She was a living shadow, braving the palace's halls in gowns of black, veiled. Gino didn't remember when he started seeing the strange girl, but he knew she had haunted the palace halls for at least six months. And none of his friends knew her, which only further stimulated his curiosity. He began to follow the apparition never got close enough to ask before she would vanish down the seldom, but before he got close enough to communicate with her, she would vanish down secret passages throughout the palace. But she was close now; he saw her, in his peripheral, and it was so hard not to stop playing. He knew, though, that the girl would vanish as soon as he stopped playing; it was the rich sound of the cello that drew her in.

So he played, wincing at the off tune notes.

The palace here was so much darker than her home. Nice was warm, sunny, just nice, but here it was cold, the marble and heavy curtains like winter. Dad said getting rid of the black would help, but he was no example. Since Mamma had died, he had only worn black, except for the occasional party.

Aly had tried it once, dressing in an old sun dress, bright pink. It didn't help at all, and that day she had been physically cold too, shivering even in the recesses of her room. And music only served to remind her of Momma.

Deep in the frigid wasteland, her trained ears detected a deep, comforting voice. It wasn't her father though; he was a bass. She didn't know this voice, this cello, whose warm, sunny tones called to her. She followed it, down new corridors in the palace, thinking nothing of getting lost.

The sound emanated from a door, cracked open and allowing sunlight to seep into the halls. She had no compunctions about intruding others' privacy. She walked in.

The cello was wielded by a boy, his bright hair like the sun. She had seen him before, staring as her shade would pass by, but didn't know his name.

A C, too sharp, rang out, jarring her.

He nearly jumped when a black gloved hand rested over his as he finished the song. Needless to say, jumping wouldn't have been a good idea. He didn't know what the girl would do next, but she surprised him when she spoke.

"You're aiming too high." He tried not to dwell on her voice, trying instead to pay attention to what was happening, but failed, focusing so intently on her light voice, the voice of a determined being who kept her tragedies close, that he missed what she said.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

His real voice was more lighter than the cello, he was close to her age anyway, but it was warm and not at all tinny. She was happy to repeat herself. "You're aiming too high."

Progress was progress, even it was slow. Gino still didn't really know the girl; her name was Aly and she was a year younger than he, but that was all. It had taken him awhile just to convince her to give him her name. Of course, he had given his freely, with promises of everlasting friendships.

The gloves were the first to go from her armada of black. The sessions, the healing sessions, of music required that. She had hands built for the violin, with long delicate fingers, nails short but trim. She was only twelve; elaborate nails like the court ladies' were out of the question. The veil was next on his list, and it was only a question of when once she had slipped that she played clarinet too.

Her musical ability flabbergasted him, as did her startling, silver hair when he first saw her without the veil. He said it was like the stars and watched as her small pink lips smirked, amused at the words and secretly flattered. He asked if she was related to the Asplunds—her hair reminded him of Lloyd's. She jumped slightly and sadly turned away, muttering that her mother had been an Asplund. He caught the past tense.

Two years later, they were closer than ever. Aly had lost all the black except her gowns and the occasional dark rings under her eyes. And even the dresses weren't the plain, sad things they had been once. They were full out court dresses, hugging her slim figure of fourteen years, the embroidery something marvelous. Gino had been most protective when the other boys began to take notice of the girl. She had—miraculously—laughed. He needn't worry about her and boys; they hadn't come to her rescue after all. And she wanted to repay that kindness.

So when he came to her, his eyes swollen from crying, she accepted him. And when he told her why and what, though the answers had taken some coaxing (but she had learned from the best), she still accepted him, the only one to do so. After all, she knew a time when being different wasn't a crime. Pendragon hadn't always been her home.

Aly hated seeing the sun eclipsed as it had been that day. It had come out of the penumbra, but she still burned. And if Gino was the sun, she would be the fire. Blue-hot fire that would melt others' steel.

She teased him about still being a little boy, obsessed with machine weapons and superheroes, but Gino felt connected to his knightmare. The training also gave him more chances to learn about Aly's past, which she was still reluctant to share, for the Earl of Pudding, who often helped in teaching knightmare pilots the more scientific aspects of their job, was her uncle.

Louise of Asplund had been Lloyd's older sister. She had served Britannia too, but as an ambassador to the EU, along with Aly's father, who Louise had later married. The family of three had lived in southern France, which explained all the sundresses in the (locked) drawer at the bottom of Aly's armoire, until Louise had died four years ago, when Aly had been twelve. Apparently, Louise had been quite the violinist, inspiring her daughter's own musical talent.

When, during one of their more serious conversations, always held with hot tea and scones that Aly had made herself (she had become quite the proper young lady recently, in appearance at least), she had asked him why he had become a knightmare pilot.

He'd said he had to get out of the house. It was too hard there. She nodded, understanding, but started to point out numerous other solutions. "I wanted some kind of justice. Someway to do good."

"So you joined the military? Under our current, xenophobic emperor?"

Gino had discovered she could have quite the tongue and that her opinions of Britannia and its various positions on social and political issues were rather radical, but this had been the first time they had butted heads on such a subject.

"Admittedly, Britannia has its faults-"

"A xenophobic military one of the big blaring ones. And you should be especially aware of that, seeing as-" Gino knew a pained expression had crossed his face, for hers reflected guilt; well, she ought to have known better than to mention her. "I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

"Well, while Britannia has its faults, in my position, I will be able to do something to help, should such a situation arise. And...I think that loyalty is important for a lot of reasons. Besides, I'm not stuck on being a pilot. I am only sixteen after all."

She grinned. "Though already a brilliant pilot, according to my sources. There are even rumors that you could be picked as the next knight of the round."

He returned the grin, grateful they were now on safer grounds. "Well, you know, that's why I'm still a pilot."

She found out even before him. Anya told her. Despite their disagreements about the government, she was proud of him for making it, and she couldn't think of anyone who deserved the honor more than he. She hoped he would be happy and get his justice in his new position.

Aly theorized that the Emperor must have told the preexisting knights of his plan, though she secretly thought that Anya was probably eavesdropping; not purposely, but the small girl was rarely noticed, causing her to be privy to many private conversations.

Aly was friends with Anya, or at least she thought so. Anya was a strange girl, two years younger than Aly and the knight of six. As far as Aly knew, Anya, who was shy as long as it wasn't inconvenient, didn't have any other friends. Anya could be rather cold, and Aly thought that something terrible must have happened to Anya when she was little. Somehow Aly thought the fact that Anya never believed any of her memories, documenting every moment in her life, supported Aly's theory. And, as hard as it was sometimes, Aly tried to be friendly to Anya, and she knew Gino would too, when they met, and he would do much better.

Aly didn't tell Gino that she knew and guessed the Emperor forbade him from telling anyone when Gino didn't tell her. But she knew what was imminent, so she ordered a dress, picturing Gino's face when he saw her. She couldn't resist that blue.

Gino was beaming. She would be so surprised. It had been hard, but Gino made sure he didn't let it slip. Charles zi Britannia, the Emperor, who was out on stage warming up the crowd in his own special way, called Gino to come out, and Gino, striding out onto the stage in his new uniform and waving to the crowd, obeyed his superior. When the Emperor resumed speaking, Gino scanned the crowd.

He stared. She wasn't. She wasn't! No, no, it couldn't be.

Unconscious of the hundreds eyes upon him, he rubbed his own, thinking the figure must be an illusion. But she wasn't. Aly was standing there, in the second row, in a blue dress. It wasn't black! Dimly, he realized from the Emperor's silence that he was supposed to kneel down now and say his vows. He did and was named the Knight of Three.

The knighting ceremony finished with dancing. In the royal court, there was always dancing, no matter the event, even funerals. And Aly's hand was much requested, which was a rarity; evidently, Gino wasn't the only one who had noticed her dramatic change in attire, and his jealousy was threatening to consume him. He didn't get to dance with her until the end, when others had started to leave, for his dances had been in high demand too.

"Do you expect me to start gushing?" She spoke first, feinting seriousness.

He looked down at her from his lofty height, amused. "I like the dress."

"Thank you."

"It's blue." She grinned and nodded. He smirked, "It's the color of my eyes."

"I suppose so."

"I didn't know you had any dress that wasn't black."

"A few weeks ago, I didn't. In fact, I got this just for you."

He looked puzzled. "Thank you?" Then something clicked. "You knew?" She nodded. "But how? Only the Emperor and Bismark knew!" Well, that confirmed her suspicions of Anya.

"I'm not telling."

He grinned too, but it fell quickly. "Can we go talk, somewhere private?"

"Of course."

The sun was setting, and his expression, so happy before, darkened in a slow diminuendo.

"What's wrong?"

"They're sending me out tomorrow."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Why?" Already? She knew his new appointment would part them more than they were used to, but she didn't expect him to leave so soon.

"I guess they want to test my metal. It's nothing big, just a small upheaval in Area 18-"

"The Middle East." Aly refused to ever call the "areas" by their numbers; real people and real cultures lived their after all.

"Yes, the Middle East. There hasn't been any violence yet, but I'm going as back up. Don't worry, I won't kill anyone who didn't have it coming to them. And I'll be kind to all the natives."

Aly shivered at the word kill, but, despite her misgivings, she managed a smile. "When have I ever had to lecture you on kindness?"

"Never, of course. 'Cause I'm just the nicest guy out there." He smiled too, brightly, a forte. "Thanks for the dress. It looks nice with your hair."

The dress was her fire, a fire she would tend like Cinderella just for him. "I thought you would appreciate it."

He turned to her and gripped her shoulders, urgently. "I never want to see you in black again. Never, not even if I die. Can you promise that for me?"

"It might be hard for a time; this is the only dress I have that isn't black." Her fact was valid, though she wasn't really using it as an argument against wearing colors, and her grin only grew wider.

He scoffed. "I'm sure you can solve that problem."

"You know, I am too." She paused, about to brush on a very delicate subject. Both of his parents were still alive, but years ago, they parted on bad terms. "I saw your parents."

His expression soured. "Yes, I did too. My father even had the nerve to tell me how proud he was. My mother, at least, had enough shame not to speak to me."

"You should give her more credit."

Gino's eyes widened indignantly. "Why? True, she wasn't the one to...the one to," after several years, he still couldn't bring himself to describe his father's actions when the patriarch had discovered the relationship between his son and an eleven-a Japanese-maid. "But Mother didn't do anything to stop him."

"Yes she did. Your mother kept your father from killing her."

Aly started to rise, and Gino stood up and helped her to her feet. They stood for a minute, hand in hand, staring into the sunset, until Gino said, "I don't want you to get up early tomorrow to see me off, and I have to go meet with the other knights now, so this is bye." He leaned down quickly and kissed her forehead. "Bye."

"Bye." She waved farewell, but a wicked plan was already forming in her mind.

Gino watched the stairs leading up to the hangar like a hawk. He was leaving for Area—no, the Middle East—in less than ten minutes, and the Tristan, his knightmare, had already been loaded in the airship that would be taking him and a small contingent of Britannian soldiers to their destination. And no sign of Aly. He was sure she would show up to see him off despite his request and, deep down, he was a little disappointed that she hadn't come. It was actually very good that she wasn't there, for it meant that she was getting some sleep. He knew of her sleepless nights, her dreams of her mother's death, even though she tried to hide her troubles from him. She had always favored the quiet, minor keys. But wait, here was someone coming up the stairs.

Gino's heart froze when he saw the black cap, a veil, coming up the stairs and unpleasantly surprised. They had made such good progress over the years, and now she was back to this? He knew it was her, though he could only see her black-capped head as she walked up the steep stairs, for Aly had a natural elegance in ascending the stairs, gliding, rather than faintly bobbing like the average civilian, and gliding almost hurriedly, as if eager to finish the necessities of court that filled her life, with neither the hesitation of all the sane women at court nor the confidence of the emperor's new mistress.

As she stepped up into the hangar, both relief and puzzlement flooded him. The black veil was long, stretching well below her shoulders, and intricate, embroidery covering all of it, and the veil contrasted greatly with the deep pink dress that stood out among the grays of the industrial hangar.

She walked over to him, and he noticed, from her height, that she still wore the flats that divided her even more from the other ladies of court, and grinned at the whole performance. "I thought you said you had no other colored dresses."

She looked up (seriously, he imagined, though through the veil he could not see her expressions) and said, "I don't. It's my mother's," she paused, then added, "It's flamenco."

He understood the gravity of Aly wearing her mother's dresses, and was gratified that he had a part in helping her, but all the same, he couldn't resist chuckling at her last line, which was meant for comedic affect, despite being delivered in that monotone she did so well.

"It doesn't look nearly as good on me as the blue did last night."

"Well, no," Gino said, drawling, "that's because the blue is the color of my eyes, and is obviously the best color in the world, except your hair, of course. But don't worry, you're still beaut—Ow!" She jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. Once he was recovered from the vicious attack, he asked, "What's with the veil?"

She said, "Sforzando."

"Suddenly loud?"

"Dramatic effect, but yes. And I wore because I thought you might want to do the honor of formally bringing me from the dark to the light, seeing as you've helped so much, Gino."

He grinned and lifted the veil from her face, revealing her to the sun. Slowly, he bent down and, cupping her face in his hands, kissed her, whispering in her ear, "From the dark to the light and in to the arms of love."

Then he was off, running into the waiting ship. As it took off, she yelled, "What kind of cheesy line is that?"

A/N: That you for reading this story. Right now it's sort of standing by itself, but I hope to come back to it later this year. If there's any errors or anything really weird please tell me (the word count on fanfiction puts me down 50 words from my word processor word count). I'd really appreciate if you reviewed. I think I might have borrowed the Gino playing cello idea from someone else from fanfiction (not sure though) but if they aren't okay with it, I'll change it.