I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of its characters. I'm doing this for fun, not profit.
Chapter Two: Dreams and Capital Crimes
The inn room, Alma discovered, was exactly five paces long, interrupted in the middle by a tiny window in the wall, overlooking the busy street below. Five brisk paces, but six if she went slowly, which meant it stayed five every time. Arms folded across her stomach, dress whirling at every turn, a scowl on her face she couldn't remove. Five paces.
He's been gone too long, she sighed, not for the first time, as she stopped and glared down through the window. It's getting dark out. The room smelled of stained wood, of aging linens, of impatience; greyish twilight filtered in, leaving the space drained of color.
Lips tightening, she resumed her pacing, scowling at the smooth floor planks. The window did not face the castle, so if they'd caught him, if there was some alarm in effect, she'd have no way of knowing. Not that such a thing would be visibly apparent in any case, she reflected ruefully. Certainly not from where the inn stood. He could be dead already and she wouldn't have a...
The door unlatched suddenly, drawing a squeak from her throat as she spun to face it. Quickly the thing swung inward, apparently on its own power. Shortly something thumped against wood, perhaps a boot, and the door shuddered back shut.
Alma lowered hands from her mouth. "R... Dietrich? Is that you?"
"Yeah," came Ramza strained voice as his footsteps shuffled towards the bed. "There's been a change of plans." Something fluffed onto the blankets, an invisible body.
"Are you okay?" she breathed, staring at the head-shaped indentation in the pillow. "Are you hurt? Let me see."
As she reached forward, the body on the bed slowly faded into visibility, twisting bizarrely through blues and violets until it became a person. Only it wasn't Ramza.
"Ovelia?" she gasped, a strangled whisper. Her old friend's face was ashen and drawn, her chest stained liberally with drying blood. "My God, Ramza. Is she dead?" Leaning in, she inspected the other woman but found her skin reassuringly warm, her pulse faint and rapid but definitely there.
"Not anymore," sighed Ramza, unwrapping the secret clothes from around his head and chest, so that the bare upper half of his body simply seemed to float in midair, a disconcerting illusion. "They tried to kill each other," he continued quietly, drawing a simple dagger from his waist. "With this. I saw it all."
Alma turned a horrified stare on her brother. "That's... you're joking," she concluded.
He shook his head grimly, hazel eyes troubled. "I was waiting near her, hoping she'd lead me to Delita, and when he showed up she... stabbed him. Only not fatally. So he grabbed this thing from her and stuck it right through her heart."
Reeling, Alma attempted to make sense of his words. "Ovelia?" she managed weakly. "Ovelia tried to kill someone? What... why?"
Ramza frowned at the unconscious queen, lips pursed in thought, but rather than answer right away he slipped around the bed towards the window, where he drew sun-faded curtains across the bubbled glass with slow and deliberate movements. When he turned back around in the unlit dimness, an expression of momentary pain crossed his features. "She screamed something about him using her, using everyone. Then she said he would kill her, like... like he'd killed me."
Alma blinked at this. "She thinks Delita killed you?"
He could only shrug tiredly, turning his gaze back to the woman on the bed. "I guess. Everyone thinks we're all dead, anyway. I suppose he's as good a guess for the killer as anyone, if you don't know."
Sighing, Alma dropped herself to sit at the foot of the bed. "What are we going to do?" she asked in a low voice, rubbing her face. "You just kidnapped the Queen."
"We... oh." He swallowed audibly. "Oh yeah," he whispered.
She nodded vaguely in agreement. "How long until she wakes up?"
Ramza shifted his feet. "I don't know," he admitted. "Could be any time now, or a few hours yet."
Lifting her head, Alma gazed at Ovelia lying next to her. Wondering absently why these things always seemed to happen around Ramza, she summoned to mind a simple healing spell, one of the few she knew, and invoked it on the other woman. The stab wound in her chest, mostly obscured by the stained dress over it, seemed to knit partially together, looking as though she'd had a week of rest to heal it.
As she inspected her friend's injury, something else caught Alma's attention. "Ramza," she murmured, "her hand is hurt." Lifting the limb in question, she frowned at a mostly-healed gash on the palm of Ovelia's right hand. "What happened? Did they grapple?"
"I don't know," he repeated. "I don't think so. If so, I didn't see it."
Chewing a lip, she nodded. "I guess..." She trailed off, then shrugged, glancing up at him. "I guess we wait."
"Aren't you ready yet, Ovelia? The Meralda family is awaiting your presence at dinner."
Seated in front of a silver mirror, she paused in the act of brushing her hair out and blinked at him. "The Meraldas?" she wondered. "I... no, I... I was supposed to dine with Katrin and Verzor."
He snorted, trotting over towards her, golden armor clinking faintly with every step. "No," he disagreed quietly. Gloved hands rested on her shoulders from behind as he stood over her, their weight a cold and confining presence. His dark eyes, unreadable, sought hers in the mirror. "No. I sent them to Limberry. Marquis Samgalin is in need of someone with a head for figures."
"But..." She trailed off, turning her helpless gaze to the ivory-handled brush in her hand. Katrin and Verzor were a kindly older couple, one whose daughter, Lydia, had passed away during childbirth not a year past. Lydia had been of an age with Ovelia, and apparently of similar temperament. "But I like spending time with them," she murmured, unable to gaze at him through the mirror.
His hands tightened fractionally on her shoulders; an inch closer together, and they would be around her neck. "You're dining with the Meraldas," he instructed quietly. "I need Victor's estates to sell me iron cheaply."
Frowning, she opened her mouth, but closed it without speaking. Instead she simply nodded, keeping her face averted.
His hands disappeared instantly from her shoulders, and he clinked his way purposefully back towards the door. "Try to smile at Victor, Ovelia," he called over his shoulder. "He won't do anything while his wife is there, but he has a weakness for blonde women." The door thumped closed, sealing her in silence.
For long moments she didn't move, only sat there staring at her lap, feeling her body sway with every slow breath. Finally she closed her eyes, lifting the brush once again to...
Someone sneezed, and Ovelia's eyes snapped open. She was in a dark space somewhere, a place with an angled wooden ceiling, the rafters visible. What? she wondered vaguely. Where...?
Abruptly memory came crashing back and she gasped, fingers fumbling towards her chest. There they reached a clean slice in her dress, the silk caked in blood. She froze, eyes wide, thoughts panicked and whirling.
Something moved nearby, clothes whispering, a wooden floor creaking faintly under booted feet. A pair of similar faces appeared, peering in concern down at her through the warm dimness. Faces which, after a moment, she recognized. Faces of people who were...
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears leak down her cheeks. "I'm dead," she whispered. "Aren't I?"
"That depends on who you ask," answered Alma's voice seriously, "but I don't think so."
She blinked her eyes back open, staring up into her friend's face in disbelief, but Alma only frowned back at her, concerned. After a moment Ovelia shifted her attention to Ramza, seeking silent confirmation; he nodded once, absently rubbing the back of one hand across his nose. "What... how?" she wondered weakly, confused, glancing from one face to the other. "Are you dead? I heard..."
Ramza shook his head. "I know what you heard," he assured quietly, "but we're fine. You are, too. Well, a little weak, probably, but otherwise fine."
As he spoke, she inspected her wound once more in disbelief. The blade had slipped between her ribs, she thought -- the feel of steel against bone was not something she'd ever forget, she realized with a shudder -- and both her dress and shift had been neatly sliced and thoroughly bloodied. Her whole chest simply... hurt, somehow, and breathing deeply seemed to make it worse.
Letting her hand drop, she gazed back up at the Beoulve siblings, feeling tears well once more in her eyes; that would be happening often for a while, she feared. Lacking anything to say, she reached arms out, throwing one around each of their necks, and drew them into a sniffling hug. Alma returned it warmly, Ramza gingerly.
After a moment she released them and scrubbed absently at her eyes. "What... what happened?" she wondered, shaking her head. "Where did you come from? Where are we? How long was I... out?"
The others exchanged worried looks, but Ramza faced her and cleared his throat. "I was there," he explained, obviously uncomfortable. "I saw everything, so I brought you here. We're at an inn in the city."
"You saw... wait, you were there?" she repeated, baffled. "Where? I didn't see you."
"I, um, was invisible." He chewed a lip as though aware how unconvincing this sounded. "I have these... anyway, I went there to see Delita, only I couldn't find him, but I found you instead, so I just waited there until he showed up, and then... everything happened. So I brought you back here."
Ovelia frowned, narrowing her eyes in thought. "I thought you were dead," she recalled flatly. "Both of you. You were right there and you didn't even say anything to me?"
"That's... true," allowed Ramza, sighing. Again he and Alma exchanged a silent glance but he quickly turned back to her, his features a portrait of shame. "That's true. I saw you... I'm sorry."
...saw you crying, she finished silently for him. As she stared up at him, he swallowed and slid his gaze away. What's this? she wondered distantly. He was just using me to get to Delita? How different are they, really?
As the silence stretched, she sighed. It could be worse. It could be much worse. "What happened to him?" she asked quietly. "Is he dead?"
Ramza shook his head, clearly glad to be on another topic. "No. I think you just got him in the side. It wasn't a fatal wound."
Not dead, is he? She scowled for a moment, then twisted her lips in distaste. Should I really be surprised?
When she did not answer, Alma shifted where she sat. "We need to figure out what to do," she suggested quietly, glancing from face to face. "Ovelia, do you want to go back to the castle? We could..."
"Never," she growled, surprised by the anger in her own voice. "If I do, it's only to try that again." Closing her eyes against new tears, she bit a lip to keep it from trembling. What... what happened to me? she wondered. Well, I know what happened. Once again her hand shifted, trying to reach her stomach, but she curled it into a fist at her side instead, trying not to shake.
An uncomfortable silence followed her response. Eventually Alma cleared her throat. "Well," she continued hesitantly, "Ramza and I were planning to head east, into Ordalia, since it's not really... advisable for us to stay here anymore. And it's certainly less so now. We have... actually, we bought a chocobo farm over there, and we were planning just to retire there. We could both use someplace quiet," she added, a smile audible in her voice.
A chocobo farm, mused Ovelia in rueful amusement. Alma, maybe, but Ramza in retirement? I don't believe it.
"Ovelia?" prompted Alma gently. "What do you want to do? Where do you want to go?"
"I..." She fell silent, thinking, though really her goals had not changed a hair since this morning. "I want to stay here," she decided, opening her eyes once more. "I want to bring him down."
Again the siblings frowned at one another; Ramza thumbed his ear nervously. "I... don't think that's a good idea," he admitted slowly.
Frustration flared into hot anger, and she glared at him. "You don't know what he's like," she hissed, struggling to push herself to a seated position, ignoring the four helping hands suddenly appearing to help her. "You wouldn't say that if you understood."
Ramza's face darkened at this. "I grew up with him," he noted quietly.
"He's not the same man now," countered Ovelia tightly. Pain throbbed in her chest, a dull ache pulsing with every beat of her heart.
Ramza opened his mouth, then closed it again for a moment before replying. "I think he is."
"Then you don't know him," concluded Ovelia. "He's a monster."
"Even so," sighed Ramza irritably, spreading his hands, "what are you going to do? If you kill him, who's going to take his place? Everyone with power is dead but him."
"I will," she snapped. "I'm the Queen."
He hesitated, brow furrowing in intense thought, though why, she could not say. Eventually he slumped slightly, shaking his head.
"If I might suggest," interrupted Alma delicately, "it's late, and we won't be overthrowing anyone tonight. Let's sleep on it and figure out what to do tomorrow."
Ramza muttered his indistinct assent, though Ovelia found herself glaring at him a moment longer. Why am I so mad? she wondered distantly. Ramza isn't a bad person. Teeth clenched, she gave her head a toss, dismissing the argument, if that was what it had been. "Fine. I can sleep on the floor."
"But you're hurt," protested Alma. "And you're..."
Ramza cut her off. "We can't stay here," he declared firmly.
Alma frowned at him, and Ovelia felt herself doing the same. "Why not?" she wondered flatly.
Hazel eyes shifted to meet hers. "If Delita is looking for you, he'll find you here. We have to leave the city."
"Now?" blinked Alma. "It's dark out."
"It's not too late yet," shrugged Ramza. "I don't think the gates will be closed."
"Unless he's sealed the city," pointed out Alma.
"Oh." He paused, grimacing. "Yeah."
"He wouldn't do that," realized Ovelia, eyes narrowing. "He wouldn't entrust finding me to subordinates."
Ramza smiled faintly. "If he comes here himself, we're not much better off. I still think we should go."
"Go where?" asked Alma wryly. "Just somewhere outside of the city?"
Her brother nodded. "Why not? We can just set up camp somewhere. Unless... Ovelia, you don't mind sleeping under the stars, do you?" He smiled, seemingly embarrassed at having to ask.
His expression was infectious; she grinned back, recalling happier times spent with him, with Agrias and everyone. "I don't mind. It might be nice, actually."
"Good." Clear relief colored his voice. "Although I'm not certain how we're going to smuggle you out. I could wear the clothes again, maybe, and carry you."
"What?" She blinked. "What clothes?"
"Would that even work?" murmured Alma, worried. "I know it did before, but she's awake now. Will that make a difference?"
Ramza hesitated, then shifted his gaze back to Ovelia. "I'm not sure," he admitted.
She frowned. "What clothes?"
He smiled again. "Do you mind being invisible? You'd have to make sure not to make any sudden movements or the effect will break."
Invisible? "Is that... is that how I couldn't see you before?"
"In the castle?" he clarified, smile fading uncomfortably. "Yeah."
Ovelia worried a lip briefly before nodding. "I can do that, if... if you two will be nearby."
"You can ride on Heppoko with me," offered Alma excitedly, clapping hands together. "She's strong."
"That's fine," agreed Ovelia impatiently, "but I still don't know what clothes you're talking about."
"Here," explained Ramza, tossing a loose bundle of dark silk onto the bed near her. "Put those on."
Frowning curiously, she lifted the clothes to inspect them in the dim light, but could see nothing special about them. On the contrary, apart from the fine material, they looked about as plain as any garments she could imagine. "Really? These?"
He chuckled. "Yeah."
"Okay," she agreed. When he didn't move, she tilted her head, frowning at him. Alma, she realized, was wearing an almost identical expression.
He blinked. "Oh. Right. I'll go make sure the chocos are ready." Clearing his throat awkwardly, he slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him.
As soon as he was gone, Alma sighed. "Do you want more healing?" she asked quietly, turning to face her in the gloom. "I can manage another spell, I think."
"You healed me?" wondered Ovelia, surprised. It must have been worse than I thought if I still feel like this. "If you don't mind. I... I don't want to impose."
"Don't be silly," scolded Alma with a grin. "You're a friend. And the Queen." Closing her eyes, she concentrated intently, finally muttering a few words.
Something sparkled brightly; Ovelia instinctively relaxed as a sense of creeping calm stole through her limbs, knitting rent flesh together. The pain faded almost to nothing, leaving only an echo no worse than common soreness. When it was done, she inspected herself, brushing flaked blood from the sensitive spot in her ribs, all that remained of the stab wound. Absently she did the same to her hand, though the injury there had been much less severe.
"What happened to your hand, anyway?" asked Alma idly as she bent to tug boots on. "Was that from... from earlier?"
"What?" Ovelia blinked at her friend, then at her palm. "Oh." Wild sorrow swirled inside, trying to claw its way out, threatening tears once more, but she contained it as best she could. No. Not here. "It... I just... cut myself on the blade," she answered, hoping her voice sounded casual. "Earlier today."
"Ah," nodded Alma, her voice somehow both concerned and absent.
Ovelia sat motionless for a moment, eyes on her lap, fingers rubbing the strange clothes Ramza had given her. Though she'd managed to find a handle on her surging grief, warm liquid still leaked from her eyes, running down her cheeks. "Alma?" she whispered.
"Hmm?"
"Thank you." She swallowed. "Thank you both. You have no idea how nice it is to be around friendly faces. Really."
"Oh," cooed Alma, leaning over to give her a tight hug. "Don't worry about it. Although," she added with a snicker, "I was as surprised as you were when Ramza brought you back here."
Sniffling, Ovelia nodded into her friend's shoulder, holding the hug only briefly before pulling back. I have to be strong, still, she reminded herself firmly. This is for Ivalice.
"How are you feeling?" continued Alma, sparing her a sideways glance as she rose to produce a dustcloak from a leather pack in the corner. "Can you walk, do you think?"
In response Ovelia slid her feet to the floor and stood, frowning down at herself. "I think so," she mused, turning in place; she wasn't certain how much discomfort or weakness she had expected, but there was none to speak of. "I'll be fine," she assured.
"Good," smiled Alma. "Now you'd better change. Ramza will probably just barge back in here whenever he's done."
After the chocos were saddled and ready, Ramza waited. And then waited some more.
Leaning against the stables' broad opening to the cobbled street, he sighed, folding arms over his chest. Despite the late hour, the city outside was still active; people still hurried along the street in both directions, alone or in clusters. Some did so on chocobo, and he tried not to tense up too much when they were soldiers, though none seemed to have any interest in the inn. From somewhere nearby, not the kitchens, floated a spicy aroma, as of peppers cooking; he sighed again, hoping his growling stomach wasn't too loud.
"Gonna rain tomorrow, I bet," mused the stableboy sprawled on a stool in one corner. A pale fellow, he looked to be no older than fifteen.
"Probably." What's keeping them? he wondered, glancing helplessly towards the closed door to the common room. Are they coming down here, or are they waiting for me to go back up there?
Lips thinning, he shifted against the doorframe and turned his gaze back to the street, a stream of darkness populated by islands of warm illumination under the flickering streetlights. As he watched, a mild commotion turned into a fat man chasing a boy down the avenue, shouting about thieves. No one spared the pair a second glance, the pedestrian traffic parting to let them pass.
"Nice wet wind blowing off the sea," continued the stableboy sagely, peering at his fingernails. "Cold, too. Might see some lightning."
"Could be." As another pair of mounted soldiers trotted past, Ramza frowned after them in worry, but the men seemed relaxed enough. Perhaps just street patrols, then. Delita wouldn't seal the city, would he? I hope Ovelia was right. Knowing the man, he'd keep the stabbing a secret as long as possible. And in any case, if he'd wanted her, he'd have stopped me when I was right there next to him. We'll be fine.
The faint creak of the door opening disturbed his thoughts, snapping his attention back inside the stables. A dustcloak-clad Alma stepped through, holding the door open for a moment before letting it fall back closed. Even for traveling, she'd tied her hair back with a big bow, though lately she'd been favoring grey rather than the usual red, probably on account of all the road dust. He smiled at the sight.
She smiled back, sidling over to where he stood. "We're ready," she declared quietly.
He nodded. "Is Ovelia here?"
"Yes," came the Queen's soft voice from a pace away.
"Good." Alma stared back at him, and presumably Ovelia as well, reminding him that they expected him to have a plan after being so eager to leave the city. "Right. Alma, you get up on Heppoko, then while I'm distracting the stableboy, help Ovelia up behind you."
His sister shrugged, wandering over toward her golden-feathered mount. Ramza frowned after her, waiting a moment so as not to collide on accident with the invisible Ovelia, then trotted over to the boy still seated on the stool. "Hey. I have a question for you."
Glancing up in surprise, the young fellow nodded, idly scratching the back of his head. "What is it?"
Ramza hesitated briefly, wondering what to ask. "I... have this dagger," he explained weakly, drawing Ovelia's small blade from his belt, "but the sheath has gone missing. Do you know where I can get a replacement at this hour?" Shifting sideways, he did his best to hide Heppoko and Alma.
The Zeltennian snickered, pushing himself upright on the stool. "You have that thing and lost the sheath? Usually it's the other way around. Should keep it buckled to you next time."
Chuckling nervously, Ramza smiled. "Yeah. I probably should."
"Well," sighed the boy thoughtfully, "not much you can do about it now, I suppose. All the craftsmen have gone home for the day, likely, but old Garcia is usually wandering the Warren at this hour. You'll recognize him right off; he's the only one arguing with himself and wearing a yellow cloak that's twice as big as he is. He has all sorts of odds and ends he sells."
"Ah," he acknowledged. "I think I've seen him before." Glancing back, he spotted Alma on the choco; she gave him a faint smile and a thumbs-up. "You've been a good help," he continued, digging into his coinpurse to toss a five-gil piece to the boy. "Tell Morris I'm sorry we couldn't stay the night."
"I'll do that," vowed the stableboy seriously. "Travel safely. Lots of brigands around these days."
"Yeah." Offering the youth a nod, Ramza made his way back towards the women. "We're ready," he announced, climbing into Boco's saddle.
Alma nodded, not speaking, and together they rode into the street, taking their ease so as not to disrupt the illusion on Ovelia. No one bothered them, or even glanced at them twice, as they threaded through tight night-cloaked streets towards the city's eastern gate. Once there, the guards frowned at them for a moment, doubtless wondering why anyone was leaving so late, but it could not have been terribly rare for they said nothing. Unmolested, they set off on the road heading southeast, towards Zarghidas.
Perhaps an later, Ramza angled off the road and into the surrounding hills, bearing south, away from the coast. In the moonlit darkness, the chocos navigated without human aid, scrambling around shrubs or over depressions, clawed feet scraping quietly across rock. Some time later, he tugged the reins gently, directing Boco towards a stand of trees visible only as a patch of darker shadows against the distant sky; once given a goal, the bird did the rest of the work.
Once within the safety of the glade, he slowed, glancing around through the near-impenetrable gloom. There seemed to be little underbrush, just a thin blanket of leaves under the canopy provided by sentinel ash and maple. Off to one side, a sliver of moonlight sparkled off the surface of a glassy little pond, the water perhaps accounting for the trees. "This should do," he declared. "Are you two okay with it?"
"We're fine," answered Alma, her low voice almost husky in the darkness. She would be tired, this late.
Slipping to the ground, Ramza gave Boco an absent pat, then trotted over to the women. Holding out a hand, he waited uncertainly for the invisible Ovelia.
Shortly soft fingers slid into his own, soon followed by weight and tension as she used his stability to climb to the shadowed ground. "It always comes back to this," she murmured, "doesn't it? Running away from people, I mean." Her hand tightened slightly on his own.
He compressed his lips. "I suppose it does. If you have a lot of enemies, anyway."
"Between the three of us, I don't know anyone who has more." He could hear the smile in her voice as she released his hand.
Shaking his head, he helped his sister to the ground as well, then saw to unpacking the chocos while the women chatted quietly. The birds weren't too tired after a relatively mild day of travel, but it was late and they were hungry. Smiling at their low, impatient warks, he produced the sack of greens and tossed it to the ground.
Eventually Ovelia's voice caught his attention. "So... what do we do here?" she wondered.
"It's simple," answered Alma softly. "You choose a spot on the ground, lie there and go to sleep. Ramza will take first watch."
"Sleep in these clothes?" Worry touched the monarch's voice. "I'm afraid I'll tear them on a rock."
"Then you can change," snickered Alma. "I packed your dress, but we'll need to replace it soon. Ramza," she called a little more loudly, "would you bring my things?"
Wordlessly he complied, feet crunching quietly through the leaves as he crossed the makeshift campsite to where his sister stood. "If she's changing," he offered, "I'll go refill our water."
Alma gave him a silent grin of thanks and began to rummage through her saddlebag. With a shake of his head Ramza turned and made his leisurely way towards the pond he'd seen earlier, pausing to grab the waterskins from the pile of their supplies. It felt strange being sent off so often; Alma occasionally did so when she needed to change, but if there was no space, she simply trusted him not to look. Although, he sighed, Ovelia doesn't know me nearly so well, and a queen is probably used to more privacy. This isn't like when we traveled earlier.
Once the skins were full, he waited a short while longer until he assumed the women were done with whatever they needed to do away from his eyes. Straightening at the pond's edge, he whistled once, a low fluted sound Alma would recognize. She replied immediately in the same fashion; they were ready.
Sloshing, he headed back to the others and tossed the skins next to their bags. Nearby, the birds had finished their meal and were settling down for the night, heads tucked under their little wings.
"...am I watching?" Ovelia was saying as he approached. She had indeed changed back into her dress, or what he assumed to be the same one from before; in the darkness he could see only that it was pale.
"Don't worry about it," dismissed Alma tiredly, reaching back to untie the ribbon from her hair. "Ramza and I will split the night. We're used to it."
"That's true," he agreed, stepping up to the women. "We don't mind."
The queen glanced diffidently from face to face, her eyes wide pools of shadow. "Are you sure?"
"Of course," he shrugged. "Someone who was dead just hours ago shouldn't have to stand up throughout the night."
He'd hoped for a smile but she only stared back at him, chewing a lip. Eventually she nodded, glanced around, and curled up on the leaves using her scarlet cloak as a blanket.
Ramza stepped towards Alma, wrapping arms around her in a tight hug. "Sleep," he instructed. "I'll wake you up later."
"Okay," she answered into his ear. "Good night."
She managed to ruffle his hair before he could raise his hands to do the same to her. Chuckling, he left the women, stepping a few dozen paces to where he could peer out over the hills from the concealment of the trees. It was likely a needless precaution, he reflected, as brigands seldom seemed to venture this close to Zeltennia anymore, but then they had more to worry about now than gangs of thieves. With Ovelia present, he had no desire to play loose with chance.
Ovelia, he sighed, seating himself on the ground. I hope she doesn't still want to go after Delita. He knew exactly how Alma would feel about such a thing, and despite what he'd seen inside the castle, he himself had little desire to oppose his old friend. On the other hand, Ovelia trying it alone would be a death sentence; Delita hadn't hesitated to stab her the first time, and though she had more claim to the crown than he did, all the men with swords and bows answered to him, not her. Which, strictly speaking, was perhaps for the best, if it kept Ivalice from splitting again, this time between feuding monarchs.
Rubbing his forehead tiredly, he focused his attention back on the surrounding terrain, folds of land blanketed in shadow. Though this would be a short night, he knew, tomorrow would be a long day.
