on the distance between the Mother's Fortress and Grieth's personal stronghold. She nodded. "We can use his own resources against him."

"It will be a tough fight to take it, though," Palla said. "We have no idea of the numbers, what weapons he has..." She seemed contemplative rather than nervous tracing the outlines of the fort with her finger. "But people will be coming and going, so we can pick our moment."

Kamui snorted. "As long as our supplies hold out. Which won't be long at all."

Having the mercenary there was like a small itch that Conrad couldn't scratch. It wasn't that he disliked Kamui, but... he couldn't say that he liked him either. More importantly, he wasn't sure if he trusted him.

In a way, it was Atlas that started it. On being introduced to Kamui, he'd been surprised and a little wary. "You don't often see mercenaries round here that don't work for Grieth."

He hadn't said anything since then, but it was bothering Conrad more than he wanted to admit. They couldn't match any offer that Grieth could give a man like Kamui. At the same time, he'd stuck with Leon this far, even if he – by his own admission – didn't give two figs for the rest of them.

Conrad decided to put his mind at ease and just confront Kamui about the issue later that evening.

"Might I speak with you privately for a moment?"

Kamui did not seem surprised. He scratched his chin carelessly. "Ah, I was wondering who would ask first."

Conrad frowned, unsure of what to reply.

"Kinda surprised that it would be you," Kamui continued. "You don't seem to care all that much about anything. But, sure, let's talk about Grieth."

He was taken aback by Kamui's relaxed response. "I suppose you already know what I'm going to say, so there's little point."

For some reason, Kamui sighed. "Look, you knightly types always have this weird idea about mercenaries. How many of us would still be in work if we betrayed our employers at the drop of a hat?"

"I understand, but it becomes a different matter when your own life is on the line, surely?"

"My life's already on the line," Kamui said dryly. "That's an inherent part of the job."

"But I mean–" Conrad struggled to find the right words. "The chances of victory are... slimmer than would be ideal for you, are they not?"

"I guess, but there's never such a thing as a sure victory, either." Kamui shrugged. "Anyway, I've never been to a desert before. So that'll be something new."

Now Conrad was merely exasperated at his casual approach to danger. "There are safer ways to see the world."

"But they don't pay so well, which makes them less fun." Kamui clapped Conrad on the shoulder with surprising force. "If you're really worried, why don't you ask Leon to tell you about the job his man paid me for? If I agreed to that, I'm not going to run away here. Or get bought off or whatever you think."

"...Alright, I'll ask him." He couldn't say that he was exactly reassured by the conversation with Kamui, but the man was insistent enough that it felt difficult to keep pressing him. Especially as he was correct in saying that Conrad didn't know much about the mercenary life at all, even if not for the reasons Kamui seemed to suspect.

*

They set out into the desert the next day, and for several days Conrad was too exhausted in the evenings – not to mention thirsty – to even think about bothering Leon. It took some time to adjust to the scorching heat of the desert in the day and the freezing nights, when the whole group was forced to share tents for warmth (Palla and Catria had their own section behind a divider). It was deeply uncomfortable for Conrad to be in such close proximity to everyone, with no hope of being able to take time for privacy. And still another week until they would reach the oasis and could spend one or two rest days there. It felt relentless, and sometimes their voices turned into a buzzing in Conrad's ears which it was impossible to hear anything past and it seemed as though he was being squeezed tighter and tighter.

He had almost forgotten about his resolve to talk to Leon until Leon himself came to talk to Conrad.

"Are you alright?" Leon took a seat by Conrad at the fire. It was one of the only bearable times of the day, in the evening when the sun was beginning to set, but when the heat of the day had not yet dissipated. "You've looked quite frazzled of late. Not your usual self at all. Although you're still blessed with that beautiful clear skin. Ugh, life is unfair sometimes."

"...Thank you?"

Leon shook his head. "Nevermind. What's eating at you, friend?"

"Nothing in particular."

"Oh, come now. It's easy to see that you're a bit on edge." Leon smiled reassuringly. "Is it the fighting? I suppose the odds are against us, but—“

"Ah, no, that isn't it," Conrad said, and then realised that he had, indeed, admitted that something was wrong. Leon's eyes glittered in triumph. He sighed and tried to be as vague as possible. "I merely... am not used to sharing space with so many people."

Leon blinked. Whatever he'd expected Conrad to say, that apparently had not been it. "Did you not have a family?"

Family. Even before most of them had been killed, only his mother and Anthiese had wanted anything to do with him, the half-Rigelian boy who prayed to the wrong god. And the Sage's Hamlet had felt more like being part of a priory than a family or a true village—or at least what Conrad imagined a true village was like. That wasn't surprising given that many of the inhabitants of the hamlet actually had been Sage Halcyon's disciples, or what was left of them after Halcyon was forced to flee the Duma Faithful. "Not really."

"Ah. Well... I suppose that it's just one of those things that one gets used to." Leon patted Conrad's hand. "When I first joined the army, I had trouble settling in the barracks. My own family was quite small – I have no brothers or sisters – so it was overwhelming to me at first."

Conrad perked up at this. Perhaps he would have some useful advice to offer? "How did you cope?"

"After a while, I made friends and so on, and it didn't seem so bad. There was one man..." Leon shook his head. "But before then, I found it helped to have something, some time that could be specifically about me. I could be surrounded by the whole barracks and I would only be thinking of myself."

Conrad frowned. "But how did you manage that?"

"I dedicated myself to learning how to apply make up." Leon chuckled when Conrad looked surprised. "I know, you wouldn't believe I only started learning a few months ago, would you? Perhaps you could find some time to spend on your hobbies?"

Hobbies? Conrad couldn't really say that he had any. He'd always been busy at the Sage's Hamlet, learning to fight or to read or the scriptures, doing chores... but those had all been things done out of necessity, not something that he especially enjoyed.

"Or," Leon added, "you could develop a new hobby. Something you've always wanted to try."

Conrad drew a blank. There had been many things he wanted to do: protect Anthiese once he found that she'd survived, help Sage Halcyon save Valentia from mad gods... but he couldn't honestly think of anything that he'd wanted to do for just his own sake, for fun. "...I don't know. I'll... think of something later."

Leon stood, patting Conrad's shoulder. "Well, don't hesitate to ask me if you fancy trying your hand at make up. I have some gold kohl that would suit you down to the ground!"

He didn't even realise until later that he'd forgotten to ask Leon about how he'd met Kamui. That conversation happened later, and it was strange to see shutters come down over the eyes of the normally pleasant Leon. But Conrad had his answer, and he could admit logically that the tale made it seem very unlikely that Kamui would betray them: the sort of people who lost their nerve at Bandit Kings were not the sort of people who accepted jobs bordering on suicidal, and saw them through to the end out of respect for their employer.

Despite that, the itch of wariness didn't completely go away. After the talk with Leon, though, Conrad could identify the source of it. It hadn't really been about Kamui at all, or at least not completely: it was about the entire idea of relying on these strangers, having to extend his trust to them. He was not very familiar with extending his trust so far, and Halcyon's Duma Faithful praised the idea of independence and self-reliance as much as possible. Of course the hamlet couldn't function if people didn't work together, and Conrad had trusted the others to what was needed, because it was mututally beneficial. Or maybe it had only seemed that way to Conrad because he wasn't really part of their circle, the exiled Faithful.

He rubbed his fingers over the Duma token he wore as a necklace. It was the only memento he had of his mother, and he felt the connection to her when he ran his fingers over the places she'd rubbed smooth in prayer. He had not prayed to Duma for years himself, since knowing the god had descended into madness, but he remembered his mother doing so in Zofia. What would she want? What would she do?

Laugh at Zofia’s misfortune, possibly. Understandably, her being sold to King Lima IV had not endeared her to the country at all.

So then… what do I want to do?

Just as when Leon had asked, he didn’t really know. He would like to help Palla and Catria, and more distantly, Anthiese. But he didn’t really have a reason why beyond that it seemed a good deed.

What am I doing?

It troubled him that he could not honestly answer that question.

*

They stopped at the oasis for a short while before they continued on to the Mother’s Fortress. There was one more further into the desert, but it was a longer distance to Grieth’s base, so they were counting on being able to stock up at the fort.

It was also after the oasis that they started to have skirmishes with Grieth’s men.

“This is good,” Palla said. “It will mean fewer foes at the fortress itself. And men could quite easily get lost or go missing in a place like this; I don’t think it will be enough for them to suspect our presence.”

But the fights were dangerous in the treacherous footing of the desert, and ate into their limited water supply. If it weren’t for the advantage of Palla and Catria’s pegasi, they would not have avoided taking severe injury like they did. Conrad was painfully aware that they lacked a dedicated healer, and that his own – extremely rudimentary – skills in the subject would not be sufficient for more serious injuries.

His meagre skills in healing, however, were enough to get him more curious attention about his past.

“Woah,” Atlas said, after helping Conrad to clean out and heal one of Kamui’s cuts. “I mean, I’m pretty good at first aid, but this is something else! Healing magic is supposed to be really hard to learn.”

“It is.” Conrad gritted his teeth and concentrated. Unlike Halcyon, who would be able to heal an injury like this in a moment by merely brushing his hand over it, it took him several seconds to gather up the energy and refine it before gently urging the skin to knit itself together. “This is the most I can do.”

“It’s still impressive,” Catria said. “You’re full of surprises, Conrad.”

He smiled awkwardly, sensing that they were holding back questions he didn’t want to answer. So of course Palla cornered him that evening to ask more about it.

“You seem to know some very interesting things. The skills of a knight and of a priest! Where did you learn all of this?”

Conrad hesitated.

Palla smiled at him cheekily. “Is it a secret?”

“Well...”

She blinked. “It… truly is a secret? I’m sorry. I thought you were just shy.”

“That as well,” Conrad said, which made Palla laugh. “It’s… complicated. And it’s not only my own secrets at stake.”

“And to think, I thought you were merely a do-gooding noble at first.” Palla clapped a hand over her mouth. “That… came out worse than I meant. I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her mortified expression. “Have no fear, I am not offended. It is more or less accurate, anyway—I have no other reason to be travelling with you other than to do good.”

“You never struck me as a man with ulterior motives, but it’s good to have confirmation.”

No ulterior motives. Was that… good? To just be helping for the sake of it? It hadn’t seemed good when he was talking to Leon, more like directionless drifting.

Being out in the world was… more difficult that he’d ever thought it would be. He hadn’t realised how sheltered he’d been his whole life—first at the palace as a prince, then in the Sage’s Hamlet—but as much as it was discomforting, perhaps it was also good to be challenged like this, to begin to grow as a person.

Growing pains. Conrad felt a little like time had been standing still whilst he was in the hamlet, even though that wasn’t the case at all, so… it helped to think of it that way. And this, too, will pass.

*

“How do we want to do this?” Palla said.

Conrad had no idea why she was looking at him. “I… don't have any insights to offer, I'm afraid.”

“Uh, I stopped in there once a few years back.” Atlas scratched his head. “There's not much to tell though. It's pretty much as it looks like. There's a cellar? The walls are falling down a bit? I guess getting in won't be a problem.”

“It looks… fuller than we anticipated,” Leon said, squinting against the desert sun. “Though it's hard to tell from here. Maybe the battlements are just full.”

They'd sequestered themselves behind a rock formation near the fortress, managing to make camp there the night before under cover of darkness. On a clear day like today, even Conrad could make out the figures of Desaix’s men as dark smudges against the pale stone of Mother’s Fort. Unfortunately, this also meant that if the men happened to venture out on a patrol, their group would be spotted nearly immediately, and this was not exactly a defensible position.

“We should rest up for today,” Catria said. It didn’t sound like a suggestion, coming from her, but she looked to Palla for confirmation. “Head to the fort in the evening, with the cover of darkness.”

Palla nodded. “Yes, I expect that will be when we have the best advantage.”

“That will also let Conrad wear his armour without dying of heatstroke,” Kamui said with a grin.

It was a joke, but also true—Conrad’s armour had been packed away in saddlebags since they started out into the desert. Too heavy to wear, but too useful and expensive to merely throw away, the few skirmishes they’d fought up until now he’d fought armourless. It would be nice for it to have a use and not merely be a cumbersome burden for his horse.

“The dark will also make it harder on us to see,” Leon pointed out. “I hope you didn’t have any complex strategies in mind.”

“Don’t need one.” Atlas slammed his fists together whilst cracking his neck, making a rather alarming sound. “Leave ‘em all to me!”

“Happily,” Kamui said.

Leon trod on his foot, and that, for some reason, seemed to be the end of the discussion.

*

Conrad, with little else to do, was checking his equipment when Palla came to sit next to him. Even though the tents shaded them from the sun, she was still sweating and flustered—but she seemed to have a smile for him.

“Come now,” she said. “I know that you have been dutifully working on the upkeep of your equipment every night. You cannot mean to spend the entire day tending to it.”

He took some time to put his breastplate aside, finding himself at a loss for words, as he often seemed to in conversation these days. It was most noticeable with Palla, since she seemed to find more time for him, but he was sure the others had noticed how often their attempts at friendly conversation had fallen into awkward silence.

Conrad didn’t mean to be standoffish, but he was beginning to realise how little of himself he was able to share—how little of himself there really was, beyond his training and his purpose for being out in the world.

...Well, perhaps he could put up a spirited discussion about the scriptures of the Duma Faith, but he did not think that would go over well.

Palla saved him the trouble of having to find a response. “I was surprised that you didn’t have anything to offer for the tactics meeting. A man as well-trained as you must have a good grasp of strategy!”

Conrad licked his lips. Another gap that he couldn’t explain. There were starting to be more of those, such that even to himself, his story appeared to be full of holes. “Ah, not really. I’m afraid my education was somewhat...haphazard.”

He’d actually learnt to ride and fight from one of Halcyon’s old guards. Jerad was a gruff and cynical man, but Conrad had enjoyed learning under him, knowing that every bit of praise he earned was honest. But that man had died nearly five years ago, and if he had known any strategy—or intended to teach it to Conrad—it had never come to pass.

“Oh, well.” Palla did not seem disappointed as he expected. “Maybe we can remedy that now.”

“...Pardon?”

“I was only thinking that we have little else to do with the day,” she said. She played with the fringe of her skirt. Is she… nervous? “And, well, I’ve been lucky enough to learn a lot of strategy from Princess Minerva. I’m not sure how well I will take to teaching, but there’s no harm in making the attempt...”

“I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful teacher,” Conrad said. He could not imagine that it would be otherwise with the soft-spoken, patient Palla. And she was also a highly experienced soldier in her homeland, so even if she were a poor teacher, Conrad couldn’t fail to learn something valuable from her. “I’d like to learn from you.”

She laughed. “And with flattery like that, I’m certain you’ll be a wonderful student. Now, I don’t know where one normally starts with this kind of thing, but Princess Minerva started me with the philosophy of war, so we might as well begin there. I’m not well-read in the subject, but Princess Minerva’s favoured scholar is...”

*

Atlas was feeling increasingly keyed up as the evening drew closer. It was probably a necessary thing with their small group and all, but he’d been a little disappointed that there hadn’t been a whole lot of ‘fighting Grieth’ so far into the trip.

He was alright with that, Palla and Catria were a big name in Archanea so he was sure they knew better, but he was well overdue for knocking some heads together.

It went dark very quickly as the sun began to set. Atlas tried not to fidget too much waiting for the signal to go from the pegasus riders, but he still managed to draw Kamui’s attention.

“Are you… nervous?”

“Naw,” Atlas said. “Just excited, I guess.”

“...Of course,” Kamui muttered. “Excited.”

Atlas grinned. He thought Kamui was kind of funny, but he was so hard to read that he wasn’t sure when it was alright to laugh. Leon was no help in judging, since he didn’t laugh or smile all that often—well, not for real anyway. Not that that was surprising, having lost the man he loved. Atlas hadn’t lost someone like that, but it must be real tough. Losing Ma had been hard enough. Leon was really strong to even be able to give out fake smiles, to be honest.

“Don’t wind him up, Kamui,” Leon hissed, so maybe it hadn’t been a joke after all.

“I’m not winding him up. You heard the man! He’s happy!”

Leon scowled. “I’ll be happy if you can shut up.”

It was nice that Leon had a friend helping him, as well.

Suddenly there was a piercing whistle through the air, and Atlas brightened. They set a slow pace, just a jog, towards the fort, the only sound the grinding of sand under their feet and the wingbeats of Saffron and Floris.

The fort was easy to see because it was lit up with torches. It turned out to be further away than Atlas thought; it gave Atlas’s eyes time to adjust to the light, but the temperature started to drop quite rapidly as they got there, and his arms began to feel chilly. Ah well, dealing with Grieth’s goons will warm me right up.

The main entrance was on the northern side of the fortress, and some effort had been made to patch in the old, gaping holes that Atlas remembered, but they still looked easy enough to climb over. Atlas flexed his arms a bit.

“...We’ll go round the front,” Conrad said in a low voice.

Oh, right. They were still supposed to be stealthy. “Sure,” Atlas replied. “I’ll get the door open for you!”

“A true gentlemen,” Leon said.

Kamui poked him. “Oh, so it’s fine for you?”

Those two are a bit strange. Then again, so is Conrad… Atlas thought, as he heaved himself over the wall. Not that they weren’t nice, of course. It was a companionable sort of strange. Probably it was just Atlas being weird. His brothers always used to complain about him spending too much time in the mountains, said he shouldn’t be a hermit at his age.

Matty and Deros, I’ll get you back soon.

But if he thought about them too much, about what might have happened to them by the time they were able to be rescued, it would be too hard to keep going, so Atlas gently pushed the thought aside.

Inside the fort, the air was dead and still warm, the stone clinging to the heat of the day for longer than the sand could. Only the passing of Palla and Catria overhead created any kind of breeze. The area seemed larger than Atlas remembered, dotted with crumbling pillars. In the opposite corner there was a large fire around which most of the men were gathered, talking in muted voices.

It gave enough light to see by. None of them were looking in his direction and didn’t seem to have seen him jump down from the battlements, but Atlas wasn’t that worried about being spotted. It wasn’t like Desaix’s men wore a uniform, unlike when Atlas had been in the army, so now that he’d gotten inside, they would probably just assume he was one of them until he broke down the door.

Also, there would be—ah, there was one of Palla’s javelins thrown into the mass, there was his distraction. And my cue.

Atlas hurried to the door, where the handful of guards—four, he counted—were already stirring to move towards the fire.

“What’s going on?” one of them demanded of Atlas.

Atlas opened his mouth only to realise he hadn’t prepared at all for talking to them and had no idea what he ought to say. After an awkward moment where the guard’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, Atlas just said, “Aw, hell,” and just stabbed him.

The other three already had weapons in hand and came at Atlas as he was pulling the sword out of the guy’s chest, but they were kind of slow. He ducked under the swing of the first guy and just punched him in the jaw; his head bounced back and smacked against the wall, before he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Atlas got his sword out of the body in time to face the other two, awkwardly batting one strike away from a blond man—wait, no, parrying, that was the word—whilst he side-stepped the other. He twisted back whilst the blond man recovered and clashed against the other man’s sword so hard that the vibrations forced him to drop it. He hissed in pain, looked up at Atlas’s face, and legged it. Might as well let him go for now.

The blond man didn’t have time to get away. He was scrambling back when Atlas kicked his legs out from under him and stabbed him in the chest as he lay spread-eagled on the floor.

Atlas paused for a second. They were Grieth’s men, so he expected it to feel more satisfying, but it didn’t. It was just the same as killing anyone else—too easy, too unsettling.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on it; he had to let everyone else in. Atlas carefully stepped around the pools of blood and, with a might heave, pushed the heavy the doors open.

“That was… fast,” Kamui said lamely, glancing around at the bodies.

Atlas had totally lost track of time. Fighting always seemed to be the same to him, whether it lasted for a few minutes or half an hour. “Was it?”

Conrad poked Kamui in the back with the butt of his spear. “Palla and Catria are—”

“Right, yes, I know,” Kamui grumbled, but he pressed forward and Conrad followed directly behind him. Leon hung back, but there was already an arrow knocked to his bow.

The courtyard was flat and open, so there was no room for anyone to hide. Palla and Catria swooped down from the skies; a few of Grieth’s men had drawn out bows, but one of them went down to Leon’s arrow before he could do much with it. Atlas made a note of the others; if he could, he’d try to take them down first. But there weren’t going to be any fancy tactics here, just lots and lots of killing. Maybe some of them would try climbing over the walls to run away, but then the desert would probably kill them just the same.

Atlas nearly sighed. It was just like being back in the army. Nothing to think about but killing. He couldn’t wait to go back to the mountain in peace. But he had to rescue his brothers and Palla and

Catria’s little sister before that was possible.

Cracking his neck, he joined the fray.

*

They didn’t sleep at all that night; the fighting didn’t last more than an hour, but in the darkness it was impossible to be fully sure whether all the men had fled or whether some of them had managed to hide away, waiting to strike, or whether any of them had reformed outside the walls, waiting to rally…

Nothing like that happened. Dawn broke and Palla and Catria confirmed that the surroundings were deserted. Inside, they combed over every inch of the first floor, but the only things hiding there were reptiles of the desert.

One particularly spiky-looking thing hissed at Kamui when he disturbed its hiding place, under a huge table. “Ah, I see you’re not a morning person either.”

“Kamui,” Leon’s elegant voice called, “are you talking to yourself?”

“No, I found some kind of pointy lizard.” The thing hissed again, raising its tail a bit like a club. Since it was only about six inches long, it looked more cute than threatening. “I think he likes me.”

This piqued Leon’s interest enough for him to actually come over and look. He smiled when he saw the strange creature—a genuine smile, which was only a little less of a hard-fought victory than taking the fort itself, these days.

“What it is?” he asked.

“Dunno,” Kamui said. He bent down to scoop it up from its belly, which was a little less spiky than the rest of it. He barely felt it at all with the calluses. The lizard waved its limbs and hissed again. “Oi! Atlas!”

Atlas stuck his head in from another room. “What?”

“What’s it called?”

Atlas frowned at it. “Thorny devil.”

Kamui rolled his eyes as the lizard’s flailing pricked his thumb. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“No, that’s what they’re called. Thorny Devils.” The lizard let out a higher-pitched noise and Atlas snatched it away from Kamui’s grasp, somehow managing to avoid impaling his fingers. “You’re scaring it!”

In Atlas’s hands, the lizard seemed to calm a little. It happily sat in the palm of his enormous hand and patted his skin with its foot, as though testing it for comfort.

“Oh, come on,” Kamui muttered. “How is it scared of me and not you?”

For emphasis, the lizard hissed at Kamui again and turned its back on him, waving its tail as a threat.

“I don’t know if that’s really what I would consider pet material anyway, Kamui,” Leon said dryly.

“Guess not.”

They trudged back to the main courtyard, still stained red with blood, but now dried and sticky in the heat. Leon had been doing this a lot lately – using sarcasm as a substitute for good cheer. In the normal course of things, it would be just a little bit hypocritical for Kamui to complain about using sarcasm as a defence mechanism, but in this case…

When they first joined up with the Whitewing sisters, Leon seemed… well, not happy. But content. Satisfied, in some way. He spent time being cheerful, and even if it was forced, it was a good sign that he was trying.

Now, Kamui thought he was backsliding, but he didn’t really know what to do about it.

“What’s eating you?” Leon asked suddenly.

“Huh? Oh.” He was as perceptive as ever, though, the idiot. “I just really want a nap.”

Leon’s mouth pulled a little, as though he didn’t quite believe this, but he let it slide. “Well, they say there’s no rest for the wicked.”

“If I was really wicked, I’m sure I’d be having more fun than this.” Leon didn’t react at all this time. Kamui decided to give up on needling him for now. “Anyway, did anyone decide what to do with the prisoners downstairs?”

Leon yawned. “Hmm… not sure. Let’s go take a look.”

There had only been a dozen or so people in the dungeon downstairs—caged, Kamui thought, rather than prisoners; they were merchandise, after all—but that was still enough to create a bit of a logistics nightmare for their small group of six. They couldn’t double back and escort the people to their village – and some of them had been there long enough that their villages had been swallowed up by the desert.

It was a bit of a mess, all told, but nobody really wanted to say that because it would look bad to call freeing slaves ‘messy’.

They descended to the basement, which, morbidly, was still where most of the freed people were sleeping, to find Catria arguing with a man with curly blond hair and way too little chest protection.

Perhaps ‘arguing’ wasn’t quite the right word. It was more like… the blond man was trying to sweet-talk her, and Catria was just staring him down, stony-faced. Kamui didn’t know whether to be more impressed at Catria’s steadfastly cold expression or the fact that the guy hadn’t turned tail and run away yet.

“...must be popular with the men,” the blond man was saying. “And of course, I am so grateful to be rescued.”

Catria narrowed her eyes slightly. The man’s grin widened.

Ruining the fun, Leon touched Catria’s arm gently to get her attention. “Has anything been decided yet?”

Catria turned her back on the blond man, who threw his hands up with a sheepish grin. “Not really. Most of the people are still in shock. And the ones who aren’t...” She pulled a face.

“Alright, alright. I see that you’re a hard one to sweet talk. I’ll have to prove myself with deeds rather than words then!” Once he saw that he had Catria’s attention again, he made a theatrical bow. “My name’s Jesse. I’m a mercenary by trade. If you’re taking on Grieth, will you accept my aid?”

“...We need all the help we can get,” Catria said. “You’ll have to keep up with us, though. We haven’t got time to babysit anyone.”

“Ha! Not a problem for me.” Jesse grinned. “Truth be told, it’s nice to have backup. I went chasing after a girl that Grieth kidnapped and… well… you see how it turned out.”

Kamui watched as Catria’s expression sharpened into genuine interest. He imagined it might be a little what it felt like to be dissected. “A girl? Did she have pink hair?”

“Yeah, that’s right! So she’s...” He glanced up and down Catria. “Your younger sister, I’m guessing? And you said the older woman is your—wait, don’t tell me!” Jesse grinned and leaned forward eagerly. “You’re the Whitewing sisters from Archanea?”

Catria’s scowl morphed into an expression of shock. “You know of us?”

“I heard all about your exploits in the war.” Jesse beamed. “Oh, but this is perfect! I have so many questions.”

“Now isn’t the time,” Catria said. “I’m going to find Palla to let her know we’ve got someone else joining us.”

Jesse opened his mouth, but she was already leaving.

“Not a subtle guy, are you?” Kamui said.

“What can I say? I have a weakness for the ladies.”

He’s not as stupid as he looks, though, Kamui thought. Not if he’s well read enough to know about what’s going on in Archanea…

“I don’t think the ladies reciprocate,” Leon said. “You’re not going to bother them if you come along, are you?”

He was giving Jesse a bit of a terrifying look. Not that Jesse seemed to notice. “Don’t worry, I’ll be perfectly friendly!” A far-off look came into his eyes. “Although I can’t promise neither of the girls will fall for me...”

Kamui snorted. “Judging by Catria’s reaction, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about them.”

“I know, I know, I’m joking! I’m sure they’re far too professional to let something like that happen.” He laughed. “But a guy can dream, right?”

“...Just so long as you’re not a creep about it,” Leon said begrudgingly.

Having clearly decided he was still somewhat suspicious of Jesse’s character, Leon then wandered off to speak to Palla and Conrad, leaving Kamui alone with the guy. For all Leon knew, Jesse might be interested in guys as well. What a terrible friend!

“You’re a mercenary too, right?” Jesse said. “You’ve got that look about you.”

Kamui looked down at himself. “What look? Scruffy? If you think it’s bad now, you should’ve seen what I looked like before Leon got hold of me.”

“Ha! He’s one of those guys who cares by fussing, huh?” Jesse nodded. “It seems like this will be fun. I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone.”

Kamui shrugged, but he was a little relieved Jesse didn’t seem to make a big deal out of Leon’s… protectiveness. Maybe it’s just because he’s not hitting on me, but he doesn’t seem like such a bad guy.

He seemed experienced too, if he knew of the Whitewing sisters and could tell that Kamui was a mercenary at a glance. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be so bad to work with.

*

Palla breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad everyone is settled with food and water, at least.”

“You handled them very well,” Conrad offered. Palla seemed tired in a way that was different to just the toll of battle and having been awake all night, but he wasn’t sure how to lift her spirits.

She smiled weakly. “Thank you, Conrad. People say I have a motherly touch. I suppose it comes from having to look after Catria and Est for all these years...”

“Really?” he said.

“Oh, you may think Catria is easy to manage now, but just wait until you see her arguing with Est.” Palla’s turned her eyes downwards.

It must be hard to be constantly reminded of her missing sibling. Conrad remembered first coming to the Sage’s Hamlet after the fire; it had been so different from anything he’d ever known that it made the loss of his mother and Anthiese hurt all the more, far beyond Halcyon’s ability to offer comfort.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, hoping to carry on the conversation and distract her. “I wouldn’t describe you as motherly. Although my mother was...”

He trailed off, realising it was a poor choice to carry on with. He couldn’t very well talk about his mother without revealing his identity. It seemed like he was always opening his mouth and saying things without thinking around these people, especially Palla.

“...She died?” Palla guessed, and Conrad realised he had stopped walking, leaving the sentence hanging.

“Several years ago now,” he said. “She was quite stiff and fierce… To me, I suppose you were more like a leader. Balanced and fair. Providing guidance. Flexible.”

Palla shook her head. “That’s what a lot of people think a mother is like, Conrad.”

“Is it?” That was what he knew of leadership under Sage Halcyon. He supposed Halcyon had always described leading the Faithful as like being a father to the people, or what leading the Faithful should be like, but he didn’t think it was so... literal.

Palla laughed. “You’re very strange sometimes. But thank you for the compliment. Did you have plans to do anything? We can have another strategy lesson, if you would like.”

“Are you sure you’re not tired? You seemed...”

He couldn’t think of the right word, but Palla shook her head before he needed to. “I feel quite refreshed, actually,” she said. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as they caught the light.

She took his arm and turned a corner towards the stairs; they’d been using the sand as a sort of blackboard, and Conrad supposed she thought to continue that upstairs. The fort ought to provide some shade, so he didn’t mind.

“What did you think of the mercenary who wants to join us?” Palla said. “He spoke to you a little, didn’t he?”

Truth be told, Conrad had found him a little overwhelming – the man had been all smiles and enthusiasm which had not been the least bit dampened when Conrad clarified that he was not really a knight, nor was he a noble. “All the better!” Jesse had said. “Nobles tend to be arrogant, and they never need money!”

“He seems… friendly,” Conrad said at last. “He asked some strange questions—I’m not sure why he would be interested in accounting. But I don’t think there was anything malicious in it, and he seems to have picked up a lot about Grieth’s operation whilst he was held captive here, which could be useful. Did he bother Catria earlier?”

“She was just a little annoyed, I think. Harmless flirting.”

“He wasn’t too… aggressive?” Conrad didn’t know much about formal courtship and even less about the casual flirting practised outside of the nobility, but he was sure it would become unpleasant if Jesse was constantly annoying Catria or Palla. It would probably end up more unpleasant for Jesse, after Catria snapped, but it was still something they should avoid.

“No, I don’t think so,” Palla mused. “He seems more interested in our service in Archanea now. He does ask some weird questions...” She shrugged, and patted Conrad’s forearm with her free hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Conrad said. “I only gave my opinion.”

“But you wanted to be considerate of Catria’s feelings. Thank you for thinking of her. People see her stoicism and seem to assume that she’s emotionless, but you’ve never treated her like that.”

It had never really occurred to him that it might be an issue, but he supposed it wasn’t the sort of thing he had to think about as a sibling. Anthiese had always been good at taking care of herself—and of Conrad, for that matter. Come to think of it, he hadn’t really been such a good older sibling to her.

Catria reminded him of many of Sage Halcyon’s followers back home. Many of them were scholars rather than priests or cantors—the people who had been at Halcyon’s side, that he’d been able to save, when Jedah launched his coup. If they had ever been tolerably personable, that was a skill that had been lost to them during long years of isolation. Despite all their eccentricities, though, they were Conrad’s people, in a sense. He was used to seeking small hints in reserved people to see their real mood.

Again, it occurred to Conrad that he couldn’t explain this to Palla. It was becoming even more tiresome for him than it must be for the others, being constantly secretive with people he considered friends, lying by omission—

“Conrad?” Palla asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“It’s nothing,” he said. Another lie. “You’re, uh, you’re welcome?”

She laughed again, so at least he had succeeded in cheering her up.

Chapter Text

Things began to go quite wrong just when they were nearly finished. The flags of the Deliverance main army were visible in the distance when Lukas heard the thundering of horses hooves; not large enough to be a real company, but his heart sank. They were in the middle of the road and one of the things that Desaix had done to deter the bandits on the paths his soldiers took was to cut back the forest lining the roads, so there was no cover.

Celica seemed to notice his unease instantly. “Surely they must be allies, this close to the main army?”

Lukas could not explain the illogical wariness, so he merely said, “It is best to prepare as though they are not.”

Python nodded and casually put an arrow to his bowstring. Celica did not draw her sword, but the air about her began to shimmer a little, and the air felt thicker and heavier. Ah, magic would indeed be most effective against riders…

In seconds the riders came into view, and Python swore loudly.

“That’s the Rigelian emblem on his shield!” Celica said. “But there are only two of them! What could they possibly...?”

“No time!” Python hissed, as the lead rider, dressed in black armour which seemed to absorb all the sunlight, swung towards them with the second close behind—

They dodged out of the way of the black rider, but even a glancing touch of his spear as Lukas deflected it sent him staggering away. He's monstrously strong!

Python shot an arrow at the second rider, but it only dented his armour and bounced off, even at this distance. He grimaced and pulled out his short sword. Lukas knew Python was not as adept in close quarters and wanted to go to him, but the riders had ridden through and separated Lukas from Celica and Python.

The black rider pulled his horse short and turned around to face them, but did not charge again. Instead, he laughed. "Queen Anthiese! How unexpected to find you away from your guards."

Celica's eyes widened. "You're the Rigelian prince... Berkut."

"Of course."

Lukas winced. As if things couldn't get worse. Recognising Celica—the queen—and facing the crown prince himself, with only three of them?

He didn't know if Anthiese knew much about Berkut's feats in battle, but she remained wary and tensed at least. "I suppose it's too much to hope you've come here to try diplomacy."

Berkut laughed again. "Don't be foolish, your Majesty, what reason would I have to do that? Zofia is the weakest she's been in years. This is the perfect opportunity for Rigel to extend its reach."

"Because we could still avoid further bloodshed for both our peoples." She kept her voice level and strong, even though Lukas could see one of her hands trembling. "Because if Zofia is as weak as you say, then so is Rigel. Your people will be starving—"

"If they can't fend for themselves, they deserve to starve." Berkut sneered. "The strong thrive and the weak perish. That is the law of Lord Duma, and the Rigelian Empire."

"And I suppose that is why the strong Rigelian Empire plans to flood Zofia rather than fight her?" Celica taunted. "Because you're so confident of winning in a straight-on battle?"

Berkut looked uncomfortable for the first time, but his companion growled. Python tried to give Celica an alarmed expression, and Lukas had to agree that perhaps taunting was not the best plan – although the prospect of getting information out of Berkut was tempting...

"That is the work of the pathetic Duma Faithful," Berkut said. The sneer was back in place, but it no longer seemed as genuine. I don't know if getting under his skin is the best plan we have, but it is good to know that he is not totally unflappable.

Lukas didn't know if the prince realised how much information he'd given away with that small comment, but Berkut hefted his spear and snarled. "Enough of this talk. If Zofia is to be drowned, then I would test my strength against you now, Queen of Zofia."

He urged his horse forward just as Celica loosed the magic that had been building; the crack of thunder was loud enough to rattle Lukas's head and echo in his ears, but the bolt of lightning struck Berkut's horse directly. It wasn't true lightning, which probably would've killed horse and rider outright, but all the same they staggered back under the blow, the horse shrieking loudly and Berkut cursing. It gave Celica time to draw her sword, and Lukas had to hope that was enough, because there was a cry of pain from Python and Lukas had to help him.

The other rider was older than Berkut and just as skilled. There was an arrow poking out of the gap between his shoulder and his chest armour, on what seemed to be his dominant hand, from how he awkwardly held the lance in his left. That was probably the reason that Python wasn't dead outright, but his sword had been knocked out of his hands and he was bleeding from a wound in his side. Lukas couldn't tell exactly how bad it was from this distance, but it was bad enough.

There was a clanging sound as Celica's sword clashed with something, but the other rider had turned to face Lukas. In close quarters he didn't have time to charge, but he still had height and reach on Lukas and he used it to turn Lukas's strike aside with ease. Lukas was forced to dodge out of the way, and roll out from under the path of the horse's hooves.

Python had stumbled to his feet. He held grimly on to the shortsword but Lukas wasn't sure how useful he would be --one hand was still pressed to the wound in his side. There was a slowly spreading patch of red under his fingers.

We have to finish this fast so that Python can get medical attention.

The rider was turning again; he started towards them at speed, but Lukas gritted his teeth and held his ground, waiting for the right moment.

"Lukas!" Python hissed.

But Lukas waited until the very last moment, before driving his spear into the horse's chest at an angle. It was wrenched out of his hands as the horse barrelled onwards, collapsing to the ground, and Lukas was thrown violently to the ground, skidding and scraping away the skin on his left side before he stopped and was able to scramble to his feet. The rider had managed to throw himself off at the last moment, failing to be trapped under the horse as Lukas had hoped—and now he'd lost his weapon.

He winced as there was another loud boom from the queen’s thunder spell, and Lukas spared a minute to check on her condition. She seemed more or less unharmed, although exhausted, taking deep, heaving breaths—

Lukas’s attention was drawn by a shout from Python.

"Here!" Python slid the sword across the ground to him and drew his bow again instead. Lukas was sure he heard him add, "You idiot," under his breath afterwards.

He wasn't sure what to feel about being treated like Forsyth.

Lukas was not accustomed to using swords, particularly not ones of this weight and size. But he was conscious that for Python to actually use his bow, he would have to take some pressure off his wound, so Lukas would just have to make do.

He moved before the knight could get his bearings, to give Python the advantage of distance. It was awkward to fight without his usual weapon and at first he circled the other man warily. But prolonging the fight was not an option, so he took his chance when the knight stumbled after a lunge, diving forward with a strike to his ribcage. The knight deflected and instead of a finishing blow it was only a shallow cut.

Lukas ducked as the lance swung towards his head, closing the distance again to make manoeuvring the spear, a long one designed for cavalry, more difficult. He slashed at the man’s face with the sword, making a line across his cheek and through his eye. The man howled and shoved Lukas back with such strength that he nearly fell over.

Gritting his teeth, Lukas fell back against an onslaught of blows, but they were wild and panicked, and he only had to hold his ground until the knight made an error, an overextension, and then Lukas darted forward, this time driving the sword through the man’s side and into his ribcage. His dying breath was little more than a splutter of rage and surprise.

Lukas wanted to go to Python immediately, but he spared a few moments to pick up the knight’s dropped spear. It was longer than Lukas was close to wielding, but he was more familiar with cavalry spears than he was with swords, and he might need to go to the queen’s aid in a moment.

In a moment.

With the fight over, Python seemed to have sagged. His face was pale and the wound was still bleeding. “I know I look pretty,” he wheezed, as Lukas tore off a strip of his undershirt to try to bind the wound, “but Her Royal Highness is actually over there.”

The crack and flash of another thunder spell, Lukas felt, saved him from the need for a sarcastic rejoinder. He focussed his attentions on Python’s injury, trying not to let on how much the sight of it disturbed him. “Be serious, Python,” he said, to cover for his shaking hands.

Python gave a hollow laugh. “You know me. I don’t take anything seriously.”

Even the fact that you might bleed to death?

Lukas pushed the thought away. He didn’t really want to contemplate such a thing himself. He’d grown used to Python’s honest, if sarcastic, manner, and until Queen Anthiese had joined the Deliverance, earning Python’s respect had felt like Lukas’s only real victory of the year. It still seemed the most important.

The good news was that the fight would probably have been noticed by the main army. They might send someone to investigate, particularly as the queen was known to use magic and their party was due back around this time. The best case scenario, of course, would be if Clair came to scout the situation out, but Lukas could not remember if she was supposed to be on patrol at this time—

“Go help Queenie,” Python said, startling Lukas out of his thoughts. “C’mon, it’s not like you can do anything. And being dumb doesn’t suit you.”

He hesitated, but Python was right; there was little point in Lukas staying here and… fretting. He lowered Python to the ground carefully.

The fight between Celica and Berkut had taken its toll on the landscape. In places the grass was blackened and even smoking from thunder and fire spells. Celica herself still appeared to be unharmed, but it didn’t seem that Berkut had taken any serious injuries, either. The feather-like burns of a lightning strike, creeping up the side of his face, remained the only mark upon him.

Lukas saw why it had been at a stalemate for all this time. At a short distance, Celica was able to dart around his horse, which couldn’t build up speed or make turns quickly. But in close quarters it was also more difficult for Celica to make use of her magic, as Lukas saw when she tried to build up a fire spell in her hand, only for it to dissipate as she was forced to leap backwards away from Berkut’s lance, throwing it aside with her sword.

But it was equally clear that Celica was tiring faster. She wouldn’t be able to keep avoiding the Rigelian prince for long.

Berkut caught sight of Lukas before he could pick his moment and paused, eyes darting towards his fallen companion. A flash of unease crossed his face. Rather than press the advantage, Celica hung back, recovering her breath, and Lukas followed her lead.

At last, Berkut said in a low voice, “So, the queen and her companions are made of stronger stuff than Zofia is reputed for.”

There was something heavy and meaningful in his tone. Lukas tightened his grip on the spear. It had not occurred to him until he had more time to think of it, but if the knight had come this far with the prince into enemy territory—only the two of them—he might be Berkut’s personal guard. Someone that the prince knew well; whom he valued.

It wasn’t like Lukas could have avoided killing the knight. He’d been powerful enough that it was too dangerous to take a chance like that, for Lukas to leave himself open to further attacks if the man couldn’t be forced to surrender or otherwise taken out of the fight. The only other option had been for Lukas himself to die and for Celica, in the best case scenario, to be taken captive. He doubted they would’ve spared the time to even kill Python properly; he’d be left to bleed out on the side of the road.

These thoughts changed nothing in reality, but Lukas found it easier to steel himself to the thought of more fighting.

Eventually, however, Berkut said only, “We’ll meet again, Queen Anthiese,” with all the weight of the solemnest vows.

Then he turned his horse and galloped back the way he’d come.

Celica nearly collapsed when he’d passed out of hearing range. It took her three attempts to sheathe her sword, she was shaking so badly. Battle fatigue, Lukas thought. It might be hard to make good time back to camp with the queen in such a condition.

“Lukas, you’re hurt!” she said, alarmed.

Lukas shook his head as she made a movement towards their packs, where there was first aid material. “Python is worse,” he said quietly.

He felt tired himself, now—a deeper exhaustion than the fight warranted.

Celica bit her lip. “Then we must see what we can do for him.”

Lukas had forgotten that she had some training in first aid—it was something he’d only been told briefly as they left Ram, which seemed like a lifetime ago—until she was bandaging the wound properly with more expertise than Lukas would’ve managed. Her hands left red fingerprints as she wound the bandages around Python’s waist. It seemed something particularly unqueenly. Lukas was only grateful.

“I considered cauterising it, but—”

Python managed to grow even paler. “Gods, no, it hurts enough already!”

“—But I thought the shock might do more harm than good at this point.” The corner of Celica’s lips quirked at Python’s appalled expression. “Lukas, I think you’ll be better able to carry him. You make a start whilst I compile the essentials into one pack—”

“I don’t think that’s the wisest idea,” Lukas said.

She blinked at him. “But Python needs medical attention as soon as possible.”

“Yes, but...”

“He can’t just leave the queen by herself,” Python mumbled, eyes half closed. “Bad form. Clive might think he’s got feelings. So on.”

“This is nonsense,” Celica said. She was already going through the packs, tossing out unnecessary supplies to make room for their observations from the scouting mission. “If I’m the queen, you have to follow my orders. So I’m ordering you. Don’t wait for me.”

Lukas knew he ought to protest. Even if there weren’t any more Rigelian soldiers, there could be bandits, Desaix’s scouts…

But Python’s breathing was more shallow than he would like. And his eyes were slow to track Celica when she stood up and moved to search through another of the abandoned packs.

It was an order, Lukas thought, but that was just an excuse. He wouldn’t have much problem disobeying foolish orders, and he could be confident that Sir Clive and even Fernand would back him up in this instance.

But. Python. Choosing to stay seemed to be like saying that he wasn’t as important as Queen Anthiese, which was not something that Lukas was willing to countenance, even if it ought to be true.

“Alright,” he said, “but don’t dawdle.”

Celica let out an unladylike snort. “You don’t have to say it twice.”

“I’m almost starting to like her,” Python wheezed.

*

Lukas going ahead with Python took a load off Celica’s mind—not just because she was worried for Python’s safety, but because it gave her time to think without feeling like Lukas was constantly watching her. That was an unfair thing to think, especially since Clive and Fernand certainly hovered more than he did. Perhaps it was different because Celica actually felt like she had some measure of power over Clive and Fernand that she didn’t really have with Lukas. She wasn’t fooled—he only followed her orders insofar as he agreed with them. That was a good thing, of course, but it was also a little frightening to have to live up to expectations all the time.

His concern for Python was touching, because she certainly knew that ordering him to abandon her here was not, strictly speaking, sensible.

She would have to talk to Lukas later, anyway, as she wasn’t sure if she had overheard the conversation between her and Prince Berkut. He hadn’t mentioned it, but with Python’s wound more pressing…

Celica realised she’d stopped packing and shook herself, stuffing the first aid box into the pack. There was no need to linger here and make her order even more stupid.

“...So you do have the Brand of Zofia. Hmph. I have no need of a god’s blessing. My power is my own!”

Knowing about the Brand explained a lot about Celica’s childhood, in retrospect. Why King Lima had taken more of an interest in her education, why her eldest siblings had shown her such special attention that the other younger children of the king didn’t get… Even if no one had explained it to Celica, it must’ve been because of the Brand. Because her elder siblings thought she’d be their father’s heir and they needed to get into her good graces. Because King Lima had always been doted on by the Mother—indulged, the servants said, as though he were a spoiled child, and it was hard to disagree—and he was fascinated by the one of his children chosen by Mila.

It made her sad to think that all those times her elder siblings had played with her hadn’t been out of affection, but she couldn’t blame them for being scared. Father’s Court had been like that, encouraging distrust. Father thought it was amusing to play people off against each other; he didn’t care if they were related to him by blood, even his own children.

She hadn’t known that Duma had also given a blessing to the Rigelian royal line, but it made sense. It made sense that there would be a child bearing a Brand in their royal family, too.

Except. Except that Berkut, the Rigelian heir, did not have it. Except that Celica knew of another mark like hers, albeit not quite the same, but he wasn’t of the Rigelian royal family. He couldn’t be—

But the more she thought about it, the more that Alm could be. Grandpapa was originally Rigelian; he’d learned to fight there. He could have met someone from the royal family, even if he never mentioned it. And there was the man in Zofia Castle who insisted that Sir Mycen had no family. Mycen could have adopted Alm as his grandson—he never talked about Alm’s mother and father except in the vaguest of terms. Because it was painful, he said, and that might be true, but she was beginning to realise that he had never outright stated that he had a son or daughter who was Alm’s parent—

But that would also mean that Grandpapa had been lying—in reality and by omission—ever since they had known him. For Alm’s whole life. It was… too horrible to contemplate. How terrible would Alm feel, knowing that his whole idea of family was based on a lie?

Maybe he wasn’t lying. Maybe Mycen himself was—was descended from a bastard of the Rigelian royal line, or something, and Alm really was his grandson who just happened to bear the Brand as well. Or maybe Alm’s birthmark was something else altogether. But… it was also possible that Alm was a more direct descendant of the royal line.

I have to talk to Grandpapa.

But she’d sent Sir Mycen away to the front lines, and she could hardly write this sort of thing down in a letter.

What do I do? Oh, Alm…

The only thing that she was certain of was—she couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not until she had some answers.

[There was meant to be a “debriefing” scene after this but it was never written. I think we can guess that Celica got told off by Clive and Fernand and she ignored them. You go, Celica.]

*

The lantern was dim and gave off only a little light, which made it difficult for Faye to do her rounds; she had to lean in close to assess each person’s injuries or, in the worse cases, to check that they were still breathing, which she was sure was more disruptive than a brighter lantern would’ve been and quite defeated the point.

Faye sighed. When she’d asked Silque to teach her how to be a healer, she’d really only been interested in learning healing magic, but Silque had gone completely overboard on the subject and was practically making Faye her apprentice. Her own fault for not being more specific, Faye supposed.

Still, it wasn’t really that bad. Nobody could deny that it was important work, meaning Faye could feel like she was being useful without having to be fighting on the front lines, and it took a lot of pressure off Silque to have someone helping her—even if Faye was still learning. The ability to use healing magic was rare so most of the Deliverance’s healers were really nothing more than physicians.

The physicians were starting to talk about her very respectfully since she’d been able to heal Python’s wounds by herself, saving his life. Apparently he was popular amongst many of the soldiers who’d been with the Deliverance for a long time, but it was still strange to have people older than her with far more experience treating her with such respect. Faye didn’t know how Silque managed to take it in stride all the time.

Her lantern cast some strange shadows on the wall. Faye blinked at them, taking a moment to realise the strangeness was that there was an extra person at the bedside, even though visiting hours were well and truly over.

I must be working too hard to be that tired. But Silque worked at least twice as hard as Faye did and still found time to instruct Faye on healing magic, so she couldn’t complain. She just had to learn to be as talented as Silque.

“Lukas,” Faye said.

He jerked awake immediately—the mark of a trained soldier, always watching for the next enemy, Silque said. That was why she tried to make the medical quarters as peaceful as possible, even if it was only a makeshift tent whilst the army was on a hard march.

On seeing that it was only Faye, Lukas smiled ruefully and rubbed his eyes. “Ah. Have I outstayed my welcome?”

People said that Lukas was cold and emotionless, but he didn’t seem that way to Faye. Centred, perhaps, but that was quite a different thing. She didn’t know him well, but he’d always been considerate towards her, and he’d taken Gray and Tobin and Kliff under his wing—Faye could tell, even secondhand, how he kept checking in on them and making sure they were training enough to keep up with the battles that lay ahead. Not that the boys noticed; they only complained about how hard they were working.

But nobody who was “cold” or “emotionless” would behave that way. And even if it was Clair that had brought Python in, his shirt stained with red and his breathing shallow, people surely had to be blind not to notice how pale Lukas had been, or how he’d come directly to the medical tent instead of reporting in about the scouting mission, which was surely his normal habit given how reliable he was.

Silque had already asked him to leave twice today. “Hovering so won’t help Python,” she’d said. But still Lukas had found a way to stay.

If it had been Alm, or Gray, or any of Faye’s friends from Ram, or Silque… she couldn’t pretend like she wouldn’t have done the same. It was just that she now had the privileges to get away with it.

Faye sighed. “Just… pretend like I didn’t see you. And don’t you dare complain about a sore back in the morning.”

Lukas’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

Even in the pathetic amount of light given off by her lantern, Faye could see how his expression creased with worry as he looked back down at Python’s sleeping form. If everyone gossiped about him so negatively, he probably had a hard time making friends. She wasn’t sure exactly how he’d come to be so close with Python, who was an incorrigible gossip himself, but… actually, Gray had said nearly the same thing about her and Silque. Nevermind.

“...You don’t have to worry so much, though,” Faye said. “He’s going to be fine.”

“Oh, of course,” Lukas answered. “I trust your judgement on the matter.”

But he didn’t move at all.

Faye bit her lip. Silque would know something better to say than that—something kind and sweet but also reassuring, something that made it clear that Silque knew what she was talking about and so help you if you doubted it.

She didn’t have anything near to Silque’s bedside manner, so she just nodded and continued on her rounds.

Chapter Text

A full day passed and still, nobody came to a decision on what to do with Grieth’s former prisoners. Conrad understood why they wanted to go home, but it was impossible to escort them with their numbers, and there might still be dangers lurking in the desert.

The final decision was only made when Catria came back from scouting to report that she’d come across a deserter from Grieth’s forces. In exchange for water and food, he’d given her some bad news: Grieth had learnt of their coming and had sent out two of his strongest lieutenants to hold the nearest oases.

“That settles it,” Catria said grimly. “We can’t double back with these people. He’d just take the fort again and fortify it properly. We’d never get through!”

“This is troubling, though.” Palla frowned, eyes unfocussed in the way that Conrad had come to associate with being in deep thought. “We’d planned on taking him by surprise—if he knows we’re coming...”

“I don’t think he knows our numbers,” Jesse put in. “If he did, he would be marching on us right now, instead of waiting for us to come to him. He must think we’re larger than we are, so we still have a chance to slip by his patrols and surprise him.”

It was a good point. Jesse might treat Palla and Catria in his absurdly flirtatious, ‘chivalrous’ manner, but he did have a good head on his shoulders and he’d spent his time in captivity getting to grips with Grieth’s operation.

“Did this guy say who Grieth had sent?” Jesse asked.

“Sonya and Deen,” Catria replied promptly. Palla had told Conrad that she had little patience for fools, so he supposed it was a good sign that Catria was taking Jesse seriously in their little strategy meeting, at least.

For some reason, the name Sonya sounded familiar to Conrad.

Jesse let out a low whistle. “Oooh boy, this could get interesting… I’ve met—well, sort of met—them both, and let me tell you, you wouldn’t really want to be facing either. Deen’s got a mysterious past, nobody knows anything about where he came from, but he’s good with a sword and he knows how to lead men well. Grieth uses him as a tactician from time to time.”

“Sonya can’t be worse than that, surely?” Kamui said.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but—”

Kamui sighed. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Sonya is… well, she’s the leader of a coven of witches.”

Witches? The word jolted Conrad’s memory: the story of how Jedah had come to drive out Sage Halcyon. Jedah had sacrificed two of his daughters to Duma, creating powerful puppets for himself in the fight against Halcyon that he had not been able to anticipate. Halcyon had only had warning enough to flee when Jedah’s third daughter came to tell him what had been done to her sisters—

The third daughter had been called Sonya, he remembered. Halcyon had offered to take her into hiding with him, but she’d refused. “I have to find a way to save my sisters,” she told Halcyon.

It seemed like too much of a coincidence for there to be another Sonya with an interest in witches. Maybe she’d gathered some as an experiment? To try to find a cure?

Everyone paled at the mention of witches apart from Atlas, who raised his hand. “Uh, what’s a witch?”

“You don’t have to raise your hand,” Catria said. Atlas put it down.

“A witch is a person whose soul has been taken by a powerful spirit, which imbues them with power,” Conrad explained. “They can often be identified by the markers of corruption from the blessing. It’s most common to have purple-ish skin, but some also have… more inhuman traits such as entirely black eyes or horns. The strongest witches will still have some measure of free will, but Rigel has lately been giving women with magical potential to Duma to be transformed into husks to do the Faithful’s bidding. The Rigelian army has made extensive use of them since the magical power they possess is vast, but—”

Atlas waved his hands. Surprisingly, he was taking notes in an untidy scrawl. “Wait, wait, slow down!”

Conrad blinked, realising that everyone else in the room was staring at him. Not all of his information about witches was common knowledge; Jedah wasn’t the first person to create a witch, and Duma wasn’t the only power in Valentia who could make witches, so the Faithful had been researching them before Jedah began to make use of them to take over the order.

Maybe Sonya would be willing to talk with him instead of fight, if he could get her access to Halcyon’s and the others’ research? Of course, bringing outsiders to the village was strictly forbidden, and so was sharing knowledge about it, but the other option was to not help and… that wouldn’t be right, to send people into a dangerous fight without trying to avoid it. And he didn’t think he could convince anyone to attempt a parley with Sonya without telling them how he came by this knowledge about witches.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. He thought it might be possible. Palla seemed to trust Conrad well enough to ask for his opinions on things like Jesse’s trustworthiness. He just didn’t think it was fair to keep asking them to take things on faith. He didn’t feel like he had earned that right.

He just had to hope that Sage Halcyon would understand his decision. He trusted a lot of the sage’s teachings, but he hadn’t prepared Conrad for when to trust strangers.

If only his chest didn’t feel like it was being crushed with nerves and he could remember how to talk.

“Conrad?” Palla asked quietly.

The reminder of all the trust that Palla had shown in him let Conrad breathe a little easier and he took a deep breath before continuing. “What I mean to say is… I think I may know who this Sonya is.”

“But that has nothing to do with what you were saying before!” Atlas complained.

“Shhh,” Kamui said. “I think he’s having a moment.”

Leon elbowed both of them and then nodded to Conrad.

Assuming that he meant it as some kind of support, Conrad nodded back. “I know of a Sonya who is the daughter of Jedah, the head of the Duma Faithful. Which means that she may be willing to parley with us instead of fighting.”

He explained what he knew of the Sonya who was Jedah’s daughter.

“Is Sonya a common name in Valentia?” Catria asked. “If not, then I agree that it’s too much to be a coincidence. It’s worth trying to avoid a fight in this situation. She may even agree to help us.”

“Uh, I hate to say this, but honestly? I’d rather fight the dude than a coven of witches.” Kamui scratched his cheek. “And if she doesn’t want to hear us out, fighting the witches is exactly what we’ll have to do.”

“I don’t know...” Jesse looked thoughtful. “She and Grieth didn’t seem to get along. I have a feeling that they’re each trying to use the other. If we have some way of convincing Sonya we’d be more useful to her, then there’s a chance she would defect.”

Kamui snorted. “Yeah, no offence, but you ‘had a feeling’ that Catria would be into you.”

“Oh no!” Jesse said, grinning. “Not at all! I only make a point to tell every lady how beautiful—”

“We’re getting off topic,” Catria said loudly. “Conrad, do you have anything useful that we could offer Sonya?”

“Not me… personally.”

Despite his earlier resolve, Conrad hesitated. Palla, Catria and Kamui were not from Valentia at all, so perhaps they would not care, but the others were all Zofian born and the past several years had given them a lot of reasons to be distrustful of the Duma Faithful. What if they…?

He squared his shoulders. It was too late to back out now. His mother would never let the opinions of others sway her from the right course. “You see… the reason I’ve had to be secretive about my past is because I was raised by the Sage Halcyon, the former head of the Duma Faithful. Jedah destroyed all the information on witches he could find, but Halcyon and his disciples in hiding have preserved a lot of that knowledge. If Sonya is seeking a cure for her sisters, then that knowledge will be invaluable to her.”

“The Duma Faithful?” Palla repeated.

“The who what now?” Atlas said.

“Sage Halcyon was the head of Duma’s church before Jedah took over,” Leon said, with a mild scolding tone. “What, did you think the Duma Faithful had been evil since the founding of Valentia?”

Atlas shot a worried look at Conrad. “May...be? Uh, no offence.”

“We can lecture Atlas about Duma and witches later,” Kamui said. Atlas shrugged and carefully tucked his notes away in his bag. “The question is, are we going to try parleying with this Sonya or not? For what it’s worth, my vote is no. There’s too many what ifs for my liking.”

“I vote yes!” Jesse said. “I think it has a good chance of working! Besides, I’d feel like a real cad if I didn’t at least try to talk things over peacefully with such a beautiful lady.”

Catria caught herself partway through a nod of agreement and instead grimaced, before adding, “Information is valuable. It’s not a bad offer. We’ll need to hash out how to convince her, though. I vote yes.”

“People will do a lot for the ones they love,” Leon said softly. “If she values her sisters as much as you say, she’ll jump at this chance. Yes.”

Palla nodded and smiled at Conrad. “Yes.”

“You guys all seem smart, so I’ll go with whatever you think!” Atlas cracked his knuckles. “Let’s take ‘em down! ...Diplomatically!”

“Does that mean I don’t seem smart to you?” Kamui punched Atlas’s shoulder, not that he seemed to feel it. “I’m wounded!”

“You did turn this into a vote and lost real bad,” Atlas pointed out.

Kamui’s face fell.

*

By Jesse’s best guess, if they lingered too long at the Mother’s Fortress, Grieth might send Sonya and Deen marching on them. Facing both was something to be avoided at all costs, so they had to leave quickly. The fort was well stocked even for their extravagant needs, with plenty left over for the former prisoners—who had decided, with some pressure from Catria and reassurance from Atlas, to stay put at the fort. The plan was that their group would escort the people back to Atlas’s village when they returned from defeating Grieth. With the stock of weapons there, the people would be able to mount a decent defence in the event that they fell to Grieth and he eventually made a move to retake the fort.

It made Conrad uneasy, but it was the best they could do whilst still setting out to rescue Est, Atlas’s brothers, and the rest of the prisoners kept by Grieth. No one had said as much, but from the grim looks of the prisoners, he was quite sure that many of them would rather die than be captured again.

He’d seen that look before. Jedah’s agents had been getting closer and closer to the location of the village over the last few years—Conrad had had to kill several of his cantors on his way out of the valley. Sage Halcyon and his people had nowhere else to run. The village’s blacksmith had been making weapons for several months, preparing to make a last stand rather than being tortured or turned into witches.

Conrad hoped it wouldn’t come to that. There was still Halcyon’s magic maze around the village itself, which had been strengthened over years and years. Just hang on, everybody.

The trek into the desert seemed to be harder this time because of the rest period at the fort. Conrad soon became tired of dried, broken lips, his clothes becoming heavy with sweat, and the ever-looming heat of the sun. The night time brought a welcome relief until it turned freezing instead, and there was only a narrow window of time in during sunset when Palla and Conrad could continue the strategy lessons, if they weren’t both too exhausted to talk. Even though the desert was a vast open space, somehow the air felt closed in and Conrad felt, at times, like he was being squeezed into a small box.

On the second evening, Jesse interrupted Conrad’s watch to sit next to him and ask, “So, what’s got you so irritable?”

Conrad blinked at him. Jesse was still not wearing his jacket. He seemed to have it consistently tied around his waist, but he’d yet to see the man actually wear it. “...Aren’t you cold?”

Jesse laughed. “Well, I’m a very temperate person. The weather doesn’t affect me too much. Do you want it? I normally would save it for the lovely ladies, but they’re asleep so I suppose you can have your chance.”

“That’s not—” But he was already removing the jacket and Conrad was a bit chilly. “...Alright. Thank you.”

“Anyway, now you have to answer my question!” Jesse said brightly. “Why the long face, huh? No offence, but you’re kind of bringing down the mood a little.”

“Are you sure that’s not just the desert?”

“Very sure.” Jesse gave him a smile that could only be described as ‘winsome’. Why did he always smile like he was sitting for a portrait? “You’re supposed to be the reliable one. All cool and collected and that. Now you’re acting like a huffy turtle.”

“A huffy turtle?” Conrad repeated.

“Yeah, you know...” Jesse drew his head back, scowling, and hissed a bit, which Conrad supposed was meant to mimic this huffy turtle but really did nothing to clear up his confusion. “This whole plan is kind of riding on your connections, anyway. Makes people nervous if you seem a bit jumpy.”

Now that did make sense. “I didn’t mean to discomfort anyone. It’s only...” Everything? Conrad thought, but that wasn’t really right. It was more like one thing was wrong, and that made all the small irritations piled on top of it unbearable. “I suppose I’m… worried. About my home.”

“Ahh, the hamlet hidden away in the mountains.” Jesse nodded sagely. “You said Jedah was hunting them. But if they were in that much trouble, you must have had a compelling reason to leave in the first place.”

“I suppose,” Conrad said. “It wasn’t really my choice, though. Sage Halcyon said that… change was afoot in Valentia and I might be able to sway the fates in our favour.”

“So you wanted to stay?”

“Not particularly.” He hadn’t explained about his relation to the new Queen Anthiese, or how he’d run away from a reunion with her because the prospect was as terrifying as it was enticing. “It’s… complicated.”

“These things often are,” Jesse said. “Listen, I don’t know all the details, but I am pretty sure that this is not what your Sage Halcyon had in mind.” Conrad winced, and he hastily added, “No, no, that’s a good thing! You’re making your own choices, you know? And I got rescued so I think it turned out pretty great. If you need someone to argue your corner, I’d definitely volunteer.”

“Thank… you?” Conrad was sure he was joking. Well, almost sure. Could something be a joke and an expression of support at the same time? Even if it couldn’t, he felt Jesse was making a valiant attempt at doing so. “Thank you,” he said again, firmer.

“Just remember me when the time comes!”

“The time for what?”

Jesse smiled and winked. “Oh, you’ll know. Anyway, it’s getting a bit cold. Can I have my jacket back?”

*

Leon’s mood, as far as Kamui could tell with his taciturn state as of late, was getting steadily worse. If Leon were sensible, he would say that was just the effect of the potentially-impending-doom, but it seemed that nobody in this group was sensible and Leon in particular seemed optimistic about this plan, so… that wasn’t it.

This didn’t leave Kamui with that many options. Apart from, you know, talking. But who wanted to do that?

Even if he had wanted to do that, Leon retreated to his bedroll every night after they ate with a flat, “Wake me for my turn on watch,” which didn’t leave any time at all for interrogation, since wasting energy talking during the day was out of the question.

“You must worry about him a lot,” Atlas said in a sympathetic voice.

Kamui turned around so fast that he pulled something in his neck. Ow. “Huh?”

Atlas didn’t seem to notice. “To come out all this way with him, I mean.”

He was an extremely annoying person, Kamui had found. He wasn’t that well-educated in anything that happened outside of his precious mountains, so you let your guard down, and then bam!—he’d come out with something like this that proved he was actually kind of perceptive and smarter than he looked.

Either that or Kamui was really transparent. So fingers crossed for surprising Atlas smarts.

But since he was here, Kamui might as well make use of him. “Does he seem worse to you?”

“Oh, not really,” Atlas replied cheerily. “Just less distracted, I guess.”

Kamui frowned. Did that mean he’d been wasting all this time worrying?

He wasn’t sure if Atlas picked up on his confusion or just liked to talk sometimes, but he added, “Yeah, it comes and goes in waves, you know. Grief. It’s not really worse, ever, especially when it’s still recent, but...” He trailed off as his eyes unfocused, staring off into the distance. “Sometimes there’s just… less to take you away from it.”

“Congratulations,” Kamui said. “That nearly made sense.”

“Aw, well.” Atlas shrugged embarrassedly like Kamui had actually paid him a compliment. “I lost someone too. Uh, not the same kind of loss, y’know. Anyway, when Ma died, everyone thought I took it really well because I had my brothers to focus on. But when they didn’t need me so much any more, I just kinda lost it. That’s probably why I joined the army, I guess. To give me something else to do.”

He fell silent, staring moodily into the fire. Kamui surely didn’t get paid enough to deal with personal issues, but he mentally rolled up his sleeves and offered, “It’s not like you could’ve known something would happen. Anyway, the fact that you weren’t at home means you can help us now, so...”

“I know, I guess. It’s just hard to think of ‘em being by themselves.” Atlas shook himself. “But what I really meant to say is… Leon just doesn’t have much to distract himself with at the moment. He’ll look up a bit when we get busy messin’ with Grieth, you’ll see.”

And if Atlas was right, Leon would eventually have nothing to keep him occupied and be totally lost in grief. Reassuring!

“It just takes time,” Atlas added, as though reading his thoughts.

Kamui shrugged. He’d never really been that attached to anything—or to anyone. The closest he’d come even to homesickness were brief moments of nostalgia when encountering some of the weirder things that people did in Valentia, like get worked up over gods who seemed equally, ludicrously extreme in their own bizarre ways. Had no one here heard of the concept of moderation?

It seemed weird to him for the recovery process of grief to take so long, but he supposed he would have to take Atlas’s word for it.

“Hey, guys!” Jesse suddenly chipped in. “What are you talking about?”

Kamui raised an eyebrow.

“…Aaand I totally misread the mood!” Jesse said, still cheerful. “Sorry about that.”

“We were kinda done on the topic anyway, I guess,” Atlas said. “Uh, did you—”

He didn’t even finish speaking before Jesse had sat down and opened his mouth. “You know, Grieth’s an awful person, but don’t you think there’s a… little nugget of a good idea hidden away in this somewhere?”

Atlas clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes.

“...Grieth is a really awful person,” Jesse clarified.

“Hm,” Atlas said, unconvinced.

Jesse hastily barrelled on. “Don’t you think there’s potential in the idea of a kingdom of mercenaries?”

“No,” Kamui said, purely by instinct and for the sake of seeing the look on Jesse’s face at receiving such a blunt answer.

To his disappointment, Jesse didn’t even look phased. “You didn’t even have to think about that one! But, seriously. It’s a dangerous profession, and we lose a lot of young mercs before they even get off the ground just because of small mistakes—wouldn’t it be better if they had someone older to mentor and look out for them? And the fact it’s so dangerous is what makes young mercs drop out of contracts, which gives the whole business a bad reputation, so it would ultimately push prices up for everyone!”

Kamui searched for a flaw in this logic but admittedly, on first glance, could not find one. “...Higher prices, you say?”

“And of course, if we can command a near-monopoly, we’ll stop the practise of desperate mercs undercutting everyone else by taking pittance wages out of desperation.”

Atlas’s eyes had glazed over slightly but Kamui could definitely say that Jesse had found the way to his heart. “Well, I’m sold. When do we start?”

Jesse laughed and stroked his chin. “That’s the harder part. But glad to have you aboard!”

*

Palla felt like the natural choice to make the offer to Sonya. Catria’s steed, Floris, was the faster of the two of them, but Saffron had the greater manoeuvrability and Palla’s javelin hand was steadier—which she needed, if she wanted to make it clear this throw had missed Sonya on purpose and not as a foolish attempt to attack her.

The witches had a… peculiar way of moving. They seemed to be like pegasi in that they didn’t walk so much as float. Conrad said they’d been sacrificed for enormous magical power, and it showed. Even far out of the reach of any magic spell, the air was thick with the potential for one.

Conrad spoke so eloquently on a subject he was knowledgable about. She was glad that he’d finally been able to share something of his past with them. Perhaps she was just used to reading the minute details of Catria’s expressions, but Conrad was quite expressive in his own way. It had hurt her a little that he had been diverting her attention with half-truths, but it had hurt more to see how much it bothered him.

Palla was very familiar with the guilt of keeping painful secrets. At least Conrad had a good excuse.

It was easy to identify which figure below was Sonya. Palla had to pick a position carefully, something that would be close enough to draw her attention, but not close enough to truly startle her. The witches tended to drift a little around Sonya as well, and Palla wanted to avoid hurting them if at all possible—if what Conrad said was true and there truly might be a way to cure witches.

Dragons, Palla thought bitterly.

She tested the weight of the javelin in her palm and threw it.

It landed exactly where she meant it to, startling Sonya to her feet but not causing the witches to move an inch until she said something. She looked to the sky and must have seen Palla, but when no further attack came, she approached the javelin.

Palla was satisfied. She was certain that Sonya would see the message attached to the weapon and they would have her answer by the evening.

Urging Saffron back to camp, she grimaced. If Sonya agreed to speak with them, then would come the hard part: Palla and Conrad walking into Sonya’s camp of witches alone.

*

“Do you think she’ll agree to it?” Catria asked. “With the number of witches she has, having her as an ally would greatly tip the balance in our favour.”

Palla hummed in agreement. Est was so close now that it was hard not to leap ahead of themselves. But there was still a battle to be fought here before they took the fight to Grieth, even if it was one that would—hopefully—be fought with words and not weapons.

In the chill evening air, it was easy to see when the signal went up: two fireballs, one after the other, lighting up the night sky.

“That’s your cue!” Jesse said cheerily.

Palla shot him a baleful look on Conrad’s behalf, since the man himself was currently sweating with the effort of gathering a large enough fire to be seen by Sonya. Magical talent of any degree was rare, but she could see that it didn’t come easily to him – a small fire spell, one large enough to light the fire, was no trouble at all, but something large enough to be effective in battle? The time it would take to cast would be counter-productive.

Conrad finally finished and their confirmation shot into the sky with impressive speed, although it didn’t make nearly as large a display as Sonya’s. Still, they’d responded like their message had promised and Sonya would be expecting them soon.

Saffron tossed her head, sensing the tense mood, and Palla stroked her neck to calm her down. “Conrad? Are you ready?”

“Give me… a minute,” he said, his chest heaving.

Palla nodded and turned her face towards Saffron’s ears, whispering gentle encouragement to her. It would be strange for her to be smiling at such a time, but it had struck her suddenly, how much Conrad had opened up to them since they started this journey together. Before, would not have liked to show weakness at all – not, Palla thought, because of the fear of vulnerability which was a problem with some men, but because Conrad hadn’t wanted to burden anybody.

It was good to see him being more relaxed with them, more trusting of their good opinion. It made him feel more like a true comrade rather than merely an ‘ally’.

Catria left the circle around the fire to stand at her shoulder, offering a friendly pat to Saffron. “Make sure you come back safe.”

“I’m sure we will,” Palla answered. “And with a favourable answer.”

The latter she was not really so sure of, at least not as sure as she was in her own abilities, but Catria worried a lot more than she let on, and it was important for her to see confidence reflected in her big sister.

Perhaps that was why Catria found herself so drawn to Prince Marth—that same belief that he showed to his men. Catria must know, of course, that it wasn’t always real, just as she must guess that Palla didn’t always fully believe her own reassurances. But there was comfort in the illusion of certainty.

Catria’s lips thinned, thoughtful and borderline disapproving. She clasped Palla’s hand tightly until Conrad said, “Thank you for your patience.”

Palla was not sure what Catria was trying to tell her, but her sister only shook her head when Palla sent her a questioning look, and there was no time then to inquire further. Conrad was already saying hello to Saffron, asking for her permission to fly with her. As Palla had said, he didn’t have a natural way with animals, but he’d very quickly taken to heart what she’d taught him about pegasi: that they were intelligent and empathic creatures and needed to be treated with respect.

The way he showed that respect was peculiarly formal and awkward, as was Conrad’s way, but Palla knew that only meant Saffron could sense his earnestness all the better. She seemed to like Conrad a lot, and would nuzzle his ears at odd moments, or sometimes go and sit next to him whilst they were at camp or whilst he and Palla continued the strategy lessons.

Saffron was calm and ready to go, and in a few moments they were aloft.

The journey to the oasis wasn’t long as the pegasus flew, but it would take their companions the better part of a day to walk it—they hadn’t wanted to be too close, to give everyone a chance to escape Sonya’s witches if their discussion did not go as hoped. Palla had been concerned to see how the witches travelled because she was not certain that kind of distance would make much difference to them.

They were silent the entire way, Conrad with his arms wrapped around her waist—he was not a natural flyer either, it seemed—and Palla felt an odd sort of nervousness rise in the pit of her stomach. She took deep, calming breaths, letting the cold night air keep her grounded. It didn’t help much, but it helped to repeat to herself, It will all be alright.

The oasis was visible easily from the handful of fires dotted around it, but Palla did not land directly in the middle of them; instead she circled and set Saffron down carefully a little distance out of the light of the flames. She could pick out individual witches sitting by the fires, small, stiff-backed silhouettes against the bright flame. They were unnaturally still, such that they might be taken for life-like dolls at a distance.

“Palla? Are you alright?” Conrad’s voice roused her and she shook her head to rid herself of such morbid thoughts.

“I’m sorry; I suppose the witches are just… troubling.” She couldn’t help biting her lip and turning back to them. “They look like they’re of an age with Est, but… Est would never act like this.”

“How old is Est?” Conrad asked; Palla realised they hadn’t spoken much of her youngest sister. It had been too painful when she’d feared that Est might be taken from them forever (and the small, traitorous part of Palla which thought of the widower Abel, no matter how she tried to stamp it down). “I know she served with you both...”

“She’s sixteen,” Palla answered distantly. “But the war was a different time. I’m glad she went to open her shop instead. Fighting wasn’t really for her.”

And now, to think of all these poor girls, who’d had the ability to even dislike it taken away from them. It was abominable.

“...Catria said she was married?”

It took Palla another minute to realise that he was still talking about Est. “Oh, yes. She was very insistent. I had my misgivings, but I didn’t think I could say she was old enough to risk her life in a war, but not old enough to marry, without sounding like a hypocrite.”

And I worried it was only my own jealousy, trying to hold her back…

“I see.” Conrad ducked his head, and her heart skipped a beat, wondering if he thought poorly of her, but he said, “There are all sorts of difficult choices to being an older sibling which I never had to make. I wonder if I would have done as good a job.”

Palla blinked at him. “You have siblings?”

“Most of them are dead now,” he said, as though it were unimportant. “I haven’t seen my sister in… a long time.”

She had no idea where to even start with this confession.

“We shouldn’t keep Sonya waiting,” Conrad said quickly. He seemed to regret speaking, but he did that often.

It was alright to keep secrets. Sometimes that was even the best thing you could do for your loved ones. Palla linked arms with him, touching the exposed skin of his wrist gently. “You needn’t keep saying these things if you have to keep secrets. You’ve been honest enough that I understand that your situation must be complicated.”

“I suppose I’m not very good at deception.” There was a wry almost-smile on Conrad’s face; she knew that expression even without being able to properly see it in the dark. “I feel compelled to be honest with you.”

“People do feel that way about their friends,” Palla replied, “but friends also understand that sometimes you can’t share everything.”

“Friends...” Conrad said with an air of wonder. “Is that what it is?”

If it were anyone else, Palla would be offended that they had spent so much time together, that she’d been so open with this person, and they didn’t even consider themselves her friend. Because it was Conrad, she only pressed a hand to her mouth to smother a giggle.

“It must be like talking to a child at times,” he muttered, and her heart sank guiltily. She hadn’t meant to laugh at him. “I know so little about… anything.”

“It is not,” Palla said. She hesitated for a moment, then pressed her palm to Conrad’s, linking their fingers together. “It’s like talking to Conrad.”

He was silent for a long moment. “Thank you, Palla,” he said eventually.

“But you are right,” she added in a lighter tone, trying to loosen some of the tension in her chest, “Sonya will be waiting, and we should go.”

Their hands stayed linked together until they reached the edge of the firelight, when they instinctively let go. Conrad’s fingertips ghosted against her palm, calloused and rough like hers. Saffron nuzzled at Palla’s shoulder.

They had barely stepped into the light when one of the witches appeared before them out of thin air. “You are here to parley with Sonya,” she said, in a monotone that made it sound like she had been coached. “You will follow me.”

Palla felt the strange urge to reach for Conrad again, finding herself trailing a little closer to him. Their shoulders bumped as he obviously had the same idea. She didn’t consider herself to be easily intimidated, but to be surrounded by so much magical power, for the witches to seem so human and inhuman at the same time—the atmosphere was positively chilling.

She made an effort to carry her spear in a relaxed grip which would indicate she didn’t mean to use it. They had written in the letter that they would be coming with their weapons, since they would in all other respects be walking into the dragon’s den, and—well, if Sonya had objected, she had still been interested in hearing them out.

The largest fire was where Sonya sat, surrounded by another handful of witches. A few of them turned their heads to look at the visitors without prompting, and Palla suddenly recalled what Conrad had said—that the more powerful witches tended to be those who had been left with some of their personality intact.

Sonya herself was a devastatingly beautiful woman, dressed and made up as though she knew it, but the look in her eyes as she evaluated them was as clinical and professional as any soldier. Palla would be willing to wager more than a few people had underestimated her to their peril.

She looked over Palla only once, and then her attention was reserved for Conrad alone. “You must be the one to claiming to be Halcyon’s disciple?”

“I am.”

“Halcyon is dead,” Sonya said.

Someone who was used to the arts of persuasion might have tried to convince her with wonderfully-woven words, but Conrad only said, “No, he’s in hiding,” which made Sonya frown and sit up a little straighter.

“He’s been in hiding for these past ten years?” she asked. “Why haven’t I heard any rumours of this?”

“Sage Halcyon was forced to completely conceal his location from the outside world with magic,” Conrad explained. “But if you have heard of Duma Faithful activity in the Destrian Mountains, that is probably Jedah’s agent seeking their valley.”

Something flickered across Sonya’s face too quickly for Palla to place it, but she folded her hands together in a businesslike fashion. Palla guessed she had heard of such activity and decided it leant credence to Conrad’s story.

“And you say that Halcyon has researched witches?” Sonya continued sceptically.

“Since Jedah...” Conrad paused. Palla knew he always chose his words with care anyway, so he must be being excessively particular this time. “...exploited them in such a fashion, the Faith’s materials on witches were amongst the tomes Halcyon and his people decided to save when they went into hiding. It is something that they have continued to work on since, though I am not adept enough in the magical arts to explain their theories to you.”

Sonya was silent for a long time. Palla thought she could guess at something of her indecision. It must be something that Sonya wanted to believe so badly, if she had really spent ten years searching for a cure for her sisters. But at the same time, she would be more harsh on herself because for it to be a trick would be so much more painful. Palla could barely imagine her own feelings if she were in Sonya’s position.

“...You think that Halcyon can find a cure for my sisters?” Sonya asked. “And these girls as well?”

“I think if it it possible, he will be able to.”

Sonya nodded, looking away from them and staring into the fire. With her eyes unfocussed, she must be remembering something. Whether it would lead her to help them was impossible to guess. Palla did not dare breathe.

“I’ve spent a long time looking for a cure, and discovered only more victims,” Sonya said. “Grieth’s resources have not turned up the answers I had hoped, and… well.” She wrinkled her nose, the first break in the carefully maintained image all evening. “A slaver little better than Jedah himself.”

Palla saw the stiff line of Conrad’s shoulders ease a bit. “So you’ll help us?”

“Yes. Bring the rest of your group here and we can talk about a more detailed plan.” Conrad turned to leave with Palla, but she raised a finger. “I’d like you to stay, if you would. I’d like to hear more of what Halcyon knows of witches.”

Palla tightened her grip on her spear, but Conrad only nodded. “I don’t know how much I can tell you that you do not know, but I’ll do what I can.”

He turned to say something to Palla, and only then did he frown.

Her unease must be so obvious. She ought not to so openly mistrust a new ally in this way. Besides, Conrad was not concerned, so neither should she be.

“It will take some time for the rest of us to make it here,” she said. “In the meantime, please make sure no harm comes to Conrad.”

“I shall,” Sonya replied, seeming a little amused.

“And...” Palla licked her lips. Her mouth felt very dry. We’re so close. “Do you know anything of a young girl from Archanea? A pegasus rider? We think she was imprisoned at Grieth’s stronghold, but—”

“Est,” Sonya said. She looked over Palla once more, and her eyes softened in understanding. “I spoke to her a little – you must be one of her sisters. Yes, she is fine. Grieth has some particular ‘plan’ for her, so for now, he has been keeping her fed and watered at the fort.”

Conrad smiled at Palla encouragingly, but she found herself lost for words. They had been chasing scraps and hearsay, only probably and I think for so long, that to hear it from someone’s mouth, someone who had spoken to Est directly—

Oh, she must be scared out of her wits and upset, but she was alive and whole and soon all the sisters would be together again, safe and sound. More than anything, that was what Palla lived for. To have her family around her.

With her throat closed up, she had no way of thanking Sonya for this information, so she bowed deeply and hoped that the woman understood.

Then she turned before Sonya or Conrad could see the tears flowing down her cheeks. She would have to be rid of them before she made it back to their camp, to tell Catria—everyone—the good news. She couldn’t let on how terrified she had been these last few months, so she couldn’t show how relieved she was feeling.

But Est was alive, and whole, and they could have her back with them soon.

Just hang on, sister. We’re coming for you.

*

Introducing Sonya to everyone made Conrad strangely nervous. Their relationship wasn’t exactly built on a solid foundation of trust, even though after talking to Sonya for longer, he was quite confident that she at least had good intentions—but good intentions for her sisters, and to a lesser extent the other witches, to the point that she’d been willing to work with a slaver in the hopes his contacts would get her access to the information she wanted.

Conrad didn’t think she would turn on them without a good reason, but he also wasn’t sure he would see a good reason coming with time enough to prepare.

...He spent so much time worrying about larger matters that he’d totally forgotten about smaller details, such as Jesse’s inevitable reaction to meeting Sonya.

Jesse’s face lit up like a beacon at the sight of her, and he immediately dumped his pack and made a beeline for her. Kamui shouted, “What the hell, man?” to no effect.

“Hello,” Jesse said, in a tone that Conrad hesitated to describe as ‘flirtatious’ because it did not seem quite strong enough a word.

Sonya, thankfully, seemed more amused by him than anything. “Oh, I remember you,” she said. “Still a sweet talker, are we?”

Jesse bowed. “For you, always.”

Catria snorted and shook her head. “Don’t encourage him.”

“Jesse,” Kamui said through gritted teeth, “if you don’t come back to pick up your own shit, I’m burning it.”

Jesse straightened and winked at Sonya before sauntering back to Kamui to collect his belongings like he’d always been intending to do that anyway.

He’s sort of like that cat Frieda used to keep, Conrad thought, except… happy.

Leon was already glaring at Jesse. To Sonya, he added, “We apologise for him. And for Kamui.”

“What did I do?”

“Nothing yet, but it will just save time to apologise now.”

Kamui threw up his hands and stormed off towards the fire pit. Conrad saw the tiny smile playing about Leon’s face and wondered at the strange friendship those two seemed to have—not that Kamui didn’t deserve a little taste of his own medicine.

“Hey, Kamui,” Atlas called, “you left your pack here – do you want me to bring it to you?”

Kamui swore loudly and Atlas appeared to be genuinely confused when Sonya burst out laughing, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

“They aren’t as unprofessional as they seem,” Catria offered. Jesse cheerfully offered to burn Kamui’s things for him, ‘to save you looking a hypocrite’, and she added, “When it comes down to it, anyway.”

“Oh no,” Sonya said. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years. Most of Grieth’s men are so… unpleasant.”

Palla exchanged looks with Conrad, wearing a fond smile that he couldn’t help but mimic. All in all, it could have been a worse first meeting.

Chapter Text

Tobin was in the front lines for the start of the fight against Desaix, which was very much not where he wanted to be. He tried not to fiddle with the string on his bow or show any signs of nervousness, but inside he was screaming.

Who decided to put me in charge of a squad?!

Lukas, Lukas decided. Obviously Tobin knew that. He just didn't know when Lukas had become so... stupid. He even asked Celica about it (which was a bit not good really because she'd been so busy but there must have been a mistake, right?), but she'd just patted his shoulder distractedly and said, "Yes, Lukas already asked for my opinion. Don't worry, Tobin, you'll be fine. Your sense of direction is excellent."

Tobin could not rely on anyone these days. Not even the queen!

His squad wasn't even really a squad, just a handful of other archers. But they were under Tobin's command, which was the very important and very scary thing. Elisia, Jan, Gerry, and... and...

...Catelyn. Oh, gods, he nearly forgot her name! I'm not cut out for this!

Tobin was just crossing his fingers and hoping it all worked out. Except not actually crossing his fingers because that would be a sign of nerves and he was supposed to be keeping up morale. And, uh, confidence in his command and stuff. Wait, was that the same as morale?

He tried to put it out of his mind, but his thoughts just kept running over each other like frightened rabbits. Luckily—wait no not luckily that means fighting—the signal went up then, a flare from the other side of the castle.

"Okay," Tobin said, standing and then wincing as his leg started cramping. Ow ow ow! Actually luckily, the others were behind him and couldn't see his face contorting in pain. Stupid cramps. "We'll wait a few minutes for them for the fight to kick into gear, and then we're up! Last minutes checks, everybody."

That was squad-leader-y enough, right? Gods, one of them even replied with 'yes, sir'. Don't call me that!

Tobin watched the soldiers up on the walls. His eyes weren't quite as good as Python's, who could see things from a truly unfair distance, but he could make out the small figures on the wall, watching as they began to gesture to one another and start running about the walls.

"Sir—" Jan started to say.

Tobin held up a hand, not even bothering to point out that he was so not a Sir. Lukas said that they would probably expect a second attack after the Deliverance's tactics at Zofia Castle, and if Desaix wasn't an idiot, he would have a few runners on the walls to warn of the approach of a second attack. But there would be a few minutes when things would be in such a confusion, runners taking messages and soldiers getting ready to fight, when there would be confusion enough for the secondary forces to make a break through. Which included Tobin's group. Who were supposed to start the attack because... the world hated Tobin, that was pretty much the reason, probably.

Anyway, Lukas had said to look out for a moment just about when things seemed to be about to be settled, when the momentary flurry was over—that would mean chaos in the courtyard. Strike then.

Pretty much the whole explanation washed over Tobin, but he was super great at detecting 'gods, at least that's over with' expressions since they were pretty much his closest companion. Especially since Gray was too busy flirting recently, the traitor.

Wait for it... wait...

People started to come back to the walls, although fewer than before. More gestures, but less frantic.

I guess that's it.

Tobin nocked an arrow to his bow and let it fly. One of the figures dropped off the wall, and Tobin's stomach twisted a bit, but that was everybody else's signal, so there wasn't time to dwell on it. He rushed forward with the rest of his squad as they all started to prepare arrows. Only Elisia of this group could match Tobin's shots – which was another one of those scary things that Tobin was trying not to think about – so it was his and her job to cover the rest of the squad as they ran forward to take their shots. The rest of the army weren't far behind either, rushing forward with the battering ram they were using to take down the bricked up secret passageway.

They continued to shoot at the soldiers on the wall until a secondary squad of archers came to relieve them. Tobin covered the squad until they were sheltered in the lee of the castle and couldn't be hit by the soldier' javelins.

“Doorway is open!” one of the soldiers with the battering ram shouted, and Tobin’s crew began their second task when he motioned them forward and they went in ahead of everyone else.

I regret every single time I found our way home for everyone, he thought. I regret bragging to Celica about my sense of direction. I regret everything.

The tunnel had obviously been disused for some time, as it was thick with dust and even the spider’s webs looked long-abandoned. Tobin pulled his shirt up over his mouth, but his eyes still watered with suppressed sneezes.

Alright, we’re about west-north-west, and we want to be heading sort of easterly from here, but not too much because that takes us into the royal wing of the palace instead of the main courtyard.

He took a left turn at a junction after several yards. The right, he was pretty sure, went to the dungeons, or at least in the direction of the dungeons—it sloped up rather than down, so Tobin had a suspicion that it would actually be a long (and dangerous) route to actually get to the dungeons this way. Maybe if he told Clair that she would stop looking so disappointed every time Celica entered a room.

Their route remained level, and split off into several more tributaries. At each one, Tobin took a moment to orient himself and mark their chosen tunnel before they pressed on. They did not meet any resistance, but he was sure that something was being organised, and, if nothing else, every second they spent navigating the strange tunnels was one second more that the secondary fighting force would be under heavy fire outside.

They took a wrong turn that led into some kind of ancient storage room, weapons rusted away into nothing. Tobin swore quietly under his breath and went back to the last junction at double-pace. Elisia sneezed, but he’d almost forgotten about the dust himself, too intent on the task ahead.

Back at the junction, Elisia scribbled out their signal on the wall whilst Tobin contemplated. None of the other tunnels seemed to lead as directly eastwards, but if any of them went the way they wanted to, it would probably be the one next to the one they’d just taken. Maybe none of these tunnels went anywhere near the main courtyard. But this was their best bet.

They pressed on.

This tunnel ended in a door, a solid, oaken thing that was probably older than Tobin and all of his friends put together. The latch was rusted shut, but luckily the hinges were rusted into oblivion, so it only took a little chipping away with Tobin’s knife for them to break and the door to swing open.

Ahead were a set of steps which Tobin started climbing immediately, feeling a sense of triumph. The walls were lined with shelves and, more importantly, were only a little bit dusty. This bit of the palace was used at least semi-regularly, which meant they were closer to the centre of activity.

The steps led to another door which opened with a squeak and revealed a grand hall—well, Tobin thought, reconsidering and thinking about the main hall in Zofia Castle, it’s probably not grand enough to be the main hall.

It was half-filled with wounded soldiers, obviously being used as an infirmary, and Tobin could see fighting beyond the open double doors—which led directly into the main courtyard. So it’s not a hall at all, it’s an… antechamber? Is that what they’re called?

A cleric stood up and turned to attend to another patient, but she caught sight of Tobin and all colour drained out of her face.

...This was a complication the Deliverance hadn’t expected. Tobin closed the door and turned to his squad. “Desaix is going to have men here any minute.”

Jan paled and turned on his heel and ran. He was the fastest one of the group and supposed to lead the rest of the secondary force through the tunnels so they could strike Desaix’s forces from the rear. Tobin was just glad he hadn’t had to think enough to repeat orders for him, because his mind was completely focussed on getting the rest of them through the next ten minutes.

“We’ll retreat back behind the other door, buy us a little more time,” he decided. “Let’s see if we can set torches along the walls in front of us. Have arrows ready. Don’t hesitate.”

The last part was more for himself than for any of them, but they all nodded very seriously with determined faces. “Yes, sir,” they chorused.

Tobin didn’t have the energy left to even mentally sigh.

It didn’t take long before Desaix’s men came through the doors – Tobin was counting because he needed to know roughly how long they had to hold out before their backup got here. With the torches arranged in the wall brackets in front of them (not behind because that would've lit their small group up like a beacon and no thanks), the soldiers looked like unearthly beings in the firelight, which was probably for the best because there wasn't space for them to breathe for several minutes.

Tobin loosed arrow after arrow, not even taking his usual second to find gaps in the armour – the soldiers were close enough that it didn't matter; they weren't knights, they only had simple leather armour and the arrows punctured straight through them. He tried his best to count time as he fired, only mildly shocked by how easy it was as he settled into a steady rhythm.

Gotta remember to tell Gray that getting used to doing all this terrifying stuff is even worse.

Then an arrow was notched in his bow, but there were no targets. Tobin blinked and looked again. The first wave were all dead, and including the arrow on the string, he only had three left. The others had more like a third or a quarter left. Catelyn wordlessly dropped her arrows into Tobin's quiver and drew her sword, with Gerry splitting the last of his between Elisia and Tobin and following suit.

Yeah. Great. I'm the most efficient at killing. Woohoo.

They didn't need to speak. They knew that more would be coming.

*

Where are they? Clair thought, eyes darting over the battlefield in the hopes of seeing their promised reinforcements. There was still no sign, however. They should be here by now. I hope nothing happened… be safe, Tobin.

She didn’t know him all that well, yet, but she knew he was important to Alm and Celica and Gray, so he must be worth knowing.

They outnumbered Desaix enough that they would probably win the day anyway, in the end, but it would cost them so much more if it were to be a slow, plodding battle against the tide of Desaix’s forces. What if their shortcut hadn’t worked?

Clair shook herself as an arrow went whizzing past Aero. This is no time to get distracted. Focus, Clair!

At least they had broken into the outer courtyard now. The gallows where Mathilda was to have been hanged like a common thief made for an ominous shadow cast over the proceedings. From this distance the soldiers seemed to be merely toys to Clair and Aero.

After a few moments, she managed to find the archer who’d targetted her. He was firing into the crowd now, isolated as his fellow archers fell one by one. That must be Python. Lukas says he never misses a shot! Although you wouldn’t know it to look at him…

Clair took the opportunity to dive, skewering the enemy archer with her spear before yanking it free and rising back into the sky. Clive would tell her off for that, calling it reckless. Fernand was no better these days! Those two worried about her far too much. Maybe Mathilda would be able to be a calming influence on them… if they were successful in rescuing her.

It was hard to think like that, particularly given how set Clive and Fernand were on ignoring any other possibility but, well… Clair loved her brother too dearly not to try preparing for the worst case scenario.

Suddenly, she saw Desaix’s forces make a pushback, opening up a gap in the Deliverance’s front line; that gap could become a fissure if enough pressure was put on it. Clair dove to assist.

It was Aero who saw him first, even if his alarmed whinny was nearly lost to the wind. Clair’s attention was caught by that stupid headband the boy insisted on wearing. Honestly, Gray, couldn’t you—

Then a sword slashed at Gray’s face and Clair found herself leaning into Aero’s body, urging him into a steeper, faster dive, before she even realised what she was doing. Aero was going fast enough that his hooves took out two of Desaix’s men as they landed, and Clair’s lance found the man who’d tried to hurt Gray; please say he’s alright.

Relief flooded through her when Gray’s voice sounded from next to her. “Thanks for the save.”

She looked over to find him leaning on Aero for support. There was blood dripping down his face, and he left a red handprint behind when he moved away from Aero to strike at an approaching soldier. Clair wasn’t green enough to freeze, but her stomach turned over.

I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks, she told herself. Head wounds bleed severely, after all.

Still, her instinct was to take Gray away to the healers at the rear. Faye was there today with Silque, still just a helper, but she’d give Gray the stern talking to that he deserved. But if Clair did that for every injured soldier, she’d never be doing anything but ferrying their people back and forth. When Gray retied his headband around his injury and then had the audacity to wink at her, however, Clair was sorely tempted to carry him away anyway. And perhaps to drop him on his head, since he clearly wasn’t making proper use of it.

Before she could say anything, Gray was back into the fray as the Deliverance tried to save their line. Clair had no choice but to leave him and take to the sky before she was surrounded by the enemy. Instead, she darted around, harrying Desaix's soldiers to weaken their push, using some of her precious supply of javelins to strike at key targets without opening herself up to injury.

She only had two left when the Deliverance pushed the soldiers back, creating a ripple through the enemy's soldiers as they started to churn in confusion—

Clair narrowed her eyes. No, not the Deliverance.

Or at least not from this front – there were soldiers pouring out of the entrance to the great hall, raising an alarm that ripped through the ranks of Desaix's men. At this distance, Clair could see the brown-haired young man standing by the great double doors, pausing for a moment to watch him direct the Deliverance coming out into the courtyard.

It's good to see that Tobin’s okay.

Then she urged Aero to turn and return to their back lines, pulling out the flag she'd been provided with for just this purpose. At her signal, the cavalry the Deliverance had kept in reserve charged forward, sounding trumpets so that the Deliverance parted around them like a river around the bow of a boat. Clair cheered when they smashed into Desaix's line and the entire formation simply shattered under the blow.

As long as Mathilda is safe, this whole day will have gone perfectly.

*

Mathilda had been on edge ever since being brought back to her cell. For a moment, she was certain that Desaix would have her killed, just out of spite, but in the end he'd had her thrown back into the dungeon. The only communication with the outside world she'd had since then was the garbled shouting from the single barred window set high in the wall.

Until she heard voices coming from down the hallway; not Desaix or the jailor, nor anyone friendly to her. Mathilda shuffled back against the wall, wincing as she jarred her bruised and swollen arm—the dull ache hadn't faded overnight, and she feared it might be broken—but curling up into a ball and trying to look harmless.

The voices became clearer as the gloomy dungeon was lit by flickering torchlight.

"...you think Desaix will find out?" one voice said.

"Who cares about Desaix?" another snarled. "He's finished! We'll just get Sir Clive's girl and ransom our freedom for her safety. Simple."

"But there's a queen now." The first voice seemed to be the younger of the two, or perhaps it was only high-pitched with nerves. "What if she doesn't want to bargain?"

"Idiot! She's just a puppet for Sir Clive. He'll be the one calling the shots. You'll see."

"She has the Brand..."

"Brand schmand. Anyone can get a fucking tattoo."

Mathilda pretended to stir as the light became brighter. "Wh—who's there?"

The second voice turned out to belong to an older, grizzled man with a patchy beard. He smirked when he saw Mathilda huddling at the back of her cell. "Sorry, girlie, we're not your precious knight in shining armour."

"What's going on?" Mathilda said, making her voice catch on the last word. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the torch, and used the moment when they couldn't follow her gaze to catalogue their condition and weapons. The older man had a knife tucked into his boots and a short sword at his side, whilst the younger had a spear and seemingly no other weapons.

"Up," the old one said shortly, drawing his sword and banging it against the bars when Mathilda didn't move immediately. "I don't have all day, girl. Don't think we need to have you in one piece at the end."

"Hague," the younger one hissed.

Hague only kicked his ankle. "Grow a spine, Tyrin."

Her eyes finally adjusted to the light, Mathilda stumbled to her feet and leant against the wall. There was a moment of genuine dizziness but it passed. She stayed there a little longer.

"Come on." Hague clanged the bars again.

He was starting to grow impatient, and whilst Mathilda wanted him to underestimate her, she didn't want to make him too annoyed. She hurried to the door of the cell, watching as Hague stood back, sword pointed towards her whilst the younger one, Tyrin, opened the door with shaking hands. The boy was obviously not cut out for this line of work.

She kept a wary eye on Hague as she moved out of the cell. He held his distance from her. Mathilda didn't want to look too obviously injured, in case Hague changed his mind and decided it would be better odds just to make a break for it – the fighting was still going on outside and he might be able to escape in the confusion – but she began to blink often and slow, as though she were woozy.

"Move!" Hague said.

With the younger man leading the way, Mathilda walked down the corridor, weaving slightly. Hague had made it obvious that Desaix was finished, but what of Clive and the Deliverance? What about this queen they were talking about? Mathilda had been totally cut off from all news for months.

I can only hope that Clive is still alright. My love, I'll be with you soon...

The corridor soon led to a set of narrow steps and a thick wooden door. Tyrin froze at the top. "Hague," he whispered. "I think... I think there are voices on the other side of the door."

Hague muttered darkly under his breath. Mathilda sensed him move closer, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. He shuffled to the side, maybe attempting to move around her. "Will you just—"

Now.

Mathilda whirled around in a flash and grabbed the hand holding the sword, smashing Hague's head against the wall with her other hand. Hague made a garbled shout of pain and loosened his grip on the sword. She yanked it out of his hands and kicked him down the steps, turning around in time to knock Tyrin's spear aside. There was a brief look of intense fear and horror on his face before Mathilda cut his throat with the sword and the muscles in his body went slack.

Unfortunately, that meant the torch slipped out of his hands and bounced down the steps, taking the light with it. All that was left was a small sliver of light at the bottom of the door, and even that was not bright.

Mathilda held her breath and gripped the sword tighter, but it seemed that Hague had either died or been knocked unconscious in the fall, as she could hear no footsteps on the stone.

Then there was a great screeching metallic noise as the door trembled. Mathilda pressed herself flat against the wall so that she'd be able to dart through as soon as it opened.

The door opened and Mathilda took in the lone figure in the doorway in a single glance before she barrelled into him, pining him to the wall with the sword pressed against his throat. "How goes the battle outside? Tell me quick or—"

"Lady Mathilda!" the man said in a delighted voice. A familiar voice... "You're safe!"

Mathilda blinked. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she recognised Clive's enthusiastic lieutenant. "Forsyth. I'm terribly sorry."

She removed the sword from his throat and took a step back, but Forsyth did not appear to be even slightly concerned. It was only then that she saw another person out of the corner of her eye.

Python lowered his bow. "Your beloved is fine," he said flatly. "Before you ask."

My captivity affected me more than I thought. I should have expected there to be more than one. Tyrin heard voices! Mathilda smiled ruefully. "I don't deserve your consideration, but thank you." She couldn't sheathe the sword, but she let it drop to her side. "Is the battle won, then? Do we have control of the fortress?"

"Almost!" Forsyth said. "But the queen wanted finding you to be a priority."

Mathilda hoped that the blood from his neck had been transferred from the sword and that she hadn't actually cut him. "I only just heard about the queen. I thought all of Lima's children were dead?"

Python let out a low whistle. "Oh, you're gonna love this…"

Chapter Text

Sonya, of course, was intimately familiar with Grieth’s base of operations and how he organised his men. It was a boon even beyond the addition of the witches, although having their firepower did mean they could mount a more aggressive attack against Grieth than they had originally planned.

“There are two main entrances,” Sonya explained. “Grieth still thinks like a thief, so he keeps all the smaller entrances under heavy guard. Even now, I don’t think he truly expects a full-frontal assault—Desaix was well and truly in his pocket, and he never had anything to fear from the Zofian Knights.”

Conrad bit down on the urge to say something to defend his sister. It was an absurd thought, because Anthiese was not even truly being criticised—she couldn’t be responsible for things that Desaix had done, or that the knights had not done.

“A full-frontal assault will be the most dangerous, though,” Catria said, looking at the map Sonya had laid out for them. “You still think we should attempt it? You don’t think that we should try some sort of subterfuge first? We could try messing with their supplies...”

Sonya shook her head. “Supplies are hard enough to come by in the desert; we can use those ourselves. Besides, Grieth currently is struggling to get his men under control—the ones who aren’t deserting have low morale and aren’t exactly putting in their best work. If he gets a hint of us preparing to attack him, Grieth will be able to use that to rally them. If we strike hard and fast, though, I wager a good portion will just make a run for it.”

“That’s definitely what I would do,” Kamui said, “if I saw a horde of witches bearing down on me.”

Conrad had to admit that the witches were especially… sinister. He tried to follow Sonya’s lead and to be kind to them, since he knew that there were still people in there somewhere and they were only victims of the Duma Faithful. But few of them had enough self left to do more than act as dolls. The ones who had a little more personality still needed to be reminded to eat and sleep and couldn’t remember their own names.

Sonya saw the truth in Kamui’s comment, although she frowned at his description of the witches. “I believe we should split our forces,” she said. “Half should come in through the northern door and half the south. We’ll split the girls between the two parties as well.” She tapped a finger to the map. “The prisoners are held in the dungeons down a set of stairs on this side of the fort.”

Jesse nodded along to her commentary. “We’ll want the party on that side to push through as fast as possible. We can’t risk them taking hostages. But if they have to secure the dungeons, that will also leave the other group without reinforcements. It could turn bloody.”

“There’s no need to split the groups equally,” Catria said. “We can put more people in the most at-risk group.”

But her eyes lingered on the part of the map where Sonya had indicated the stairs. If they split their forces too thin, they wouldn’t be able to push through, and Est might be in danger. Conrad glanced to Palla. She was concealing her emotions very carefully, but the very fact that she was wearing such a mask when she normally allowed herself to be so expressive was enough indication in of itself.

“There’s another possibility,” Conrad said, trying to draw on everything they knew about Grieth, everything he’d learned from Palla’s lessons about war. “I know you advised against subterfuge because it would strengthen the opposition against us… but that’s only if we were to be discovered, of course?”

Palla turned her head suddenly to look at him, her mouth parted. But after a moment she closed it again without saying anything.

“What did you have in mind?” Sonya asked.

“If we were to send in a small group—perhaps two people at most—and secure the dungeons just before the fighting began...” He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to display nerves or not. He’d seen how Palla projected the image of strength and confidence and how useful that was, but Conrad also didn’t want to give the impression of excessive confidence and dissuade people from raising an objection. “The doorway could be defensible for even a small party, guarding against attempts to user the prisoners as hostages whilst the main parties fight their way through to us.”

Palla bit her lip. “That’s very risky.”

“I’m in!” Atlas said. “My brothers and friends are down there, and I’ll do my bit to protect them – and your sister, of course,” he added, nodding to Catria and Palla.

“Wouldn’t you be better fighting Grieth’s forces?” Kamui asked.

Atlas frowned. “Why?”

Kamui stared at him in silence for a long moment. “Have you… met you?”

Leon nudged Kamui without even looking.

“If it’s risky, then we should try to put our strongest there to minimise the risk,” Jesse said slowly.

“Atlas could help to keep the prisoners calm as well. A familiar face would be comforting to them.” Catria nodded, seeming to warm to the idea. “And it wouldn’t severely weaken our strength if Sonya’s witches are able to help.”

“They aren’t mine,” Sonya said, with a hard edge to their tone. Conrad tensed, but Catria only inclined her head in apology, and Sonya let it go. “But the idea seems workable, assuming that you can get in without tipping anybody off.”

Conrad found her difficult to read. Her expressions seemed so studied. That wasn’t surprising given that she had only just met them, but it made it difficult for him to judge what his tone should be like. He wished, briefly, for Palla’s easy warmth – she could always manage to seem pleasant without being overly friendly. “Do you know anything that might help?”

Sonya pursed her lips for a moment. “Well, if the guard’s passwords have stayed the same, you might be able to just walk in. But Grieth has never fully trusted me, and you could draw more attention if he changed them after I left.”

“I’m sure we can come up with an excuse,” Atlas said eagerly. Sonya gave him a doubtful look, and he added, “Uh, ma’am?”

Her lips thinned again, but Conrad thought it was from amusement this time. “If you’re certain you wish to risk it, I’ll tell you. Who should go with you?”

“I can hardly ride in the corridors so I won’t be very useful. I’ll go,” Conrad said.

It mainly was because he didn’t feel right, suggesting a risky plan and letting other’s take that risk on board. Some of Palla’s lessons of ‘the philosphy of war’ had touched on how far a leader should go into danger with their troops – of course the leader was more important, but morale could be damaged if they seemed to be hiding away, as it suggested a lack of belief in their own tactics. Of course, Conrad was not a leader, but it still didn’t feel right to let someone else go in his place.

Despite this conclusion, he felt his stomach sink with guilt when Palla glanced at him with worried eyes.

Catria nodded when nobody raised an objection. “That settles it then. Now, about the other two parties...”

*

Atlas wished he could say he was nervous when they approach the fort under the dim light of dawn, because it seemed sensible to be nervous, right? But actually he was just excited. Grieth was so close. And his brothers. He wanted to go and fight Grieth right then and there, but there were too many of his louts to get through first. Atlas’s fingers twitched with the effort of not drawing his sword.

Conrad had planned to go without his armour, because it would stand out too much amongst Grieth’s ragtag men, but Palla had insisted he take it with him somehow because it would be too dangerous without it.

Atlas had thought about pointing out that he didn’t have any armour, which was a little mean and probably meant he had been spending too much time around Kamui. It wasn’t fair to poke fun at people for worrying.

The guard at the doors was half asleep, but he blinked himself into wakefulness when he saw Atlas. “Wos password?”

“Barrier.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the old password.”

Conrad turned back to look at Atlas, his brows furrowed. Atlas wasn’t sure if he was being Conrad, or in-disguise-Conrad. He shrugged and spread his hands in a ‘what do you what me to do?’ gesture.

Sighing, Conrad turned back to the guard. “It must have changed since we left. Can’t you just let us in?”

“Well, I don’t know who you are,” the guard said defensively. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I haven’t seen you either,” Conrad replied.

“Well,” the guard said again. He didn’t follow this up with anything.

Atlas’s hands twitched. So close…

Conrad raised an eyebrow at the guard, who muttered something uncomplimentary about ‘snobbish mercenaries’ under his breath, but cracked the door open.

Conrad gave the man a brief nod as they passed. “Thank you.”

It had all gone a little too smoothly for Atlas’s liking, by which he meant he’d had very little excuse to take down any of Grieth’s louts and zero opportunity to have a go at Grieth himself. Sonya’s password had worked and they’d made their way to the dungeon without any problem.

Even killing the two men guarding it hadn’t been a problem. They soon caught on that Conrad and Atlas weren’t really there to ‘check up on things’, but just as the first one was drawing his sword, a slight, pink-haired girl reached through the bars in a flash and knocked his head against them violently. Atlas stabbed the second man whilst he was distracted.

“Ugh!” the girl said. “I’ve been wanting to do that for sooo long! My name is Est, by the way, who are you guys?”

[There was supposed to be a little more chatter here, to establish Irma, the head priestess of Mila’s Temple being held captive.]

*

It felt quite strange to Sonya to come back to Grieth’s fort, a place she’d so recently lived in, to attack it. Not that she was especially bothered – she had no attachment to the place, nor to the people who lived in it. Still, it was a peculiar feeling, a faint sense of… nostalgia, almost.

She wondered if Jedah had thought anything close to this when he turned her sisters into tools for the Duma Faithful, but dismissed the thought. If Jedah had felt anything for them he wouldn’t have dumped them in a Priory with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

Palla swooped down from the skies suddenly. “I can see fighting already,” she said worriedly. “Conrad and Atlas must’ve been found out.”

They’d already split off into their two groups, the pegasus knights going one to each group; Palla joined Sonya alongside Kamui and Leon and a dozen of the witch-girls. She’d left Thalia in charge of the other group – the strongest of the witches, she’d even been able to tell Sonya her own name, although she often forgot it. But what little was left of her mind had been turned towards battle, so she ought to be able to give out rudimentary orders.

To think that the stronger a witch they made you, the more of yourself you kept. Sonya would never have guessed that if Conrad hadn’t told her. It made her so angry to think of how much time she’d wasted on chasing baseless rumours of cures—but she couldn’t dwell on that when she now had hope of a true cure within her reach.

“They’ve already barricaded the doors,” Leon said grimly. He seemed like such a cheerless man, yet Sonya was intrigued by the elegance and charm with which he did his make up. There must be a story behind a man who could apply so much personality in his eyeshadow but show so little of it to others.

Another time, though. “Leave that to me,” Sonya said coolly, raising her arm. “Stand back.” Leon and Kamui shuffled back a few steps, and she smiled. “Further back than that, boys.”

“Am I going to get killed by a splinter before we even start fighting?” Kamui muttered, backpedaling rapidly.

Satisfied they were at a decent distance, Sonya took a deep breath and began to gather magic in her hand. This was something that had always come effortlessly to her, more even than to her sisters. She thought of the wind, of a sword, of the scar on the palm of her hand—the sharp, stinging pain when she’d sliced it open against the dagger of one of Jedah’s men, trying to prevent her sisters being taken away. She remembered the blood dripping between her clenched fingers as she stood over his body, too late to save Marla and Hestia.

The magic took shape under her palm, her hair flying about her face as the winds grew stronger and stronger. Sonya thought again of that man, the pain in her hand, of the imagined joy of putting a dagger into Jedah’s throat and watching the life pour out of him.

She gave the spell bite, her anger, her fear and her pain, and when it was close to going out of her control, she knew it was ready.

Excalibur.

Sonya loosed the spell at the doors and watched as they crumpled under it, slicing through the thick wood and several of the men who’d been standing, weapons drawn, behind it.

“Thunder, now,” she called over her shoulder, and the girls obeyed. Casting together, the energy in the air was enough for tiny storm clouds to gather over the fort. They’d dissipate soon enough, when the spell was finished, but for now it was a very impressive sight. What men had been left standing at the ruined doors hastily scrambled away, retreating further into the fort as bolts of lightning rained down around them.

The witches advanced after them, and Sonya followed, beckoning to Palla, Kamui, and Leon. “It’ll be alright as long as you keep a safe distance.”

“Oh, so there is a safe distance,” Kamui said dryly. “Good to know.”

Sonya was unable to resist replying with, “As long as you don’t get on my bad side.”

He gave her a very strange look but didn’t seem to be intimidated, just exasperated. “I feel like I’m the only normal one here, sometimes.”

But he walked ahead with some confidence at a pace that wasn’t too slow, but kept him well away from any chance of being caught up in the thunder spell, so he must’ve known more about magic than he liked to let on.

This is a very interesting group, she thought. All very experienced and strong… Perhaps…? Ah, wishful thinking on my part, maybe. They barely know me.

“Are you alright?” Leon asked.

He’d been standing right behind Sonya without her noticing. She flinched away a little, but was able to disguise it with a flutter of her cloak. Too long spent out in the wide world as a young, naive girl bred distrust into a person.

“There’s a cut on your cheek,” he continued, pointing.

Sonya touched her gloved hands to it and felt the blood seep through the fabric. She had been cutting it rather close with that spell. Perhaps too close. “Ah, well,” she said lightly. “I’ve had worse.”

Leon gave her a look, something that she couldn’t place, but made her insides tighten like she’d done something wrong.

He didn’t comment on it further, however. “How long can they...” He nodded to the witch-girls. Everyone was so uncomfortable calling them what they were. “...keep that up for?”

At least this was something Sonya could answer without too much trouble. Palla had landed her mount a safe distance away and was running back to join them. Sonya waited until she was within earshot before she answered, to save having to repeat herself. “Oh, only a few minutes. Then they’ll have to fall back and rely on some weaker spells. Even for witches, casting that intensely is quite draining.” She smirked. “But we should be well on our way to winning by then.”

“Oh look, reinforcements!” Kamui said with false cheer. “Would you believe that calling down a fucking thunderstorm draws attention?”

That had been on purpose, of course, since they had the larger group until Atlas and Conrad were able to join up with Catria and Jesse. “I’m sure a big, strong man like you can handle them!”

“If you’re so sure, come be a big, strong woman with me!”

“Don’t encourage him,” Leon muttered, exasperated, under his breath. “He already spends more time thinking of snappy things to say in combat than actually focusing on the fight.”

Despite his words, there was a strange undertone of fondness in his voice. Since Sonya had seen the two of them do nothing but snipe at one another, she was a little surprised by it. All she knew was that Kamui was a mercenary; she’d thought Leon was just his employer, but perhaps there was a little more to it than that?

...How distracted she was getting. These things could all be asked another time. It was only natural that she wouldn’t understand the group’s dynamics yet, as a newcomer.

They pressed onwards. Sonya was relieved that the opposition hadn’t been as bad as she feared. Grieth, perhaps sensing the way the wind was blowing, had been making overtures towards the Duma Faithful. She worried they might have sent some sort of… ambassador, most likely a cantor, as the Terror summoners could travel alone with little fear for their safety. Sonya was glad to be facing only Grieth’s brutes—and there was still plenty of those to go around.

The dark clouds began to dissipate as the magic feeding the artifical thunderstorm began to weaken. “Fall back!” Sonya called. The witches obeyed, of course; they knew nothing else.

To be their “owner” still troubled Sonya, but she could comfort herself that she took more care over them than the Rigelian army did. Half of her girls were stolen away from troop commanders, or mages of the Duma Faithful, who would have spent their lives for the smallest advantage. She was glad to have killed those people and rescued the witches. She only wished that she’d discovered more than how to give the witches a new master.

Sonya prepared another excalibur spell as the false storm faded away. The first few men who thought to take advantage of the opening were soon covered in cuts that made their weapons slick with blood, although she thought only two had mortal wounds.

Two more went down in rapid succession from arrows. She could see Leon’s fluid movements from the corner of her eye as he nocked another arrow to his bow. A professional, then, and if he wasn’t a mercenary, she supposed he must’ve been a soldier. He must’ve left the army in the brief period of peace between Rigel and Zofia… that was one mystery solved, she supposed.

Kamui seemed to be just as easy-going facing down half a dozen of Grieth’s men as he did making quips, which she hoped was an indication of skill and not suicidal recklessness.

She watched him sidestep one man, sending him crashing to the ground by whacking the butt of his head with the hilt of his sword, and then pivoting in an instant to parry another man’s sword and stab him in the chest. Sonya called down her own bolt of lightning to kill the man who would’ve taken advantage of Kamui taking a moment to remove his sword from the man’s chest.

Palla, meanwhile, was simply making it look easy, even using an oversized spear intended to be paired with a mount. She was so soft-spoken and considerate that it was easy to forget she was an extremely experienced veteran—not so easy when watching her crush men’s faces with the butt of her spear.

With the witches still casting fire spells, they pressed forwards, pushing Grieth’s men back towards the central room at the rear of the fort.

It seemed almost… too easy. Sonya supposed she’d forgotten what it was like to work with people of real skill—not the mix of desperate and cowardly men who’d stayed with Grieth through the changing times.

At the point where the corridors converged to the central point, they began to run into trouble. Catria, Jesse and the rest of the witches weren’t there to meet them at the end. It had been a lot to hope the smaller party could match their pace, but it still put them on the backfoot until they could catch up. The plan had been for Conrad and Atlas to join up with the other group and then to squash Grieth and his guard between them, leaving him no space to run.

Grieth and his guard—his most loyal and strongest men, men who’d been with him since the early days of his career—chose that moment to step out of the central room. Sonya’s blood ran cold, but she gritted her teeth. She’d always been prepared for a day when she might have to fight him.

But he didn’t do what she expected. He looked over to them, shouting an order that was lost in the chaos and only heard by his men at the back of the crowd in the corridor, and then—

Then he turned and went the other way. Towards their weak link. With his highly trained personal guard.

The spell she was making died in her hands and sent a painful shock up her arm. “Oh no.”

“Gods, what now?” Somehow, Kamui heard her over the fighting.

“They’ll need our help,” was all Sonya said. “We have to push through.”

Her voice must have sounded even grimmer than she thought, because Kamui didn’t talk back at all. “Right. Any chance we can get another big spell from your friends?”

No. Or, rather, they could, but it would cost their lives, and Sonya couldn’t just let that happen to them. Witches didn’t understand the concept of ‘safety’—they couldn’t contribute only as much as they could spare to a spell. They’d just give more and more of themselves until they died of exhaustion.

“We don’t need them,” Sonya found herself saying. “I’ll think of something.”

*

Est swung the sword about dubiously. “I’m not as experienced with using swords,” she said, chattering away to herself as she looked along the edge of the blade and ran her hand down it. “And the balance of this one is so wrong. The hilt is way too heavy and, gods, did this guy even sharpen this? Man, whoever got him to buy this must’ve been a great upseller!”

“Let’s… try to keep it down and not attract attention,” Conrad said carefully.

Est’s voice dropped to an exaggerated whisper that was barely any quieter. “Oh, right. Catria and Palla should be here any minute, yeah?”

“Not quite...”

Conrad had explained the plan to her, but she’d been understandably distracted by quizzing him about her sisters. Was this girl really a veteran who’d fought alongside Palla and Catria in Archanea? One of the Whitewing Sisters that Jesse talked up so much? She seemed so… small. Matty was taller than her, and he was thirteen. She didn’t even come up to Atlas’s shoulders.

“Atlas,” Derros hissed. He tugged on Atlas’s jerkin until he bent down and Derros could whisper in his ear. “I hear fighting. Is everything going to be okay?”

He smiled despite his misgivings. Derros was only ten; he just needed reassuring. “Yeah, of course. I told you that all my friends are here, right?”

Derros nodded. “Are you going to fight the bad guys?”

“Is she going to fight the bad guys?” Matty added, frowning dubiously at Est, who was parrying and striking against an imaginary opponent, complete with quiet commentary like ‘Take that!’ or ‘Too slow!’

“...Yeah,” Atlas replied, although he was aware that he didn’t sound as confident this time.

Est stopped her playfighting and scowled at them. “Hey! Are you doubting me? I fought with King Marth himself, you know! Just because I’m not so used to swords doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“Palla and Catria have spoken for her skills,” Conrad added. Est beamed at him. “Although are you sure you’re up to fighting after such a long period of confinement?”

“Yup!” Est said. “I’ve been keeping active as much as I can, just so I’d be ready!”

“She has,” Matty begrudgingly admitted. “She’s been making us do sit-ups.”

She gestured to him with a triumphant expression. “See?”

Atlas’s attention was drawn by a sudden loud, tortured scream overheard. He exchanged a look with Conrad, who held up a hand for silence that Est obeyed instantly, literally cutting herself off mid-word.

“You go take a look,” Conrad said. He nodded to Atlas. “You stand out less.”

Since Conrad had put his armour back on after they killed the guards in the dungeon, and it was way better than anything these bozos would be wearing – except maybe Grieth himself – so it made sense. But Atlas still felt like he was betraying something important when he had to gently prise Derros off of him.

“Be back soon,” he said.

He only realised how badly the scent of blood from the bodies had stunk up the dungeon when he strode up the steps towards the relatively cleaner air. Being a soldier got you used to disturbing things like that. Atlas didn’t even realise how weird it was for a second. He longed to be able to take Derros and Matty home, to be back in the clean mountain air, filled only with the scent of pine leaves and sharpened by the cold air.

But before then they had to survive Grieth. Atlas reached the top of the stairs and the first thing his eyes found was the body of one of Sonya’s witches. There was a bloody wound in her stomach and her face was contorted as though she’d died in pain. Maybe it was his imagination, but her skin seemed paler—more human-coloured. She looked to be no older than Matty.

Atlas only had to scan the rest of the battle to notice Catria and Jesse and the other witches were being overwhelmed and pushed back by a group of men that included a man who looked a lot like Sonya’s description of Grieth.

Atlas’s grip tightened on his sword and he took the stairs downstairs again two at time. “The plan didn’t quite work, it looks like Grieth and his guard are attacking Catria and Jesse—”

Est gasped. “Catria!”

Conrad hesitated, glancing to the youngest Whitewing sister.

He was always cautious and slow. Est began to argue back in a harsh whisper before Conrad could even open his mouth. Atlas would be going to fight Grieth no matter what Conrad said, and he didn’t care enough to argue with him over whether Est should come either. But he had to spare a second to instruct Derros and Matty to stay put. “I’ll be back for you soon,” he promised.

“You better,” Matty said. But there was a real fear in his eyes which suggested he didn’t really mean it.

Atlas had let them down real bad, so he couldn’t blame Matty for feeling like his big brother wasn’t as reliable as he claimed to be.

Est eventually settled her heated discussion with Conrad by simply charging right past him, only a few steps behind Atlas himself.

It had barely been thirty seconds but already things had descended further into chaos. The line of witches was in the process of breaking and Jesse and Catria had been separated. Atlas knew Est’s first instinct would be to run to her sister, so he went directly to Jesse. The man fighting him was wearing high quality leather armour. Maybe he was one of Grieth’s personal, guard, the ones Sonya had talked about?

Didn’t matter. Atlas found a gap in the armour and slid his sword into it.

“Nice timing,” Jesse said, flashing Atlas a grin.

The smile froze suddenly on his face and he grabbed Atlas’s arm and hauled him aside as a sword cut through the air where Atlas had been a moment ago.

“Nice reflexes,” a gruff voice sneered.

Atlas turned to be confronted with a weather-beaten, scarred face. He knew who it belonged to before Jesse breathed, “Grieth,” like the name was a curse.

Atlas slashed his sword at Grieth, but Grieth caught it on his own, and Atlas couldn’t make him budge no matter how much weight he put behind it. Grieth snorted and disengaged, circling and trying to come at Atlas from an angle. Atlas caught the next blow, and the next, but he was shocked at the strength behind them, and the speed at which Grieth moved for an old man.

They traded blows for a while and then Grieth dodged one of Atlas’s strikes to dart around him, swinging his sword Atlas’s head—

Suddenly Jesse was there, diverting the blow. One loud clang rang out after another as Grieth forced Jesse back, pace by pace, Jesse wincing at the force behind each blow he caught on his sword, but gritting his teeth and hanging grimly on to it.

Atlas tried to intervene but he was distracted by another one of Grieth’s men in leather armour. He wasn’t as strong as Grieth but he was nearly as fast and Atlas was hard pressed to evade or parry all of his strikes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Conrad fighting another, and Catria and Est battling three between them, whilst the rest of Grieth’s guard moved through the witches, drawing their attention and evading their magic, striking whenever the opportunity presented itself. Already, more dead girls had been left on the ground.

There was a sudden yelp from Jesse. Atlas automatically turned towards the noise to see that Jesse had finally lost his sword; he ducked under another strike of Grieth’s, sparking flying as the sword scraped against the rough stone wall. Jesse rolled away, trying to snatch up his sword but having to draw his hand away at the last minute to prevent Grieth from stamping on it—

And Atlas’s opponent took advantage of his distraction, slashing at his face. Atlas barely jumped back in time and the sword scored a long cut over his forehead. He gritted his teeth against the white hot pain, but there was little he could do about the blood that poured out of the wound, obscuring his vision—

—And a wave of intense heat, hotter than the desert itself, made him flinch away from where the hallways joined. There was a red glow which burned brighter and brighter as a wall of fire drew closer, Sonya just visible beyond the flames.

Grieth’s man snarled. “That damn woman.”

Atlas stabbed his opponent in the throat whilst he was distracted, but he was nearly bowled over a minute later when Grieth shoved past him with barely a glance. To Atlas’s amazement, he dashed through the fire, shedding his cloak rather than stamping the flames out on it.

Atlas’s first instinct was to run after him. He tightened his grip on his sword. Grieth was the one responsible for taking away his brothers and attacking his village, killing or enslaving his friends. But…

Jesse?

Atlas saw him in the corner, propped up against the wall, and ran to check on him. He didn’t appear to be moving, but when Atlas prodded him he stirred a little and managed to open one eye. “Hey, big guy,” he said weakly.

There was a large gash in Jesse’s side. Despite having his hands pressed against it, it was still oozing blood at an alarming rate. Atlas cursed under his breath and started tearing up his shirt to use as bandage, but he wasn’t sure if it would be enough. He’d seen Conrad use healing magic but not for anything of this level. Atlas knew a little first aid, but he was no physician. Maybe the cleric, Irma? She said she was the head priestess at the Mother’s Temple. She should know healing, right?

“I’ll be… fine,” Jesse said. His words were spoken crisply, not slurred, but that kind of ‘not slurred’ when you were six cups in and trying hard not to sound it. “You gotta get Grieth.”

Atlas thought that too. He’d dreamed a little of some grand battle staged with Grieth and the man would have to acknowledge all his crimes before he died. Atlas would make him sorry.

It didn’t seem very important then, when Jesse might be bleeding to death. “This might hurt a bit,” Atlas said apologetically, before heaving Jesse up over his shoulders. Jesse let out a choked gasp and Atlas winced, but speed was preferable to comfort. “There’s this cleric lady downstairs—she can help.”

The others are strong. They can handle Grieth. What’s more important is that nobody else has to die because of him.

Atlas hoped nobody else would die, anyway.

*

When Sonya said she had a plan, Kamui envisioned it involving less collapsing and definitely less need for him to rush in and save the day. Her wall of fire might’ve herded all the goons into one corner of the building and charred quite a few of them to death – the air now smelt a little like barbecue and Kamui was weirdly hungry – but they were also down their big, bad mage.

With the way Grieth walked through that wall of fire like it was a mere annoyance… the big, bad mage probably wouldn’t have had that much of an effect. But damn if Kamui wouldn’t have found a thunder spell or two comforting.

Instead he was facing off against a man faster and stronger than he was, all without being able to move too far from Sonya’s prone form for fear Grieth would skewer her. Fun!

Kamui did have a few tricks up his sleeve, however.

And by tricks he meant Leon.

He ducked under a horizontal slash, moving to block the follow up in a way which left Grieth’s hands tied when Leon loosed an arrow that pierced Grieth’s breastplate—

And all Grieth did was break away from Kamui and rip it out. There was blood on the tip but it didn’t seem to slow him as he came rushing back in. If Kamui wasn’t fighting for his life, he would groan. I swear by every god there is, I’m only ever fighting normal people again. This is unfair.

He sensed Palla leap in to drag Sonya out of harm's way, giving Kamui more room to manoeuvre. Grieth made him fight for every inch of ground and fight even harder for him not to get skewered as Grieth pressed the attack and gained that lost ground back.

Suddenly, he changed tack leaping smoothly around one of Kamui's swings and stabbing downwards, towards his feet. Kamui dodged out of the way but he was off balance, and when Grieth punch him in the face he stumbled back, seeing stars. He tried to right himself, but he felt a boot kick him in the stomach and he went down, jarring his arm as he fell flat on his back. Fuck, bad, bad--

Kamui scrambled to grab his sword properly again, knocking aside another blow from Grieth. Another arrow thunked into Grieth's breastplate, but before Kamui could push himself upright, Grieth had ripped that one out, too, and he twirled it around in his fingers before reaching down to stab it into Kamui's thigh.

Kamui made a wretched, keening sound. The pain made his grip weak and Grieth pushed down on the sword, nearly pressing it into Kamui's own chest. Grieth could have just stabbed him, so Kamui must have made him really mad. He did have that effect on people.

All he could see was Grieth's furious expression and the sharp edge of his own sword bearing down on his vision, but distantly, he heard someone shout his name. Leon.

He gritted his teeth.

Kamui tilted the edge of his blade so the tip of it buried itself in the dirt, using the ground to reinforce the hold against Grieth. With his free hand he ripped the dagger from his belt and thrust it blindly into Grieth's torso.

Grieth saw the movement at the last minute and wrenched himself away, but Kamui felt the dagger break the skin and smiled grimly. Whilst Grieth stepped back, Kamui scrambled away, reaching blindly for a space to dig his fingers into the wall, using the grip and sheer will to haul himself upright. When he put weight on his injured leg, his vision swam, but he still saw Grieth's silhouette coming and batted his strike away.

Grieth laughed, totally unthreatened. "You're not bad," he said. He took a quick step to the side, but only to avoid another arrow from Leon. "You should've come work for me."

Kamui's chest was working like a bellows and he couldn't reply, but the only comeback his brain could muster anyway was, 'Piss off.'

Leon hadn't loosed another arrow. He must be running low and trying to pick his moments, but there didn't seem to be any moments when it came to Grieth. He was just a monster. An impossible wall against their assault.

At least the desert was interesting, I guess, Kamui thought.

Something in Grieth's expression faltered and he leapt back. The butt of Palla's spear swung through the space he'd occupied a moment ago, but she didn't stop, seamlessly altering the position of her hands and attempting to stab Grieth in the chest with it.

He pushed the blow aside with his sword, but he circled Palla warily instead of engaging again. "Knew you Whitewings would be trouble," he muttered. "Didn't expect you to bring so many rats along with you, though."

Palla was silent, circling him.

"Just as well," Grieth continued, almost in the lyrical rhythm of a storyteller. "More merchandise. Though their price won't compare to yours, of course - imagine what I ransom I could get for the whole set of you…"

"So that was your plan… to lure me and Catria here too." Her expression hardened, mirroring the tightening grip on her spear. "If you think Princess Minerva negotiates with butchers and slavers, you are much mistaken."

Kamui's arms felt heavy, but he didn't dare draw attention to himself, and he wasn't sure if moving wasn't a bit beyond him at this point, anyway.

He made an abortive swing with his sword as someone's arm came under his shoulder suddenly, but he recognised the long, elegant fingers of Leon around his wrist, halting the blow.

"Oh," Kamui said. He wasn't sure why he was so surprised, but it sure was nice not to have to worry about standing all under his own power.

[Palla would probably have just smushed Grieth at this point. Also, Kamui’s thigh injury is not mentioned later because I came back to this fight scene after progressing. I recommend mentally adding a limp.]

Chapter Text

The battle was more or less a runaway success – Lady Mathilda rescued, Deliverance victory assured with minimal casualties, Desaix dead and the internal threat to Zofia eliminated. Clive had been smiling non-stop for hours, holding Mathilda’s hand and refusing to move from her bedside the last time Alm had seen him, and even Fernand was being downright personable. He’d patted Forsyth on the shoulder and told him ‘Good job’ for finding Mathilda so quickly, for gods’ sake.

Gray was in a happy mood despite taking yet another injury; Tobin had proved himself as a squad leader in a crucial spot (he kept blushing at everyone’s glowing praise); Faye was continuing to earn respect as a healer; Kliff was pleased he’d been able to bully Luthier into teaching him some more magic…

Really, it was only Alm that was miserable.

It was stupid to feel that way after Gray had escaped another close shave and things were going well for his other friends.

But Celica was acting strangely, keeping to her new noble friends, avoiding him or making quick excuses to get away if she couldn’t avoid him totally, like when they’d bumped into one another at Gray’s bedside. And he just—couldn’t help but worry that Celica was replacing him. Which, logically, was fine. Alm didn’t have that much to recommend him that Celica didn’t have in other people. A better sword arm, maybe, but he didn’t need to be at strategy meetings to put that to use. What Celica lacked in experience, Clive, Fernand and Lukas more than made up for with their expertise.

There was just… no real reason for Alm to be part of her inner circle at all, really, except that Celica wanted him there. And he hadn’t quite realised how much he was counting on that fact to keep plodding on—Celica needs me. Celica asked me to be here.

And now he was running late for the newest meeting, as though there weren’t already enough reasons for him to stop being invited completely—

They’d managed to find an antechamber in a relatively empty wing of the palace to corral for the meeting even whilst the rest of it was still being turned over for the missing royal relics and other useful items, and Alm burst through the door short of breath… only to find that only Fernand was already there.

An awkward silence fell as their eyes met. Fernand blinked at Alm for a moment before scowling and turning away. “Queen Anthiese is meeting with Lady Mathilda. Clive was supposed to escort her here when they were finished, but I suppose he got carried away,” he said in a flat voice.

Alm didn’t mind. That was practically friendly as far as he and Fernand were concerned. “Thanks for telling me,” he said, because he knew Celica was trying hard to get Fernand to stop hating commoners so much and Alm didn’t want to be turned into an excuse for his backsliding.

Because trying to engage Fernand in further conversation was useless, Alm wandered around the room. He was careful not to touch anything, but he was surprised that some of these paintings had been tucked away in here—they looked valuable to him, although he wasn’t a particularly good judge of quality. If this was just the ‘spares’ stuff, the gods only knew how expensive the real treasures were supposed to me.

He nearly tripped over a chest in the corner that was half buried under rolled up canvases and an enormous dust cover.

Alm’s fingers twitched. He knew he probably wasn’t supposed to open it, but he was a little curious…

It was locked, but it wasn’t a very good lock, and Alm’s small knife soon had it broken. Fernand heard that, of course, and came over to investigate.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Seeing what’s inside,” Alm said.

Fernand gritted his teeth.

Ask stupid questions, get stupid answers!

Alm lifted the lid. To his surprise, there was only one item inside – a sword laid carefully into a velvet red cushion, in a gap that had obviously been specially designed for it. It was finely crafted but understated, the handle decorated with gold and blue but only a single ruby set into it. It was practically dull for Zofian royal standards. No wonder it had ended up abandoned in this place.

Fernand, however, sucked in a breath. “Why is it here?”

“The sword?” Alm said. “Is it that special?”

“Of course it is,” Fernand spat. But he obviously didn’t explain why, because that would mean treating Alm like an important person who deserved to have information shared with him! “I can’t believe Desaix left it here...”

He did have a point. It was well made, which meant it was at least a little valuable, and ‘a little’ by royal standards was ‘priceless’ by anyone else’s. “Yeah,” Alm said. “It wasn’t like the lock was difficult to break. Anyone could’ve just walked off with it!”

Alm went to pick it up to illustrate; he heard Fernand begin to say, “You idiot, you won’t be able to...”

The grip was oddly comfortable in Alm’s hands. He whistled lowly as he gave it some practise swings. It was perfectly balanced. “Why wasn’t Desaix using a weapon like this? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He held it straight in front of him, looking at the blade itself. It seemed to be quite old; it had waves from a smithing technique that had gone out of use centuries ago. Grandfather had shown it to Alm on an antique blade he owned, which was valuable only for the novelty as it was dull beyond the point of saving. Maybe this sword was enchanted then? Supposedly, Duma used to bless the blades of warriors who impressed him to keep them permanently sharp; they were thought to be all destroyed by now, but if this was one...

Alm only realised that Fernand was staring at him, mouth hanging open in a very uncouth way, when he went to lay the sword back in its place. “What?”

“Impossible!” Fernand spluttered. “It must be a fake—let me—”

But when Fernand took the sword, it slipped out of his hands with a curse.

Now it was Alm’s turn to stare. Fernand had never been free enough around Alm to swear in front of him. Never. He didn’t even seem to have noticed that he’d done it. Even though he was totally mystified, Alm was starting to get a really bad feeling about this…

“It’s not fake,” Fernand said, after several moments had passed. Without warning, he grabbed Alm by both shoulders. “Who are you?!”

“Hey!” Alm shoved Fernand back, and Fernand didn’t even complain about being manhandled by a commoner, which meant something was really wrong. “What’s the big idea? It’s just a sword!”

“You truly don’t know.”He shook his head. “You imbecile. It’s the Royal Sword.”

Alm could hear the capital letters in there, but that didn’t in any way help him understand what was going on. Before he could say anything else, Celica walked in, apologising for her lateness. Clive and a feminine voice—not Clair, Lady Mathilda then?—echoed in from the corridor behind her.

She took one look at Fernand and Alm standing near each other and frowned.

And I said I wouldn’t cause trouble with Fernand. “Sorry, I was just looking around because I was bored and—” He picked up the sword to return it to its rightful place. “—I think this one is more valuable than I thought...”

He watched all the blood drain out of Celica’s face as her eyes focussed on the hand holding the sword.

“What?” Alm said, truly confused by now. “Don’t tell me it’s cursed?”

“Put it back,” Celica said sharply. “Put it back now.”

Alm winced. She wasn’t even looking at him, casting a glance out the door behind her. He did as he was ordered and closed the lid.

“Your Majesty—” Fernand began.

“Shut up!” Celica hissed. “This didn’t happen. Nothing happened. Neither of you will breathe a word of this or so help me—” She didn’t finish the threat but Alm got the message. Big trouble, in at the deep end, et cetera. “Don’t mention this to anyone.”

Fernand frowned. “If you insist, but—”

Celica shushed him and a few moments later Clive and Mathilda walked in, arm in arm. Luckily, they were far too wrapped up in each other to notice the strange tension in the room.

“Alm, is it?” Mathilda said. “Clive has told me a lot about you. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Now he had to scramble to pretend like nothing had happened. “Yes, that’s me. Just… Alm.” That was nearly normal, right? “Uh, pleased to meet you too, milady.”

Mathilda waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about such addresses. Just call me Mathilda.”

Oh thank the gods, I thought she might be another Fernand. Alm could shake her hand with a genuine smile. “I heard you’d nearly rescued yourself by the time Forysth and Python found you. Sorry that we were so late!”

Her grip was nearly enough to make his eyes water, but he supposed she wasn’t a legendary knight for nothing. Mathilda laughed at his little joke. “It’s kind of you to say so, but it wouldn’t have been possible without the Deliverance’s efforts. I heard you had a part in the battle plan?”

“Well, not so much—” He saw Celica nodding fervently behind Mathilda’s back and had to scramble to backtrack on the denial that had just come out of his mouth. “I just, uh, I recommended someone for the squad leader for the, uh, team in the tunnels.”

“Which was a crucial part of our victory,” Celica added.

There was just no understanding her sometimes. She’d been distant with Alm all week, but now she was trying to talk him up?

“And the queen herself suggested the idea of the tunnels in the first place.” Mathilda’s eyes sparkled as Celica blushed. “I think we’ll get along splendidly. You must tell me everything that I’ve missed since my incarceration...”

*

Fernand caught Queen Anthiese—Celica, he reminded himself, she wished to be called Celica in private—as she was being escorted to her chambers for the evening. “Hold! What was that just now?”

Celica shook her head. “Not now, Fernand.”

“Alm—”

“I don’t know. I need to talk to Sir Mycen.” She shook her head as though chasing away bad thoughts. “Just… please, don’t mention this to anyone.”

“But that boy...” If it hadn’t been the occasion of Mathilda’s return to the fold, he was certain Clive would have noticed that something was terribly wrong with him during the meeting. It had been bothering him the entire time. How could a lowly peasant like Alm be able to lift the Royal Sword?

“Fernand.” Celica took her deep breath and closed her eyes. Fernand was conscious of her escorts listening in, even though they were pretending to hang back at a respectable distance to give them some privacy. “Just… I need some time to sort out my own thoughts. Please, keep this a secret for now. Especially from Alm. I… I’ll consult with you soon, I promise.”

One of the things that Fernand admired most about the queen was her youthful energy, despite all the trouble it would occasionally get her into, like that awful scouting mission. Seeing her suddenly look so tired and downtrodden made Fernand feel ashamed. What was he doing, harassing Her Majesty in this manner? Clearly, being given the honour of being allowed to address her by her preferred name had gone to his head. Even on matters such as this, he had no right to demand answers of her like this.

“...I’m sorry. If it’s a private matter, you shouldn’t feel like you have to tell me. And I swear I won’t breathe a word to anybody.” Fernand bowed. “Please get some rest, Your Majesty. You’ve worked too hard recently.”

“Oh, Fernand, would you just...” She shook her head. “Nevermind. I feel like I need to talk to someone about it, so I’ll consult with you later, alright?”

“I am your humble servant,” Fernand declared. “If I can be of use, of course I will assist.”

Celica frowned and seemed about to say something, but she was interrupted by a yawn. “Ugh… Goodnight, Fernand.”

It was probably due to her tragically prosaic upbringing, but sometimes, she was so strange. It was almost like he had upset her somehow, but how could that possibly be the case?

*

The queen was true to her word and came to find Fernand the next day. The western palace did not have an extensive set of gardens, but there was a small patch of dried, crumbly earth near the kitchens, where they used to grow fresh herbs before the soil died.

Fernand could not understand the attraction, especially since the queen looked at the dried patch of earth so sadly, but it was a small, enclosed space that Celica’s—the queen’s bodyguards decreed she could be left alone in for a private conversation.

“How can I help, your majesty?”

Celica stamped her foot. “Will you stop that?!”

Fernand blinked. She actually stamped her foot. This was not… in keeping with the queen’s mature and balanced character. “My queen, what—”

He found her finger under his nose suddenly pointing at him in an accusing fashion. “We discussed this! You promised you would call me Celica in private?”

“But your majesty, that’s not—”

The queen interrupted with a sharp intake of breath, drawing herself up to her full height—up to Fernand’s shoulders. “I get to decide what is and isn’t appropriate in how people talk to me,” she snapped. Then all her energy seemed to leave her and her shoulders slumped. “I thought… I thought we were friends, Fernand.”

She looked so defeated that he couldn’t bring himself to say anything other than, “We are.”

“Then why won’t you just talk to me like one?”

“You’re the queen,” Fernand said. He felt as though he repeated this fact more than was strictly necessary, considering that it was, in fact, well known to both of them. “Whether you like it or not, that won’t change.”

Celica winced.

He didn’t understand why she insisted on clinging to this false name, why she constantly seemed to regret being torn away from the tiny little village of Ram, why she worked herself into an exhaustion to make time for those simple peasant friends of hers, why she treated the crown like a burden, a frightening thing to be held at arms length—

One of the things that had bothered Fernand when they first formed the Deliverance had been the issue of Lima’s heir. It was all well and good to oppose Desaix—it had to be done—but not without thought to what came after. He and Clive had argued for hours at times. Fernand wished to push one of their noble allies forward as a successor to the throne; the man’s grandfather had been Lima’s great-uncle, which was not a close connection to the royal family, but better than nothing. Clive argued that doing so would alienate needed allies.

If Desaix was good at one thing, it was uniting nearly everyone against him. But with Lima’s heirs dead, after Desaix was finished, it would have descended into an even bloodier and messier civil war when every noble family in the country realised they had exactly the same claim to the throne. It would’ve destroyed them even more surely than leaving Desaix in charge.

Queen Anthiese was the perfect heir they hadn’t dared to wish for. Her claim and her personal suitability was so far beyond question that even the most powerful families would hesitate to pit themselves against her, despite only being seventeen and having no noble upbringing.

Yet she worried Fernand constantly by talking of the crown as though it was something she would happily drop at the first opportunity. She was beyond the point of being able to do that literally, but it was only a little better for Zofia if the war for the throne instead became a war for her hand, a war to become the power behind the throne.

“Perhaps it’s just as well,” Celica said eventually, her voice thick and heavy. “I suppose this is more Anthiese’s issue than Celica’s.”

Fernand felt that he had gone gravely wrong somewhere. “Your Highness—Celica—I don’t mean offence. Only… I have only ever known you as the queen. Maybe you feel like a different person in private, but I see the same noble, kind, and intelligent young woman, whatever name you are using.”

She smiled, seemingly mollified. “I suppose that makes sense. All the same, I would prefer it if you called me Celica.”

“...If you insist,” Fernand answered. He still worried that she didn’t understand his concerns, but now was not the time to burden her with such a thing. And speaking of burdens… “What did you wish to speak about? Is this about the Royal Sword?”

Celica nodded, but she clasped her hands together very tightly instead of saying anything.

“It has been in the royal family for a long time,” Fernand tried gently. “If the enchantment that marked it for royal blood only is wearing off, that wouldn’t be too much of a surprise—”

Celica interrupted. “The magic isn’t wearing off.”

Fernand snapped his jaw shut hard enough that his teeth rattled painfully in his skull. After a moment, he recovered himself. “Think about what you’re saying—”

“Alm has a Brand.”

Again, he stopped, lost for words. He stared at the queen, uncomprehending. How could she be mistaken on such a thing? After all, everyone knew there was only one Brand-bearer in any given generation…

In every generation of the royal family. Of both royal families.

“That’s impossible.” He was not aware of himself speaking until he heard his own voice in his ears. What a useless denial. Unless he wanted to say that the queen was lying, and why would she?

But the thought of that boy, the peasant, coarse and without the most basic of manners, educated only in the brutally efficient, militaristic fashion of Sir Mycen—

Not a peasant after all, but of royal blood. Not simply royal blood, but the very best of royal blood, a chosen one of the gods themselves.

“Gods,” Fernand hissed through his teeth. “How? How? Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I didn’t know!” Celica protested. “Well—I knew he had a birthmark a lot like mine, but I didn’t know that it meant anything until I joined the Deliverance, and then—then I thought...” She cast her eyes downwards. “I thought we might be… related.”

“Why—Oh.”

Of course. Not all of King Lima’s children had had… suitable enough mothers that they would be kept at court. For the daughters of noblemen, Lima had to at least pretend they were being treated with great honour. Maids? They and their children could be tossed aside. Desaix had had most of them killed before they even left the capital, but Fernand had only found that out later. He understood why Celica had feared one of them may have escaped notice, and then...

Fernand studied her carefully. That explained the distance he’d sensed between her and that boy for a while—why he hadn’t been quite as worried when Clive approached him about marrying the queen. He’d thought her fondness of the peasant—of Alm didn’t stretch far enough to forsake her duty for him. If it had been because she thought they may be half-siblings…

But then, what meaning did any of Fernand’s objections had, if Alm was of royal blood?

Fernand shook his head. “This whole situation is preposterous.”

“Preposterous? That’s all you have to say?” Celica snapped. “What about Alm? What if the Rigelians find out about him! He could be in danger!”

“The Brand holds even more significance to them than it does to Zofians,” he said. He kept forgetting about the gaps in her education like this. Something that would have to be corrected eventually. “They would probably try to crown him.”

“So being at risk of kidnapping is fine? What about the Crown Prince? I’m sure he has some men who wouldn’t be happy to hear about competition to his right to the throne.”

Fernand supposed she had a point there; the prince probably had some hangers-on who were depending upon his succession for their advancement. Not to mention the prince himself, of course.

All that aside, the situation also presented some interesting possibilities. The Rigelians worshipped the Brand as a blessing from Duma which indicated the strongest possible leader of the nation. Alm’s heritage would be questioned, but they would, at the very least, be an interesting topic for Rigel. Maybe enough to hash out some kind of peace treaty, or at least bring them to the table. The long lost Rigelian heir.

It raised the issue of how the heir became lost in the first place, but—

Fernand realised that Celica was staring at him with a flinty expression. “I can tell what you’re thinking. You can’t say anything. I don’t want anything to happen to Alm!”

“Someone is bound to find out eventually,” he said, although he didn’t really believe that was necessarily true.

It made Celica hesitate, though. For a long moment she said nothing, biting her lip and staring at the ground.

“I need to talk to Sir Mycen,” she said eventually. “I just… need to know what’s going on.”

Fernand also was interested to know how on earth a lost member of the Rigelian royal family ended up living in some gods-forsaken backwater village at the opposite end of the continent… along with the heir to the Zofian throne. Who on earth knew how a jumped up peasant like Mycen had managed to keep that a secret for so long.

Begrudgingly, Fernand admitted that Mycen was cleverer than he had given him credit for. He still oughtn’t have been promoted solely for a lucky talent for military matters, but it was difficult to deny that short of Alm’s and Celica’s untimely deaths—something which Fernand fervently hoped would not come to pass—Sir Mycen had set himself up very nicely for a successful retirement. Power, prestige, wealth, a dukedom, even a marriage if he so desired—he could have all of it.

But how on earth did he come to know of both of them in the first place? He desperately wished to seek Clive or Mathilda’s advice, but not only could he not disobey the queen, it wouldn’t do to spread this sort of thing around. The more it was talked of the more they risked someone overhearing it.

“I’ll swear not to say a word, Your Majesty,” Fernand said, bowing his head.

There was… a lot that he had to consider.

Chapter Text

The handful of Grieth’s men who were left alive by the time the man himself fell fled, and Conrad and the rest of them were left with bone-deep exhaustion and a sense of accomplishment.

At least, Conrad felt exhausted. By the way Atlas was swinging his little brothers around and laughing and joking with the other people from his village, he seemed to be full of energy.

Est was much the same, but she was too involved with an argument with Catria to disturb anyone else. They’d been reunited for less than an hour and already Catria was attempting to lecture Est about reckless behaviour whilst Est defended her decisions.

Palla sat tiredly in the corner, watching them.

Conrad went to sit next to her. “You weren’t wrong about them being a handful.”

She laughed, wiping her sweat-slicked hair out of her face. “It’s all worth it, though,” she said. A soft smile graced her face as she watched them. “It’s been such a long time… sometimes I wondered—” There was a clack as she snapped her mouth closed.

“You did find her, in the end,” Conrad said gently.

“It must seem strange to worry about it all now.” Palla ducked her head. “I’m supposed to be happy, but… well, I just think about how it all could’ve gone wrong and…” She sighed. “Maybe it’s because they just went right back to arguing like they’d never been apart,” she added ruefully. “I should go break them up soon.”

Est and Catria were smiling, though. “I think you’ve earned a rest,” Conrad said. “You’ve worked hard enough. Anyway, they almost seem to be… enjoying themselves?”

For some reason, she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. His eyes were drawn to an ugly mark on it, indents in the skin which were bleeding lightly, and a bruise across the back of her hand. Conrad frowned and took it gently, pressing it between his hands and taking a deep breath. He had been using his primitive healing skills a lot recently, so it only took a moment for him to bring up the familiar warmth and let it seep into Palla’s hand. He could feel the magic flowing beneath her skin like a river, gently soothing and fixing.

“Conrad,” Palla said.

He blinked sluggishly, still feeling like half of him was trapped in the magic in Palla’s hand. Which he had grabbed without permission. He let the magic fade away and pulled his hands back. He was pleased to see that he’d had some impact – the scratches were gone and the bruising nearly so. “I’m sorry. I acted without thinking.”

“You don’t sound very sorry.” Palla nudged him. “You’re very sweet to want to help, Conrad, but you shouldn’t exhaust yourself.”

He couldn’t deny that even that little bit of healing and taken a lot out of him, but he didn’t particularly mind right then. “Did it help, though?”

“It did,” Palla admitted, “but don’t you dare take that as encouragement!”

She was smiling, though. “Too late,” he replied, and smiled as well when she laughed again. It was only right that Palla got to celebrate today – he was glad to lighten her spirit.

“Pallaaaa!” Est called suddenly, breaking into Conrad’s thoughts. He wasn’t aware of when she’d come over to them; he must be more tired than he thought. “Tell Catria she’s being stubborn! I was fine with a sword, and anyway there wasn’t anything else to fight with!”

Catria spoke through gritted teeth. “How many times do I have to tell you, the sword was hardly the problem—”

Palla sighed, which stopped the argument dead in its tracks. “You two… Can’t you give it a rest just this once?”

Conrad normally thought of Catria as rational and calm, so it was amusing to see her fall into an identical mulish silence with Est—even their expressions were the same, the relation between the sisters obvious for once.

“Well, I’m not sorry for coming to save Catria,” Est said, sticking her nose in the air. “So there.”

Catria’s expression was stony. “And I’m not sorry for wanting you to be more careful.”

They scowled at one another for a minute, appeal to Palla forgotten—which was probably just as well, because the eldest sister was only watching their antics with amusement.

Eventually, Est’s mouth started to twitch, and she grinned suddenly and threw herself into Catria’s arms. “Aw, Catria, I missed you so much! Don’t be mad at me!”

Catria staggered and nearly fell under Est’s weight, but she gave one of her rare smiles. “I missed you too, you idiot.”

“Are they like this often?” Conrad murmured to Palla.

Est must have heard him, though, because she waved at him. “It’s fine! You’ll get used to us eventually!”

Palla’s cheeks went a little pink. “Est, you shouldn’t be presumptuous with people you barely know...”

“But he helped rescue me – that totally makes us friends!” Est winked at her sister. “Ooh, Conrad, you’ll back me up, right? Tell Catria that I had to take the sword!”

“Sorry,” Conrad said. “I’ve already been warned about taking sides.”

Est pouted. “Palla, you’re no fun.”

*

Clean up was almost as difficult as the battle itself. Many of Grieth’s former prisoners were not yet strong enough to make the walk back to Atlas’s village, not to mention Jesse and Sonya, who were still recovering from the fight. That meant they had to cart all the bodies out and at least make some effort to clean the place up. There were still an uncomfortable amount of scorch marks and blood stains on the walls and floors, not all of them even from their fight. Conrad shuddered at the thought of staying in a place like this, but they had little choice for the time being. At least they were well provisioned and there was ample accommodation for their small group, even with the addition of the freed prisoners.

The Priestess Irma was anxious to get back to her position at the Temple, especially after hearing how the goddess’s lands had turned to desert, but she agreed that it wasn’t safe to make the expedition alone yet. This was only to their advantage, since Jesse and Sonya recovered more quickly under her continued care.

By the second day, Sonya was well enough to sit up in bed and receive visitors. Conrad thought he ought to be the first one to see her and break the bad news.

“How many?” Sonya asked.

The witches had probably won them the battle, but they’d also been the bulk of the casualties. “Seven,” Conrad said. “I’m sorry.”

Sonya lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes for a moment. “Compared to the numbers I’ve lost over the years, it’s not so many.” He voice was bitter. “When they have no sense of self-preservation, it’s hard to keep them alive. I’m sure you weren’t careless with them.”

“I did my best to lay them to rest according to their custom,” he added.

He wasn’t surprised when Sonya snorted. “The custom of the Duma Faithful? What worth does the faith have now?”

“The faith has always been about following Duma’s teachings, not his person,” Conrad said. “The Faithful can survive without a god—should survive without a god.”

Sonya studied him for a moment. “Do you really believe that? Even though you’ve known Duma was mad for years?”

She was the only other person he’d met, outside the Sage’s Hamlet, who knew about the degradation of the dragons. Presumably it was something she’d learnt from Jedah, perhaps when he took her sisters away. But she’d been raised with the normal teachings of the Faithful, to show loyalty to Duma as a god.

Conrad had never had that. He’d only been taught of the Faith as its own thing, self-contained. He’d seen how it sustained his mother, isolated from any god, and he’d seen how it sustained the Sage Halcyon and his followers even in isolation.

In the Hamlet, faith hadn’t seemed so important to him—it was everywhere, just a fact of life. Since being outside the Hamlet, questioning his role, his life, he’d thought of it more often. Self-reliance, inner strength, conviction—but also cooperation, being aware of one’s own weakness, being afraid neither to offer help nor to seek it. Self-awareness… Conrad was starting to understand how little he really knew of himself, and therefore how little response he had to those questions.

But it felt as though he was now beginning to find the answers.

“I’m only following the evidence of my own eyes,” Conrad said.

“What a strange thing to say about a faith.” Sonya shook her head. “To each their own.” She was silent for a long moment, and then added, “I don’t know whether those girls would’ve liked to be buried with the Faithful’s customs or not. But thank you for thinking of them as though they might.”

*

Two days after that conversation, Conrad met Grieth’s other lieutenant. Naturally, he was already making Kamui’s acquaintance.

“Listen, if I thanked everyone who didn’t kill me, I’d have no time left in the day for anything else,” Kamui was saying.

Conrad sighed and rubbed his temples.

Leon let out a low whistle. “He really has no sense of decorum, does he? I wonder how he ever got employed by anyone since he insists on sassing any person who so much as breathes near him.”

Conrad was merely eager to intervene before things could get any worse.

Deen cut a tall and intimidating figure, with a scar over his eye telling of battle experience and armour distinctly a cut above the usual standard of Grieth’s thugs. Although he’d been a lieutenant for the bandit king, he’d come alone—Catria had only seen one, lone figure on her patrol that morning.

He looked Conrad up and down for a moment with an unreadable expression, and then made the same assessment of Leon. “Who’s in charge here?”

“Not Grieth,” Kamui said.

Leon stomped on his foot. “You’re not helping!”

Deen must not have been quite as bad-tempered as his scar and dark attire made him seem, because he only gave Kamui’s attempts at banter a slightly raised eyebrow.

In retrospect, it seemed strange that they’d never quite settled on anybody being in charge. Palla and Catria had been the ones to organise their ‘mission’, but they didn’t issue orders to anybody. He privately thought of Palla as the closest thing the expedition had to a ‘leader’, but he really did not want to leave Kamui at the gate alone whilst he went to find her. “You can talk to me,” Conrad decided.

Deen shrugged and accepted this. “I don’t care about Grieth,” he said, without preamble. “To be honest, you guys did me a favour. That’s why I didn’t come to reinforce the fort.” Ah, that explained Kamui’s ‘if I thanked everyone who didn’t kill me’ comment. Sort of. “The rumour is that you guys defeated Sonya. She still alive?”

“...’Defeated’ isn’t quite accurate,” Conrad said. He couldn’t see the harm in being honest with Deen on this point, since Sonya wasn’t here in the event that Deen had some bone to pick with her. “She ended up allying with us.”

Deen digested this for a moment. “Huh. Didn’t think she was done with Grieth yet. Well...” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. So she’s still alive?”

“Yes, thanks to me,” Kamui muttered.

“She’s recovering from the battle,” Conrad said, as Leon belatedly trod on Kamui’s foot again. “Why do you want to know?”

“Tell her Deen’s here,” he replied gruffly, dodging Conrad’s question. “I’ll wait.”

There was a pause. Deen did not seem inclined to offer anything else.

“...Kamui, why don’t you go,” Leon said.

Kamui rolled his eyes. “Always trying to get rid of me! Anyone would think we weren’t friends.”

“Not for lack of effort on my part, I assure you,” Leon said dryly.

“I am hurt. I am hurt, and wounded—”

Conrad sighed.

“—and leaving,” Kamui added quickly, “I’m also leaving.”

Maybe he’d sounded a bit more exasperated than he’d intended. It had been a long few days.

They waited in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes, until the sound of Kamui’s voice drifted back—alongside Sonya’s, who was not supposed to be out of bed yet.

Leon was already frowning when Kamui stepped back into the room. He had one of Sonya’s arms around his shoulders, but she still seemed out of breath.

Kamui pointed his free hand at Leon. “Don’t look like that! She made me bring her down!”

“With what, the power of her feminine wiles?”

“If only,” Kamui muttered. “No, she just threatened to zap me.”

“I used up all my charms on the priestess,” Sonya said. She unhooked her arm from around Kamui’s shoulders, and only looked a little wobbly standing under her own power. It was strange to see her in simpler garb, just a long black dress that didn’t make her look very much like a mage at all. “You were a good sport about it, though; thank you.”

Deen peered at her and frowned. Perhaps he was concerned? “You overdid it.”

“Good of you to notice,” Sonya said. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Deen; I’ll be right as rain in a few more days.”

She seemed to be familiar with him. Conrad wasn’t sure why he was so surprised – they must have worked together under Grieth for some time. It wasn’t strange for her to know the man well. There was a certain something to their interactions, though, that made them seem… more comfortable with one another than that. Almost friends.

Deen accepted her response with a grunt. “You got fed up of throwing your lot in with Grieth?”

Sonya smiled. “I got a better offer.”

He stood straighter, giving Sonya his full attention. His eyes flickered towards Conrad the others. “From these people?”

“They’re more promising than they look,” she said. “Cross my heart.”

Oh, that’s it. They reminded Conrad of Kamui and Leon—friendly sniping. At least, he was still pretty sure that Kamui and Leon’s sniping was friendly…

Deen folded his arms across his chest and did not reply immediately. Sonya’s smile widened, and then she began to flutter her eyelashes at him. That made Deen snort and, shaking his head, he uncrossed his arms. “I assume you know what you’re doing.”

Sonya clapped her hands together. “I’m glad that’s settled. Conrad, Deen is an ally of mine. He’ll be accompanying us, if you have no objections?”

Conrad frowned. Why was she asking him as though…? Oh, of course. After this, the Whitewing sisters would be returning home, Atlas would be going back to his village… It was a wonder it hadn’t occurred to him before now.

“I have no personal objections,” he said slowly, “but the others may not be comforted to see another of Grieth’s former lieutenants here. Let me explain things to them before you wander around and cause trouble.”

Deen shrugged. “I keep to myself. Tell them they won’t see much of me.”

“Now that that’s settled, you can escort me back to my room,” Sonya told him.

Obligingly, Deen let her lean on him, and even smirked a little when Kamui said, “Oh sure, he doesn’t get threatened with a zapping.”

Leon sighed. “Maybe if you were less of an ass to everyone, you wouldn’t get this sort of response.”

“Hey! Leave my ass out of this.”

“More promising than they look, you say?” Deen muttered to Sonya.

At that point Conrad thought it might be better to quit the room and leave them to it. He wasn’t even sure if Kamui and Leon noticed. They were too busy bickering.

What would they do, after they’d made their way back across the desert? Leon had been in the Zofian army once; perhaps he would join it again. Kamui might sign on with him if the money was good enough. Jesse, when he was better, would probably start looking for mercenary work again. Atlas had always been clear that he wanted to take his brothers back home, and of course Palla and her sisters would be returning to Archanea—a whole continent away.

Conrad found his feet dragging. It seemed strange that such a mishmash group of people had become quite important to him in only a short space of time, and even stranger (and more uncomfortable) to think that they would soon be parting ways. There would be no more of Palla’s strategy lessons…

Palla and her sisters were returning home, of course, for which Conrad ought to be happy for them. But he found that… very hard, in this moment. Palla was such a considerate and accomplished person, and they’d spent a lot of pleasant time together—maybe it wasn’t so strange to be fast friends already. Or perhaps Conrad had merely latched onto the first person who would accept him after years of isolation and Palla was only being kind. It seemed a cruel thing to think of Palla, even if she’d done it out of kindness, but Conrad suddenly found himself filled with doubt. It was not as though there was anything special about him that would be worthy of the interest of someone like her—

“Are you alright?”

Conrad jumped at the sound of Palla’s voice. His chest felt very tight all of a sudden, and for the first time he wished that she wasn’t with him.

She frowned, peering at him with concern “You seem troubled. Is something wrong…?”

He took a moment to find his voice and be confident that it wouldn’t betray anything. It wasn’t like he had not seen this parting coming—it was just that… he had avoided thinking about it for too long. His voice came out more clipped than he meant. “Pay me no mind. It’s not important.”

“Oh.” Her face creased for a moment with some expression that he couldn’t place, and she took a step back with a weak smile. “Well...”

Conrad’s instinct was to reach a hand out to her. His fingers twitched. Was something wrong? Did he do something wrong? Did he speak too harshly? He wasn’t sure if this was really Sage Halcyon’s realm of expertise, but he would desperately have loved to have his guidance then—anyone’s guidance.

He cleared his throat. “But I was—I did have something to say.”

Palla’s expression went blank and she tensed.

Conrad’s mouth felt dry. “One of Grieth’s lieutenants came—Deen, the one that Jesse told us about… before...” Did he really need to remind her of this? Was that not patronising? “Anyway, it appears that he and Sonya are friends? Allies? Of a sort. So he will be… present… whilst we prepare to leave. I thought it might make the others uncomfortable to see him suddenly, so...”

“Oh! Oh, of course.” Some tension eased out of her shoulders and she smiled. “You just thought to warn everyone. That was good of you. Thoughtful. To think of everyone.”

He was so used to Palla being self-assured that he couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong. “Are you…?” But then he realised he had refused the exact same concern from her, and trailed off. Perhaps she was just… worried about the journey home. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry.”

“No! I mean...” Palla clasped her hands together and sighed. “Nevermind.”

They stood in silence for a moment. The conversation seemed to be finished, but Conrad found it hard to leave.

“Actually, I was wondering...” Palla said. “After you let the others know… if you don’t have any other pressing concerns—perhaps you’d like another strategy lesson? I know there might not be much more opportunity—”

Her last words came out in a rush, as though she was afraid of being doubted, but she stopped abruptly when Conrad burst into a smile. “Yes,” he blurted, without hesitation, “I’d love to.”

Palla paused, blinking at him, and then she smiled too—a warm, beautiful thing that lifted her whole face and made her eyes sparkle. “Wonderful,” she breathed.

It might be putting aside the problem for now, but there was no harm, Conrad supposed, in enjoying the time they had left together.

Chapter Text

Gray’s head injury had been healed in no time at all; Faye’s lecture took quite a bit longer, but he suffered through it like the champ that he was. And then got another lecture about not taking Faye’s warnings seriously because she could see right through him and then Silque laughed at him. Then he ended up promising Faye to turn down the recklessness so he would have to actually work on getting his brain not to run with the first dumb thought that entered his head when he got into a fight.

But! Even with all that, it should’ve left plenty of time to go hit up Clair for some cool ‘thanks for the save’ banter, now we’re even, et cetera – Gray had it all planned out. Well, he mostly had it planned out. Well… maybe he actually only had those opening lines planned out.

So instead of making nice with the cute girl, Gray was having a crisis in a library that was like, aggressively condescending. Towards him, specifically. Just because he had the thought, ‘hey, Clair’s a noble right, they read poetry and shit’ and thought she might be impressed if he could say some off the top of his head…

“Where the fuck do they even keep their poetry in this place?” Gray murmured under his breath. “How do you find anything?”

Gray was about to give up when something happened that proved this was the worst of all possible worlds: Clair walked in, saw him, smiled and said, “Oh, were you looking for a book? What do you like to read?”

He did not read except under duress. He couldn’t say that to Clair, but he also couldn’t think of the title of literally any book so he just let out a very intelligent-sounding, “Uhh...”

“Oh my!” Clair waved her hands. “Do excuse me. Of course, this is probably your first time in a library of this size. The choices must be overwhelming for you! Now, I have not frequented this particular library before, but I believe it uses the same categorisation as… ah yes, the Jacqueline system. You see...”

Pretty much the last thing that Gray expected was to find out that Clair was a book nerd, but it became pretty undeniable once she was not only able to explain the ‘Jacqueline’ system for organising books, but mention several other systems and explain why they were patently inferior and much more confusing. Gray would have to take her word for it because he didn’t even understand this one.

Still, watching her argue passionately, her brows furrowing and her hair falling over her shoulder as she gave an exaggerated shake of her head, was strangely entrancing. He couldn’t help but stare.

At some point, Clair seemed to catch on that Gray was staring, because she blushed and began to fiddle with her hands. “Well, that concludes the tour! Where would you like to start?”

Start? Oh boy, there was no way to get off this wild horse ride now, was there?

“Uh, why don’t you… recommend me something!” Gray grinned, pleased with himself. Still managing to dodge the question. He was totally amazing.

“Oh?” Clair seemed startled, but then she smiled. “Well, I’ll have to think about something that would suit you. How about I bring you something later? And when you finish it, I’d love for you to share one of your favourites as well!”

...Shit.

“Absolutely!” Gray nodded his head, and then forced himself to stop because people who nodded too much were not trustworthy. He wanted to project total trustworthiness. No bullshitting about reading interest here whatsoever. Nope. Gray got himself into this mess and by the gods was he going to get himself out of it. “Looking forward to it!”

Now I just gotta read some damn books. How hard could that be?

...This is going to suck, isn’t it.

*

Tobin found Gray in a quiet corner on one of the battlements, sitting cross-legged and... reading a book, of all things. His lips moved a little as he followed the words, and it took several seconds for him to notice Tobin, even when he was standing directly in front of him.

“Oh thank the Mother.” Gray slammed the book closed hard enough to send up a small pile of dust. He sneezed but still looked relieved. “I have an excuse to stop.”

Since it was Gray, there was a not insignificant chance that Tobin would regret asking this question. But since it was Gray, how could he not? “What on earth are you doing?”

Gray sighed. “Promise you won’t laugh.”

Then he began his long-winded explanation. Naturally, it all came back to Clair and Gray not being able to take back anything.

When he’d finished explaining, Tobin laughed.

“C’mon, man! Some solidarity would be nice here!” Gray hit his head against the book. “Who invented all these ridiculous long words? Why does it have to be so hard just to read a simple story?”

“Why don’t you just tell her it’s too hard?” Tobin asked. “I mean, she’s gotta know that you didn’t have access to a ton of books in Ram—”

“That’s exactly why, Tobin! I’m trying to impress her! She’s a noble!” Gray threw up his hands. “I’m never going to get anywhere if I keep reminding her that I’m really just some country bumpkin at every turn.” Laying the book to the side, he propped his chin up on a fist, resting his elbow on one of his crossed knees. “Aaanyway, I haven’t heard much from you on the subject, Mr. Sneaky. What have you been plotting?”

“Oh.” Tobin shrugged, suddenly feeling very exposed without having a door to close behind them. “Nothing, really.”

“Huh? I mean, but...” Gray frowned at him. “You liked her too, didn’t you?”

“Yeah but I...” I don’t want to lose to you at yet another thing was way too morbid to say out loud. “I just didn’t want anything to come between us, you know?”

“What? Don’t say that, Tobes!” Gray slung his arm around Tobin’s shoulders and pulled him close before Tobin could do more than let out a squawk of protest. “If you won, you know I’d love being the irresponsible uncle to you and Clair’s cute little babies! I’ll get them to drive you mad so you bald early and I can laugh at you. It’s all part of my master plan.”

“Has your master plan accounted for the fact that she might not be interested in either of us?” Tobin asked dryly.

Gray tapped Tobin’s nose. “Don’t underestimate me! Of course it has! Then we both commiserate and get stupidly drunk together. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Tobin sighed. “I still don’t know… I mean she’s just…” He gestured lamely at the air in the hopes Gray would get it. So above me? I’m so… not her type?

“Yeah, I get it,” Gray said.

Tobin wasn’t sure that he did; Gray never seemed to lack for confidence in anything. He didn’t shy away from any challenge. There was a reason they were always ‘Gray and Tobin’ and not the other way around—Tobin was very much the tag-a-long.

“I shouldn’t be helping out a rival in love like this, but...” Gray let the sentence hang dramatically in the air before he continued. “Clair and I had a chat when she came to dump this thing on me, and she was talking about how she noticed you in the recent battle. She was really impressed, you know!”

Tobin knew better than to try to really compete with Gray. Clair was lovely, but it wasn’t worth risking his friendship with Gray over the possibility of Tobin being a sour loser. Still, he couldn’t help but cheer up at the thought Clair had been impressed by him. “...She said that?”

“Uh-huh! You had one of the toughest jobs in the battle, you know! The queen put her trust in you ‘specially and all that.” Tobin didn’t have a response, and after a moment, Gray nudged him. “Come on Tobi-bee, you can talk to her! You’re comrades, it would be weird not to have some… camaraderie.”

Tobin felt himself wavering. Clair had been impressed by him… Just talking to her a few times wouldn’t… really make it a ‘love rivalry’ with Gray, would it?

Gray could read him like a book and was already insistently raising his hand for a high five. “Yeah, Tobin! And since I did you this favour, you couldn’t talk me up a bit to her, could you? My bestest pal?”

“Not a chance,” Tobin said with a grin, making Gray groan dramatically and pretend to die over his book.

“Betrayed! Betrayed by my brother in arms!”

“That’s what you get for stealing all the beef jerky.”

You don’t really need my help, anyway.

*

“Excalibur is a spell which is useful for targetting a single enemy,” Luthier explained. “It is similar to the Thunder spell in basic theory, drawing on the imagery of the storm, but the magic is sharpened into blades of wind instead—”

“The imaginative theory of magic casting fell out of favour decades ago,” Kliff said.

Luthier scowled at him. “I am familiar with the scholarship. However, I believe these revisionist takes have overlooked a crucial factor in spell formation, which is the individual ability to shape magic. It is well known that not every mage is capable of learning how to cast every single spell.” He cleared his throat. “However, since you have both learned how to cast Thunder without any damage backlash, I believe Excalibur should be well within your abilities.”

“The point of the catalyst method is to make spellcasting universal,” Kliff argued, totally ignoring Luthier’s attempt to get them back on topic. “There’s no logical reason why, if everyone draws upon the same pool of magic, some people should be unable to shape it in certain ways. If you’d read the studies from Archanea...”

Celica sighed. When Luthier had kindly volunteered his expertise in magic to teach her some new spells, she’d invited Kliff along as a reward for all the help he’d given her in keeping up with her magical studies over the years. She hadn’t realised quite how widely read Kliff was on the latest theories in the study of magic, or she might’ve had second thoughts. Kliff could never resist an argument when he thought someone was wrong.

“Could we not just try learning the spell Luthier’s way?” Celica asked. “Kliff, maybe you can work out another way to make it work later.”

Kliff muttered something under his breath and scribbled something in the margins of his book. “Fine. I’ll work out the catalyst method later.”

“I would be exceptionally interested if you could manage such a thing,” Luthier said.

Celica winced as Kliff glared at him. There was nothing guaranteed to make Kliff work himself to the bone like the insinuation that he couldn’t possibly do the thing.

I’ll have to make sure he remembers to sleep and eat properly. Maybe Alm—? No, Alm is too busy. Faye…? Maybe, but she has her duties at the hospital… Tobin? I’ll have to find him later—oh, but I have another advisory meeting after this.

“Celica,” Kliff said under his breath.

She blinked, realising that Luthier was looking at her expectantly. And after she’d asked him for this personal favour, too! It so often seemed recently that there were so many things going on in her life that she didn’t have room in her head to think about all of them. Especially with Alm…

Celica shook her head. She couldn’t start thinking about Alm now; if she didn’t, she’d never get anything done. And Alm was the reason why she had to be better, to be stronger. If the fight with Berkut had taught her anything, it was that she was painfully weak herself. Queens weren’t supposed to fight on the front lines, Fernand and Clive and even Alm had said to reassure her. It had been a fluke that the Rigelian prince had been able to find them anyway.

But how could she simply stand back and let her loved ones risk themselves without even making the effort to protect them? Magic was something special. It wasn’t something that just anybody could do. If she worked hard enough at it, she would be able to argue that the added benefit of her magic outweighed the personal risk to herself.

And magic had been her one useful weapon in the fight with Berkut. If Alm… if Alm could possibly be related to the Rigelian royal family—she had to protect him. She would protect him, no matter what.

She let that thought linger, using it to centre herself.

“I’m sorry, I was distracted for a moment.” Celica took a deep breath and smiled. “Could we start from the beginning? I promise I’ll pay more attention this time.”

*

As a healer—that was Faye’s role now, apparently—she would’ve liked to stay longer at the fort. Their strategy might have won them the battle, but there had been a lot of casualties. Leaving those men and women behind in the care of a few physicians and the skeleton garrison didn’t sit right with her. Some of those injuries were very serious. What if the wound reopened? Even with healing magic, too much strenuous activity could cause it’s effectiveness to fade, and without Silque’s or Faye’s magic, they would probably die.

She complained about it to Silque and received a sad smile in return. “That means your healer’s sense is developing,” she said. “That’s good! A lot of healing magic is about intent. If you really care about your patients, your magic will become more potent.”

That certainly explained why Silque was so much better than Faye at healing. She seemed to have endless reserves of compassion. Faye just got annoyed at people who didn’t follow her recommendations and made their injuries worse.

She didn’t want to disappoint Silque after she’d invested so much time in helping Faye, but she didn’t really think annoyance at people undoing their hard work was the same as being truly compassionate. Still, she hesitated at outright saying that. “I’d just… feel better if we could leave someone with them. Why aren’t there more healers travelling with the army?”

Faye thought Silque would have an answer for this too, but instead she sighed, wringing her hands, and muttered something that was lost to the violent shaking of the supply wagon.

“Truth be told, Faye, I don’t really know,” Silque said after a moment. “In the history of the Mila Faith, it used to be expected of clerics and sages to go on a pilgrimage around the continent, offering healing services to anyone they came across. Most servants of Mila never trained at a Priory, but apprenticed themselves to travelling healers. But when my mother died, she was one of the last carrying on that tradition.”

“You didn’t want to follow her?”

“I did. I do.” Silque frowned as the hands neatly folded in her lap turned into tightly clenched fists. “But at the time, there was so much knowledge that I was missing. That’s why I went to Novis Priory. I see why people stay there. It’s… comforting. Safe. I always felt like there was more I could learn. But eventually I realised that feeling was holding me back from following in my mother’s footsteps… that’s why I jumped at the chance to deliver Mila’s Turnwheel to Sir Mycen.”

There was a heavy weight in the bottom of Faye’s stomach. When the wagon rolled again, she felt nauseous. “So… that’s what you plan to do after the war? Be a travelling cleric?”

“Oh, yes.” It was hard to begrudge Silque her plans at seeing the beautiful smile on her face, the dreamy expression as her eyes unfocused, staring off into her future.

But it was just one more person leaving Faye behind. Moving on to other things. She’d gotten too used to being with Silque, Faye told herself crossly. Just because they worked closely together in the infirmary and Silque had given Faye a lot of personal instruction in the art of healing didn’t mean that they’d stay together. Just like Faye has assumed she and her friends in Ram would all stay together, once upon a time.

“What about you, Faye?” Silque asked, jerking her out of her thoughts.

Faye found it hard to look at her directly. “I don’t know. I’ll probably go back to my village.”

“To Ram?”

Something about Silque’s voice sounded… unsteady. Faye looked back just in time to see her squaring her shoulders and forcing a smile.

“I… guess.” Faye’s mouth felt strangely dry. Was she… disappointed? “I don’t really know where else I would go.”

“It’s not something you have to decide right now. I’m sure Queen Celica would find you a position at court if you wanted—” Silque laughed when Faye pulled a face. “I thought that might not be your thing. But, well...” She spread her hands helplessly. “You could also come with me.”

She was disappointed! The thought made Faye absurdly happy, even though it meant she would be abandoning Silque herself by going back to Ram. Silque had such a calm, measured way of approaching things that sometimes it was hard to know if she was just being nice to Faye or if they were as close as she thought—as close as she felt to Silque.

“I think I’d like that,” Faye said, nodding her head slowly. When the words came out of her mouth, they felt right. The whole idea of being with Silque felt right. “As long as we could visit Ram sometimes.”

“Of course! I’d love to meet your family and friends there!” Silque’s eyes were bright, but her hands settled in her lap again. “Although I’ll understand, of course, if you change your mind.”

“I don’t think I will,” Faye said.

They didn’t talk for the rest of the day’s march—travelling in the wagons was easier than walking, but it didn’t make for a pleasant journey—but the contented silence felt to Faye a lot like home.

Chapter Text

Despite Conrad’s resolve, he was so aware of this time ticking down that the journey back across the desert was nearly as bad as fighting their way to Grieth’s fortress in the first place. He remembered what Jesse had said – what was it? Not even a week ago, what a strange thought – about bringing down the mood of the group, and there was a much larger number of them this time. Grieth’s prisoners weren’t at their full strength, and their progress was slower than before. More obstacles would not be welcomed by everyone.

Perhaps he was still giving off some kind of impression of dissatisfaction, though, because Est kept finding him whenever they made camp for the evening. She was not a bother, making herself useful to whatever task Conrad was set to around camp or just talking to him if he was unoccupied, but he was very confused as to why she’d singled him out for company. Also, sometimes her cheerful chatter could be… borderline interrogative.

Catria circled their conversations, keeping a wary eye out.

“So, Conrad,” Est said one evening. “Do you have a wife? Fiancée? Girlfriend?”

Conrad blinked at her as Catria loudly cleared her throat and none-too-subtly nudged Est with the butt of her spear.

“Or there could be a man in your life?” Est added.

Catria buried her face in her hands.

“I… don’t think that’s what your sister was getting at,” Conrad said. Catria was normally quite direct, but perhaps she was just worried about starting another argument with her younger sister.

“Probably not,” Est agreed readily. She leaned forward, making Conrad lean back a little to maintain his personal space. “Well?”

“Uh, no, there’s no one like that,” he answered.

“Oh, well!” A little of Est’s intensity seemed to leak out of her and her posture relaxed. “You should definitely consider it! Everyone said I was too young to get married but honestly Abel has been sooo good to me and I think it’s really helped me mellow out—”

Catria snorted.

Est spared a moment to glare at her. “And Abel always says he loves having more excitement in his life! Really, it’s so nice when you can find someone who just… completes you, you know?”

“I’m glad you’re happy together,” Conrad said. For some reason, his throat felt a little tight. “You must be excited to return home, then.”

“Well of course but—” She sighed dramatically, her whole body slouching. “Honestly, you two are just so—”

She cut herself off with a help when Catria pinched her ear and dragged her to feet. “I think that’s enough damage from you,” she said, her lips set in a very grim line. “I’m sorry about her, Conrad.”

“Catria, no! Ow! Quit it!” Est batted at her sister’s arm like an ineffectual kitten.

“I wasn’t bothered by her...” Conrad tried to explain, but Catria was already dragging her sister away despite her loud protests.

...I am so confused.

Perhaps Est just wanted to have someone to talk about her husband with as a way of easing her loneliness? And was worried about bothering her sisters? Or maybe she thought Conrad looked a little lonely himself?

He couldn’t say that last one wasn’t a little true, even if nobody had left yet.

Jesse took a seat next to him at the fire. “Ah, family. I don’t miss them.”

“Do siblings often argue?” Conrad asked curiously. He had not gotten along well with most of his own half-siblings, but as they all had to compete for the king’s attention and gifts, he assumed that there wasn’t as much reason for conflict in… normal families.

“Like that? Oh, sure.” Jesse shrugged. “It’s the arguments with the rest of the family that get vicious.”

Conrad frowned. “Is that so?”

“What, you never argued with your parents?”

“No. My mother was strict, but she always protected me. I wanted to be more like her.”

And he would never have dared argue back against his father for fear of his safety. Only Anthiese had the courage—and importance, as the king’s presumed heir, though he liked to keep everyone guessing—to get away with such things.

“Aw, that must be nice. My parents...” Jesse shook his head. “I don’t hate them, but they were selfish when it came to important things. I couldn’t get along with them.”

“But you have siblings?” Conrad asked. “Don’t you miss them?”

“Just one—a half brother.” Jesse scratched his chin. “I miss him, but I don’t miss home, if you get me. Hm, when we get to Atlas’s village, I should write him another letter. He’s probably getting worried by now.”

Conrad wished it was as easy as sending Anthiese a letter. Still, he hoped there would be news of the queen and how the war was going when they returned to civilisation. He was not sure what he should do then. Perhaps he should attempt to pick up Sage Nomah’s trail again? He was not sure how much use he would be to the man now, though.

Maybe he should attempt to join up with Anthiese? His identity would take some explaining, and he might have trouble even getting near her, but… if he could meet with her, it would be worth it. She’d had some time to cement her position now, and if Conrad was loyally at her side, wouldn’t that make it hard for him to be used as a threat to her position?

...He wasn’t sure if he was qualified to make that judgement. He sighed. The same dilemma.

But then, what can I do?

*

They made sure to stop back at the first fort on the way back to collect the prisoners from there. It was surprising to Conrad how long it had really been since they had been there – he felt like it should have been months but it was only weeks. But perhaps they were all just tired from the constant fighting.

Naturally, the prisoners there were thrilled to see them, since it meant their own safe return to Atlas’s village. There was some discord when Conrad, Palla, and Atlas decided that they must stay for a few days to allow the prisoners from Grieth’s fort to recuperate, but the march across the desert had taken a toll on even the fit and healthy like Est and Atlas’s little brothers, never mind the older or frailer members of the party.

During the stay, Irma, the head priestess from the Mila Temple, approached Conrad anxiously. “Sir—” she began.

“I’m not a sir,” Conrad corrected.

“Are you sure?” she said, which he thought was a strange response, but she shook her head. “Never mind. I’ve heard some worrying things from the party on the journey here. Is it true that nothing has been heard from the Mother’s Temple for so long?”

Conrad thought he guessed what her worries were. He’d been shocked to learn that Priestess Irma had been in captivity with Grieth for several years, but he supposed that her skills as a powerful healer would’ve made it tempting to keep her around for his own use. “I’m afraid the rumours are true. And you’ve seen for yourself how far the desert extends now.”

“Yes...” She sighed. “I worry for the Mother and the clerics at the Temple, but it seems it is perilous to travel alone these days...”

Conrad’s heart sank at the reminder of the imminent parting. “I suppose you’ve heard that some of us will be heading north after?”

“Ah, you see right through me—yes, I was going to ask if I could accompany you, if it is not too much trouble.”

“The road north takes us very close to the temple, so it’s no trouble.”

Irma smiled—the first time Conrad had seen her smile, even when being rescued—and bowed slightly. “Thank you.”

Conrad hadn’t realised that Deen was listening, but the man drifted over as Irma left. “More company?”

He was not sure what Deen was getting at; so far the man had kept very much to himself, not even spending a lot of time with Sonya, his supposed—well, Sonya had only described him as an ally. The mysteriousness certainly made him a hard man to read.

“There was no reason to refuse her,” Conrad said eventually. “It would be safer for her to travel with a group.”

“Hmph. I suppose the healing would be useful.” He rolled his shoulders as though gearing up for a fight, but he seemed as relaxed still as Conrad had ever seen him. Eventually, Deen broached another topic: “Sonya tells me your men in this hideaway might really be able to cure witches. Is that true?”

“I’d be surprised if they’d discovered a cure in my absence,” Conrad said. I’d be surprised if they had the time for that at all. “But I do believe that it is Sonya’s best chance of discovering a cure, yes.”

“You think a cure is possible?” Deen pressed.

Conrad frowned. Out of all the things a stray mercenary could’ve questioned, it seemed a strange one. “I… It’s hard to say for certain… but I suppose I like to think it is possible.”

Deen snorted. “Wouldn’t we all?”

“Are you Rigelian?” he asked. If he were Rigelian, with the way things were—if he didn’t have any family or friends who’d been turned into a witch, there was probably someone in his village who had. He didn’t have another way to explain his interest.

“No.” Deen gave him a sour smile, which creased the scar across his face like lightning. “Not that it’s relevant, but I’m Zofian, as it happens.”

Conrad frowned again, but before he could consider just asking Deen outright why he had any interest in witches, the man walked away without another word.

Perhaps he’s just more soft-hearted than he looks? He dislikes the idea at all? But a great many people ‘disliked’ the idea without trying to do anything about it. Sage Halcyon’s people had researched the question as a matter of survival, and Sonya wished to desperately save her sisters. If Deen were friendlier with her, Conrad might’ve guessed it was as a favour to Sonya, but the two did not seem to be that close… friendly, but not close.

Did that even make sense? Perhaps Conrad was misunderstanding. He did not have much experience with people, after all. And whatever the reason for Deen’s interest in witches, it was most certainly none of Conrad’s business.

Still, it nagged at him. Maybe he was just bored. Like Leon had said, he ought to get a hobby. Well, a hobby that did not involve Palla’s strategy lessons at any rate.

Just a few more days until they left.

*

Unexpectedly, Leon came to find Conrad whilst he was trying to hammer out some of the dents in his armour.

Conrad paused in the middle of swinging the hammer, feeling unbalanced. It was work that he was comfortable with, having learnt from the hamlet’s smith and spent many an afternoon working away quietly under her guidance. It was a good way to centre oneself in one’s feelings and thoughts. A strange sort of meditation, if you will. Conrad felt desperately in need of that.

It also meant that he ended up squinting at Leon, struggling to remember if there was anything to which he had to answer.

“Sorry to disturb you when you’re busy,” Leon said. “It’s just been hard to find you by yourself.”

Conrad frowned. “I’m sorry if I seemed… unapproachable?”

“Ah, not quite.” Leon took a seat and smoothed out some ruffles in his shirt. “I just didn’t wish to tear you away from dear Palla. I’m sure this time is precious to you both.”

“You… think so?”

“Conrad.” Leon graced him with an elegant, but disapproving, scowl. “Don’t be purposefully dense. You must know that she’s fond of you.”

“Well—yes, but it’s not the same as...” Conrad shook his head. “Never mind. What did you want to talk about?”

“No, no, please: what were you going to say?” He blinked at Leon, who sighed and patted his arm. “Bless you, what did you think I came to talk about? After so long marching through the desert we’re all quite excessively competent at packing by now, even with the civilians in tow. I want to know how you are doing.”

“Me?”

Leon gave him a warning look. “If you try to pretend that you haven’t been especially morose this past week, I will have to pinch that pretty face of yours.”

“Have I been obvious again?” Conrad sighed. He didn’t know how this kept happening; it seemed that he ought to have learned to conceal his feelings a little better by now. “It’s not my intention to cause distraction.”

“I don’t doubt. It never is with you.” Leon folded his hands and let out a long, slow breath. “But here I am being a dreadful nag, which was not what I wanted at all. You know, it all makes more sense with your upbringing. I’ve always found scholarly types to be dreadfully awkward.”

“...Thanks?”

“Oh, and now I’m just being rude,” Leon said. “Not my best opening.”

“No, it’s—I know what you mean,” Conrad assured him. Had he not had similar thoughts himself?

Leon smiled. “Bless you. Well, awkward you may be, but you’ve a kind heart, I think. Sincere. If your scholars at home are at all similar, I’d be happy to know them, however awkward they are.”

Conrad smiled.

“Enough of home, though. I suppose you never did find a hobby like I suggested? I still have that kohl, you know.”

“Oh, well—” Conrad hesitated, because it was the subject he’d come to meditate on in the first place. But Leon was doing him the kindness of being a friend, he thought, so he deserved an honest answer. “I think… I found a hobby? If… spending time with friends can be called a hobby.”

“Of course it can,” Leon said. He rested his chin on his fist and leaned forward with interest. “Are these those ‘lessons’ you enjoyed with Palla?”

Conrad couldn’t deny that that was a large part of it. “And the rest of you,” he protested. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful for their company—he’d grown fond of all of them, even Kamui.

It was just that, well, something with Palla was… different. And he didn’t know what to do about that, so he’d come here to try to find some way of understanding his feelings. But perhaps this was the sort of things better shared with a friend, after all.

“I’m honoured that you would consider me a friend.” Leon smiled. “Though if you consider Kamui a friend as well, I pray for you to raise your standards.”

“Do you not consider him a friend?” Conrad was sure they were quite friendly. Most of the time.

“‘Do as I say, not as I do’,” Leon said sagely.

Conrad couldn’t hold back a laugh.

Leon smiled too, but after a moment, subsided again. “It is good to have a hobby, but...”

There was an air of expectation about him. Conrad cut in before Leon could finish. “I suppose it’s not quite the—the something just for oneself that you were talking about. That’s why I came here alone, but… I don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”

“What are you trying to understand?”

“I’m not sure,” Conrad confessed. “I feel very muddled, somehow.”

“Hm. Feelings are not quite as easy to smooth out as dents in your armour.”

Conrad, who was drenched in sweat after half an hour’s work on his armour, thought about protesting the implication that this work was ‘easy’.

Leon made a thoughtful noise. “I suppose it comes down to… what course would make you happiest, without impeding the happiness of anyone else. I often find that even if I’m not quite sure what my feelings are telling me, I can understand what I want. And even if what I want is not possible, perhaps I can find some kind of middle ground.”

What Conrad wanted was quite clear: he wanted nothing to change. He wanted his friends to stay here and to be able to continue to work together. Of course he couldn’t, nor would he want to, command anyone’s time like that. But maybe…

“I see,” he said aloud. “I think… that helped. Thank you, Leon.”

“You’re very welcome.” Leon smiled knowingly. “And I’m sure those mysterious feelings will resolve themselves in time.”

“What about you?”

Leon blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“Well, I...” Maybe this was too forward? Or rude somehow? But Leon had tried to be a confidant to Conrad, so he felt it would be remiss not to at least attempt to return the favour. “It isn’t the same thing, but I know how it takes time to get over a loss. So...”

“Ah.” Leon’s smile faded and he bit his lip. “I suppose like all things, it gets easier with time. This isn’t even the first time this has happened to me, so you can say I’m somewhat used to it now.”

Conrad winced. “It’s not the first time?”

“There was a young man—” Leon shook his head. “It was a long time ago, now. But he was the reason I signed up for the army, and then he died in our first engagement. He was idealistic and brave. And then there was Valbar, much the same.” He laughed, but the sound was hollow and lacking joy. “I guess you could say I have a type. And a bad habit of finding fulfilment in their causes instead of my own. I suppose I’m quite a hypocrite in a way, telling you that you ought to have your own dreams and ideas, and here I am—”

“Selflessly committing to rescuing other people, risking your own safety in doing so,” Conrad said dryly. “I don’t think you should be too hard on yourself.”

Leon actually laughed at that. “You actually sounded a little like Kamui then. Be careful you don’t hurt yourself on that cutting sarcasm, young man! But I suppose you’re right. One is particularly given to being hard on oneself during times of crisis...” He sighed. “I still feel that I should’ve done more to stop Valbar, but… you’re right, that doesn’t undo what I’ve done since. Thank you, Conrad.”

“I’m glad to have helped,” Conrad said. “Um… if you do ever need to talk to someone—without sarcasm being involved...”

“I’ll be sure you find you.” To his relief, Leon was smiling again.

*

“Palla?”

She jumped and nearly dropped the brush with which she’d been grooming her pegasus.

Conrad winced. An excellent start. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you—”

“No, no, it was my own fault!” Palla said, scooping up the brush with trembling hands. “I was lost… in thought...”

She stared at him helplessly. For a moment, Conrad quite forgot what he was going to say, but he found himself stepping closer. Saffron nuzzled at his hand, and he patted the creature’s neck. “Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you.”

Saffron did not seem affronted. He whickered happily whilst Conrad stroked him. Palla laughed. “I knew you could be taught. See, you and Saffron are fast friends now.”

“I think that’s down to Saffron’s patience,” Conrad said dryly. “She takes after her rider.”

“Yes...” Palla’s shoulders slumped, growing subdued again.

At least he was not the only one who was jumbled up and not knowing what to say or do. “I should thank you for that, by the way.”

“You’ve already thanked me a dozen times.” Despite her mood, Palla smiled at him. “I told you, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t get to have the pleasure of your company, too.”

“I’m glad you say so,” Conrad said. He made an effort to keep his voice steady and calm. He didn’t want to blurt out something strange at the wrong moment. “Because… I actually had a favour to ask you.”

Palla turned to give him her full attention, frowning curiously. “Oh?”

“I was thinking that, perhaps—I could… visit you.”

She blinked. “In Archanea?”

Conrad nodded numbly. “Not until the war here is finished, of course – perhaps not for years, even. But I… I’ve very much enjoyed having you as a friend. I’d like to spend time with you again, if you’ll allow it.”

Palla burst into a dazzling, bright smile, her cheeks flushing. “Allow it? Conrad I—” She put a hand to her mouth, although it did nothing to conceal her smile. “I’d love it if you came to visit. But… are you sure? It’s not a simple journey, and there—there must be things keeping you here in Valentia.”

Conrad’s heart seemed to press all the way up into his throat; he could feel each pulse and beat as he found himself smiling back. “No, I—well, I suppose I’ve told you enough about my past now that it doesn’t come as a surprise to you, but I’ve had… very little chance to—to do things for myself, I suppose. But I think… I think knowing you is something that I’d like to keep doing.” He paused. “That made no sense, I’m sorry.”

“No, it makes sense enough.” Palla was still smiling, but softer, crinkles around her eyes as she watched him and reached for his hand. Her skin was cold, but Conrad’s hand still seemed to burn where she touched him. “As much sense as these things ever do. I can’t imagine ever leaving Princess Minerva’s service, but if I did, I’d leave word as to where I’d gone, so I’ll always be easy enough to find.” She squeezed his hand gently. “And I’ll hope you can make it.”

Chapter Text

If it could be said that Celica was still acting weird (she was), then Fernand was acting even weirder. Alm swore that he had to be making it up, but it was kind of at a point now where it was even starting to look like Fernand might… begrudgingly… like him?

Or at least, for some reason, Clive had—subtly—been trying to give Alm less and less of a role in their strategy meetings and edge him out of advising Celica altogether, and Fernand—not so subtly—had been supporting Celica in putting her foot down and saying ‘no’.

Fernand actually complimented Alm’s swordfighting the other day. Actual complimented, not back-handed or anything. Clive had gaped at him open-mouthed and in complete honesty Alm had probably looked even more shocked.

...It was beginning to make the strategy meetings uncomfortable, even though Alm knew he should be pleased by this development. Maybe he would have been pleased if Celica had looked as inspired by Fernand’s character development as Alm expected; instead, she looked kind of exasperated and wary, which made Alm suspect there was some kind of Noble Political Shenanigans going on behind it.

Those were quickly becoming Alm’s least favourite Significant Capitalised Words. And he was using them a lot lately.

“Luthier has been a huge help to us,” Celica was arguing, “and mages of any talent are rare, let alone the prodigy that Delthea is reported to be—”

Clive waved his hand. “Hearsay. I understand why Luthier would exaggerate his sister’s talents under the circumstances, but that can’t be enough to—”

“—she’s a thirteen year old girl, Clive—”

“Regardless of age, we can’t save everyone—”

Alm didn’t know why Celica didn’t just announce they were saving Delthea and that was final, end of story. Of course, he understood that being Queen wasn’t just as simple as issuing orders and having them be obeyed.

...Except it totally could be in this circumstance. Clive and Fernand and even Lukas might have more experience than Celica, but sometimes he thought Celica forgot how valuable her own opinion was. Her compassion, her kindness—the fact that she’d lived as a commoner, and knew how often their lives were taken for granted, unfortunate collateral even amongst the best nobles.

Saving Delthea was about saving one girl, yes; it was about the potential of another mage in their army, yes. It was dangerous and they might get hurt. Yes.

But it was also about hundreds of young girls who’d never had some knight in shining armour willing to ride to the rescue. In a strange way it was about those women King Lima IV had claimed, many of whom had never had any choice in the matter, living in a court practised at avoiding any acknowledgement of their pain.

It was about saying that they mattered.

“This argument is pointless,” Alm said. “You’ve heard the queen’s opinion, so now all there’s left to discuss is how to implement it.”

Clive regarded him with a certain coolness that Alm was, frankly, tired of. “With respect, I don’t think you understand how risky this operation is.”

“With. Respect.” Alm managed to keep his voice steady as he spoke, throwing the lie of those words back in Clive’s face. “I don’t think you understand how important this is.”

His hand was starting to cramp from how tightly he was clenching it, but he needed some kind of outlet otherwise he would start shouting and never get taken seriously again; nobles hated it when emotions came into arguments they had no personal stake in.

“You let the queen personally partake in a scouting mission on the chance that it might save your fiancée.” He shot Lady Mathilda a brief look that he hoped was apologetic. He didn’t have any personal quarrel with her, but there was simply no better example of the hypocrisy around the table.

Clive bristled. “I strongly objected to—”

“But you never flat out refused,” Alm interjected. “You didn’t stall Celica with objection after objection, hoping to wear her down until she agreed with you to keep the peace.”

Fernand drew in a sharp breath and even Clive winced. Whether he’d meant to do it or not, that was definitely what he was doing.

“If the scouting mission had gone wrong, it wasn’t just Celica’s life at stake—it was the whole damn campaign.” Pain flared up from Alm’s hand and his voice shook with suppressed anger, but he had to keep going. “This isn’t like that at all. Celica isn’t asking to personally intervene. She’s asking for someone to do it. She’s asking for someone to consider Delthea worth saving, just like Lady Mathilda.”

Clive frowned. He hesitated, before saying, “The situation is slightly different now, Alm...”

“Because Delthea isn’t a noble,” Alm said.

“...Yes.”

Alm was surprised to hear him admit it, and so was Mathilda. “Clive,” she hissed, scandalised. “She’s just a girl!”

“And I’m sorry for it, but we must think to the battles ahead,” Clive said. “To subdue an opponent safely is much more difficult than to kill one, and as Delthea is powerful—”

A hair’s breadth away from rolling his eyes, Alm wondered if there was some sort of illness that prevented nobles from hearing what they were actually saying. The Pigheadedness Plague, maybe. Yes, now that it’s convenient for her to be powerful and dangerous, he can admit she is.

“Like I said,” Alm said acidly, “your objections are irrelevant, as the queen has already made her choice. But if it comforts you to know that no noble lives will be at risk, I’ll volunteer to save Delthea.”

“Alm...” Celica sighed, but she didn’t object to his hostility or to his volunteering, so he decided to take that as a win. “Just be careful. Please.”

...He did kind of volunteer for a dangerous task mainly out of spite… which wasn’t the smartest thing Alm had ever done. Still, Delthea wasn’t well trained as a soldier by the sounds of things, even if she was powerful; Alm was familiar with magic and had been taught disarming techniques by Grandfather, so he was quite well equipped to handle the situation, he thought.

Then Fernand chimed in with: “If your majesty is concerned, I would be happy to join with Alm for this task.”

Does he have to? was Alm’s first thought, which was silly, and he was glad he didn’t say it out loud. But also. Did it have to be Fernand?

He didn’t quite look at Celica plaintively but he was sure his expression conveyed some amount of ‘what the heck?’ – not difficult, since everyone around the table just looked like the world had been flipped upside down.

Celica only peered at Fernand carefully, however. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she must have seen something in his expression that Alm didn’t, because after a moment she smiled faintly and nodded. “Alright. That would bring me some peace of mind. And I believe our forces can accept two soldiers being directed for this task.”

“...Certainly,” Clive said, looking a little like he’d just bit into an unripe orange.

Maybe it was silly considering that he was still kind of mad at Clive, but Alm felt kind of bad for him. After all, Fernand was meant to be one of his closest friends, and here he was, refusing to back him up in an important meeting. Making Clive look actively bad, even!

Alm took that to mean that Fernand’s personal loyalty to Celica won out over his friendship with Clive. Whatever else Alm could say of him, he was glad of that, at least.

*

When they reached the border, Grandpapa—no, General Mycen, she had to remember to be thoughtful—was waiting with a detachment to meet them.

She longed to simply run into his arms and tell him all of her worries, just like when they’d been at Ram. He always seemed to know what to do. But it wasn’t proper for a queen to do that, and there was a formal ceremony of introduction they had to go through before she could so much as wave at him. Being royalty really was tedious sometimes, but Kliff said it would be unwise to go about ripping all the traditions out at the roots whilst they were at war.

(Celica hadn’t even asked. Kliff knew her too well.)

Even though she couldn’t be as familiar with him as she wanted to in public, relief still flooded through her when they finally got to speak face to face.

Mycen’s lips quirked. “Your majesty.” Celica tried to smile back, but her smile must have been strained, because he only leaned in closer, suddenly frowning and worried. “Celica?”

“It’s… alright. We can talk about it later.” Fernand was still at her shoulder and he was watching Mycen like a hawk. She hoped he wouldn’t say anything; he had been getting quite good at remaining civil, recently. “For now, we should focus on the coming battle. And how fare the troops at the border?”

He didn’t answer immediately, studying her intently. “You look tired,” he said, rather than answer her question. The lines around his eyes softened. “Do remember to take care of yourself, your majesty.”

Everyone seemed to say that, but Celica wasn’t quite sure what she was doing wrong. She made herself eat, she kept herself in shape, she was still finding time to improve her magic, she slept—well, she didn’t sleep enough, in truth, but neither did any of her advisors or their direct subordinates, and she couldn’t ask them to take on more burdens than was healthy whilst making sure she personally got her eight hours of beauty sleep.

Mycen offered her his arm, and Celica took it gratefully, resting her head on his shoulder. She was tired, but so was everybody. That was what war was like, it seemed. After a while it had even stopped being horrifying, hearing of all the people dying in her name—and instead she just felt so, so tired.

But if so many people were willing to put their lives on the line for her, she couldn’t disappoint them.

“You didn’t answer me about the army,” she said, trying to sound playful so Grandpapa didn’t think she was annoyed with him. “There isn’t bad news, is there?”

“Not yet,” Mycen admitted, which made her giggle. He’d always instructed them to be prepared for the worst. “We’ll have to march on the Sluice Gate itself soon, though, and that isn’t going to be a fun battle for anyone.”

“The Deliverance will take care of that,” Celica said. “Most of the soldiers here have been in constant fighting for months, haven’t they?”

“A forced march is quite exhausting too, your majesty,” he answered dryly. “I’m sure the men will be grateful, though.”

“We can have a few days rest before we assault the gate itself.” She peered at him carefully. “Unless it’s worse than I thought?”

At that, Grandpapa laughed. “Far be it from me to tell Kliff that his estimates were wrong! I know that boy too well.”

Celica laughed too. “I didn’t sound like him, did I?”

“No, but I know you’d rely on him before you made a final decision.”

“As if he’d allow anything else. Did I mention in my letters, we managed to both find a tutor in magic?”

“Luthier; you mentioned. He comes from a notable and ancient magical family. You’re lucky to have his instruction.”

“Kliff is not quite so pleased,” Celica said, smiling at the memory of her last lesson. “He thinks Luthier’s theories are outdated and keeps trying to get him to order some new works from Archanea...”

Mycen laughed so hard he began to wheeze. “That boy,” he said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, “never fails to disappoint. That project might have to wait until the war is over, though.”

Fernand cleared his throat meaningfully. Celica turned to ask him why, but then she saw that her other bodyguards—and Grandpapa’s—had dropped to a respectful distance.

Her heart sank even though she’d been desperate to have this conversation for days. It always seemed like there was something in the way. Could she not just be happy with Grandpapa for one minute?

But no; this was to ensure Alm’s safety. She would be selfish to delay when she might not get a better opportunity to talk to Mycen alone for several days. The demands on her time seemed so endless.

“Celica? Is something the matter?”

She squeezed Grandpapa’s arm, trying to draw courage from his strength. He’d always been there to protect her and Alm. Even if he’d been lying to them, he must have a good reason. She wanted there to be a good reason. “It’s about Alm’s Brand,” she said carefully. Mycen’s eyes cut to Fernand, and she hastened to reassure him, “It’s alright—Fernand has been my confidant in this matter.”

“Has he?” Mycen said; he did not sound impressed, but he had not seen the best parts of Fernand. “If you say so, then. What troubles you?”

She didn’t appreciate him toying with her in this manner. “Grandpapa. I am not a fool. I’m the Crown Princess because of my Brand. If Alm has one too...”

He stopped and sighed. “Old habits die hard. Please forgive me, Celica. Let me ask this instead. What has happened?”

“He picked up the Royal Sword,” she said. “He didn’t—well, he didn’t know what it was, and I had to have the chest put away without being opened or someone else would see it and tell Alm what it was, and he would start to realise—”

“Desaix just left it lying around in a chest!” Fernand protested, as though this was the worst part of the story.

Celica was exasperated to see Mycen scowl at hearing that, muttering something uncomplimentary about Desaix under his breath. It was the ancestral sword of her family, but it was still just a sword. But it was nice to see them bonding over something, she supposed.

“...And we’ll be entering Rigel soon, if they don’t agree to peace talks—which it doesn’t seem likely that they will… if someone were to see Alm’s Brand, to recognise it...”

She hoped otherwise. She hoped that there could be peace, that Alm could find out about this and come to terms with it in his own time, that her friends could go back to their peaceful lives. But she was too worn down from all this bloodshed to hope that Emperor Rudolf would see sense on the matter.

“You worry that Alm will find out soon enough anyway,” Mycen said gravely. “Or that worse trouble will come of it if some Rigelian recognises the Brand.” He ran a finger under his moustache, thinking. “I had hoped to spare you both from worrying about this, but… well, you’ve guessed right. Alm is of the royal line of Rigel. He is, by blood, not my grandson at all.”

“Did you know his parents? How closely related is he to the royal line? Does he have family?” Mycen continued to frown thoughtfully and remain silent. “He deserves to know, Grandpapa,” Celica insisted. “He—I know you must have had your reasons. But he’s going to be hurt that you didn’t tell him any of this sooner.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” Mycen so rarely looked his age, but he seemed worn down by every year of it then – shoulders slumped and every wrinkle of his face creased with worry. “I’ve been trying to protect the both of you, but I always knew Alm would feel betrayed in the end. If the fates are kind, there will be time enough for him to forgive me yet.

“But I think that this is something you ought to hear together,” he said. “The full story.” He laid his hand over Celica’s. “Would you let me keep my secrets a little while longer, your majesty?”

“If you think it’s for the best, Grandpapa.”

“I am sworn to your service, my queen,” he replied gravely. “It’s your decision.”

Celica hesitated. She wanted Alm to know, but—oh, it would be so hard for him to hear. A part of her wanted to spare him from that pain, but that wasn’t fair. Perhaps she would’ve been happier living in blissful ignorance, but Alm would always want the truth, even if it hurt him to hear it.

But there was also the coming battle to think of. Alm volunteered to personally seek out and rescue Delthea, a dangerous mission. Celica had regretted every day since then letting him put himself forward—if she’d been more forceful with Sir Clive, maybe Alm wouldn’t feel like he had to defend her!

If Alm got hurt because he was distracted… because he’d only been trying to do what Celica wanted… she could never forgive herself.

“Perhaps… after the battle,” she said, slowly. “Alm is… I don’t want him to be distracted whilst he’s fighting.”

Mycen bowed his head. It still felt strange for him to treat her so formally. “Very well then, your majesty. I will be at your disposal when you are both ready.”

Chapter Text

The entire party made it to the mountain village without further incident and found the whole place abuzz before they even arrived.

“Oh gods,” Kamui muttered, “what now?”

“It might be that something good has happened,” Jesse said. “You never know!”

Conrad and Palla exchanged looks. She shook her head. Yes, with the way things had been recently, he was not feeling that hopeful either.

Atlas seemed a little bewildered by the fuss too. He scratched his head. “Uh, I’ll go ask Reba what’s going on,” he said. “Matty and Deros, you stay with these guys, okay? Reba will want to see everyone settled anyway.”

The villagers were already starting to congregate around the rescued prisoners, exchanging hugs with old friends and handshakes with strangers. Matty and Deros had their heads patted and cheeks pinched so often that they eventually ran away to hide behind Est and Catria.

“Will you just sort of glare at them a bit?” Deros, the youngest brother, asked.

“Sure can!” Est replied cheerily.

Deros pulled a face. “I wasn’t talking to you! I was asking Miss Catria!”

Est put her hands on her hips and scowled. “Uh, I can be scary too, you know.”

“That’s not the same kind of scary,” Matty muttered. “You’re just mad.”

“I am not!” Est fumed. “Right, that’s it. Ten push ups for cheek! Right now, mister!”

Matty blinked at her.

Est kept staring at him with a stern expression—at least, Conrad was quite sure it was an earnest attempt at being stern. “Don’t make me make it twenty.”

Matty folded his arms and remained standing. “You’re, like, three years older than me! You can’t order me around!”

“But I could beat the crap out of you, so...”

“Could not.”

“Could too,” Deros said. Matty gaped at him, and he shrugged. “What? She could so. She’s a pegasus knight, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!”

Deros scowled, which made him look like a miniature version of Atlas. The idea that Atlas had ever been that slim was somehow unnerving. “I think it’s cool.”

He blushed when Est grinned at him and said, “Aw, you’re too cute!” She gave Matty a pointed look. “Ten. Push ups.”

“Est, be nice,” Catria put in, before Matty could start another argument. She looked stony-faced now, but Conrad had seen her suppressing a smile whilst listening to the argument, so he wasn’t fooled.

“I am being nice!” Est protested. “You made me do fifty push ups once because I saluted with the wrong hand!”

“You were carrying a weapon in that hand! You could’ve killed yourself!”

“You nearly killed me with those push ups.”

“We wouldn’t hold it against you if you just left them here,” Kamui said to Palla.

She smiled, but it was a little sad.

“No?” Kamui shrugged. “Good luck on the journey home, then.”

Conrad winced a little, and he saw Leon’s eyes turn sharp, but before he could be subjected to any interrogation, Atlas returned with Reba in tow.

She grinned when she spotted Matty and Deros, who both ran to wrap their arms around her middle. “All the boys are back!” Reba laughed. “Now I’ll never get peace and quiet.”

“You missed us really,” Deros said.

“That I did,” Reba replied warmly. She turned to Palla. “And you found your sister too?”

Est put both her hands in the air and waved before Palla could say anything. “That’s me!”

“I wasn’t sure that youse all would make it, but I’ve never been more glad to be proved wrong.” Reba bent her head down to whisper something in Matty’s ear. The boy nodded and grabbed Deros’s hand, taking them both away into the village.

Reba turned back to them, her expression grim. “You missed some important news while you were out in the desert, though.”

Conrad’s heart skipped a bit. News about Anthiese? “What happened?”

“Well, the queen killed Desaix.” Conrad noticed Leon give a cold smile. “Unfortunately, the Rigelians are still fighting, and they’ve taken both the gates for the dam, and they’re going to flood Zofia.”

“What?!” Priestess Irma burst out. “That’s madness. Half of northern Zofia is a floodplain!”

“You’re preaching to the converted, sister,” Reba said dryly. “We’ve been sending runners out to the farmers and shepherds up north and trying to get the flocks in, but it’s a matter of time...”

“Why haven’t they just flooded it already?” Kamui asked.

“The gate at the Mother’s Temple can only be opened by the royal families,” Irma said. Her face had gone pale. She clasped her hands together. “The Rigelian Emperor must be sending one of his relatives—maybe even his nephew…”

“It’s worse even than that,” Reba said grimly. “The Rigelian army has already taken the temple. We took a few clerics in that managed to escape, but most of them are still trapped at the temple.”

Irma gasped. “Oh, by the Mother… And I wasn’t there...”

“You couldn’t have done anything, Priestess,” Jesse said gently. “But we can go and take the Temple back for you!”

“We can?” Deen muttered, making Jesse elbow him.

Conrad would’ve wondered when the two became so friendly, but having met Jesse, he knew that wasn’t a necessary prerequisite to being treated as an intimate friend.

Irma shook her head. “It wouldn’t do any good. The only way to prevent Zofia being flooded would be to flood the Rigelian side of the dam – it’s marshland and nobody lives there, so it wouldn’t hurt anyone. It would only delay the plans, not avert them. But only Queen Anthiese could open it, and she’s on the other side of the continent. She’d never make it in time.”

“A delay might still be useful, though,” Leon said. “If we could take the temple back and hold it for even a few weeks she would have the time...”

Kamui sighed. “Ah, here we go again.”

“You’d all be killed!” Irma protested.

Conrad had been thinking the same thing as Leon. Having fought alongside all of them—except Deen—he knew how skilled they were. Could they hold the temple against even the elite forces of Rigel? Yes. Some of them might even be able to make an escape afterwards—if there were a handful of them left to buy them time.

Of course it wouldn’t come to that, but Conrad wasn’t looking forward to revealing yet another secret.

He cleared his throat.

Everyone swung around to look at him in unison.

Kamui was appalled. “No,” he muttered. “I swear by every god that there is, if Conrad has yet another god damn secret—”

“Oh, by the Mother,” Irma whispered. “The hair. I should’ve known immediately.”

“I suppose the old king had enough children that only one survivor was against the odds...” Jesse said thoughtfully.

Atlas raised a hand. Catria looked at him and he put it down again sheepishly. “Not to be that person but—what are we talking about?”

Conrad offered Atlas a strained smile. “Well, you see… the, uh, the reason that I had to live in secret with Sage Halcyon in the first place—” Irma’s eyes somehow managed to grow even wider. “—was because… I’m one of King Lima’s children. Desaix tried to kill us all when he burned down the royal villa. If my survival had been known...”

“You would have been at risk. Yes, of course,” Irma muttered.

“Wait, but then why didn’t you show yourself when Queen Anthiese was crowned. Ain’t she your sister?” Atlas asked.

“That… might have complicated things. You see, my mother was Rigelian—”

“Lady Vittoria!” Irma broke in. Conrad blinked at her, not expecting anyone to remember his mother’s name. She softened, and added, “Lady Liprica, Queen Anthiese’s mother, was one of my clerics at the Mother’s Temple. She wrote to me often before her death, and she mentioned your mother several times in her letters.”

Leon made a small noise of recognition. “She was the Rigelian noble—the one King Lima demanded in exchange for providing Rigel with food during the famine.”

“He what?” Catria and Est blurted in unison.

“So you were worried that the idea of a half-Rigelian Prince of Zofia might be too tempting for the enemy to pass up...” Jesse nodded slowly whilst Deen blinked at him, shocked. Jesse had that effect on people. “And Queen Anthiese still wasn’t well established. Right. That makes sense.”

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry that I did tell any of you sooner,” Conrad offered. “But I’m not hiding any more secrets, I promise.”

“Thank the gods,” Kamui muttered under his breath.

Leon was suppressing a smile when Conrad caught his eye. “...That I know of,” he couldn’t resist adding.

Kamui cursed, and Jesse clapped him on the back. “He’s finally learning some wit,” Kamui groaned. “And it couldn’t possibly have come at a worse time.”

“It’s your own fault for being such a bad influence,” Leon said. “What will the Queen of Zofia think when she finds out who her brother has been associating with? You need to up your game.”

It was much more cheerful than Conrad had expected.

...Except for Palla, whose face was creased with pain. Conrad wanted to offer her some comfort, but he wasn’t sure what would be the right thing to do or say. He hoped there would at least be some time for him to apologise for keeping yet another secret from her. Of course he’d already apologised but—but Palla, he thought, had the right to expect to be taken into his confidence. It was not that he hadn’t wished to tell her…

“We’ll help too!” Est chirruped, bringing Conrad’s thoughts to a sudden stop.

“What?” Palla blinked at her, opening and closing her mouth a few times before she found her words. “Est, don’t you want to go home?”

“Well… yeah!” Est spread her hands helplessly. “But it doesn’t have to be right now. These guys helped to rescue me, so I think it’s only fair that we would help them out too, right? Right?”

Palla shook her head. “No one would expect...”

“I agree with Est,” Catria said, talking over Palla’s attempt at an objection. “We couldn’t have done it without them. Shouldn’t we do what we can to return the favour?”

“You too, Catria?” Palla looked from one to the other. She hesitated, shrinking in on herself a little. “I mean, are you… sure?”

“Of course,” Catria said.

“Duh,” Est agreed. Catria sighed and she added, “What?”

“Oh, you two, don’t start a fight now.” Palla put her face in her hands, but she was smiling. “But if you’re certain...”

“Well, you know we’ll take all the help we can get,” Leon said.

Palla met Conrad’s eyes, offering him a tentative smile, and though he meant to voice his agreement with Leon, somehow his breath caught in his throat and he couldn’t get any words out. He swallowed and managed to say, in a stilted voice. “Of course we would, as long as you’re absolutely certain—”

“Don’t you start too!” Est groaned.

Catria looked like she might be tempted to turn it into another argument, but Atlas spoke up before she could do more than scowl. “If you guys are going, then I guess you should count me in too.”

“Huh?” Est blinked at him. “But… your brothers...”

“They’ll be fine,” Reba said. “We’ll all look after them. With Grieth gone, they’re safest here.” She laughed suddenly. “Besides, can you think of the grief Matty would give you, Atlas, if you didn’t go?”

“Don’t say that!” Atlas protested. “I already said I was going, didn’t I?”

“Aw, man,” Kamui said, “I almost got rid of the lot of you.”

Leon rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to come, you know.”

“But who would be your plucky comic relief?”

“We’ve got Est now.”

Conrad expected Est to be offended by this, but she actually looked pleased. “That’s right! I can replace Kamui any time!”

“Do you know what a plucky comic relief is?” Catria muttered.

Kamui shook his head. “C’mon, she’s not as cute as me.”

“Uh, rude.”

Leon smothered a smile. “I couldn’t possibly comment.”

Kamui clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “It’s difficult to admit these things in public. I understand.”

“Are they always like this?” Sonya asked with interest.

Conrad had almost forgotten she was there.

“Oh, no,” Est said blithely, “Kamui usually isn’t that funny.”

Kamui spluttered and the others started laughing.

“Uh – sorry,” Conrad said to Sonya. “I realise this isn’t what we agreed, but...”

“It’s urgent. I understand. Zofia is your country too, I suppose.” Sonya smiled slightly. “Besides, it’s still on the way. Deen, are you coming?”

Deen fixed Conrad with a stern expression. “You really a prince?”

“Yes.”

“Guess your sister can afford my rates then.” He nodded. “I’ll help you. Won’t even take payment upfront.”

Kamui sighed, overhearing. “I should’ve said that. Hey, wait. You always said you weren’t a noble!”

“You can’t be a noble if you’re dead.”

“I’ve seen some of those noble family tombs; you definitely can.”

“The girls will stay here,” Sonya said firmly, and at the topic of witches, even Kamui fell silent. “If there’s a chance at a cure, they ought to live to see it.”

“Agreed,” Conrad said, which made her blink as though surprised. “Although the villagers may wish to use them for their defence if necessary. Perhaps you should talk to Atlas about arranging for their care?”

“Yes...” She nodded slowly. “Wise advice. I’ll do just that.” And she drifted away, Deen following at her shoulder.

The chatter around Conrad seemed to blur into a low buzzing in his ears. He took several deep breaths; in, out… He felt a little like Kamui’s repeated ‘I shouldn’t have said anything’. Yes, here was a chance to keep his friends for a little while longer, because of the suffering of others. He didn’t quite feel glad—more like he felt like lying down for a long sleep—but… he wasn’t sad, either. Not very proper for a prince.

A prince. It felt excessively strange to call himself that for the first time in years. To be known as a prince, Prince Conrad. He hadn’t felt that princely when he was a child and he didn’t really feel it now.

He watched the group chatter again. Est was arguing with Palla for a change, whilst Catria looked on in despair. Leon and Kamui were discussing something with Jesse, but the man himself was half-distracted trying to rope Deen into the conversation—he had a firm hold of the man’s arm and was refusing to let go. Atlas talked to Sonya haltingly, pausing after every few words to see her reaction.

He was, he thought, really very lucky. Maybe most of the reason he didn’t feel very much like Prince Conrad was how they had all reacted like he was only Conrad.

Palla caught his eye as she finished her argument with Est and frowned. ‘Are you alright?’ she mouthed. Or perhaps she actually spoke, but he didn’t quite hear her.

Conrad smiled and nodded.

He was lucky, indeed.

*

Despite the urgency, they couldn’t leave immediately. The long trek through the desert had tired them all; Conrad slept nearly ten hours the first night. After that, they still had to mend their weapons and armour, and all of Est’s equipment was in terrible shape: Grieth might have kept rider and pegasus because they’d fetch a higher price together, but he hadn’t bothered to upkeep the saddle or weapon holsters.

Finally, after three days, they were ready to leave. Strictly speaking, they could have used more time to rest. But there just wasn’t more time available.

Reba, Atlas’s brothers, and the rest of the village came to see them off. Matty and Derros cried, and waved a lot. Derros gave Est a bunch of wild flowers and said thanks for keeping their spirits up whilst held by Grieth.

“Aww.” Est smiled, taking a deep sniff from the bunch of flowers. “Your brother is so cute, Atlas!”

Derros went bright red and hid behind Matty, who rolled his eyes.

“They’re good kids,” Atlas said.

“But you’re going to mock him to death over this crush when you get back, right?” Kamui asked.

“Nah.” Atlas winked at Matty. “He’s the eldest while I’m gone. That’s his job.”

Matty’s face lit up, and Derros emerged for long enough to stick his tongue out at his oldest brother.

“We’ll look after ‘em,” Reba said. She nodded to Sonya. “Your witches an’ all.”

Sonya inclined her head.

“Are we going?” Deen said.

“Shh,” Kamui told him. “Just because you didn’t make any friends!”

He looked at Kamui like he had grown a second head. Leon snorted and Sonya hid a smile behind her hand.

Conrad shook his head, but their exchange seemed to have broken the awkward feeling of leaving unfinished business behind, and they began to make their way down the hill at a slow and steady pace. They weren’t even out of sight of the village before Est and Catria began arguing, this time over whether Est and her pegasus would be allowed to fly ahead and scout that day or whether it was still too soon.

Palla put her face in her hands behind them, but Jesse came up beside her and said something, making her laugh.

Conrad’s chest felt strangely tight, but this let him slow his horse down until he was walking besides Atlas. He kept glancing back towards the village and seemed lost in thought, not even noticing that Conrad was there until he cleared his throat.

“What? Oh, sorry,” Atlas said.

“No need to apologise,” Conrad replied. “I just couldn’t help but notice… you know, you shouldn’t feel obliged to come with us. I know that you and your brothers only just reunited.”

Atlas shook his head. “I want to help.”

“But if you changed your mind—”

“Conrad, it’s fine.” Atlas paused. “Your majesty? Uh… how am I supposed to address you?”

“Just my name is fine,” Conrad said.

“Ain’t that too casual for royalty?”

Shuddering, Conrad shook his head. He was ready to admit to being King Lima’s son—to being a prince of the realm, and all that entailed, much less so. “Please. I’d prefer it.”

“Oh. Well, if you’re sure,” Atlas said, but he couldn’t conceal a huge sigh of relief. “It’s weird to think of you as a prince, anyway.” He shook himself. “But that’s not the point! The point is, you helped me rescue my brothers. Even if it weren’t somethin’ that could hurt so many people in Zofia, I’d owe you.”

Conrad was so startled that he accidentally pulled on the reins, bringing his horse to an abrupt halt. He patted the creature’s neck apologetically as he nudged them into a walk again. “That wasn’t me. Everyone else—”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Atlas said, “and I’d help them out too. Well, maybe I couldn’t go to a whole other continent for the ladies… anyway, I know you came with us even though you had your own stuff to do.” Even though Conrad was astride a horse, Atlas was still tall enough to pat his elbow without trouble. “That means a lot, you know?”

“If you say so,” Conrad said. He couldn’t help sounding a little dubious about Atlas’s logic, but he meant it with all sincerity when he added: “In any case, I appreciate having you along.”

*

The temple was normally a four day journey, but they were determined to do it in three. They pushed hard during the day, and by the evening, they were all exhausted – Est actually fell asleep in the saddle and barely stirred at all when Catria, shaking her head, lifted her out of it and tucked her into her bedroll.

Conrad felt his own sleep encroaching like the inevitable tide, but he volunteered to take one of the middle watches when they agreed that one was necessary. It was a grim necessity in this area, where there had reportedly been large numbers of Terrors preying upon unwary travellers. Jesse took first watch, then Deen (who was the best rested of any of them), then Conrad and finally Leon.

He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he felt that if he was asking everyone to put themselves on the line to help him, it was the least he could do to shoulder a little extra responsibility and take a few of their burdens away.

But when he awoke the next morning, it was to sunshine streaming through a flap in the tent as Leon announced that it was time to go.

Confused, he approached Deen once they were on the move. “You didn’t wake me for my turn at watch?”

Deen looked at him sidelong. The scar looked particularly ugly and discoloured in the cold morning light. “Don’t take it personally. Wasn’t a kindness. You’re the leader of this expedition, yeah?”

Conrad reluctantly nodded. “If there must be one.”

“Listen. I get it.” Deen rolled his shoulders, sighing. “Don’t ask the men to do anything you wouldn’t do. Show them that you value them. Best commanders live by those rules.”

He was too alarmed by the idea of being a commander to protest.

Deen pierced him with a stern look out of the corner of his eye. “But don’t do it to the point of stupidity, or they’ll just question your judgement. Mind your own limits as well as theirs.”

He seemed to have experience in this area; Conrad assumed he knew what he was talking about. “I see. Thank you for your words of wisdom.”

“Like I said. I ain’t saying this to be considerate.”

“Thank you for your consideration of the mission, then,” he said.

Deen frowned, but could not find anything to say against this, and merely grunted and turned his face away.

Conrad wondered if Jesse might really be onto something with the way he kept trying to badger Deen to come out of his shell. There certainly seemed to be more to him that Deen was eager to let on…

Not that it was really any of Conrad’s business. But he mentioned the conversation to Jesse later and watched him grin like a proud parent.

*

The second day was through the valley in the lands near the river, where the mud was almost like quicksand for how it sucked at their feet and slowed them down. Conrad heeded Deen’s advice, and chose for the watches those who were least tired: the three Whitewing sisters, who had flown over most of it, and Conrad himself, since his poor horse had done most of the work. The middle watches went to Catria and Palla; Est was first and Conrad the last.

He didn’t ask Palla to do the penultimate watch, because he thought it might be—presumptuous? Leading? But nonetheless, he was pleased to find her long hair tickling his nose when she shook him gently awake later that night.

He crawled out of the tent. The night air was cold and Conrad’s breath misted in front of his face. Palla smiled and, without saying anything, offered him her cloak. It was still warm from her own body heat, which felt more intimate than it ought to.

Conrad’s face flushed, but he managed to whisper, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Palla replied, her voice also low.

He paused, searching for the right words. This was the first private moment they’d been able to share for some time. Conrad wanted to find something significant to say; something beautiful, maybe. But he had never had the ability to make words sound elegant, so he had to settle for being honest.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before.” Palla sucked in a breath – he could see by her stillness that he knew exactly what he was talking about, which meant that it had been bothering her as much as it had him. His heart sank at the thought. “It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, it was that—”

She interrupted in a soft voice. “I understand. You didn’t want to think what it might mean to be a prince.”

Conrad stared at her. She’d taken the words right out of his mouth.

Smiling, Palla said, “I would never leave Princess Minerva’s service; I owe her too much. But—” She stopped as her voice became thick. After a moment, she steadied herself and let out a breath, trying again. “But from time to time, I have found myself wondering what I could do if I wasn’t a knight. So I understand. I have no resentment over you keeping a secret, so you need not seek my forgiveness.”

It pleased him to hear it, but there was something—wistful about her words, except too weighty to be wistful. People did not swallow back tears over a vague sense of wistfulness.

Before she could turn away to go into her tent, Conrad grabbed her arm. “I still meant what I said about coming to see you.”

“Conrad?”

“I...” He wasn’t sure quite what had possessed him to say it. But he felt that… if he was even remotely as important to Palla as she was to him… it was something that he wanted her to be sure of. “I couldn’t be completely truthful with you. I knew I would wish to stay and see my sister Anthiese safely on the throne, and I didn’t want to—to raise false expectations. But even if it was years before I could leave, I would still wish to go.”

Palla did not say anything for a moment, which seemed to stretch on for an eternity to Conrad. Suddenly he felt cold fingers winding through his own, and Palla’s smile was faintly visible in the dim light of the moon.

“And even if it was years, I would still wish to receive you,” she said. Conrad was terribly aware of their hands clasped together. “Thank you for… clarifying.”

Their eyes met and for a long moment Conrad was dazzled by the reflection of the stars in the deep green of her irises—

—But then he came to his senses and blinked. It was like a veil being lifted off of him. “It’s freezing,” he said, slipping his fingers away from Palla’s and feeling colder for it. “You should get inside and get some rest.”

“How thoughtful of you, after stealing my warm cloak,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice. Then, to his surprise, she leaned forward a little to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight, Conrad.”

Conrad forgot to say goodnight in reply until the flap of the tent had already closed.

Chapter Text

The scout had indicated that the Sluice Gate was stuffed full of Duma Faithful, which made the approach a nervous one – the Sluice Gate was not intended to be a defensible position; the forts and castles surrounding it were supposed to take care of that but Sir Mycen’s army had already taken most of them.

The Gate itself had been built in a time of peace, a symbol of the friendship between Zofia and Rigel and the sharing of Mila’s bounty. It was built with wide corridors and large windows meant more for facilitating the movement and admiration of processions rather than fighting.

If it had been stocked with a normal fighting force, it would’ve been entirely to the advantage of the Deliverance – the were battle-tested and highly motivated as well as stocked with some of Valentia’s finest knights, although it was perhaps a little crass of Fernand to say as much whilst counting himself amongst their number.

The mages and cantors of the Duma Faithful, not to mention their witches and any Terrors they might summon, were a different proposition altogether. The best defence against magic in the field was always not to be hit, but that would be difficult inside, even if the corridors were wide enough for five riders to charge through abreast.

Both sides would be facing high casualties, without question.

The aftermath of such a battle would be the first major test for Queen Anthiese – how she was able to maintain morale. The queen was only young, and keenly aware of her duties to her subjects. She would take it hard.

Fernand hoped that knowing one innocent girl had been saved – the queen’s debt to Luthier had been repaid – would do something to ease that burden.

Besides, he was also interested in seeing how the royal Alm held his own in a much more difficult fight than he was used to. If his blood ran true, it should be doable for him, but things were muddied by the fact that he’d been raised a commoner… even Celica had some kind of noble upbringing.

The Duma Faithful were truly the worst kind of opponents; powerful, but they’d never done anything to earn that power other except to mouth words of loyalty to their demented god.

Even massing troops against them was a difficult endeavour – they thoughtlessly flung their dark magic through the beautiful stained windows of the Sluice Gate building, at least half of which were already shattered. It just went to show how little respect the Duma Faithful had for even their own country. Disgraceful.

Disgraceful, but effective. Even getting close was a dangerous proposition.

“Are you certain you want to just charge straight in, Alm?” the peasant healer—Faye—said, worrying at the straps holding his armour together with nervous fingers.

“Well, no,” Alm said. “I don’t want to. But that’s what we have to do to save Delthea. Anyway, someone has to go first – it might as well be me.”

“And Fernand,” Faye added, curling her lip.

Was she sneering? At him? The nerve of this baseborn girl—

Fernand had to remind himself to bite his tongue. Faye was a close friend of Celica, and if he began an argument with her, the queen would most certainly hear of it.

Besides, she was… he supposed… not the worst sort of commoner. The cleric, Silque, had managed to train her into an acceptable healer, a talent rare enough even in those of better lineage than her. Maybe there was a distant noble ancestor in her somewhere. These things did resurface every now and then.

Fernand clung to this thought when the girl disregarded him with a sniff and turned back to Alm. “Are you sure you can trust him?” she asked, not even attempting to lower her voice.

Grinding his teeth would be extremely uncouth, but he was sorely tempted when Alm smiled and said, “He volunteered. Being as crazy as the rest of us has got to count for something, right?”

Faye’s only response to this was a dubious expression, which had Fernand feeling a certain kinship with her despite her extreme rudeness.

Eventually, she sighed. “Well, I know I can’t persuade you otherwise, so please just promise me you’ll be careful. Celica would be devastated if anything happened to you.”

“The rest of you would be a little upset too, I hope.”

Alm wilted under Faye’s furious gaze as she snarled at him, matching the way Fernand’s temper flared at the idea of the boy treating Celica’s affections so cavalierly.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Faye poked Alm’s chestplate for emphasis. “You both need each other. And I need both of you to be okay.” Her face softened and she gave Alm’s pauldron one final tug. “So take care of yourself.”

“Don’t worry,” Alm replied, solemn and serious now. “I won’t let Celica down.”

Even when Fernand had thought Alm a simple peasant, his dedication to the queen had been truly admirable. In fact, all of the queen’s friends from Ram – uppity healer included – showed a concern for her that was touching. Celica did not dwell on it in meetings with her advisors, but Fernand was vaguely aware that they continued to assist her behind the scenes, providing information on the mood of the troops, or sparring, or researching subjects which the queen did not have time to touch on.

Of course, that was only the consideration that the commoners should give to someone of Celica’s station. But Fernand was painfully aware that peasants did not always give the nobility their due.

It was also discomforting to think that, in some ways, Celica had been better served by being raised in Ram than in her rightful place as the Crown Princess, even if Desaix hadn’t been scheming to take the throne. Of course the nobility also owed Celica their total deference and earnest loyalty, but… well, Fernand was not so unfamiliar with Court as to not realise it wouldn’t have worked that way in practise. Nobles would’ve spent time jockeying for position, lying and cheating and even—like Desaix—murdering to get what they wanted from the princess.

Among the peasantry was not the queen’s rightful place, but… reflecting on it, and seeing how she interacted with her friends, Fernand couldn’t blame her for thinking of that as an idyllic life.

Fernand was rudely disturbed from his thoughts when the healer rounded on him with a thunderous expression. “And you!”

He was too overcome by shock to do more than blink at her in surprise.

“If you let Alm come to harm just because you think he’s beneath you, I’ll—”

“Faye,” Alm interrupted, sighing.

He didn’t have to say anything else. She closed her mouth with an audible snap of her teeth—not that she ceased to glower at Fernand.

“I have been charged with ensuring his safety by the queen,” he answered stiffly, refusing to bend under the gaze of a peasant, even if there was a fire in her eyes. “If it is within my power to prevent it, no harm will come to him.”

“See that you do,” Faye replied, equally stiff.

If he had not had the revelation about Alm’s heritage, Fernand would’ve dismissed her concern as the skewed priorities of a lovestruck girl, but now he was filled with doubt. He had been excusing himself with the fact that Alm did not seem so different from any other commoner at first glance, but did that only mean that this peasant girl, so devoted to Alm and to Celica, was more perceptive than he?

It made him doubt all of his judgements. If he could not recognise royalty raised as a commoner, how could he ever hope to sort the wheat from the chaff? How was he to tell the quality of any soul from another?

Fernand tried to push the thoughts aside. Whatever his own failings, they would only be distractions at this moment.

“We should prepare to enter, Alm,” he said.

Alm blinked a little, and it took Fernand a moment to realise that it was because he’d been addressed by name – which Fernand had avoided doing in the past. He had avoided addressing the boy as much as possible at all, in fact.

“Sure,” was all Alm said. He said his final goodbyes to Faye and walked with Fernand towards the front lines.

“You know,” he said after a while, “if it really comes down to me or the mission, you should—”

“Put those thoughts away at once,” Fernand said, alarmed. “Your life is certainly more important than this mage girl, however powerful she is.”

“We’re both peasants,” Alm replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “But mage peasants are rarer. You follow my logic here.”

Fernand could not contradict this without betraying his promise to Celica. “The queen would be devastated if something were to happen to you. So you should not consider yourself so expendable.”

“I thought I was a bad influence on the queen?” Alm pressed.

Had Fernand really made such a bad impression that Alm would wheedle him so? Yet he could not deny it was deserved. “It is not my place to question who the queen chooses to be friends with. If I… have ever done so… then I was wrong to doubt her judgement. Or to cause her majesty pain by suggesting that her friends were inadequate.”

There, Fernand thought, with no little satisfaction. That should go some way into getting me back into his good graces.

He began to grow worried, however, when Alm mulled this answer over for some time.

Almost a full minute passed before he said: “Huh.”

Fernand wanted to scream. That is your reply?!

But then, a heartbeat later, Alm added, “I suppose I owe you an apology. I’ve misjudged you.” He clapped Fernand on the shoulder in a manner which was close to friendly. “If you really have Celica’s best interests at heart—that’s the main thing. I can trust you to look after if… well, if the worst happens.”

Fernand was self-aware enough to know that he would not have been nearly so gracious if he still believed Alm to be only ‘some peasant boy’ of whom the queen was fond.

“It is important to look out for the queen’s personal interests,” he said instead, inclining his head in agreement, “since she is so reluctant to prioritise herself.”

Alm smiled. “Right? She works herself way too hard sometimes. I’m glad to have someone who understands that. Listen, at the next meeting I’m going to insist she delegates the battle reports to Sir Clive—”

“No, Lukas would be better,” Fernand said without thinking. “Clive is talented but he has not Lukas’s eye for detail.”

“Oh. Right.” Alm blinked. “Well, that makes sense, I suppose. I’m surprised to hear you recommend him after what you said before, though.”

Fernand only realised then how accustomed he had become to Lukas’s presence at their meetings; yes, he was of the lowest rank of nobility, but he’d proved himself capable. It had honestly been such a long time since Fernand had considered the station of his birth. It no longer seemed as relevant or as pressing.

Fernand was not sure how to express this in an acceptable manner, so he simply shrugged.

“...Anyway, we can discuss that later,” Alm said.

Fernand was grateful that he chose not to press the issue. Right then, he was not sure what he would’ve said.

Chapter Text

The last day on the march was tense. Walks that had been filled with chatter, comments, and the odd joke died into a wary silence, which even Est and Jesse were only able to occasionally lighten with discussion and banter.

Priestess Irma hadn’t said a word to anyone for maybe a whole day. She kept pace with them, uncomplaining despite no martial training, gripping her hands together in front of her so hard that her knuckles turned white. It could have been prayer or it could have been an effort to stop herself from uselessly wringing her hands. Perhaps it was both.

Conrad had misgivings about bothering her at what was obviously a trying time, but, however painful, the topic would have to be broached at some point. “Excuse me, Priestess.”

She looked up at him with a ghost of a smile which faded away quickly. “Yes?”

“We will be depending on you to advise us about the best way into the Temple,” he said, partly as a request, and partly as a warning. “We may even have to ask you to accompany one of the sisters on a scouting mission.”

“Oh – of course. I hadn’t thought...” She shook her head. Conrad could not help noticing the unhealthy pallor of her skin and the skin circles under her eyes. “Whatever is required of me. I have always had a strong stomach, so you need not fear that I will be useless in the air.”

Conrad nodded and lapsed into silence, considering what to say. He wished to offer her some comfort, but unlike the others, he hadn’t spent months with her in cramped quarters, learning the meaning of small expressions and movements until understanding them became second nature.

He could only say: “We’ll see the sisters of the Temple safely restored to your care.”

“To my care,” the priestess said. She looked down at her clenched hands. “Such as it is.”

He didn’t know her well enough to say anything to this, so he kept a respectful silence. But he also kept pace with Priestess Irma until they made camp in the early afternoon, letting her know that she was not alone.

“And the Temple’s just over the next hill?” Deen asked, squinting towards the horizon.

“Unless they moved it,” Kamui said.

Jesse looked at Deen thoughtfully. “You haven’t come this far north before?”

Deen made a noise like a growl; probably, Conrad thought, at the unintentional reveal of something personal. Sonya batted him in the chest with the back of her hand. He probably didn’t even feel it, but he still gave her an indignant look.

“Play nice,” Sonya said.

He narrowed his eyes at her rather than admit to anything, but after a moment he folded his arms across his chest, and it was back to business. “Doesn’t look like anyone lives in the area any more, which means we can’t rely on local information.”

“Maybe the Rigelians cleared them out?” Leon suggested.

“Haven’t had any refugees come south,” Atlas said darkly.

Irma winced and bowed her head.

Deen was more practically minded. “A pegasus is going to be noticed if we ask one of the Archaneans to scout. Could put them on their guard.”

“Will they know what it means, though?” Est asked. “I mean, I know pegasi are rare here, but they won’t automatically think someone is coming to attack them, right?”

“Well, Grieth was trying to sell you to them.” Deen shrugged. “They’ve probably heard that he’s dead by now, so they might put the two together and make some educated guesses. Hard to say.”

Est made a gagging noise. “He was trying to sell me to them? Ugh!”

“Not just you,” he clarified. “It was going to be the three of you. Package deal. That’s why he was keeping the little one back, when he heard rumours the big sisters had chased her down to Valentia.”

Est stopped in the middle of pretending to be sick. All three of the sisters stared at Deen in appalled silence.

The moment stretched on. Even Deen began to look uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet, crossing his arms over his chest and muttering, “Well, he ain’t going to do it now, is he?”

“...Anyway!” Jesse said, tone cheerfully forceful. “That is something to consider when we decide whether we should send a scout by wing or by foot.”

“I don’t see why it would make us send a scout on foot instead,” Catria said. “A foot scout isn’t immune to being spotted, and they’d be at greater risk.”

Jesse smiled. “You’re a little biased, though, aren’t you?”

Catria stared at him with a stony expression.

“...That was a joke.”

To save further argument, Conrad cut in before Jesse could put his other foot in his mouth. “Priestess Irma has offered to survey the situation at the Temple for us, since she knows it best. I’m not altogether certain she would be able to keep up on foot, however...”

“That settles it then.” Est nodded so enthusiastically that her whole body bobbed up and down. “I’m going!”

Catria immediately launched into a tirade of protest that was said so fast Conrad couldn’t process it—probably because Est already had one foot in the stirrups and was offering a hand to Priestess Irma.

“Est!” Palla said sharply. The little sister froze in her tracks. “You can’t just go running off—we have to discuss this.”

“And we meant to rest before charging straight into more work,” Catria added.

“It’s only scouting! You guys used to make me do that all the time!” Est waved her hands at them. “Huey is the one who’s going to be doing most of the work.”

Her pegasus whinnied as though in assent.

Palla frowned, but couldn’t seem to think of an immediate objection. “Still...”

“I know what to look for!” Est pressed her advantage. “I’ve not been out of the army that long, you know.”

Conrad had a strong suspicion that that was not the basis of Catria’s and Palla’s objection, but they seemed to know how well Est would take to being ‘babied’ by them.

“We’re gonna lose the light if you guys keep arguing about this,” Deen growled. “I don’t give a damn who goes, but someone’s gotta.”

“See?” Est said. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Come on, Priestess!”

Priestess Irma looked nervously towards the two older sisters, but Palla merely sighed and Catria was too busy pinching the bridge of her nose to raise any objection.

Est patted the saddle behind her. “Huey is perfectly friendly!”

She helped the priestess into the saddle and within a few moments they were away. Conrad could’ve sworn he saw Est’s mouth moving the whole while. She was… certainly friendly.

“Ah, blessed quiet,” Kamui said, stretching his arms and letting out a huge yawn. “I’m free at last.”

Leon gave him a strange look. “You’ve been talking under your breath this whole time.”

“That’s not my fault; I was talking to you.”

“You were?” Leon asked blankly.

Kamui threw up his hands in despair.

“I’m never quite sure if you two are joking or not,” Conrad said.

“There, there.” Kamui mimed patting his head. “We can’t all be blessed with my sense of humour.”

“A small mercy for which I pray daily in thanks,” Leon said in a stage whisper.

“I heard Conrad make a joke once!” Atlas declared. Even Conrad looked at him, and Atlas hunched his shoulders under the attention, which did very little to make him seem smaller. “...At least, I think it was a joke.”

Conrad frowned, unsure if he was being made fun of.

Jesse clapped him on the shoulder, smiling broadly. “Not to worry, my man! Stick by me and you’ll pick up a sense of humour in no time!”

“He’s been travelling with me for a few months,” Kamui said.

Jesse’s grin did not alter one iota. “I did not mention you for a reason, Kamui!”

Kamui pouted, and the rest laughed – even Deen turned his face away as though he might be hiding a smile.

Conrad couldn’t help but crack a smile, too. “If you can promise, I’ll be your faithful understudy, Jesse.”

“He’s learning already!”

“Just don’t let him teach you how to approach women,” Catria said, scowling.

Palla’s eyes were bright and lovely with laughter, a brilliant green as they caught the afternoon sunshine, and her smile was nearly as radiant.

Conrad was not above thinking that Jesse might have some useful advice for someone with no experience whatsoever—if it were taken with a large pinch of salt.

Still laughing and talking, they began to prepare the camp, waiting for Est’s and Irma’s return so they could discuss their plans for tomorrow.

*

Est had missed how dramatic it felt to have the wind blowing through her ears and the beat of Huey’s wings around her when she was on a mission.

...Well, it was only a little scouting mission, but it was still kind of fun. Shame about all the danger and stuff that made it so dramatic. She’d kind of promised Abel she would try to avoid all of that… oops? But it was for a really good cause!

He’d understand when she got back home and explained everything. She’d written a letter and left it with the nice folks in Atlas’s village, but there was only so much you could explain in a small amount of space. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to get to him…

“Um, miss?” said a voice from behind her. “Aren’t we going to survey the Temple?”

Oh! Priestess Irma! Est had nearly forgotten about her. “We’re just getting height before we fly closer,” she explained. “It makes it less likely for people to spot us!”

Although it was also really cold up this high. Est had that warming trick with magic that her sisters had taught her years ago, but maybe she shouldn’t have brought a civilian along… a bit late now, but she at least wouldn’t go higher.

When everyone said they were close to the Temple, Est didn’t realise just how close. She could already see it, and it did look sufficiently Temple-y. White marble columns and an open courtyard would’ve been elegant and imposing to someone on the ground, and the beautiful domed ceiling at the back looked impressive even when it seemed to be the size of a dolls’ house for Est.

She squinted. It had obviously fallen into disrepair, though. The walls were crawling with ivy, and the white marble was dirty and chipped in many places.

“Oh, Mother...” Est heard Irma sigh. “Why did you desert us?”

Oh yeah, the dragon Mila was supposed to live here! Est couldn’t imagine that a dragon who liked to be worshipped as a god would enjoy living in a space like this in the state it was in. And it couldn’t have fallen into such a state in the few weeks the Rigelians had been occupying the place. What gives?

Whatever. Not really their biggest problem at the moment. Est squinted, trying to spot any troops. With the open courtyard, she expected to see someone, but all she could make out were what looked like wooden barricades criss-crossing the space. That was the obvious entrance to the temple, so she expected to see at least a few troops there…

“Are there any other entrances to the temple?”

“No!” Irma said.

“Then where are the soldiers...” Est murmured.

Surprisingly, the priestess seemed to hear her. She let go of Est’s waist with one hand to point timidly at a small roofed space to the right of the courtyard. “They could be set up in the antechamber? It opens directly onto the courtyard, so you could see anyone approach.”

But the antechamber was small, and the barricades weren’t even set up to defend it. Est frowned.

“There’s also the receiving room and the basement… the stairs are near the back, there.”

Apparently the big domed space was where the dragon Mila received her worshippers. Figures. The barricades did make more sense if they were meant to defend soldiers set up in those places, but that didn’t explain why she couldn’t see any of them.

Maybe they were just being really subtle and hiding, but it gave Est a bad feeling…

A shadow fell over them.

Est dived.

It was purely an instinct from training, from the war, but it saved their lives. Irma shrieked as an ugly, winged monster, armed with a crude spear, darted through the air where they’d just been.

Est found it hard to breathe as Irma squeezed her middle tightly, but it was just as well, because she had to send Huey into a spiralling dive to avoid another of the beasts—and another—another—

The dark, leathery skin stank of decay. Est choked on the stench as another monster burst out of the clouds, just brushing past Huey’s wing tips.

“What are they?!” Est shouted, but she got no answer from Irma as she was forced to bank sharply to the left.

There were too many of them. Est couldn’t pause to count and she had lost track of all the pairs of leathery wings, all her focus driven into a hyper awareness of the sky around her. Twist to avoid a spear, dive to avoid a sweeping claw, and then pull up again and to the right as thin, spine-like teeth missed Huey’s throat by inches.

Her saving grace was that they weren’t very coordinated together, but she also couldn’t perform some of her more complex manoeuvres because of Irma on the back.

I wonder if they struggle at higher altitudes… they look reptilian, so maybe they’d be sluggish? I could fly higher—

Only if that didn’t work she and Huey would’ve wasted energy and it might be hard to get back to the others with them on their tail. It would be hard enough already.

But Est could do it! She learnt from the best, after all. No way would Palla or Catria be caught out by something like this, so she couldn’t be either.

“Hang on tight!” Est called, and then she nudged Huey into a steep dive.

Catch me if you can, monsters!

*

After three days hard march on the road, they were all pretty exhausted. Conrad didn’t see the need to hurry anyone about setting up camp just yet—there was still plenty of light and they might as well wait for Est to come back, although she might be another—

“Is that Est already?” Leon said suddenly, causing everyone in the camp to stop what they were doing. “What are those?”

It was hard to make out Est’s pegasus against the pale sky, but the dark smudges swooping through the sky were plain as day.

Catria and Palla were already gathering up their weapons and getting their mounts ready to assist.

“What are they?” Catria asked. “They’re not bulky enough to be wyverns—”

“Terrors,” Conrad said shortly, picking up his lance. As Est drew closer it became clear there were six of the smudges harrying her through the sky, and they might be forced to fight them. “Gargoyles. I’ve never seen them in a place like this. They usually prefer dark places.”

“There must be a cantor controlling them!” Sonya gritted and squinted into the sky.

“Cantor?” Atlas asked, fiddling with the hilt of his sword. He hadn’t drawn it yet.

“The more powerful disciples of Duma can create Terrors, just as he can.”

Sonya didn’t take her eyes off the small figure of Est until Deen put a hand on her shoulder. “That’s too far, even for you,” he said.

She frowned. “But maybe if—”

“We’ll take care of this,” Palla said, as Catria leapt on Floris and took to the sky. “You pack up whatever you can. We may have to move in a hurry.”

“Be safe!” Conrad managed to tell her in the second before she took off. Palla waved a hand of acknowledgement and sped after Catria.

“She’s right,” Sonya said, slowly relaxing. Deen removed the hand from her shoulder. “Cantors make a rudimentary connection to their summons. They should know the gargoyles have found something. We’ll need to find a place to hide for the night before they send more after us.”

“Great.” Kamui sighed. “And here I was looking forward to some peace and quiet.”

“You know we would’ve had to fight them tomorrow anyway, right?” Atlas said.

“Sure, but then it would’ve been a surprise. I like surprises.”

“I don’t,” Deen growled. He tried to smack the back of Kamui’s head as he passed him, but Kamui ducked under it.

Deen scowled at him but went to help Jesse, who was sorting through their supplies, tossing out bits and pieces that would slow them down. A good idea that hadn’t even occurred to Conrad with the speed it had all come upon them.

“We might be able to come back for it later,” he said, “so stow it somewhere out of the way.”

“If we had more time I’d say to bury it,” Leon commented idly. He was scanning the skies, and already had an arrow nocked to his bow. “But I think we might have company in a minute.”

Conrad squinted, but all he could make out were the pegasi and the gargoyles dancing around each other.

Leon must’ve had good eyes, seeing something that the rest of them couldn’t, because a moment later two of the smudges broke away and began to grow larger as they approached. Another gargoyle suddenly dropped out of the sky like a stone. One of the sisters must have killed it. Maybe that frightened the others into looking for an easier target?

Leon did not draw his bow, but he stood in a ready stance, never removing his eyes from the gargoyles. Kamui half drew his sword from its hilt, looked at him, and then put it back and went to help Jesse.

“For gods’ sake, man, keep at least one cooking pot,” he groused. “Have you any idea how good the forage is around here? No? Well then, if you don’t want us to run out of food, keep the damn pot and some of Atlas’s herbs.”

“Got them in my bag,” Atlas said proudly.

The casual complaining, so Kamui-like, became a faint hum in the background as Conrad’s focus narrowed to the dark shapes in the sky, becoming clearer by the second. Another of the gargoyles was killed by the Whitewing knights, and one of the pegasi turned away from the fight in the sky, tearing after the two gargoyles approaching their positions on the ground.

Too slow, Conrad thought.

Leon raised his bow. Conrad could count his breaths by the loud thud of his heartbeats. Thump, thump, thump. In. Thump, thump, thump. Out.

The creatures were close enough now to make out the grotesque shape of their heads, the red and sunken eyes, the mud-coloured flesh and the long shadow of their wings.

Conrad had only seen gargoyles a handful of times before. They were by far the most threatening of the tools Jedah used to hunt for Halcyon and his people. The Sage worked daily to strengthen the enchantments keeping Terrors way from the village, but still, there was only so long that ground polluted by Duma’s madness could be an anchor for such benevolent magic. The protections had been slowly decaying for years already.

Closer still they came. Conrad tightened the grip on his lance. Between one blink and the next, Leon drew back the arrow and released.

He only realised this because one of the gargoyles shrieked with a noise that burrowed into his soul, an arrow suddenly sprouting from its shoulder, and out of the corner of his eye Leon drew another arrow from his quiver and fired it in one smooth motion.

That one pierced the gargoyle’s eye and it dropped like a stone. The second gargoyle screeched and dipped sharply as the dead one struck its wing on the way down.

In the meantime, the Whitewing sisters managed to dispose of the other two gargoyles. Leon loosed two more arrows and the last one went down.

Leon stepped back and let out a sigh. “Maybe I should’ve let them come closer. I might’ve been able to salvage the arrows.”

Kamui looked alarmed for the first time. “Please don’t say things like that. I get worried.”

“Aw, it’s okay, sweetie; I can look after myself.”

Grumbling under his breath, Kamui turned back to help with the packing. Leon flicked his ear as he walked past, making Kamui yelp – but there was a small smile playing about his mouth.

Those two have an odd way of showing they care for one another.

Conrad found himself clenching and unclenching his fists as the sisters flew back. It was impossible to tell if they’d been injured in the skirmish from this distance. Of course he had faith in Palla’s abilities, but everything had come upon them so suddenly…

When the three of them touched down, however, Palla seemed no worse for wear. There was only a deep scrape in her armour to show that she’d been in a fight at all.

Conrad took a few steps towards her, then hesitated when he saw her in deep conversation with her sisters, But she seemed to sense his presence and stopped mid-word to turn and smile at him.

He found his courage and closed the gap between them in an instant. Palla’s hand closed around his without appearing to have any conscious thought behind it.

“You see?” she said. “I am quite well.”

“Of course,” Conrad replied, but the relief was nearly dizzying nonetheless.

Catria cleared her throat suddenly. He blinked at her, but she was not looking at them at all, but at Est, who was beaming despite looking haggard. It was only when he saw the figure sat behind her that Conrad remembered himself. With regret, he squeezed Palla’s hand gently and then let go.

“Priestess Irma!” he said. “Are you alright?”

It seemed a foolish question when she looked so unearthly pale and her whole body was trembling, but she said, “I’ve been worse. Would you… be so good as to help me down?”

Conrad had to bodily lift her from Est’s pegasus. She leaned on him for support, closing her eyes.

“I’m real sorry about all of that,” Est said, urging her pegasus a little closer so she could peer worriedly at Irma.

Without opening her eyes, Irma replied, “I’m sure you did everything you could.”

Est nodded. “But hey, you did good to hold on at all!”

There was an audible slap as Catria clapped her hands over her eyes.

Conrad decided that it might be best to move the conversation along to more pressing matters. “Sonya, you said that there’s likely a cantor summoning those creatures. That means we can expect more. Being discovered now would be disastrous, so we need to regroup somewhere that they won’t find us. The mountains around here are full of old caves; it’s not ideal, but that will give us somewhere to lay low while we think of a new plan.”

There was a renewed burst of activity to gather up the last few things, except from Atlas, who appeared to be ready to move. “Why is it not ideal? I love caves.”

“Because Terrors are known to live in this area,” Conrad said. “At least they won’t be under the control of our enemies, though.”

“Just so long as it’s not necrodragons,” Kamui said.

Jesse grimaced. “Got bad news for you, then.”

Kamui went suddenly pale and unmoving.

Leon grabbed his arm and hurried him along. “Wasting time here won’t do us any good.”

“I’m not going anywhere where there’s necrodragons,” Kamui hissed, trying to shrug out of his grip.

“Well then, I guess we’re both dying out here in the open like idiots.” Leon rolled his eyes, but there was an underlying seriousness in his tone that made Conrad suddenly feel as though he was listening in to something very personal.

He turned to Palla instead. “Can you three find a path for us through the rocks?”

“We’ll try,” Palla said.

Catria’s expression was grim. “At the very least, we can let you know if anything else comes after us.”

That would, hopefully, be enough. Conrad looked over Priestess Irma. “You still seem unwell, Priestess. Would you prefer to ride than walk?”

Her eyes snapped open in alarm.

“...On my horse,” Conrad clarified sheepishly.

“Oh!” Irma’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Please. I’d be grateful.”

He offered her a hand and helped her settle into the saddle in front of him. It wasn’t comfortable, but Irma seemed quite relieved anyway.

Palla gave him a final wave of farewell before she and her sisters took off into the sky again. Conrad swallowed his fear. It wasn’t rational when the skies were clear. Although another ambush could befall them at any time…

“Is everyone ready?” he said, refusing to allow himself to follow this train of thought.

A chorus of affirmative replies greeted Conrad – except from Kamui, who merely said, “I guess,” in a weak voice which did not sound like him.

When Conrad’s gaze began to linger on him, however, Leon raised a hand and saluted. The other had found the crook of Kamui’s elbow. Conrad assumed he had things well in hand.

“Very well, then,” he said. “Let’s find some cover and recuperate. We’ll decide what to do from there.”

*

The journey into the mountains might’ve been the worst one of Kamui’s life, which, considering all the hellishly bad ideas their little group of misfits had engaged in, was really saying something.

Just the thought of a necrodragon lurking in the caves above was enough to make Kamui’s hands tremble. He prayed to every god he could think of that they wouldn’t actually stumble across one—he’d be sure to do something embarrassing. Leon had already tried to hold his hand, which was not very in-keeping with the detached, independent persona Kamui was trying to project.

Leon had rolled his eyes and muttered, “Men,” under his breath, which for some reason actually did make Kamui feel better.

With the help of the Whitewing sisters, they took shelter in the first large cave they stumbled across.

Despite carrying the heaviest load of any of them, Atlas was the one to light a torch whilst the others set their packs and weapons down in relief. He swung the torch into the darkness, but all he illuminated was the slimy mould on the walls

“Hm,” Atlas said. “No telling how far back it goes. But with all this moisture in the cave, I think there must be some kind of underwater river or lake here.”

Deen snorted. “Sounds like prime necrodragon territory. They love to feast on bodies that get washed up into water.”

No one else seemed to take this in the terrifying spirit it was no doubt intended. “We’re not going back that way, right?” Kamui asked, unable to keep the worry out of his voice.

“I sure hope not!” Est said, already laying her head down on her pack. “I’m beat. Time to nap!”

“We haven’t even agreed on—” Catria cut herself off as a soft snore came from Est. She shook her head, but there was a small smile cracking through her disapproving facade. “Oh, for… I guess you really were beat.”

“Let her rest. She’s still a growing girl,” Sonya said. “I doubt she would be much use on watch anyway.”

Kamui sighed. “You might as well sign me up. Don’t think I’m getting much rest here anyway.”

[They were meant to encounter a necrodragon here and the peg sisters would lead it towards the temple, causing chaos and making the battle easier, but I never wrote it.]

Chapter Text

They met reinforcements from the main army before they had to retake the Sluice Gate from the Rigelians, which was just as well as two weeks of hard marching had exhausted everyone—and besides which, they were definitely two few in number to take the Rigelians out of the fort alone.

Alm resisted the urge to fiddle with his armour. He hadn’t been this much in the thick of the fighting before, but it was important that he and Fernand be on the front lines, ready to lead the assault into the castle, if they were to have hope of finding Delthea. Despite that, he knew people were still looking to him. He sometimes forgot because he spent all his time hanging out with nobles who adored Celica, but he was actually kind of… popular? Amongst the army? He couldn’t afford to let them down either.

There wasn’t a specific moment when the trumpets sounded and they all charged into battle. It wasn’t one of those fights. The Rigelian soldiers had a certain kind of—well, Alm wasn’t sure if it was honour, but they were at least kind of conventional in their battle tactics. Lines, formations, charges, et cetera.

The Duma Faithful weren’t like that at all. Quite apart from the terrible witches they made—Alm had only killed one so far, personally, but he still had nightmares about the way she begged and screamed to be saved before she vanished, sounding just like any frightened girl would—they had no neat little lines or boxes; they weren’t soldiers, trained to follow orders but also give a certain sense of camaraderie. The Duma Faithful trusted each other almost as little as they trusted their enemies.

Alas, it was only an almost. The ground started to shake and rumble under their feet, somehow leaving the sluice gate itself stable; above their heads, spheres of dark energy grew in size and gave off a sickly light.

“I think that’s our cue,” Alm said, because life was never easy.

Fernand only snorted and said, “We’ll show everyone else the way, I suppose,” without a trace of fear at all, which Alm would begrudgingly give him credit for.

Without another word, Fernand urged his steed forward. Alm was not the most comfortable rider at the best of times, but in the middle of a full-on charge from a proper war stallion in its prime, there was little he could do other than to hold on tightly and trust that Fernand knew his stuff well enough to dodge the dark miasma spells that targeted with them.

They lead a pack of soldiers charging into the building. As they passed the threshold, Alm saw that the observation balconies above them were cramped with the dark robes of the Duma Faithful—and their soldiers were packed far too close together…

“Scatter!” Alm shouted, mentally cursing. Who was in command here? Did they not know to brief their troops with the most basic of counter-strategies to mages? Leave yourself room to dodge. Alm had learnt that from sparring with Celica when he was twelve, for gods’ sake. And why were they coming in in such large numbers in the first place? The corridors weren’t that roomy! In a cramped space, you don’t order your men to march in a neat rank and file!

Luckily, natural trepidation seemed to have slowed the troops somewhat, leaving gaps in the formation. When the miasma spell crashed to the floor and burst apart in a wave of dark energy that made Alm shudder, only a few of the men were taken by it—but those who stopped, bent over in pain, were quickly targeted by more precise spells from the enemy and taken down.

Alm had to bow his head and grit his teeth. If he survived this battle, he was for sure personally chewing out their commander. There were going to be losses in a battle like this, which made it all the worse when stupid decisions put people at risk unnecessarily.

But Alm had his own mission to worry about right then.

“There she is!” Fernand called over his shoulder; he began to slow, allowing Alm to safely slip off the back of his horse and pull his sword from its belt. He left it in the scabbard, though, not wanting to hurt Delthea more than necessary.

It was easy to see what he meant—Delthea was flanked by two Duma Faithful, and even dressed in their robes like some kind of demented doll, it was obvious that she was so much younger than them. The clothes nearly swamped her.

It was so absurd that it made Alm furious. He used that anger to dash forward in a burst of speed as he noticed Delthea begin to cast and Fernand charged forwards as well, aiming for the Duma Faithful.

Alm didn’t recognise the words Delthea uttered but he was glad he’d moved a moment later, when the spell slammed down in thick rings of magic with Alm at its epicentre. The weight of the magic in the air made Alm feel a little like he was drowning, and he forced himself to breathe calmly—it was only an illusion.

He winced as he heard the screams of the men behind him. He had no idea what spell it was, but no wonder Delthea had been targetted. Alm had learned enough magical theory from Kliff and Celica to know that most spells used magic to create physical effects, like fire or lightning, simply because it was easier than trying to hold that much magic into a shape at one time—the was still an element of magic in a fire or thunder spell, which was why some people resisted their effects better than others, but they relied on the fact that most people’s resistance to magic was very low to cause serious damage.

This spell was not like that. It was almost pure magic. And its area of effect was large enough that in these corridors, it was almost unavoidable. Even Kliff, who people unironically referred to as a ‘prodigy’, wasn’t capable of such a feat.

He’s going to be so mad, Alm thought.

The magic faded enough that Alm felt safe to move through it; the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, but nothing else happened. Delthea was already preparing the next spell, her face empty of emotion.

Ordinarily, Alm would take some comfort in knowing that a thirteen year old girl couldn’t keep this up forever, but if Tatarrah had forced some kind of possession on her like Luthier said, she might well just keep casting until she died of exhaustion.

He ran, hoping to catch her before she completed the next spell. Fernand soon passed him and Alm saw a few other soldiers keeping pace out of the corner of his eye.

One of the Duma mages loosed a spell, a sphere of ugly miasma—but small and contained compared to what Delthea was capable of. Alm dived forward, ducking under it, before rolling and standing back on his feet. He staggered, losing his balance for a moment, but his momentum kept him moving forward and then he found his footing.

Fernand reached the mages before Alm did. He put his spear directly through the man to Delthea’s left, but didn’t have time to pull it loose before a fireball from the other man splashed against his armour and had to draw his sword instead. Alm couldn’t hear his cry of pain over the roaring in his ears as Delthea turned her head slowly, ponderously, to examine this new threat.

Alm wasn’t going to get a better chance.

He swung his sword-and-scabbard, whacking Delthea’s arms away. Suddenly unconstrained, the magic she’d gathered exploded outwards, knocking Alm, Delthea and the other Duma mage to the ground. Fernand’s horse fared only a little better, stumbling ungainly and tossing its head in alarm.

Delthea sat up slowly, blinking, as Fernand opened the other Duma mage’s throat with his sword. Her right side was drenched in blood, but she seemed not to notice.

Alm grabbed a handful of Delthea’s robes at the shoulder, intending to haul her away from the battlefield as best he could so they could wake her in the safety of the rear lines.

Fernand’s voice cut through the chaos as he shouted, “Alm, watch out!”

He turned his head just in time to see another miasma spell bearing down on him and Delthea, and the moment that Fernand placed himself between them, taking the spell full force. Alm automatically let go of Delthea’s sleeve to reach towards him as Fernand’s horse reared up, shrieking, and Fernand was thrown from the saddle.

His head hit the floor and he didn’t move afterwards.

Alm cursed, diving towards Fernand and grabbing him under his armpits to drag him away, towards the wall where they could take some amount of shelter, before he could be trampled by the other soldiers. His head was bleeding, and Alm did not have much medical training but he was aware that that was generally a very bad sign. He needed to see Silque or Faye as soon as possible.

He glanced over his shoulder. Left to her own devices, Delthea has begun to prepare another spell. Alm swore again and dragged her towards the wall whilst she made only feeble attempts to loosen his grip. Even with her weak struggling, there was no way that Alm could carry the both of them to the rear lines. He had to choose, somehow, between a total innocent, or someone who’d tried to save Alm.

More Duma Faithful were piling into the corridor and spells were beginning to fly everywhere. Alm couldn’t come back in for one of them, if he would even be able to find them again in the chaos.

Or...

Delthea wasn’t really injured. If she could move under her own power somehow, Alm would be able to carry Fernand—just about—whilst escorting her out… Luthier had said the possession should be cured by a sudden shock.

Alm winced pre-emptively—and brought the sword down on Delthea’s left forearm.

He probably imagined being able to hear the crack as it broke over the sound of battle, but Delthea’s high-pitched scream was easily audible. Alm grabbed her shoulders and hauled her towards Fernand. He could see immediately that she was more aware, eyes darting about in panic and she tried to kick Alm’s knees to make him let go of her.

“Wait—wait, I’m trying to help you—Luthier asked us—”

“Lu?” Delthea latched onto this name like a lifeline. “Where is he? What’s going on?” Her eyes flickered in different directions more purposefully now, cataloguing everything that was going on. Her eyes briefly alighted on the mark of the Zofian royal family on a soldier’s shield, and she seemed to relax minutely. “Is Tatarrah—?”

“We’re getting out of here,” Alm said firmly. He wasn’t sure if she had the presence of mind to guess that Alm had been the one to break her arm, and he didn’t really want to give her the time to put those pieces together. There would be time for apologies later, when she and Fernand were safe.

Her eyes landed on Fernand and the blood in his hair. Although she was already pale with pain, Alm saw her pale further. “That man—”

“He was trying to help you but he got hurt,” Alm said. It was close enough to the truth. He considered his sword for a moment, but it would take too long to strap back to his belt, so he just tossed it aside and stooped to pick up Fernand. “I need to get you both out of here, so just follow me, understood?”

“I can help him. I know a bit of healing!” Delthea insisted.

Alm blinked, but it wasn’t really that surprising; the main reason most people struggled with healing magic was the inability to manipulate so much pure magic at once, and that obviously wasn’t a problem for Delthea. “Can you do it on the move?”

She bit her lip, but she seemed confident when she nodded. “I’ve never been taught properly, so I probably shouldn’t do too much to a head injury. But I’ll do what I can! Just let me take a quick look.”

Delthea raised her arm to brush aside a clump of Fernand’s bloody hair, wincing and blinking tears out of her eyes. Alm tamped down on a flash of guilt. Worry about that later.

Her hands glowed softly for a second, and then she said, “Okay, we can go.”

Alm didn’t waste any more time. Fernand’s unconscious body was an incredible weight over his shoulders, forcing Alm to stoop, but he kept moving forward, darting glances towards Delthea every now and then to make sure she didn’t fall behind. Her brows were furrowed in concentration and there was a soft glow coming from her hands.

The battle itself was chaos. Mages from the Duma Faithful were stuffed into the balconies above the corridor and kept casting spells downwards; the Zofian archers fired back, but not all the arrows made it past the miasma spells, which were dense enough to function as shields, and for every mage of Duma they took down, another one seemed ready to take its place. The floor was slick with blood and the Zofians were forced to leave many bodies where they dropped under the weight of fire; occasionally Alm would find that some effort had been made to move them to the sides of the corridor where they wouldn’t be in the way, and he had to step carefully between their splayed legs.

Suddenly, Delthea held out her hand, palm upwards. Before Alm could ask what on earth she was doing, a fireball grew in it that was the size of a small boulder. She tossed it carelessly, like throwing a ball on a lazy summer day, into one of the alcoves above them—where for some reason, it exploded.

Alm instinctively ducked as mortar dust and some shards of the stone wall exploded over the room, but it was harmless compared to the fire now burning brightly in the gap in the wall. There were only whimpers from the dying mages.

“That’s what you get,” Delthea crowed, turning to meet Alm’s eyes with a vicious grin. Her hands were enveloped in the soft glow of healing magic when she raised them again, returning her attention to Fernand’s injury, but there was still a slightly scary gleam in her eye. “When you form a miasma spell, you have to create all these toxic gases before you mix them with the magic to make it poisonous—but they’re also hiiighly flammable, so if you toss a fireball in at the right time...”

“You can cast miasma spells?”

“Since I was, like, four,” Delthea answered. “They feel ugly, though, and it’s not halfway as effective as an aura.”

Alm wondered if that was the spell she’d cast in the corridor earlier. “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” he said dryly, before remembering that he’d deliberately broken her arm. Whoops.

Delthea just cackled in response.

She tossed three more fireballs before they made it outside, killing at least a dozen men in all—Alm was no longer even remotely surprised that Tatarrah had kidnapped her to turn into a pawn for the Duma Faithful; he was only surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.

But that didn’t matter now, because she was free.

Once they were a little way away from the entrance to the Sluice Gate, Alm was able to commandeer some men to carry Fernand directly to Silque’s medical tent on a stretcher. He breathed a sigh of relief as they bore him away, although that was at least partially because it was nice to be able to stand straight again.

He was about to escort Delthea there at a more sedate pace before a runner found him and breathlessly informed him that the queen was helping in the medical tent and could he attend her at once.

“The queen?” Delthea hissed, once the woman had run away with more messages. “Wait, do you like, know her personally or something?”

“We grew up together,” Alm said tiredly.

“No shit?” she asked, impressed, and then she clapped a hand over her mouth. “...Don’t tell Lu I said that.”

“You just got done being kidnapped and possessed,” he said. “I think he’d probably let it slide this once.”

Delthea snorted. “You don’t know my brother. He’s the worst.”

She spent the rest of the walk to the medical tent quizzing Alm on how Luthier had been, whether he’d been eating and sleeping right, and, bizarrely, if he’d tried to adopt any cats recently.

“I honestly do not know,” Alm replied.

“There’s probably a kitten hidden in his pack right now,” Delthea said darkly. “I keep telling him I don’t like cats! We should get a puppy instead!” She rolled her eyes. “Brothers.”

Alm wouldn’t really know, having no family besides Sir Mycen, and they arrived at the medical tent before he had to think of something else to say in response.

There were already a bunch of makeshift beds set up outside, full of bodies in various states of injury or consciousness. Alm grimaced as they walked past, but Delthea looked around with interest. “The queen’s hiding out here?”

Hiding? If only, Alm thought. He was sure he had a pretty good idea why Celica was “hiding” at the medical tent, and that she hadn’t discussed it with anyone beforehand because she knew they’d all object and argue that she was too exhausted to spend her time healing people. Which she was.

But there was no point causing a scene about it, especially as it would only upset Celica. It only made Alm more determined to talk Celica into cutting her workload; she was going to send herself into an early grave at this rate.

Even with the flap of the tent pinned open, inside was stuffy and choked with the stench of blood and vinegar. A number of physicians moved between the beds, bandaging injuries and splinting broken limbs, although many of the people in the tent were still. Alm saw one physician pull a sheet over someone’s face and motion to some helpers to take the body away.

Alm turned to suggest that maybe Delthea should wait outside, but before he could say anything, a physician at a nearby bed shouted, “She’s bleeding again! Healer!”

Delthea darted over before Alm could do more than grimace, her hands already glowing. “Me! I can help!”

The physician blinked at her in shock—Alm belatedly realised that Delthea was still wearing the robes of the Duma Faithful—but Delthea brushed past her and laid her hands over the injury in the woman’s side. Heedless of the blood on her fingers, she gently knit the skin back together, leaving only a thin red line.

Delthea stood back and beamed proudly.

The physician blinked at her again, and then dismissed her with a flick of her wrist. “The wound isn’t holding well; the miasma poisons must’ve gotten into the blood. She’ll need stitches.”

“Delthea, I don’t think you want to watch this part,” Alm called, as the physician dipped her hands in a bowl of vinegar at the head of the table and began to pull needle and thread out of the medic kit at the end of her bench.

“What is she doing?” Delthea asked, reluctantly letting Alm tug her away. “Why the vinegar?”

“It makes the hands cleaner or something?” Alm had listened to Faye chatter away about her lessons with Silque, but he’d been too glad that Faye finally seemed to have found her true calling to remember the gritty details. Also, some of the details were a bit too gritty and Alm had been careful not to listen too closely in the first place.

“Alm!” He was relieved to see Celica making her way across the tent. She was dressed in a relatively simple grey dress, and her hair was tied back—it looked odd to see it pulled away from her face. “I’m sorry, things are so chaotic here—I just heard that Fernand had been seriously injured and—” She stopped a foot in front of him, looking him up and down. “You’re okay?”

His stomach turned over. “I’m fine, yes. I didn’t mean to worry you. Is Fernand—?”

“Silque is seeing to him. She said he should be fine, it’s just delicate work.” Celica’s skin had an unhealthy pallor to it and the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes were worse than ever. But she looked happier than Alm had seen her in weeks. “He might have died if you hadn’t brought him to us so soon, though.”

“I helped!” Delthea piped up.

Alm took the opportunity to nudge her forward a little. “Delthea has an injury that needs seeing too as well.”

She raised her chin a little as she offered her broken arm to Celica. “I’d do it myself, but I can never get it to set straight when it’s myself.”

To demonstrate, she waved the little finger of her hand in Alm’s direction. It was, indeed, bent slightly inwards at an angle from the middle.

“Well, this is easy enough for me to take care of,” Celica said, running her hands over the injury. The swelling went down within moments. Delthea watched it eagerly. “So you’re Delthea? Your brother will be so relieved to hear that you’re safe. I’ll have a runner sent to let him know, as soon as we have one to spare.”

She took her hands away, and Delthea marvelled at her perfectly smooth skin. “Wow, you’re so fast!” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Are you really the queen?”

“That’s me,” Celica answered. “But if you think I’m fast, you should see Silque in action. Now, I know you want to help, but I can see that you’re tired, so no healing magic from you, alright? The last thing we need is another patient to worry about.”

Delthea’s head whipped around to Alm with an incredulous expression. “She’s telling me that I look tired?”

“Yes, but she’s the queen, so she can get away with it,” Alm said. His sarcasm may have been a little too sharp, because Celica winced.

“Whatever. I’ll run around and do errands and stuff instead, I guess. Do I need to put my hands in the vinegar before I touch anyone?”

“Only if there’s an open wound.”

“Cool, I hate the smell of vinegar!” Someone across the room called, ‘I need more bandages!’ and Delthea hollered back, “I’m on it!”

She waved at Alm and then ran for the front of the tent, where there were clearly labelled boxes of supplies.

“She certainly seems spirited. Just as Luthier described.” Celica smiled softly. “I’m glad she doesn’t seem too badly affected.”

Alm nodded. If this was what immediately-post-possession Delthea was like, he could only imagine what a handful she was at any other time. But she was safe, and so was he. “...Fernand’s really going to be okay?”

“Yes.” Celica reached out to squeeze his hand. Her skin was dry and cracked. “I know you don’t like him, so thank you for helping him.”

“He took a spell that was meant for me. I couldn’t just leave him there,” Alm protested.

For some reason, Celica laughed and threw her arms around him. He hugged her back, holding tightly. She smelt mostly of vinegar and very faintly of the lavender oil she used in her hair, but having her close lifted Alm’s heart and for just a moment, all the aches and pains and worries faded away. There was just the two of them, and if Celica was here, then Alm was alright.

He let himself hold onto that feeling for ten seconds, counting each one with regret in his head, and then he forced himself to step back, holding Celica at arm’s length.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Celica said. Her smile was radiant, and all of Alm’s planned objections to her working here died in his throat. “Please, stay here and be my assistant for the rest of today? Don’t go out there again. I was so worried you would turn up here, or worse, and I...”

She was tired, but she was always happiest when she could be helping people—only it was hard to see who was being helped beneath a mountain of paperwork and legal formalities. He couldn’t take this away from her. And if he stayed to help, well, he could keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t over do it, right?

Without thinking, he tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear. His breath caught in his throat when she leaned into the touch, his fingers brushing the smooth skin of her cheek before he pulled them away. Who was he kidding? When Celica asked him like that, there was no way he could refuse her anything.

Alm tried to make his smile seem normal, even though all ability to ‘act normal’ had probably flown out of his head to join the the butterflies in his stomach. “I lost my sword anyway.” His voice came out as barely a whisper and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Celica’s. Sure, Alm. ‘Normal.’ “So you might as well have me as anyone.”

Celica’s smile widened and there was, finally, a little colour in her cheeks. “Good,” she said.

Chapter Text

After the battle, they walked into the Temple, exhausted and – some of them – still bleeding. Conrad’s armour was scratched and dented and he belatedly realised that he had somehow lost an entire pauldron from his shoulder without noticing. The wound underneath resembled claw marks so it must have been one of the gargoyles.

Like the rumours had said, the Sage Nomah was there, looking none the worse for wear despite being surrounded by an assorted group of clerics and mages who looked close to dead. He stood and greeted them with open arms and a gesture of welcome.

At his shoulder was the only other person in the room who could actually stand, a man with red hair and a careful hand on his sword. The hand dropped away when Kamui called out, “Sorry we’re late, we stopped to pick up some friends on the way.”

“It’s you guys again.” The red haired man shook his head. “Of all the...”

“What did I tell you, Saber?” Nomah nodded to himself. “The fates move in mysterious ways.”

“We walked, actually,” Kamui said.

“The fates often do that,” Nomah replied.

Conrad couldn’t tell if he was being profound or just talking nonsense; it was a little like talking to Sage Halcyon, who often spoke of such advanced concepts that Conrad couldn’t follow. Nomah, however, laughed, so Conrad was pretty sure he was joking.

“And which one of you is Sage Halcyon’s man? I know it’s not this one,” he added, pointing to Kamui, “because Halcyon has no sense of humour.”

Conrad raised his hand. “I’m the humourless one. My name is Conrad.”

Nomah snorted, and Conrad heard Atlas nudge Kamui and whisper, “See? He’s learning!”

“Conrad? You must be Lady Vittoria’s boy.” Nomah bowed his head. “A fearsome woman indeed. It is a pleasure to meet her son.”

He was the first person who’d called Conrad ‘Vittoria’s son’ before ‘the king’s son’ in… well, in possibly ever.

“Ain’t Lady Vittoria the one who got sold off to the Zofian king?” Saber eyed Conrad with renewed interest. “I see rumours of the ending of the royal line have been exaggerated. That’s two survivors now. Where have you been keeping ‘em?”

Conrad didn’t know what to say to that. It almost sounded like an accusation, but he hadn’t had a choice about hiding. That had been Sage Halcyon’s decision, and Conrad knew that at least Desaix would have sought his head if he’d known Conrad was living. Maybe he would’ve then looked more carefully for other survivors and he would’ve found Anthiese. Maybe Conrad could have lived with his sister in secrecy and happiness for several years. It was impossible to know for sure. But he knew how he wanted to spend his future—what he had to do now.

“I came because I heard the rumours. Rigel is planning to flood Zofia—”

“And this gate can only be opened by the Zofian royal family. Of course.” Nomah gestured towards a set of stairs, dark and moss-covered, which led downward. “Let us hurry, then.”

*

Celica buried herself in the work at the infirmary and in the strength she took from Alm being at her side the whole time, safe and sound, but it couldn’t last forever. After reuniting Luthier and Delthea, to the delight of both of them (even if Delthea tried very hard to conceal it behind a brave face), she had to attend another meeting of her advisors.

The absence of Fernand felt worse than Celica had expected. She’d grown used to having him at her shoulder, and taking her usual seat at the head of the table felt more serious, more exhausting, without him there, even if Alm’s hand was inches away from hers on the table.

Maybe it was because she’d been able to confide in Fernand something that she’d been able to confide in no one else, not even Alm. But that will change soon, she told herself, even though she looked forward to that conversation with Sir Mycen with more than a little dread. Would Alm forgive her for keeping what she knew from him for so long?

Celica would just have to hope so because she simply didn’t know what she would do without Alm at this point.

But she had to put that aside for now. She clasped her hands together and began. “First things first, you aren’t to worry. Fernand is going to be fine. I have it from Silque herself.”

There was a wave of relief around the table.

“Is he permitted visitors, do you know?” Mathilda asked.

Celica shook her head. “Not at this time.”

Mathilda sat back, disappointed. Clive’s hand found hers on the arm of her chair and gave it a gentle squeeze.

It was perhaps a little cruel of her to think so, given that she had Alm here for emotional support as much as for his advice, but she was not strictly sure that Lady Mathilda ought to be invited to these meetings. She respected Mathilda’s opinion and her position as one of the founding members of the Deliverance, but she did not contribute very much. Celica thought that Forsyth would be a better addition; as Lukas’s direct subordinate, he knew more of the army’s inner workings than Mathilda.

She hadn’t quite found a delicate way to bring the matter up, and as tired as she was now, she would just end up making a mess of the whole thing. She put that aside for another time. “Do we have a report of the battle?”

“Casualties are high, as we expected,” Lukas answered. “The final death toll is unknown as of yet, but from what we know so far it is… more than we expected, I’m afraid.”

Celica’s heart leapt into her throat. She hadn’t heard from Gray, Tobin or Kliff yet. The battle had only ended hours ago and she’d had no time to seek them out, so it might mean nothing, but…

“I’ll have the details ready to discuss with you soon as usual, your majesty,” Lukas said.

Gently, she let out a breath. She couldn’t worry about them now. There were so many people under her care, and they still needed her. “Onto the most pressing issue then—Sir Clive, you said the Sluice Gate keeper was still alive?”

“Yes; the Duma Faithful had him imprisoned, but he is more or less unharmed.” Clive grimaced. “It’s bad news again, I’m afraid. The eastern gate really can only be opened by a member of the Zofian royal line.”

Celica had been afraid of that. It seemed a foolish precaution, but there were a lot of things their ancestors had been unable to account for. “How long do we have?”

“It’s difficult to say,” Lukas broke in again. “As we have seen, the Sluice Gate is difficult to hold, and we still haven’t faced the whole might of the imperial army. If they were to divert troops from along the border to bear against us...”

“We should act quickly then,” Celica decided. “The fastest way is for Clair and I to travel alone, stopping around the borders of the lake.” Clair nodded gravely, and Celica was glad she still had her support; it was a dangerous mission to undertake. “Even that journey will take us three days, but once the sluice gate is open in the east, the Rigelians will be unable to alter it and it would be pointless to attack us here.”

“Your Majesty, it’s far too dangerous for you both,” Clive protested. “Need I remind you that we still haven’t heard from the cleric at the Mila Temple for two months. We should take a boat—”

“A boat to cross the whole continent would take two weeks with fair wind!” Celica shook her head. “We can’t afford to waste so much time.”

“But we also can’t afford for the mission to fail—”

“You would do me an honour if you gave me a little more credit, brother,” Clair said tartly, and Celica sighed. This argument was about to go downhill, and spending days coming to a decision was something they had to avoid even more than a lengthy journey to the Mother’s Temple…

The door burst open just as Clive was beginning to raise his voice. The entire room stopped dead in a way that was almost comical, but Celica leapt to her feet. “Kliff! You’re alright!”

“Celica, you’ve got to come,” he said without preamble.

“What is it?” she asked, already halfway to the door with Alm and Lukas hot on her heels.

“I don’t know exactly, I just got a message from the gatekeeper saying you had to come immediately.” Kliff kept pace with them as they left the room and took the stairs down to the lower floors of the Sluice Gate; the gatekeeper was all the way in the basement. “But he asked for the queen directly, so it must be urgent.”

“Thank you, Kliff.” Celica quickened her pace, passing him in a few moments. But she saw him, from the corner of her eye, draw Lukas aside for a moment and whisper something that stopped Lukas dead in his tracks for an instant.

Lukas drew level with Celica a moment later. “Pardon me, your majesty.” His voice was as steady as ever, but she sensed a quiet tension in the urgency of his pace. “I’ve just heard that Python and Forsyth were injured—”

“Oh, of course you should go,” she said. Lukas didn’t wait for more, taking the steps two at a time. “Let us know how they fare!”

He raised his hand in acknowledgement before he reached the bottom of the stairs, turning the corner to go in a different direction than them. Lukas seemed quite stoic, but she knew he was quite attached to his comrades in his own way—just look at how he’d reacted to Python’s injury during their ill-fated scouting expedition. She only hoped it was nothing too serious and he could put his concerns to rest.

She and Alm continued to the steps down into the basement, Sir Clive and the others not far behind.

A man—who could only be the gatekeeper—jumped up from a small desk in the corner at their approach. “Your majesty! Thank you for coming—it’s a miracle—”

He cut himself off and turned to stare wonderingly at a dial on the wall.

Celica tried to remind herself that this man had been imprisoned until a little while ago and she needed to show him patience, but she was still grateful when Alm gently asked him, “What happened?”

“I can’t explain it,” the gatekeeper muttered. “The eastern sluice gate at the Mila Temple—” He faced them again with wide eyes. “It was opened.”

“What?” Mathilda’s voice sounded as though from a great distance. Celica hadn’t even heard them all come into the room.

It was opened.

Her hands were shaking. Someone else with royal blood. That’s what it had to mean, didn’t it? Someone else—

Her legs wouldn’t hold her up anymore and she sank to her knees. Alm was at her side in an instant, taking her hands. Celica could barely feel it until he pressed his forehead to hers and then she realised she was crying.

She wasn’t sure if it was joy or shock or—or anything. She was too full of feeling to understand what all these emotions churning in her stomach meant.

“Alm, there’s someone else—there’s someone—”

“I know,” he replied gently. She tried to match her breathing to his, slow and steady, when she realised she was feeling dizzy. “You have family out there.”

“I don’t know...” Celica said, but her tongue felt thick and clumsy, and anyway she had no idea what she was going to say.

But Alm, it seemed, did. He squeezed her hands tightly. “It’s alright. Of course they’ll come. I’m sure they missed you too.”

Memories of her siblings flashed before her eyes, many of them little more than distant memories of red hair and something that they loved. Hilda would to spend all her time reading, Julius learned to plait hair so he could do it for his mother when the tremors grew too bad, Rebecca had a doll she used to carry around with her everywhere, and Conrad—Conrad, her favourite brother, who learnt to fight from his mother as soon as he could walk but still needed to hold Celica’s hand when Livia and Lucius told ghost stories.

Celica’s eyes went blurry with tears. It was more than she had ever hoped for, and yet it was still too little. How could she hope for any of them to live when it meant the rest were dead?

But to have any family left at all…

“It’s alright, Celica,” Alm said. He seemed to hesitate a moment, but then he wrapped her in his arms and let her bury her face in the crook of his neck, tears and all.

It wasn’t alright, but with him there, it was the closest she’d felt to alright for a long time.

Brother or sister, I hope we can find each other soon.

*

In sight of Castle Rigel, despite everything, Berkut felt himself relax just a little. The castle had been his home since Prince Albein died in infancy and Rudolf chose Berkut as his heir. It was wrong to think of it as a safe place in these troubled times, the Duma Faithful prowling the hallways, begging for scraps from the nobility, but nonetheless, being there made Berkut feel at home.

It did not take long before he felt the chill in the air and realised that something was dreadfully wrong.

Familiar faces – servants, the nobility that spent their time at court – surrounded him and went about their business as usual, but with backs stiff from tension and eyes darting about in fear. Rinea and the captain of his uncle’s personal guard, Massena, would normally be at the gates to meet Berkut, but they were nowhere to be seen.

A servant, carefully blank-faced, came to lead Berkut’s horse to the stables. He met Berkut’s eyes for a single second and Berkut saw the terror in them. He walked with the boy to the stables, pretending to lecture him on the proper keeping of a knight’s horse and to feel nothing wrong at all.

But when they were there, he hissed to the boy, “Ready Lady Rinea’s mare and do not be seen.” He pressed some gold coins into the boy’s hand. Better that he had some motivation to leave and not give them away. “Then leave.”

The boy blinked at the coins in his palm for a long moment. Then he slid them into a pouch which he pulled out of his shirt and nodded. “I believe Lady Rinea has been spending a lot of time keeping your uncle company as of late, my lord.”

It felt like the bottom dropped out of Berkut’s stomach, but he didn’t let any of it show on his face. The worst might not be true yet. It might not. “I suppose she has been lonely in my absence,” he said, as though the information did not trouble him at all. “You may go, boy.”

Berkut knew he should never have left Rinea in a treacherous place such as this; he ought to have insisted she retire to her parents’ manor. But his uncle had seemed so certain in the protections he’d put in place, and Rinea had been so insistent—

It was too late to change that now.

He strode towards the throne room, as was his custom whenever he returned from the front. If what the servant boy had said was true, Rinea would be there as well. Inside the palace itself, Berkut’s every sense was alive. There was something different with—there was no other word but the energy of the place. He felt a little like a rabbit caught in the sight of a predator, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. In his own home.

Berkut’s fury carried him to the throne room, where he noticed the two guards at the door had been replaced. He thought of asking them about General Massena, but they probably wouldn’t tell the truth, and he didn’t want to give them a reason to think he wouldn’t go along with their new regime.

As soon as the doors to the throne room were opened, all of Berkut’s worst fears began to crowd inside his head again. Emperor Rudolf’s court was full of the Duma Faithful, their robes swirling about them despite the dead, stifling air. From pale, human-like features to skin tinged with the darkest corruption, they lined the room around Berkut as he went to kneel in front of the throne.

Only Rinea was a beacon of normality in the disquieting space, standing at the emperor’s right hand, as was her due in Berkut’s absence. It was not an honour here, but a threat.

Still, this castle had been Berkut’s boyhood home since the death of Prince Albein, when he was declared Rudolf’s heir instead. It was hard not to hope for his uncle’s usual stern gaze and his rare, awkward moments of affection.

“Rise,” said the emperor, and Berkut stood and met his uncle’s eyes—and saw only an empty vessel staring back.

He gritted his teeth as a whisper like an incantation ran around the room, but he was aware that his every move was being watched carefully, and he couldn’t afford to betray anything other than blind obedience. Rinea, too, was doing her best to conceal her real feelings; only her hands were shaking.

How had she survived for these weeks at court with the emperor become Jedah’s puppet? Berkut must take her away from here at once. The Faithful had stolen one of his only family; they couldn’t be allowed to do it again.

Berkut met her eyes and hoped to convey this with only a look. Rinea smiled and her hands stopped shaking, so she seemed to take some measure of strength from it.

“Nephew,” the emperor’s voice said. “I hear that you set out with one of our finest soldiers to make sport of the Deliverance, and yet here you stand, alone, having been chased away with your tail between your legs. I hope you can explain this failure. You know that Rigel does not tolerate such things.”

Laughter like the chittering of insects flittered around the room. Berkut gritted his teeth and thought of Rinea. He could not afford to take umbrage with insults to his personal pride when her position was so vulnerable. He swallowed his objections and said, “Uncle, I met with the new Queen Anthiese of Zofia herself.”

The chittering stopped. Berkut dared to lift his head a little. His uncle’s expression was still blank, but the robed figures around the room seemed to have drawn closer, hanging onto Berkut’s every word.

“Oh?” the emperor parroted, after a long pause. “And is she everything the stories say of her?”

“Not as such,” Berkut said carefully. He spied an opportunity to make himself seem useful. Queen Anthiese had not been as strong as he; although he’d been taken off-guard by her use of magic, he wouldn’t lose if he fought her again. But the Duma Faithful did not need to know that. “Queen Anthiese is not all-powerful or all-knowing, but she does possess powerful magic and travels protected.”

“Does she...” The Faithful drew still closer. “...bear the Brand of Mila?”

So the Brand was important, somehow. He wondered why; Zofia had never taken as much interest in it as the Rigelians had, and it was not uncommon for the eldest to succeed over a bearer of the Brand. Queen Anthiese’s claim to the throne, at least in the minds of most Zofians, was due to her being Lima IV’s only surviving child, he was sure.

Still, Berkut answered, “Indeed, she does. I have seen it myself.”

An excited ripple spread through the crowd. Berkut suppressed a shiver at the hungry looks around the room which were, for just a moment, echoed in the puppet of his uncle.

The murmurs ceased, and the emperor’s expression returned to placidity. “I see,” he said at some length. “Then your failure is not total. You have done well to bring us this information, Lord Berkut.”

Under ordinary circumstances, Berkut would sooner have cut out his own heart than to help the Duma Faithful in any way—but Rinea.

No matter. This information was a small price to pay for their complacency. When he’d taken Rinea away from here, then he could begin to consider how to punish the Faithful for this grave offence against the Rigelian royal line.

“You are dismissed, Berkut,” the emperor said tersely. A hand waved in Rinea’s direction. “Take your betrothed to her quarters and make no plans to leave. I will have need of you soon.”

“Of course, your majesty.” We’ll leave after the stroke of midnight.

Rinea controlled herself very well, walking towards Berkut at a normal place. If her eyes were shining with unshed tears when she took his arm, he was the only one who was close enough to see.

“There, my dear,” he said to her. “I told you I would be home without incident, did I not?”

Rinea nodded, tightening her grip on his arm and pulling him towards the exit. “The emperor… said I was wrong to doubt you so.”

Berkut’s temper flared. What happened? If they so much as plucked a hair from Rinea’s head—

She tugged him gently in the direction of the doors, a warning this time. Of course, she was right. He must not forget himself. Every insult, every hurt done to his Rinea could be repaid tenfold at another time, but first he had to see that she was safe.

*

The Duma Faithful might be occupying the palace, but they had not lived in it as Berkut had. There were any number of secret passageways still undiscovered by them, which he and Rinea used to escape their quarters in the dead of night, carrying as many useful items as they could.

Berkut was sorry to be saying goodbye to his childhood home. But, he reminded himself, it will not be for the last time.

As he’d suspected, the Duma Faithful who prided themselves on knowing the deepest magic, did not trouble themselves to investigate mere stables; as he had instructed, his and Rinea’s horses were saddled and waiting when they got there.

Neither had the Duma Faithful been able to to replace every guard in the palace—there were simply not enough qualified men. The smaller, eastern gate, normally used only for individuals and opened barely at all, was freshly oiled and opened soundlessly for Rinea and Berkut.

“Long live the Emperor,” the guard whispered as they passed through, briefly touching his fist to his heart and inclining his head. “General Massena and the remnants of the royal guard went south, but I cannot say more than that.”

To the south was an old training ground that Berkut knew well—Massena had taught him to ride there when he’d been a boy, along with many of the men who made up—who had made up Rudolf’s personal guard. Berkut wondered how many of them had survived.

“Bide your time here until I may return with my people,” he said. “I will need men within the palace.”

Then, under the cover of darkness, they left.

END OF ACT 3

Chapter Text

After Alm saved her in the woods, Faye was more in love with him than ever. He’d come to rescue her, and from a real life knight, at that! Even whilst she helped her mother around the house, or went hunting with Father, she daydreamed of doing those things with Alm – or even instead of Alm! Maybe he would stay home while she went hunting? He could teach the children swordfighting, because they’d have two, a boy and a girl…

The daydreams began to be less fun after a while. It was hard to believe in a future together with Alm when he could never be more than six paces from Celica.

He sat with her in the lessons from Uncle Mycen. Faye tried to attend as many as she could, not only because Uncle was the greatest knight Zofia had ever seen, but also because it have her chances to be closer to Alm. It was hard to compete with Celica, who lived with him, but Faye tried to make opportunities for them to bond – they sparred sometimes, and Alm would help her with her bow, and in return she offered to patch the holes in his shirts and trousers. It was helpful and it was something that, for some reason, Celica couldn’t do. Even Uncle Mycen, the hero of Zofia, could stitch, although his stitches were not very neat.

Uncle Mycen always thanked Faye and complimented her work, and of course Alm was always polite and grateful, too – how could he not be? It just didn’t seem to be enough. Alm still always wanted to be with Celica. He would still play with Faye, but only in the way he played with anybody. It wasn’t special.

Well, Faye didn’t see what was so special about Celica. She couldn’t sew, she couldn’t cook or clean she didn’t know how to fish or which plants were safe to eat, and she threw up in the bushes when Uncle Mycen tried to teach her how to skin a rabbit. Celica could hold a sword correctly – so Uncle Mycen said – and once she showed all of them the little bit of magic that she’d learned, holding a few tiny sparks in the palm of her hand (not even a proper flame) for a few moments before they faded away. Kliff’s entire being had lit up like a star, but Faye didn’t see why he was so excited. She could make a fire, too, with flint and only some dry leaves – and it wouldn’t go out if tended to properly. Which Faye could do.

But it impressed everyone else. Kliff demanded lessons from Celica, and Gray and Tobin roped her into all their adventures as a Pirate Queen or an Evil Sorceress—

Alm didn’t say anything, but Faye recognised the glint of determination in his eye. To do better than Celica. He took her seriously, always striving to outdo her in lessons. He never worried that Faye would overtake him if he helped her too much, and maybe that was proper, if Faye wanted to marry him, but it didn’t feel proper or nice at all, to be forgotten, to be second place. Faye—

Faye just went on being Faye. Normal. Homely. She was the damsel in distress in Gray and Tobin’s adventures, always; Kliff wouldn’t talk about books with her anymore, always nagging Celica for lessons instead, heedless of the burns on his hands; and Alm just smiled and said thank you when she mended his things, asking after her family, helping her with target practise with her bow and acted like the kind and considerate friend he’d always been, but it wasn’t enough anymore.

She felt like she was shrinking away, smaller and smaller. When she wandered away from Gray’s and Tobin’s games, nobody noticed. When she couldn’t read her books, tossing them side each night after reading the same sentence over and over, Kliff didn’t ask what was wrong because they didn’t share their stories anymore. And when Faye did archery practise with everyone and she determinedly nocked arrows to the bow all by herself, without calling Alm over to help, he didn’t look at her and didn’t ask how she was doing—

“Oh, well done, Faye!” Uncle Mycen said. “You hit the target dead centre.”

Which could have been a miracle from Mother Mila herself, because Faye could barely see the target through all the tears in her eyes. The idea of impressing Alm all seemed very stupid. If he was just going to look at Celica all the time, what was even the point?

“Faye?” Uncle asked, crouching down to be level with her, and suddenly it was desperately important that no one see her cry.

She shoved the bow into Uncle Mycen’s hands and ran all the way home.

*

The next day, it was hard to get out of bed. But it was also hard to stay in bed – to daydream about her own house and maybe Alm would be working in the garden right now…

It felt like a lie. It felt like something inside her had been broken. Alm loved to hear exciting stories of grand adventures. He itched to explore even the meadows and woods surrounding Ram village, which was the farthest that Uncle Mycen would let Alm and Celica go.

It’s all Celica’s fault, she thought.

But that was a lie too. It weighed on Faye, an accusation. You know that it’s not Celica. It’s you.

She couldn’t stay in bed all day, even if her parents might let her this time. In the middle of getting dressed, Ma poked her head around the door. She seemed surprised, but pleased, to see Faye up already. “One of your friends is here to see you, sweet,” she said.

Even with the talking to she’d given herself this morning, Faye’s heart quickened at the thought it might be Alm.

Don’t do that, she scolded herself. It was probably Gray. Despite how bull headed he could be sometimes, he was actually capable of realising when something wasn’t right; probably the best of any of them. Faye put it down to his two older sisters.

It would just be Gray. Not Alm.

“I’ll be right down,” she told her mother.

She’d known Gray her whole life. They were the same age – born only a month apart. They’d been playing together since before Faye could remember. Alm and Tobin too, of course, and even Kiff although he was the youngest of all of them.

But. With Gray it was something a little more. His mother had nursed Faye when she was a baby, and Faye’s mother had done the same for baby Gray. They were nearly family. Not family in the way she wanted to be Alm’s family. More like an annoying sibling who would lick their fingers and stick them in your ear when they didn’t like you.

Faye sighed and went downstairs, opening the door—

It wasn’t Gray.

“Hi,” Celica said, smiling and offering a piece of cloth in the same way Faye imagined a knight would hold a shield. “I brought your apron back! I tried to get the bloodstains out, but…”

Oh, from when Alm cut his hand last week. Faye had wrapped her apron around it to stem the bleeding, trying not to think of the knight in the wood and how much blood there would’ve been if he’d removed Faye’s head like he promised. Uncle Mycen had praised her quick thinking, but Faye had done her best to forget the whole thing.

The blood was still there, a dull brownish colour now. It still made Faye queasy to look at.

“You have to wash blood out immediately,” Faye said tightly. “Or it will stain. Like that.”

Celica’s hands dropped. She bit her lip.

It had not occurred to Faye that Celica might come to see her. When her mother said ‘one of your friends’, she hadn’t thought of Celica at all.

That was wrong, wasn’t it? They’d played together and learned together from Uncle Mycen. Alm had been the one to save Faye, from the soldiers that day, but… Celica had still come running too. Even though Celica knew she wasn’t supposed to be spotted. She came with her dagger and she was the one who pointed it at the men, raising her chin despite her trembling arms. The one who’d been willing to fight for them all.

“It’s okay,” Faye said. Her tone was still clipped and short, because it wasn’t okay. But there were some things more important than who was going to marry who. “We can dye it.”

Celica smiled again, her whole face lighting up. “You’ll show me?”

“Yeah. There are plants we can use for dye…”

Maybe green? It would more or less cover the stain, but it also wouldn’t given them literal green fingers like the people who worked with woad in the big town. Anyway, Faye thought green would suit Celica very well.

“We’ll get the boys,” Faye decided, warming to the idea. “They can help us forage.”

“Yes, let’s put them to work!” Celica nodded with sparkling eyes.

It was nice, having something that felt like it was theirs. Tentatively, Faye smiled. Celica beamed back, bouncing on her feet. She threw her arms around Faye, nearly bowling her over.

“It’s nice to see you back to your usual self,” she said.

Awkwardly, Faye patted Celica’s back. I didn’t think anyone noticed. But Celica did. Celica. “Thanks.”

Chapter Text

It was fun being the most grown up of the six of them – not only the oldest but also the most experienced! Particularly with the ladies. Mainly he had experience, as Violet and Melissa reminded him constantly – rude! – in getting shot down by girls, but hey, you had to start somewhere, and Gray was, you know, started. Unlike the rest of them. Point for Gray. Violet could shut it, she was only nagging because she’d scared off all the Ram boys already.

Also, he was always the first one to carry home big news or gossip, which irritated Kliff’s mother to no end (always a bright spot in Gray’s day, as he truly despised that woman – who did she think she was, trying to get Kliff to associate with ‘better’ people and forcing him to learn all that boring merchant-y stuff when he didn’t want to) and made Gray the talk of the town for, gosh, entire hours probably.

Of course, it wasn’t all fun and games. Melissa and Violet didn’t come any more because of the recent bandit attacks, so it was just Gray and his dad and a few other men from the village, mainly people Kliff’s father employed. Gray was painfully aware that, at only 15, he was still the best and most experienced fighter of the lot of them, thanks to those lessons with Sir Mycen which were turning out to be more relevant than anyone would’ve wished.

He carried the sword Sir Mycen had given him and put on a brave face whenever they travelled to Frodesia, pretending like he wasn’t worried about any sodding bandits. Not that he was, really! He’d already faced trained knights, he could take a handful of bandits!

Except for that part of the road where the woods were so crowded either side that they were difficult for a lone person to move through, let alone the oxen and wagon, where the ghost of Mycen’s old tactics lessons came back to haunt Gray and he couldn’t help but think what an excellent place this was for an ambush. If Gray were a bandit, he’d have archers in the trees and the rest of the group would rush the caravan from behind – closer to home – with the strongest two or three fighters blocking the way out from the from the front. The caravan would be slaughtered in minutes, whether Gray was there or not.

Nothing troubled them there, however, and Gray put on the stupidest, most vapid smile he could manage until they turned a corner of the road and the perfect ambush spot was out of sight.

It turned out that the bandits could’ve done with some tactics lessons from Sir Mycen too, because when they hit them on the way back, they didn’t use the obvious ambush spot at all. Instead, they came charging over the hill when the caravan was virtually safe and dry.

Wait, really? was Gray’s first thought. You pick now?

But then it dawned on him that there really were bandits charging down the hill towards them, and everyone, even his own father, was looking to him as though he had the answers. Which was terrible timing as Gray’s mind had gone strangely blank and he felt like he was just a boy again, armed only with wit and bravado against a knight—

The feeling passed after another moment when one of the bandits tripped up during their run down the hill and went head over heels. No. These aren’t trained soldiers. This time, it’ll be easy peasy.

There were… a lot of them, though. Gray counted eight, to the caravan’s five. Could there be more in wait—?

No time. They were close enough to the village that Gray would’ve sent a runner for Sir Mycen if the numbers weren’t so badly against them, but they couldn’t spare the men.

“Get in the wagon!” he said, or tried to say; it kind of came out as a shout without him meaning it to. Most of them were only armed with pitchforks and sharpened sticks – Gray was the only one with a real weapon. They needed protection. “Use the reach to keep them at bay!”

The bandits were nearly upon them, and Gray made sure to keep the wagon to his back, eyes darting about, trying to see everything at once. Real swords and axes, but rusted and badly maintained—so they’d had access to weapons but didn’t really know how to handle them—maybe conscripts who had deserted and stolen some weapons—wait, no, that’s not important—

Then they were on him.

The first bandit was the tallest and probably thought he was the strongest; at least, Gray thought that might be why he swung an axe at Gray’s head but left himself totally open to attack. He seemed slow to Gray, who diverted the axe with a single blow and then stabbed the man in the throat. The bandit’s momentum carried him a few inches down the blade, and he looked surprised as he made a gurgling sound in his throat.

Gray pulled the sword out as quickly as he could and moved to the side, letting the sword of the next bandit bite into the wagon a few inches to his left. He hesitated to attack Gray, maybe surprised by how easily he’d dispatched the larger guy—

A pitchfork stabbed down into the gap between the bandit’s neck and his shoulder. He dropped the sword, clutching at the wound, but Gray’s father only stabbed him again.

Gray pulled his attention away. Another, holding a very rusted sword with jagged edges, almost offensively badly cared for. The man took a step away when Gray looked at him, and maybe he would’ve run away, but Gray was already swinging—

Instead of opening up the man’s chest like Gray intended, it made a deep cut in his arm. Blood poured out of it. Gray forced himself not to look too closely, keeping his eye on the man’s weapon as he held his own sword in a ready position.

But the man abandoned his sword and retreated. The other bandits were hanging back, warier now of attacking. They’re just opportunists, Gray thought, and we aren’t as weak as they were expecting.

Someone at the back muttered something that he couldn’t hear, but he noticed when it was taken up by the rest of them, a nervous murmur like the buzzing of an insect.

When the first man turned to leave, Gray was more relieved than he’d expected. It felt like something heavy had been taken out of his limbs, and he sagged as his muscles slowly, slowly relaxed when the rest of them turned tail and fled.

The air was quiet but it seemed somehow crowded with unsaid things. Gray felt like all eyes were on him but he didn’t want to turn around to be sure of it. Instead, he busied himself with cleaning his sword – bandit blood, gross – and sheathing it after he made a show of checking that they had really gone.

When he wandered back, they were still talking about him. Gray heard his name and then an awkward silence fell.

Couldn’t you have finished gossiping before I came back? Gray thought about saying, but the joke got stuck in his throat. It was easier just to pretend he hadn’t noticed anything, even if it made the silence even more awkward.

“C’mon, we’re nearly there,” he said, trying for cheerful but sounding more like demented instead. “Let’s get going.”

The walk back to town seemed agonisingly slow, but if Gray wanted to run ahead he'd have to ask, and he just... really didn't want to draw any more attention to himself. Which was weird because he was normally quite keen on attention, actually.

But he liked being Gray. Funny, charming, handsome—all of those things and more!

Not... dangerous. Not frightening.

It felt a little like the sword was getting heavier with every step and Gray imagined that he could still taste the blood in the air, lingering. He didn't want to have to go into Ram and say, "Hey Tobes, Faye, Klifface, You Other Two. What's up? I killed two men today and it was really easy! So, who’s up for a spar?"

But he also wanted to find them all and say, “Hey, I killed two men today. That’s okay, right?”

That would’ve been a weird and sappy thing to ask, so it was probably for the best that Sir Mycen was waiting for them at the gates.

"There's been trouble recently," Mycen said without preamble. "Bandits." He cast his eyes over the group, and even though Gray was pretty sure there weren't any telltale 'Bandit fighty' signs on any of them, he seemed to know. "How many were there?"

"Eight," Gray said, forgetting that he was trying not to be in charge.

Mycen raised an eyebrow at the other men.

"The rest ran away after we killed the first two," Gray felt the need to add.

Mycen nodded. "Gray, walk with me. If the rest of you have no injuries, you should put the goods away. We're building some rudimentary defences and organising a watch. Contribute if you feel able; if not, we can talk about that tomorrow."

Now, Gray was pretty damn brave, if he did say so himself, but it would take a man with a spine of solid rock not to buckle under Sir Mycen's steely gaze. Yikes, he's looking even more veteran knight today than usual.

But to his surprise, Mycen didn't immediately start to grill him on his battle tactics or anything. Instead, they walked in silence for a while around the perimeter of the village, Mycen inspecting the defences and Gray pretending to know what he was doing when he nodded along. It was all fairly normal, as his interactions with the hero of Zofia went.

"So... was anyone hurt?" he said, after the silent patrol started to move from 'welcome reprieve' to 'someone's about to murder me, aren't they?'

"Not this time," Mycen said. "But there will be other attacks, no doubt. How are you feeling?"

"Uh..." This wasn't the interrogation that Gray was expecting. "Fine?"

Mycen smiled thinly. "Is that a question or a statement?"

"Well. I mean. I am fine." He made a point of looking down at himself. "Look, remembered my arms and everything!"

They stopped suddenly, and he nearly tripped over his own boots. When Gray recovered his balance, he found Sir Mycen giving him a long and careful look. "That is not what I mean, Gray."

Hm, maybe he should've gone for the 'ask the Sensitive Pals' gambit after all. It might've saved him from having to tell the greatest living knight how he thought he might cry a bit if Tobin looked at him the way the men in the caravan had.

"It's just..." He pretended to be watching a new section of the defences being put up so he wouldn't have to look Sir Mycen in the face. "Killing them didn't really bother me at all. Except that blood is gross and it smells really terrible when there's a lot of it. But they were trying to kill me and all that." That was the easy part out of the way. Without even looking at Mycen, Gray knew he was watching expectantly. "It's just. You know. I'm still me? And I don't want anyone to think that I'm... not."

...Wow, that was literally the worst possible way I could've phrased that. Good going, Gray. Now Sir Mycen probably thinks you're an idiot as well as a wuss!

"You are still yourself," Mycen said. It sounded very final when he said it, as though it was just a fact of the universe and if the universe had a problem with that, it could answer to him.

It gave Gray the courage to add, "They just looked at me different. After. And, c'mon, I've been training with you for four years now, right? It's not surprising that I can defend myself!"

Actually, thinking about it made him a little angry, because they looked to him to keep them safe but he was only allowed to know nice, pretty ways to defend people, and not where you could stab a man to have him bleed out in seconds or where an injury would be crippling, but not fatal—

Mycen's hand clamped down on his shoulder, bringing his train of thought to a fault. "In a sense, it's not their fault," Mycen said. "They've lived a life of peace and plenty, untouched by danger. In Ram, that's perhaps more true than anywhere else in the kingdom. Fertile lands, but not enough riches or wealth to draw the ire of mercenaries or the king."

"You know I've lived here my whole life too, right?" Gray said dubiously.

At that, Mycen actually laughed, patting Gray on the back hard enough to wind him. "You aren't unacquainted with violence, Gray."

He was talking about the knights in the woods, of course. At times it seemed to be something that happened a lifetime ago, maybe to some previously unknown but exceptionally sassy twin of Gray--and other times it still felt like he was right on the edge of something terrible, and he always felt the urge to check on his sisters and the others.

One thing that hadn't really registered at the time, but that he'd thought a lot about after, was the way the knight had looked at Celica like she was a prize.

They'd never talked about it, not to Celica, and not to each other. Gray didn't know what that had been about and he was pretty sure he wasn't meant to. But since then... since then, it felt like he'd been standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the day when he would have to jump. The idea that Celica was in danger somehow had always lingered at the back of his mind, even when she made him flower crowns or tried to emulate Faye's regimented stitching with her tongue poking out of her mouth in concentration.

So even though fighting the knights had really been something Mycen did, it felt like the beginning of something ominous and deadly for Gray, too. For all of them.

"I guess," he said.

“Things are only going to get worse, I suspect,” Mycen said, barely acknowledging Gray’s answer. Then again, did he really need to? There was a reason that they’d all been eager to the arts of war from him, and it’s wasn’t just boredom. “The bandits for now will be made up of the most desperate, who are often the least equipped to really fight for what they need. But if the poor harvests continue, it won’t stay that way.”

Not to mention whatever was going on with Celica. Or not going on. Whatever.

“Go and tell the others,” Mycen said.

Gray’s face fell. “But what if…”

If Celica won’t make me flower crowns and Tobin won’t make me babysit his kid brothers and sisters and Kliff won’t be deliberately annoying until I burst and Alm won’t call me ‘Gray, the sidekick’—

Which was a weird thought because those were all things that Gray did not normally enjoy—the gods alone knew how Tobin’s littlest sister always, always managed to be sticky—and you’d think he’d be glad to see the back of them, except they were all things that marked him as safe.

“Even if they do,” Mycen said delicately, “you’re the eldest, and it’s something you need to teach them.”

And that—yeah. Gray didn’t want to admit it, but… they still had to be prepared. It’s real outside and you don’t get to escape it, and really, you always knew this was coming. And he did feel all those responsible, big-brother-y feeling type things that maybe meant… a bit… that he wanted, needed, them to be safe more than he needed them to love him.

But gods he hoped he never had to consciously think that thought again because Gray had an image to maintain here.

The others weren’t hard to find, together as they always were. The drier Gray’s mouth got, the more casual he tried to act, until there was a desert on his tongue and he couldn’t get anymore relaxed without literally laying down to sleep.

Naturally they all knew something was dreadfully wrong basically immediately.

“Are you alright?” Celica said. “We heard there was trouble on the road.”

She was in the middle of tying together another one of the defensive fences. Gray raised an eyebrow at her. “I heard there was trouble here, too.”

Tobin rolled his shoulders, wincing. “And you were late to the party. Like always.”

Alm just shrugged, a little sullen. “Grandpa took care of it.”

And that was part of the problem, wasn’t it. That Sir Mycen wouldn’t always be there. That it wasn’t a game, and you shouldn’t sulk because you didn’t get a turn, but the talk was so easy and familiar that he didn’t want to break it with a serious talk or some kind of lecture, or…

Kliff was watching him with narrowed eyes, the bastard. Probably doing smart stuff again. Like thinking. And noticing.

He was really quite good at that.

“We should go chop some more wood,” Kliff announced.

The rest of them groaned, even Celica. “I just brought over this big pile!” Tobin said, gesturing at them violently. “My shoulders feel like they’re going to tear off! Come on, Kliff.”

“It’ll be dark soon,” Kliff answered, as implacable as a wall. Gray had only ever seen him fold to Sir Mycen. Once. “You can’t gather wood in the dark, and we still haven’t covered half the village with these things.” He sneered. “If you can’t carry them, then I guess you can stay here and do the knots.”

Tobin made a noise that was actually quite close to a growl, but like, one of those small dog growls when they were trying to pretend to not be scared of you. “Fine, fine! But I swear if you boss me around again…”

The threats continued as they moved as a unit, Gray trailing behind everyone else at the back. Poor form, Tobes, you used that threat two days ago! Kliff’s going to think you’re not even trying. You’ll hurt his feelings. All, like, three of them.

He didn’t notice when Faye fell into step beside him, only that after a while the others had pulled further ahead, and it was just the two of them, walking in silence.

I guess I am only the oldest by a month, Gray thought, wrinkling his nose.

He would’ve been afraid to say something, but it was Faye. People – even people in the village who’d known her for her whole life and really should know better – thought that Faye was soft, because she liked to wear pale colours and arrange flowers and braid hair and was basically the perfect housewife just waiting to be snapped up by someone.

Actually, Faye was more like flint. She was hard and intensely practical, with gaping weak spots where you could break her if you really tried. You’d just have to get through Gray first, and good luck with that.

“I killed two of them,” he blurted. “The bandits.”

“Oh,” was all Faye said, not disturbed at all by this information. “Was it hard?”

“No.”

She nodded. “Okay. That’s… good.” They walked a few more yards in silence. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Well, obviously,” Gray said, and then, softer, when she scowled at him: “Me too.”

“Do you think I could kill bandits?”

He looked her over, frowning. She literally could, yeah; Sir Mycen had trained all of them. But Faye… Faye was good at mending things. Then again, this was her home… “Maybe,” he said sheepishly. It was a really lame answer.

Faye scoffed but he could follow the trail of thought as her eyes slid away from him. ‘What if I can’t protect Alm and the others?’

He bumped her shoulder, making her stumble into a nearby tree. “Gray!” But she was smiling a bit when she started to chase after him. “I’m going to drown you in the river!”

Alm rolled up his sleeves in an exaggerated fashion as Gray dashed past—Faye might find it funny but she really would shove him into the river and it was so cold at this time of year—and said, “Oh look, it’s time to rescue the sidekick. Again.”

He’d tell the rest of them later, around a fire, probably, when it was quiet and dark and whilst the village prepared for all the fights to come. He’d tell the rest of them then.

It was funny to realise it suddenly, but he’d never really been worried what Faye would think.

Chapter Text

Alm & Celica

The big opening to Act 4 would be Celica and Alm’s discussion with Mycen, where Mycen actually comes clean about lying to Alm (and why – the prophecy, the missing piece for both Celica and Alm), and Celica has to admit that she has known that Alm is the prince of Rigel for some time too. Alm is naturally upset by this and storms off. He won’t speak to Celica or Mycen for a while.

In canon here there is a big fight with Berkut. This, of course, doesn’t happen here, but there is a more minor confrontation with Nuibaba ahead of approaching Fear Mountain. This time, it’s Alm that she tries to tempt, playing on his fears that he can’t truly trust the people he thought he knew: that Mycen raising him was a duty, he doesn’t really care for Alm, and Celica’s seemingly reciprocating his feelings is a political move. However, Alm still has his good guy streak and the part where Nuibaba has kidnapped Tatiana means it’s a hard sell. This more plays into his personal doubts and some self-worth issues that he was feeling in this AU.

Meanwhile, Berkut meets up with Masema, the head of Emperor Rudolf’s guard, and they start exploring their options for taking back the throne. The obvious choice is to ask Queen Anthiese of Zofia for aid, but Berkut struggles to countenance this because of his pride – he wants to win the throne back on Rigel’s strength alone. Whilst they have to lay low, rumours do leak out, and they get some recruits from around the countryside sneaking into their camp, telling Berkut about how the Duma Faithful oppress the people. Berkut starts to have a realisation that his uncle maybe actually wasn’t the best ruler – mainly based on the idea that he let so much control of the localities be usurped by Jedah’s people, and not actual concern for those being oppressed, but baby steps.

Back with the Deliverance, a small party lead by Alm takes on Fear Mountain – not quite against Celica’s wishes but without formally asking for permission. This involves the Ram kids as well as Delthea and Luthier, and Fernand invites himself along because he’s disturbed by the late rift between Alm and Celica. Knowing what he does about Alm’s Brand, he believes more in Alm’s abilities, and is therefore horribly surprised when Alm’s emotional distress means that he’s Not At His Best (shocker), Alm nearly gets himself killed with his own reckless plan, and it’s the Ram kids and Delthea who cobble something together to save the day. In the aftermath, Fernand tries to rescue this in his head by playing up Delthea’s powerful magical ancestry, but Delthea gives a long rant about how her lineage ain’t shit and it’s not her power that did all this stuff, it’s her. Fernand struggles with the fact that reality won’t validate his prejudices and has to admit that the Ram crew are pretty good, and the only explanation is their being trained by another commoner, Mycen.

The Ram kids try to stage an intervention with Alm but he rebuffs them. He gets injured in a skirmish and has to sit out the next battle as a result. Following another battle, the gang meet Zeke, who exclaims over Alm’s Brand as he does in canon, but looks a lot stupider doing it now when Alm is being Like That. From this meeting, rumours of the secret survival of Rudolf’s True Branded Heir™ start to spread. The Ram kids start to think they might know what’s up. Kliff leads a hell of a lot of politicking and propaganda campaign to try to AVOID Alm being set up as Rigel’s saviour since this is obviously not a job that he wants. Fernand witnesses Celica throwing all her weight and energy behind this as well, energy which she doesn’t have to spare, and decides that he was right all along, Alm is a dumb nobody, this time despite being royalty by blood. Character development!

In another skirmish, Alm’s injury from his recklessness is still hindering him, and Gray has to step in to save him, which ends up costing him a leg from the severity of the injury. (I was originally going to kill Gray off somewhere, but I didn’t really have the heart for it.) Partially from seeing Clair’s upset at Gray’s hurts, Fernand goes off to tell Alm he sucks. Alm decides that Fernand telling him he’d be nothing without his friends and he doesn’t deserve them is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to him and he gets over himself. I mean, not quite like that. He realises his friends (and Celica) are more important than anything else that’s going on, and whilst he hasn’t forgiven Mycen and hasn’t come to terms with his identity issues, he starts opening up to everyone more.

Rumours of the survival of a Secret True Branded Heir reach Berkut’s people as well, which doesn’t do the number on Berkut’s self esteem that it did in canon, but does still shake him up. In this AU, Rudolf was not able to tell his men about Alm, so Masema and co don’t know whether to believe the rumour or not, but Masema is forced to conclude that with the prophecy about the Children of Fate, it is plausible that Rudolf spirited his heir away. Berkut’s fury at Rudolf for seemingly making him his heir only to plan a secret return of his true son is a sight to behold. Rinea turns this into a PR moment by pretending it’s fury at the Duma Faithful. Project ‘Making Rinea an Actual Character’ is a go.

Anyway, due to a combination of Berkut’s everything, the gains of the Deliverance with the populace in defeating Nuibaba, and the risk that this secret heir could usurp Berkut’s position, his camp splits up. Berkut leads the bulk of the forces towards Rigel Castle, determined that the Deliverance won’t take it without him at least. Rinea being the only one he fully trusts, he sets her the task of tracking down Halcyon and the exiled Duma Faithful so that the Faith can rebuilt in a proper supporting role. Other political stuff about loyalties of low-ranking clerics and the inability of Jedah to replace the whole Faithful with his own men goes here too. Gotta cram my history degree knowledge in there somewhere.

A point that ties into Conrad’s half of Act 4: it would have been noted that there were a lot of Duma Faithful around. This is because Jedah’s priorities aren’t split across the continent as in canon. Thus, there are a number of smaller skirmishes and casualties amongst the Zofians are higher.

When Berkut approaches Rigel Castle, Celica has bad past experience with him, so she’s encouraged to send people to treat in her stead, but it’s also an offer that the Zofians can’t really refuse. Alm and Fernand end up leading the delegation (they are back to only tolerating each other for Celica’s sake), where they both state that Zofia does not recognise any other heir to the throne of Rigel, the existence of this Secret Branded Heir, if true, will not change their agreement with Berkut. Berkut will only realise the significance of this later lol. Anyway, Berkut’s expertise ends up being used in a similar way to the taking of Desaix’s fortress where the Deliverance end up attacking from multiple places and causing confusion amongst the enemy forces. Of course Berkut’s sheer presence causes some men just to lay down their arms too, because the Duma Faithful who turn innocents into witches and oppress the commons are like, not super popular for some reason. Weird huh.

During the fight, Alm sees his father for the first time. Since Rudolf got witch-puppet’d in this AU, he just straight up tries to kill Alm unlike in canon, and Mycen ends up dying protecting Alm and (sort of) protecting his friend from himself as well. Angst as Alm realises Mycen really did care about him in his own way. This uh, would’ve been a bigger deal in the actual story, but there’s only so much justice that can be done in a summary, sorry.

Fernand would end up sticking with Berkut for the battle for diplomacy reasons, and roll his eyes a lot at what Berkut said about underhanded tricks and not trusting the commonfolk and blah blah. You know, just to show how far Fernand has come. This kind of dramatic irony tickles me I won’t apologise for it. Berkut also has to eat his words a little when he’s popularly proclaimed as Emperor because uhhh the other option is that he acknowledges it’s the Zofian army putting him on the throne which his brain won’t allow. Gold medal in mental gymnastics.

Anyway, to close out Act 4 for this side of the story, Berkut really does find out about Alm in the aftermath of the battle, and is prepared to throw down for the throne, until Alm is like “dude have you seen how stressed by girlfriend is, do you think I want that” or you know, words to that effect. Alm accepts Rudolf might have intended him to have the throne back but he’s decided how he wants to live his own life, plus the practical things like he doesn’t know the first thing about Rigel or care and doesn’t have any business ruling its people. Berkut accepts this because he’s not too hot on the idea of Following Rudolf’s Plan himself at this point. Alm, does, however, want to know his cousin, so they have a very awkward attempt to bond.

Conrad

We open Conrad’s Act 4 with the gang recuperating from retaking Mila Temple. For most of the team, this is officially goals completed, but everyone decides to stick with Conrad anyway after hearing of the disturbances in Rigel. I think we’ve earned that by this point.

In canon, a lot of Celica’s Act 4 is driven by Jedah. Here, Jedah has no reason to be on this half of the continent, as he knows exactly where Celica is (unfortunately for him, surrounded by an army), so Conrad & Co’s journey is a lot easier than Celica’s. This would’ve been the time to focus on Nomah, Saber, Mae and Boey who didn’t get much chance to shine since Act 2 :( Mae and Est would have become friends, because maybe IntSys will waste the opportunity given by having two high-energy pink haired girls in the same game, but I certainly wouldn’t.

Arriving at the village of the old Duma Faithful, there’s some strategising about Jedah and, of course, what Halcyon knows about witches (Sonya and Deen’s interest). As Nomah has more of an idea of the situation with Celica, he persuades Halcyon that they should distract Jedah’s attention by launching an assault on his base and just generally causing nuisance (I would say that it would have been written better in the fic, but that’s probably the literal wording Nomah would use). That one villager who tells you about Jedah’s 1-every-4-hits trick would have featured here, but it would have been tied to the phases of the moon or time of day or something, because every 4 hits works in a video game, less so in a storytelling format. Sonya’s knowledge of Jedah would probably also be critical here.

There would be a battle with Jedah’s forces surrounding the village. Conrad, by virtue of knowing the surrounding area and his new allies the best, ends up being key to the planning with advice from Palla (of course) and Deen. In case you don’t know Deen’s backstory revealed in the artbook, he was a high-ranking Zofian soldier with a fiancee, but his fiancee was turned into a witch (presumably around the time of Desaix’s coup, although I don’t think it was stated), who he was forced to kill in self defence. If you remember that bit where witches scream and beg for mercy when you kill them… yeah this is a fucking giant chunk of trauma Deen is carrying around, and I can’t believe the game gave so little indication of this. Imagine a Deen-Nomah support where he’s desperate to know what happens to witches when they die. YEAH. Anyway, this would have been a hint for the characters of something else going on with Deen.

After the village is saved, the cast are able to start planning an attack on Jedah himself (which has to be tied to a specific day/time). This also critically opens up the village to the outside world, which means Rinea is able to find and join their party. The timeline might have had to be twisted a little bit to make this make sense, but dammit I was determined to give Rinea SOMETHING. Rinea brings the more up-to-date info about the situation in wider Rigel and Celica’s location. This is a surprise tool which will help us later.

The characters run into difficulty with trying to get at Jedah specifically, because it’s impossible to know precisely where he’ll be. Rinea (whose lack of self-worth seems to be one of her few canon character traits) decides the smartest answer to this is to use herself as bait, which everyone else thinks is a terrible idea. Unluckily for them, Rinea doesn’t listen and goes ahead anyway, being saved at the last minute by Halcyon. Halcyon does a heroic sacrifice by trapping Jedah instead of fighting back, which means that Jedah kills him, but the cast are able to fight Jedah and kill him.

Rinea is distraught, as she and Halcyon bonded in the time they knew each other – she had grown up under Jedah’s idea of the Duma Faithful which emphasised military strength and raw power, but Halcyon was able to show her a lot of the older traits of the Duma Faithful and that though she can’t fight, there’s nothing lesser about who she is. Again, one of those things that can’t be very well conveyed in a summary, just trust me on this one okay. Conrad is the one able to talk her down as a symbolic inheritor of Halcyon’s ideals, and so Rinea is able to believe in herself a little more and better accept Halcyon’s sacrifice.

From there, Conrad’s group decides to travel to meet up with Anthiese/Celica (and Berkut, for Rinea) to deliver the important information of Jedah’s demise. Act 4 ends with Celica and Conrad reunited, to the joy of both.

Chapter Text

Act 5 opens with Berkut and Rinea’s coronation. Some time here would be spent on the political side of things (Rudolf did not have time to leave a message for Alm about killing Duma, so at the moment only a handful of characters are considering it a priority) and allowing characters from the two different halves of the continent to interact. Apart from the obvious of Celica introducing Conrad to Alm and her other friends, and Conrad introducing her to Palla, we would also have:

* Jesse smoozing with Berkut and Rinea to pave the way for his planned mercenary nation

* Silque reuniting with Mae, Boey, Genny and Nomah

* Python and Kamui vibing together, because I thought it would be funny

* Deen demanding his wages for protecting Conrad from Celica (I also thought this would be funny)

* Clair learning more about being a pegasus knight from Palla, Catria, and Est

* Atlas big-brothering at Delthea and Kliff and being just too wholesome to be turned off by their grouching (Delthea) or sarcasm (Kliff)

* Nomah giving Alm some closure about Mycen and his secret-keeping

* During the above, Celica keeping Mae and Boey occupied with an awkward conversation about magic as a bit of a sad reference to their all being her best friends in canon

* Mathilda recognising Deen as the up-and-coming soldier whose fiancee and her family were killed by Desaix. He pretends not to know her or what she’s talking about, but she confides in Alm, Celica, and Conrad anyway

This last becomes important when the Plot finally comes back to haunt the cast: Sonya’s sisters, trying to carry out Jedah’s last orders, show up attempt to either assassinate or capture Celica and/or Alm. They’re defeated but Deen hesitates on delivering a final blow, meaning he ends up severely injured, and would have died if not for Sonya protecting him. Sonya’s sisters retreat rather than go against her, a hint that without Jedah’s influence they’ve recovered a little more of their personalities, giving Sonya hope.

In the background since Act 4, Sonya would have been studying materials from Halcyon and thought she’d come up with a way to cure witches and save her sisters. Between her desire to go after them and this sudden reminder that Jedah’s Duma Faithful are still active, the cast decides to go into the Tower after Duma. The underground maze here is found to be full of Duma Faithful and there are WAY too many characters here for me to comfortably juggle all of them, so the cast would have split up. These ten (number chosen because of the number you can take into dungeons in Echoes, but I almost certainly would have regretted it in the writing) make up the “main party”:

* Alm

* Celica

* Conrad

* Palla

* Nomah

* Sonya

* Kliff

* Tobin

* Faye

* Fernand

(There were more of my personal favourites who I would have loved to include, but I chose these ten mainly for plot reasons: Nomah for the religious storyline, Sonya for her sisters, Palla to continue her relationship building with Conrad, the Ram kids because their relationship with Celica has been basically the symbolic centre of the story. Fernand was the only maybe slot, but his character has probably been one of the biggest divergences from canon, so I liked the idea of him being there to the end. The other option here was Saber as Nomah’s bodyguard, and also because he was one of my faves who sadly didn’t get a lot of screentime.)

The “goodbye/good luck” moment would have been the last main story moment for some key relationships, so there would have been a lot of mini-arc endings here: Palla and her sisters; Fernand and Clive, Mathilda & Lukas (just in case you didn’t catch on to the character development yet, I guess); Sonya and Deen; Gray and the other Ram kids (he’s being left behind because of his injury, a fact which he will die mad about); Kliff & Delthea; Conrad and the rest of the Eastern side cast have one big heartfelt moment too.

Lastly, at Rinea’s urging (she gets to be a character now, remember!), Berkut gives Alm an awkward ‘don’t disappoint me by being weak and dying’ instead of a normal goodbye, which Alm accepts in the spirit its intended, but contrasts against the much closer relationships he has with his other friends from Ram and Celica, who he reflects are his true family now. He privately includes Mycen among that number and asks his spirit to watch over Celica.

Since there wouldn’t be any “mini-boss” battles as in canon, rather than focus on the main party just fighting a lot, the moments before the climax would have been filled with snapshots of the other characters fighting against the Duma Faithful in the tunnels. Again, this would be an opportunity to close some relationship arcs, so some major focuses would have been: Kamui and Leon; Jesse and Dean; Lukas and Python (and Forsyth on a lesser note); Clive and Gray/Clair (mainly to contrast Clive’s canon arc to his relatively static character in this AU); Atlas and Est (background Catria); Silque and Genny.

In general everyone would probably have gotten at least A Mention because everyone in the cast is probably someone’s favourite. I will go into more detail on intended character and relationship arcs in the epilogue (coming soon) because I don’t want to bulk out the plot summary too much here.

Anyway, so then we arrive at the Mila chamber with the main party. Everyone despairs at Mila’s death and the sealing of Falchion, even Nomah, but Celica can sense her presence through her mother’s necklace (remember, this is the necklace that saved Alm against witch-y magic in canon), and Mila’s spirit eventually appears. It is Conrad, however, carrying his true understanding of Duma’s teachings from Halcyon, and a child of both Mila and Duma, who is able to persuade her to return Falchion and to grant her brother the mercy of death. (I mean, as much as Divine Dragons ever die anyway.) Freed from her earthly body, Mila would be able to reflect a little on her own mental degeneration, and express her final good wishes and blessings to the people of Valentia. She asks Conrad specifically to end Duma, hoping that her brother will be happier with someone who follows his teachings taking on this role.

The final battle. Again, a difficult thing to convey in summary, but I’ll make my best attempt. The main goal of the cast here would have been to get Conrad wielding Falchion to Duma, but of course there are witches, Terrors, and the Remnants of Jedah’s Faithful to fight as well. On top of that, the method Sonya believes will cure her sisters is to use the Nosferatu spell on Duma, taking in some of his power and essence, before casting it back at them with some magical healing as well. (There would have been a complicated magic-system explanation behind this, but this is what it would’ve boiled down to.) This is also a nod to the Nosferatu spell being the only other thing capable of beating Duma, haha. Nomah is key to the battle, because he uses his extensive magical knowledge to help with defence from the magic spells of the witches and faithful. Alm, Celica, and Palla would have been personally right behind Conrad, their focus getting him to Duma intact. Other characters didn’t have specific roles but all would have gotten their moments. This definitely needed to be a team effort.

In the end, they manage to defeat Duma, helped by Sonya being able to absorb Duma’s power, weakening him, and restoring her sisters who were then able to join in the fight. After the battle, Sonya was nearly overcome and turned into a witch herself from the power she absorbed from Duma. It’s implied that something like this is what leads to her tragic canonical ending. Here, however, her sisters both cast Nosferatu on her, sharing the burden between them. They still look somewhat Witch-y, so it’s suggested that there may be permanent side effects, but fundamentally Sonya’s sisters have their own selves back, giving hope for all witches. The rest of the party take this as a metaphor/hope for rebuilding Valentia.

Closing scene of Act 5 is after a short timeskip. Berkut and Rinea attend Celica and Alm’s wedding. Together, they have been rebuilding trust in the Rigelian throne and restoring old ties to the central government, which the Duma Faithful under Jedah had subverted for their own ends and power. Rinea is rebuilding the Duma Faithful into a good organisation again, giving hope to the people based on the true teachings of Duma, and not Jedah’s power-hungry interpretation/spin. Berkut’s POV is oblivious to it, but it’s heavily implied that Rinea’s activities are the cause of a lot of Berkut’s popularity. Berkut has unbent enough, though, to realise that strict militarism and strength is not what Rigel needs now, and strives to lead by a different example than his uncle, so he is willing to take Rinea’s softer advice a lot more seriously, and lets Rinea lead in diplomacy with Zofia, as she’s in a lot more sympathy with the Queen and (now) Prince Consort. This is mainly to close out Berkut’s minor redemption arc as the epilogue would have more focus on our actual main cast.

Chapter Text

Five years after the final scene, pretty much every character from the main story is back in town to celebrate Celica and Alm’s fifth anniversary and the birth of their second child. We are in Conrad’s POV throughout, as he reflects on the struggles of the previous five years but what steps have been taken to restore peace and prosperity to Rigel and Zofia. Relations between the royal couples are still awkward at best, but Alm and Celica’s eldest child, their son aged 4, and Berkut and Rinea’s daughter only a few months older, are the best of friends, make their parents write letters for them constantly, and cry floods of tears whenever they are separated after diplomatic visits. (It is implied that it’s the marriage of these two which will unite Valentia, as happened in canon with Alm and Celica.)

Here we are able to check in with a whole host of characters in a “where are they now” as Conrad helps organise the celebrations, and we see some characters who come to give Alm and Celica their well wishes personally, and some who do it in a more formal way. I guess this is also time to reveal some of the other pairings I was aiming towards and didn’t get a chance to fully expand on in the plot summaries above!

Faye/Silque

Faye and Silque are travelling healers together in the tradition of Silque’s mother, which Silque has been trying to revive with some of Halcyon’s old Duma Faithful—the ones from the village who weren’t comfortable going back to civilisation again. They can’t stay for long because they’ve heard about an outbreak in a town about a day’s trip from the capital, but Faye has to stop by to deliver all the news and well-wishes from Ram, which they visit yearly. Faye of this AU really benefited from seeing Celica and Alm grow up together and internally being like ‘yeah, I don’t have a chance’, so she’s had her time to move on and find some new fulfilment, and a pretty cool girlfriend to boot. Silque makes one comment about a third child for Celica and Alm and she is whisked away before she can embarrass Faye more. Conrad doesn’t even understand the reference.

Delthea/Kliff & Luthier

I’ve always really liked the idea of Delthea and Kliff being a thing, because I think they’d play off each others personalities well. I think it’s also kind of sad that Delthea eventually got rid of her magic because she felt it stopped people seeing her for herself, and if there is one character in the cast who would not have a problem with that, it’s definitely Kliff. She might try to strangle him for it a few times, but I think Delthea would ultimately appreciate that. Luthier is also here as the magic tutor to Celica and Alm’s boy, now having a more relaxed conversation about new magical theories from Archanea with Kliff. Delthea explains to Conrad they needed to say their congrats—and goodbyes—early because Kliff still hasn’t finished packing his books. Huh. Where could they be going?

Gray/Clair & Tobin… /Tobin?

ANYWAY. Because of the uncertainty over Gray’s fate, I didn’t have a clear picture of how these three would have ended up. If Gray died, I was considering Clair/Tobin, but hadn’t really nailed down how it would happen. If Gray survived… maybe they would have been a trio? Who knows! Choose your own ending! In whichever combination, they’ve only recently got together because everyone had things to work out, so no marriage or kids. Maybe scandalous no marriage ever if we go trio option. Keep things exciting.

Either way Gray and Tobin are definitely still besties and fun uncles to Alm and Celica’s kid(s). Gray is probably hanging around asking when they’re going to name a kid after him, since this is, after all, the Epoch of Gray Plus Those Other Guys. He reels it in when Clair gives him a Look. As part of the fun uncles routine, Gray and Tobin are taking the little prince out for the day with Tobin’s visiting family, and we see a mark of their increased maturity when they talk about how it’s important for him to mix with ordinary people. Clair, a commander in Celica’s (much smaller, after the war) army has to be at the ceremony in a formal capacity, but Tobin promises he will keep Gray in line and Clair is grateful, ignoring Gray’s protests. They can’t have matured too much after all.

Forsyth

As Gray and Tobin leave with the little prince, he greets Sir Forsyth, just entering to give his report on palace security. Sir Forsyth gives his report in joyful tears. He’s excited enough about being knighted, but to be greeted as such by the young prince? Gift from the heavens. Forysth didn’t have much of a role in this fic because there were already So Many Characters, but I wanted to show he did achieve his dream.

Lukas/Python

Moving more into the evening as the festivities begin, Lukas and Python come to offer their congratulations and catch up: Lukas, with his eye for detail, was put in charge of reforming the administrative systems. Python’s gossiping nature has been surprisingly helpful in this endeavour in ferreting out corrupt officials taking bribes. Python is more relaxed and trusting of Celica now, though still determinedly irreverent, calling her Queenie and promising he’s going to cause some gossip tonight with Lucas, winking. Lucas explains that they’re using the festivities to investigate and expose another corrupt noble and Python complains about spoiling the surprise. Conrad and Lukas have become good friends and so Lukas gives Conrad a warm goodbye as well. Python just likes the romanticism of it. (Of what??) (I’m not sure if this guessing game would have worked written in the story...)

Fernand

Fernand comes up to join Alm and Celica as soon as Lukas and Python walk away. He still disapproves of Python, though now for his laziness and not his origins, and just doesn’t understand what Lukas sees in him. He may or may not glance at Alm as he says this. After five years of closely working together by necessity, Alm and Fernand have moved past cordially loathing each other but still don’t really get along. Conrad believes this is actually good, because they both instinctively challenge the other’s ideas leading to stronger advice. Fernand was able to offer Conrad more stories of his mother, Lady Vittoria, and a few more mementos that had been kept in the palace vaults, so Conrad likes him even if he finds him somewhat stiff and formal. (Kamui really did such a number on Conrad’s standards.) Fernand sticks around for the rest of the evening and offers comments every now and then.

Mathilda/Clive

As per canon, these two were still devoted to each other, so nothing much has changed here. They’ve since married and had their first child, though unlike canon, Mathilda did not have to retire to become a housewife, because Celica is in a position to push back harder against that sort of thing. Still, their greetings and congratulations to Alm and Celica on their rounds are more stilted and formal. Clive can’t deny things turned out for the best, but he never fully got behind Alm as he did in canon, and so he can’t fully approve either. Fernand and Clive’s relationship isn’t as close because of this, because dammit Fernand may not be fully behind Alm but he is fully behind Celica. Fernand’s comments to Mathilda are warmer but more neutral, implying he’s gotten over his thing for her, so you can imagine Fernand might find love sometime down the line.

Tatiana/Zeke

We never got to see this pair in the actual story, and I’ll be honest, I don’t have complete confidence in their characters. They probably would’ve been here as an official delegation from Rigel, since I think(?) this is enough time for Zeke to go do Mystery of the Emblem shenanigans in Archanea and then return, but I would’ve had to double check that one, lol. Not much change from their canon selves here either way.

Boey & Nomah & Saber

The official delegation from the Mila Faithful, Boey having being formally named as Nomah’s successor. Boey’s training is nearly complete because Nomah has been stealthily working on it for years, so Nomah is looking forward to having an adventure in his retirement and keeping Saber on retainer, despite Saber’s best efforts to price him out by doubling his usual price. Saber is there the whole time that he says this and only looks amused, so he must’ve gotten used to Nomah’s sense of humour. Saber’s mysterious-canon-ending younger wife is hinted to have appeared, though they’re only at the point of exchanging letters. Boey and Conrad have more in common than Boey and Celica, so they end up discussing the new role of the Faithful in a world without gods together: imparting the teachings of the gods, which are still valuable, even if the gods themselves are not here. It’s fun for worldbuilding but not for those who liked Celica and Boey’s friendship in canon. Like me :( Don’t say anything, I know I did this to myself.

Mae/Genny

Also coming from the Mila Faithful on Novis, Mae and Genny only met Celica and Alm briefly but feel compelled to add their own congratulations, arm in arm. (Mae and Boey never became friends with Celica in this AU, therefore never getting over their initial dislike of each other: they’re friends here after all that they went through together, but not lovers.) They were actually more interested in meeting Silque, since the two of them want to take up the old tradition of being travelling healers too, and are sad to learn that they missed her but leave immediately to try to catch up. They exchange warm goodbyes with Conrad as well, Genny commenting that he’s inspired her to write a star-crossed lovers story. Conrad is not sure if he should be grateful for this.

Sonya and her sisters

There’s a bit of a commotion at the entrance, which Conrad goes to see to with Fernand, but recognising Sonya, he invites her and her sisters in, overruling the nervous guards. Their nervousness is understandable, since Sonya’s sisters still bear some of the physical marks of witches, and Sonya’s ‘cure’ means she’s taken on something of the same, but they greet Conrad warmly enough, indicating they are at least mostly back to their normal selves. Sonya thanks him for the save, but we don’t get into the meat of their conversation until…

Jesse & Deen

Jesse, officially King Jesse of the new mercenary kingdom, which canon left to me to fucking name for some reasons and I refuse, is here with his bodyguard to officially give congratulations to the royal couple, but how could he possibly pass up the opportunity to greet three of the most beautiful ladies in the room?! Sonya’s sister Marta responds surprisingly positively to this and flirts back. In between the two of them flirting Deen tells Sonya of more witches they’re holding, waiting for Sonya & co to come and heal them. Jesse interrupts at this point to remind everyone that he does have a brain by saying that the witches will require more cooperation and care than the three women alone can provide, and since Boey and Nomah are here from the Mila Faithful they should make an official approach to negotiate for the care of the recovering witches, at least those from Zofia. He already got the agreement from Rinea, who was elected the head of the Duma Faithful, so he’s confident they won’t want to look less generous than their still sort-of-rival faith. He and Marta go off to secure this.

Deen has his own moment in his own terse way, making sure that Sonya is okay, and answering Conrad’s enquiries about how he’s doing in Jesse’s kingdom with gruff positives. You can tell his interest in Sonya’s welfare is really sincere, though, and when she asks more about the witches Deen is able to give very specific details about their condition and care. He’s found some way to be at peace with his own demons.

Kamui/Leon

Also from the mercenary kingdom, Kamui and Leon come to see Conrad just as Alm and Celica rejoin him and to greet Sonya and Deen. Leon has heard about Conrad leaving, and wanted to check in to make sure he was really confident in it. If he isn’t, Leon advises, he shouldn’t go. It was a while before Leon really felt sure he wanted to go with Kamui to join Jesse, but waiting has meant that he has less doubts about where he is. Kamui is serious for about 0.2 seconds to say he would’ve opened the shop with Leon if it was what he really wanted before cracking a joke about not really being a people-pleaser type so it’s for the best that he didn’t. (I originally went into this fic intending to write them as bros, but the ship really grew on me as I was writing them together, so here we are.) As Leon sasses back at Kamui, Conrad has a moment to consider everyone he’s met this evening and the people he’ll miss. His old travelling friends, for sure, but they mainly exchange letters these days anyway. The main issue is Celica, but he lived for years fearing that she was dead, or thinking he would never see her again. Seeing her surrounded by friends here, supported by the love of her life, thriving and being fulfilled doing her best for the people of Zofia means that though he’ll be apart from her, he won’t be afraid for her in the same way. He’s therefore able to confidently tell Leon that he is sure about leaving, but he will come see them when he returns to visit. Kamui suggests they could visit instead, since he’s never been to Archanea, and Leon says perhaps they will. Kamui might even learn a proper sense of humour from Est. Hopefully you all know where this is going by now…

Atlas

Before we get to the very end, we have a little diversion from Atlas, who couldn’t attend but who sent a letter via Kamui and Leon, who stopped off in his village on the way here. In it, he writes a little bit about the fortunes of his village, which is now more like a small town as its the last major stop before Jesse’s capital and they get a lot of his mercenaries stopping there. Atlas, however, is happy to have put down the sword for good and to be taking care of his brothers. Matty and Deros send their love to Est (some more reluctantly than others). Atlas wishes everyone his best too, and invites Conrad ‘and his family’ to come visit him and his brothers if they are ever in Valentia again.

Letter from Palla (and Catria and Est)

Y’all definitely know where this is going now. As Alm and Celica’s meet-and-greets come to a close, Conrad opens another letter than he’s been keeping on him since he received it a month ago, from Palla (of course mentioning her sisters). The letter informs Conrad that she’s received leave from Minerva to come and meet him, so she will be waiting for his ship to get in. She shares some news from Est and Catria, both of whom will be joining them later, but mainly, she’s just excited for him to finally join her in Archanea.

There is one final scene when Conrad and Celica say goodbye to each other. There are tears on both sides, but ultimately, knowing that the other is alive and happy is the greatest assurance either could give. They hug and part. Delthea and Kliff are waiting for Conrad as he leaves the palace with all their goods: they’re coming to Archanea too! (Although it was a close run thing, as Kliff had trouble deciding what books to leave behind.) Kliff has always wanted to see the world, and Delthea wants to get away from being known only from her talent, so going to another continent made sense as an ending for both of them. They set off travelling together, planning to make the coast today and set sail in a day or two depending on the weather, and Conrad again touches the letter that he keeps over his heart, the words of which he’s basically memorised now.

There is another question I’ve been wanting to ask you… but I think now it can wait until I see you in person.

With all my love,

Palla