"Where the hell do I get the bounty? How the hell can I not be dead? What the hell is this, Dominikov? Who the hell is the redhead and why the hell is she dressed like me? Dominikov, I want some answers right now!"
Generous, gentle, refined Princess Alita who never forgot her p's and qs and sweetness and courtesy screamed at her death-marked shinigami and hadn't lowered her bloody sword.
"You an impostor for the throne, huh? You one of those bad guys dressed up to be me? You want to step up and take my father's seat too? Bring it, ginger! I'll beat you just like the rest to the bounty! You got any damn money on you?"
Blood-crimson eyes stared from the Princess' blood-spattered face, and bizarrely it reminded Milano of the time when she and Alita had escaped supervision to eat all the strawberries they could find in one of the castle fields, Alita's face wet with juice almost the colour of Alita's own eyes.
"She is not Alita, Grandfather," Milano said. Her life had hung by a thread and it did not yet collapse. Entolasia men served the crown with their lives. Entolasia women could show no less spine when a Princess saved the kingdom of Forland. "She has saved us from Akamashi—at least for the time being..." He had escaped and she would think on the ramifications of that after the dead were buried.
"I am Milano Entolasia," she said, as calmly as she could, with the steel-ice tone that nobly-born matriarch courtiers used to gain control of all conversations. To her surprise it paused the tirade of the woman who was not Alita. "Milano Entolasia, granddaughter of Jodo Entolasia, lady-in-waiting and maid to the Princess of Forland. I welcome you and your friends to Forland.
"For your actions this day, the kingdom of Forland is indebted to Princess Alita. We will express our gratitude when Forland is saved from difficulties. We will have you and your companions safely accommodated; we will—clean—" Her voice did not break over that. "My grandfather and I will parley with you in seclusion, and we will find a solution..."
Then the woman in Alita's body told her the identity of the soul in the small dark girl lying still and quiet in her broken body, and Milano gave way to screaming her grief.
—
Milano was composed. She did not need to be formal to the wandering knight Falis; the bounty hunter was cheerfully frank and mannerless. It was refreshing, or would have been if Falis were not a ghost in the shell of Milano's dearest friend.
On the mantelpiece behind Princess Alita was the porcelain owl, Miss Shoo-Roo, the handle of the katana almost knocking the ornament over. Alita would never have done that. Milano gave the owl to her and she treasured it as if it were imperial diamond rather than simple porcelain—loved a friend's gift more than royal jewellery. That simple gesture brought home to Milano that Alita was gone, and for Forland's sake they would all deal with realities.
"Falis, we can't pay your bounty if we don't have a ruler to pay it. Please stay to protect the kingdom of Forland." Or else you have already received payment and are unable to return it... but Milano could not voice that argument without bitterness now. Keep it in reserve.
"So, are you pulling a scam on me, ginger? How many times are you and the old gnome gonna make me save this kingdom?" But Falis paced the room and spoke in part to herself. Her two friends Pete Armstrong and Dominikov followed her with their eyes, or in the shinigami's case with what he had below his mask that passed for eyes. "It's strange. The other one used almost the same words as you. Protect this kingdom with all your strength, Alita said. I will be the collateral, she said. We fell together from the cliff when she was stupid enough to crash into me fleeing from the tree demon—"
Jodo motioned as if to stop the reminiscences, for knowing what happened to the dead was of less import to the kingdom than preserving those still alive; but Milano craved to know of Alita's fate.
"Our bodies swapped," Falis said. "Dominikov says that when two people face death together their souls swap, but when it's Dominikov saying it you can't know if it's true. I thought she was dead. I thought I was dead. I wasn't going to hunt the bounty for her, until she looked into my eyes and said what she did. The princess was your friend, wasn't she?" Falis looked at Milano, and for all the brusqueness of her speech there was no intended malice in her crimson eyes. "Alita was the collateral. I had her body and everything she was, and she'd see I saved her kingdom. We took her to the fight and then..." Milano refused to look down at Falis' swift, explicit gesture. "If you're a mercenary you're used to people dying on you. But I take it personally when the defenceless get taken out. I'll stay until onion-head gets his."
Grandfather knows that Akamashi cannot be the only enemy of Forland. Milano saw Jodo give a subtle nod.
Milano walked with Princess Alita in the gardens under the plane-trees, overlooking the flocks of well-fed royal sheep grazing on the hills. The winds bathed their faces, and the sun beamed warmly down on Milano's freckles. Milano loved the outdoors: she could milk a cow as easily as she made tea, curry a horse and butcher a lamb as easily as shape court hairstyles and lay a table. Forland was a small kingdom dependent on its farms, and even courtiers did not know nothing of such matters. A green maple leaf blew past Milano's hair, the scent of syrup already in the summer air.
"Forland is a small kingdom and the people are close to their ruler," Milano said. "Many people know you, Princess Alita. You are shy, but you are always kind and polite. You have an amazing talent for swordplay—your older brother Kaito does too, so that can be an explanation..."
"You think this Kaito's a fighter? Do I get to duel him without breaking the pact?" Princess Alita said, and laughed as if she'd meant it for a joke. "Just tell me the princess lessons...if you have to." She gave a yawn so wide it could have housed a beehive.
"You're doing that on purpose, aren't you? Being a princess is like being a soldier! Mouth closed, shoulders high, eyes in front! ...Like being an elegant soldier! Walk slow and graceful! Give yourself a chance to look at all the people curtseying to you! Your Majesty, Your Majesty! Good day, and might you have a cup of tea? Might you politely listen to this petition, Your Majesty, and say something nice about it to make me feel better? Might you honour me with this dance, Your Majesty, at this charity ball to relieve the distress of the people?"
"Crap, I can't do that!" Alita's face drew itself in indelicate horror at Milano's jokingly outstretched hand—Milano distracted herself from the pang of old dances with Alita, learning the steps with her. Alita would always have given her hand.
"Anyone can waltz!" Milano said. One of her few precious memories of her father was his teaching her; dancing with him about the lower rooms below a royal ball, the music and footsteps and laughter echoing above their heads. "A talented fighter like you...are you not up to the challenge, Cavalier Falis?"
She hadn't expected the Princess to reach in and grab her by her upper arms, whirling her above the grass with her skirt and petticoats flying in the wind and hair and bodice untucking themselves. It was like being spun by her father long ago—only not so, with Alita's face wild and laughing in an expression that could never have belonged to Alita. Milano clung to the Princess' arms and let her head spin and dizzy. Alita's features blurred, and Milano saw Falis the adventurer looking out of tempestuous crimson eyes—
When Falis lowered her, Milano took the advantage and stepped in, keeping Falis' arms where they were around her. "Let us waltz, Princess—I am the cavalier and you the princess." She drew up the Princess' right hand with her own, and slid her left around Falis' shoulder, feeling the warmth of their bodies meeting. Alita had been slightly taller and fuller-figured than she. "Your body should know this, the number of times we practiced..." Milano stopped herself with a smile that became genuine; she gently maneuvered Falis into place. "In dancing we cooperate, not fight, and that creates something that looks beautiful."
Step, step, turn. The plane-trees were their ballroom and creeping fronds of willow their festive decorations. Milano saw Falis' back grow straighter and felt her start to grow accustomed to her partner. Box step. Progression. Promenade. Falis stepped with an easy athleticism, becoming light on her feet as gentle snowflakes—but there was a current of cold strength that ran through her hands. The sheath of her katana was prominent against the dress of maiden's white. Milano kept leading, knowing that in most other things it was the Princess who should have to. She advanced on Falis and drew her into a close while the music she imagined spun in her head. Their bodies drew suddenly together. Alita's—Falis'—skin was warm, her heart beating steadily, the distance vanished between them. And to Milano's surprise, as she looked at the expression in Falis' eyes, the fierce warrior's face flushed a distinct pink. Their faces were scarcely an inch apart.
Falis, so unashamed as to sleep naked instead of a proper nightgown...blushing at this?
"...and that is the 'close' in a waltz," Milano said softly, spinning back from her partner once more as a graceful gentleman should always allow the lady time to breathe. "Now you will have no trouble dancing a little."
Falis folded her arms with imperial regality—suitably enough. "Got it, ginger—" Sharply she raised her head and stared with her nose raised as if she sniffed the air. All was quiet. Milano barely heard even the whispering of leaves.
She realised: there had been guards here. The remains of Forland's garrison. For the Princess was the one they had to guard for the realm's safety, and the only cavalry regiment overseas with Prince Kaito in his military service—
(that which had already decimated them; and now Milano knew how her brothers must have died—)
Falis' hands were upon the Princess-of-the-Cranes. The sword flashed silver-blue and already the warrior ran.
Who is dead? Who is dead again? Save this kingdom! Milano prayed. As if in some nightmare she saw the monster rising above the tops of the trees, and she screamed.
—