A Note from the Author: Welcome, everyone, to my latest project! 'Hidden Lions' is set after the events of The Burning Titan, which isn't exactly required reading in order to enjoy (though it certainly adds an extra dimension). While I can't promise it won't be spoiler-free for those who aren't caught up with the manga, it's not laden with them.

At any rate, enjoy the read, and please let me know what you think as always!

Chapter 1: The Blue Glass

It was a strangely hot afternoon, to the point that Mercedes would be very surprised if she wasn't drenched in sweat by the time she met Commander Pixis in Utopia. Ever since that night she'd arrived in Utopia after her suicide-run to the Wall, he seemed to delight in taking every opportunity to make her go there and insodoing, make her route as long as possible. The only thing that kept Mercedes from refusing outright was the promise of the slightly cooler climate in that district.

She'd begun keeping her mare, Sabine, in Karanese since it was now the easiest exit through Wall Rose. Not to mention that she found it almost impossible to remain for any period of time in Trost, her old post, and catch even a glimpse of the gates Marco had destroyed – and thus the number of people that had died – in her name. Pixis seemed to be taking advantage of the slight rift this had caused in her squad and she was happy to take on obscure solo assignments here and there though she knew it shouldn't be in her scope of duties. Instead, for the fourth time in the past couple of months, she pulled herself into the already-hot saddle and set out at a slow walk from the entrance of the Garrison compound.

The streets were quiet for the time of day, with what few civilians that were out and about moving languidly and sticking to as much shadow as they could. Mercedes had noticed that in the wake of everything that had happened a few months ago, the people were starting to recognize her. She didn't know how she felt about that. On account of this and the heat, she pulled out a worn scrap of cloth she used as a ribbon and knotted her hair up on the top of her head.

She'd barely made it through Karanese before she was intensely feeling the urge to take off her uniform jacket. The sun was directly overhead and amplified by the cobbles underfoot. Even the birds weren't singing and her throat felt as parched as she imagined theirs to be. She took a side route than ran parallel to the main street – despite the tight squeeze it had more shadows cast by the surrounding taller buildings and by that virtue alone felt a couple of degrees cooler.

Up ahead was an establishment she'd never seen before – a two-story building with a wider ground floor than its second. Several windows ran like a glass ribbon around the ground floor too, their brightness amplified by the white-painted brick walls supporting them. An awning of sorts with sun-bleached thatch separated the two floors and shaded what appeared to be small tables and chairs underneath it. Mercedes peered at the sign that hung on the squared-off corner directly in front of her, trying to pick out the words of its crackled and peeling blue lettering.

"'The Blue Glass'," Mercedes read.

As Sabine brought them closer, she could see that the double-doors were open to the inside and there were several patrons inside, as well as a couple outside under the awning. A waiter came to them carrying a bucket and with a pair of tongs, placed a few pieces of ice into their cobalt-blue glasses with a satisfying chink.

"Shit, I could go for some of that ice right now." She watched the patrons' water be poured in after the ice, and the glasses be raised to their lips for grateful sips. Mercedes moistened her own dry ones. "I've got time," she decided.

She tied up Sabine to one of the posts supporting the awning and wandered inside the gentle murmur and jingle of the somewhat-crowded, open-plan room. The walls were painted a pale blue and the floor was a dark wood, and both accentuated the feeling of being a few degrees cooler. It was arranged in a U-shape, with a bar and presumably the kitchen in the center and two closed doors leading out back. Most of the tables had room for four and sat a variety of patrons, all with the same cobalt-blue glasses. She heard several mentions of the heat and presumed this place acted as a popular watering-hole.

"Feel free to sit wherever you like," said a passing waitress. "We'll be with you in a moment."

"Thanks." Mercedes made her way to the left-hand arm of the U, finding a two-chair table near the windows that was vacant. She was careful not to bump anyone with her gear along the way, and averted her eyes from the few curious stares she received.

She gratefully removed her jacket and equally gratefully received the glass of water placed in front of her without her having to ask. Although she glanced over the proffered menu purely out of curiosity, she declined to order anything when the waitress came back except for a pitcher of water. Instead, she relished the feeling of ice on her lips each time she took a sip from the goblet, breathing in the cool area cupped inside as she idly passed her gaze over her surroundings.

Eventually her gaze alighted on the bar serving as buffer between the patrons and the kitchen. Behind it were a middle-aged man and woman, with the woman looking busier and more severe than the man. The man was of average height and build with a kind face, dark salt-and pepper hair and mustache, and seemed to constantly smile while he worked. The woman, meanwhile, was rather tall – maybe as tall as Baena – rather gaunt, and rather stressed-looking, although judging by her thick strawberry-blonde hair kept back by a barrette she wasn't unhealthy. They were presumably the owners of the establishment by the way they moved flawlessly around the numerous obstacles in their path, and Mercedes wondered whose idea this had been.

She poured herself another glassful, enjoying the patter of a few cold stray drops on her hand. But as she raised the glass to her lips and looked the other way, she noticed the woman was looking at her with great scrutiny. Mercedes froze instinctually. The woman began making her way from behind the bar toward her; Mercedes took a sip of her water and slowly put down the glass, pressing her lips together and debating what to do. She decided to remain still, and wait.

Wordlessly, the woman lowered herself into the chair opposite Mercedes and it squeaked in protest even under her slight weight. The unblinking stare set into her severe face held a certain defeat that Mercedes knew only came with the realization of something you didn't like, and she wondered what that something could be. Yet, she also said nothing. After a moment, without looking away the woman took her thick linen apron in her large hands and wiped them, her mouth crinkling into a similar line like a fold in the thin, pale, somewhat wrinkled skin of her face. Mercedes realized the stress she thought she had seen earlier was actually a kind of constant assessment and resulting disapproval – her body language was too poised and confident for someone overwhelmed.

"You're Léon and Amaranta's daughter," the woman finally said.

For a reason she couldn't pinpoint, Mercedes felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The woman's tone had been neutral but her statement seemed like a threat. She couldn't help but be defensive as she asked in return, "And you?"

The woman dropped her apron to one side of the leg she crossed over the other, and sat back in her chair with a slight haughtiness Mercedes hadn't expected. She lifted her chin and her thin eyebrows rose, too. "I'm your Aunt Jana. Your Uncle Alejandro was my first husband." She didn't seem too delighted by the admission so Mercedes suspected some sense of duty was compelling her, and it was that that meant she didn't make a snide comment.

This aside, Mercedes struggled to recognize her. She knew she'd had a visit at some point when she was young from Aunt Jana and her three children, but the memory was vague to the point of feeling like it was from another life. And now, Jana seemed to expect some recognition – Mercedes had none to give and figured it'd be worse to pretend.

"You only saw me maybe once or twice," Jana said, finally blinking. "Why are you here?" she demanded.

Mercedes was nonplused. She tipped her glass this way and that to accentuate her point. "I stopped by for a drink on my way elsewhere. Is that a problem?" For some reason she wanted to look around for signs of her cousins but sensed it'd be unwise to look away from Jana.

"I wouldn't say your presence is a problem, exactly," Jana folded her hands and put them on her knee. The dull cornflower blue of her skirt brought out the color of the veins lacing around her knuckles, like stray thread over marble. "Your name is, though."

"Excuse me?" Mercedes couldn't help but grin in surprise.

Jana's voice lowered, and there was an exasperated indulgence to it, "I'm sure you know that the Carello name hasn't brought anyone any fortune."

There was a tense pause. "Well, I can't do much about my name," Mercedes quipped lowly.

Jana's eyebrows quirked and she glanced down at Mercedes' hand. "Are you married? That changes a name."

The heat of a flush of indignation flooded Mercedes' body. Not only had she tried not to think about Jean lately – he was away, of course – but the last thing she wanted to do was offer such personal information to a woman who obviously didn't care much for her. Particularly when she wasn't sure herself of the future.

"No, of course you're not," said Jana before the younger woman could conjure a reply. Mercedes also didn't have time to figure out what she felt about that statement; Jana was sighing with a slight roll of her eyes and looking implicitly at a waitress that came up to them, jerking her hand to send her away. After watching the waitress retreat – longer than seemed necessary, as if she wanted to be sure – she looked again at Mercedes and pursed her lips. "Best drink up, then, and be on your way."

"On my way?"

Jana stood and seemed to relish the opportunity to look down her nose at her. "You're military – don't you have duties to attend to?"

"I thought you said it wasn't my presence that was the problem?"

She continued as if Mercedes hadn't spoken, "You may be able to be idle, but I'm not. So if you'll excuse me." Jana smoothed her apron and tucked back into the crowd of tables, snagging a used plate and glass as she went without even a backwards glance.

Mercedes sat stunned and – it was hard to admit – strangely hurt by what had transpired. The flush she'd felt earlier settled in her belly and made her hands shake. She remembered to close her mouth. She looked over her shoulder; Jana retreated back from whence she'd come, this time going to a back door situated near the bar that presumably led to the kitchen, with a swinging door propped open by the waitress she'd shooed earlier, now hovering and looking in Mercedes' direction. They started speaking hurriedly to one another. The waitress, perhaps a little older than Mercedes, fingered reddish-brown hair that'd fallen over her shoulders and was shortly joined from the back room by her twin. Both looked concerned.

Mercedes' brow furrowed. She passed her eyes back and forth between the young women and Jana, trying to make out what they might be saying, but she wasn't as good as Oliver at reading lips. One of the girls took a step toward her but was halted by Jana's long arm bracing itself on the doorframe. In the briefest of moments before Jana rather roughly grabbed the waitress' arm and pushed her into the back room with her twin, Mercedes felt like she'd been slapped – she'd dreamed of them – they were Jana's daughters. They were her cousins.

And then the door swung shut, her view of the twins growing ever narrower as the door's path grew tighter and tighter until it lay still against its frame. She locked gazes with Jana's own stern one, and held it.

There's no point, not today, Mercedes told herself after a long moment. Besides, Pixis is waiting. She downed the rest of the water in her glass, wiped her mouth, and stood. Her eyes left Jana's. A couple of coins were fished out of her pocket and left on the table, and Mercedes left the restaurant – much like her erstwhile aunt, not looking back.

The sticky heat outside embraced her, and it helped thaw the chill of Jana's introduction. Mercedes located Sabine, untied her, and pulled herself into the hot saddle. She hoped there would be enough time in the next day or so to visit her grandmother and see if there were any clues as to Jana's behavior.

"I'm sure you know that the Carello name hasn't brought anyone any fortune."

No, no it hadn't, historically. And yes, Jana had remarried. But surely that was no real reason to be as hostile and condescending as she had? There was no personal risk to her from the Carello name anymore.

Unless she, like a lot of people, still blame me for the Breach by Fire, Mercedes reflected bitterly.