Chapter 2

Yuna did feel better the next day, although she was still weak and couldn't do much without getting out of breath. She still felt strange and withered and cold, so she wrapped her quilt around her body like a protective cocoon. Her clothes had been washed and she was glad to put them on. Her staff was still missing—it wouldn't surprise her if Seymour had hidden it somewhere. She brushed out her hair and scrubbed her face. She felt as if she was falling apart inside, but she wouldn't give the Unsent half-Guado half-madman the satisfaction of seeing it. She again thought of the others and hoped that they would be all right without her. While she wasn't all that much of a fighter, she'd been quite valuable as a healer and hoped that Tidus wasn't getting too clobbered. Just as her mind chased this thread of thought, she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Lady Yuna? Are you awake yet?"

It was the same red-haired servant as yesterday.

"Oh! You've got some color back in your cheeks! I'm so glad! You'll probably want to take it easy today just the same, though."

A smell wafted through the air and Yuna's stomach rumbled in response. She'd forgotten the last time she'd eaten anything solid and her body was demanding nourishment.

"Will you be dining with the rest of us or should I bring your breakfast in here?" the servant asked.

In a flash, several things went through Yuna's mind: first, she absolutely didn't want to see Seymour. She'd had her fill of him last night and it was going to be hard pretending that nothing was wrong. But the other side was that if she outwardly showed any discomfort, Seymour would never learn to trust her. And the unfortunate part was that she needed him to.

What have I become?! She lamented internally. Already she was trying to figure out the best way to manipulate him.

"I'll eat with the others," she said quietly though being near Seymour was liable to destroy her appetite.

"This way, then!" The servant was cheerful, unaware of the dark thoughts of the Summoner behind her. It appeared that they were in some sort of disused temple or ruin of some kind. Some haphazard attempts had been made to make the place livable again: piles of rubble were used creatively as shelves, tarps had been thrown over the holes in the ceiling, and some of the larger bricks that had fallen had been fashioned into chairs and benches. There were a few guards walking around that bowed to her respectfully though their eyes were wary. She gave them what she hoped was a welcoming smile even though she wanted to shout that they were right, that she wanted to escape. The closer they got to the dining room, however, the more her resolve melted. The smells were a Siren's song: cooking meat, freshly cut fruit, even coffee. There was a tea that she knew to originate from Macalania Woods that only the Guado knew how to make and they kept it a closely guarded secret. She thought it had something to do with moon flowers. Her eyes panned the room. There were plenty of other Guado there, mostly guards, but Seymour was nowhere to be found. She breathed a sigh of relief and imagined that she might actually get to enjoy her meal.

"We've got a special place set for you," the servant said, gesturing to what looked like a very nice chair. Everyone else was sitting on long benches. The table here was positioned at the head of the room. If Seymour still ate, he probably would be here. Traditionally, it was a sign of authority. She did notice a few other places set, some filled and some empty. The servant pushed her chair in and a couple of others brought the serving dishes. Yuna noticed that the plates, cups, and silverware were all metallic with intricately carved branches and leaves. At the end of her fork was a tiny clump of grapes with vines that twined around the handle. This pattern was also present on the other things as well. She could see her reflection in the polished silver plate.

"What would you like to drink, my lady?" one of the servants asked. He was a purple-haired Guado and couldn't have been older than fourteen or fifteen.

"Is that moon flower tea I smell?" she asked.

"Aye," he replied.

"Then I'll have some of that, please."

"Coming right up."

He brought her a mug of the steaming blue liquid and offered her sugar, which she declined. Then she began to fill her plate. The meat she recognized as Behemoth steak which was so tender that she scarcely needed her knife to cut it. There were fluffy scrambled eggs, several different kinds of fruits and pastries, and a type of hot grain that resembled porridge (though she couldn't identify what it was). It all looked so good that she hardly knew where to start. Her favorite, by far, was an apple-sauce-like dish made from several different kinds of fruits from Guadosalam.

"Bastian is quite the cook, is he not?"

It was Tromell who had said it. She breathed a sigh of relief when, once again, Seymour still appeared to be absent. She felt a little bit more comfortable with him though she was still upset with him for smashing Jyscal's sphere.

"Yes, he is," Yuna replied politely, "the fruit sauce is exceptional."

"It's practically everyone's favorite," Tromell said, "even though Lord Seymour hardly ever eats now, he will still have that every now and then. I shall have to make sure we serve this at the wedding."

Now her face was red.

"That would be wonderful," she said quietly, wiping her mouth to conceal the grimace in her napkin.

"Is there anything else we can get you, my lady?"

"No, thank you," she said, "I don't know where I'd put it."

She lay her fork and knife down and watched the teen boy with the purple hair come to whisk her now-empty plate away.

"Lord Seymour is busy at the moment—he sends his regrets that he couldn't join you," Tromell finally got to the point, "but he instructed me to walk with you outside. The fresh air may help your recovery from the toxin."

She followed Tromell out onto the beach. Looking around, she realized that you'd never know this was a lived-in ruin.

"Tromell, where are the guards?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Oh, you needn't worry about that," Tromell said, "the advantage of growing up in such a dense forest is that we've learned to blend right in with our surroundings. There are plenty of guards here to keep you safe on all sides and the enemy would never know what hit them!"

That's what I was afraid of…Yuna thought. Not that it would do her any good—she had already decided to play his little game.

"Lord Seymour himself sometimes volunteers for guard duty as he no longer requires sleep," Tromell continued, apparently thinking that he was making Yuna feel better, "he has no trouble at all taking on the local fiends."

I imagine not… she suppressed a shudder, remembering how hard he'd been to beat those two times they'd fought.

"You'll be completely safe here," Tromell finished, "we'll make sure of that."

Someone was coming towards them. Yuna's breakfast began to churn uncomfortably in her belly. There was no mistaking that enormous frame or the horn-like locks of hair that stuck out from the person's head. She had been hoping for a little more than an hour's peace.

"Ah…there he is now!" Tromell beamed. Yuna pitied him immensely in that moment. Tromell was a poor, misguided old man and Seymour was using him just like everyone else. What must it be like to have that kind of loyalty to someone? Again, she found herself thinking of Tidus. What if he had done something terrible and she would have to choose between him and a bunch of strangers?

"How did it go?" Tromell asked. Seymour was rubbing his shoulder, using the crook of his elbow to hold his staff.

"About the way we expected," Seymour replied, "excuses and more excuses. What they didn't want to tell me was that our shipments were being held up by a Sinspawn. It would have been nice to know that before the chocobos bolted and nearly ran us off the road."

He released his hold on his shoulder. Tromell gasped.

"My word! We should have one of the medics take a look at that!"

Yuna's stomach turned. Even with the bulk of his robe, she could tell that his shoulder was dislocated. Tromell peeled back the robe and confirmed the suspicion. Some of the others came running.

"Stop making such a fuss," Seymour said, somewhat annoyed, "it's not the first time I've come back injured."

But they wouldn't shut up. They led him inside and she was swept in with the crowd where they made Seymour sit down. He was stripped to the waist, the heavy silk fabric water-falling over the sides and back of the chair. The shoulder was only one of few injuries: he had several gashes on his chest and stomach where something had taken a swipe at him. The red-haired servant immediately pressed a clean cloth there to try and stop the bleeding. One of the stronger male servants managed to push the bone back where it belonged after a few tries. The only indication Seymour gave that it hurt was a muffled grunt. A thin sheen of sweat had appeared on his face and caused it to glisten in the dim light. His breath came in short gasps and his fingertips dug into the seat of the chair.

"Lady Yuna?" Tromell asked quietly.

Until that moment, everyone had forgotten she was there and she'd preferred it that way. Now, all eyes were on her and she wanted to shrink from their gazes. Seymour wasn't paying attention to her—his eyes were closed. The pain had gone from intensely sharp to a dull ache as he flexed his fingers experimentally. Yuna resisted the urge to sigh.

Why do I have to be the one to do this? Surely there are more healers than just me…

She nodded and placed her hands on Seymour's shoulder, being very careful not to apply any pressure. The vengeful side of her wanted to squeeze it and make him hurt just a little bit more, enough to know that she hated being pushed around. Instead, she touched him so feather-lightly that it would have been impossible. White light began to flow from her hands into his skin. It wasn't something you could see so much as feel. The pain immediately subsided and he turned to look at her hands. It was so quiet in the room that Yuna could hear her own heartbeat. The silence would have been excruciating if she hadn't been so focused on the spell. After she was sure his shoulder was now intact again, she peeled away the bloodied dish towels and began to heal the bleeding wounds. He winced a little in pain as it stung, but that was worth it. He watched the wounds dry out under her tiny fingers and seal closed. The red swirling blossoms of pain in his mind grew fainter until they melted into the shadows.

Yuna was awkwardly aware of every little change. She had felt him begin to relax the minute she'd touched him—trying to get home with a busted shoulder and four bleeding gashes must have been agonizing. His breath had slowed under her hands now, the ribs rising and falling gently. She had to wonder, however, why he hadn't healed himself then. Perhaps he didn't know the extent of his injuries. Perhaps he had been so determined to get back that he was aware of them but hadn't cared. Or maybe this was a test. She hoped it wasn't the last one.

"Thank you, Lady Yuna."

She only gave him a wordless nod in return. Some kind soul offered her a wet rag to scrub her hands with—Seymour's blood, now growing sticky, was all over them. He watched her for a moment before someone inquired why he'd arrived home in such a state.

"I received word that some provisions for our guests would either be delayed or put off entirely because there was trouble on the way to Bevelle from the south," Seymour told them, "upon further investigation, there have been a great deal of fiend attacks in the area recently. Entire carriages and freights went missing as well as the chocobos pulling them and their drivers. At first, I suspected bandits, but there were no patterns in the items taken. Several of the Crusaders had gone in with armored chocobos and they too went missing. Luckily, we passed by at the moment the creature decided to come out of the woods and show its ugly face. I'm afraid Lonnie and Ada are done for…"

He bowed his head and Yuna heard a few exclamations of disbelief and shock followed by wails of grief.

"I killed it," he continued, "but I was not fast enough to save them. The best I could do was to Send them before I returned."

Yuna's face had paled. She tried to imagine Seymour standing on the side of the road with the two dead Guado performing the Sending dance with one good arm while his own blood continued to dribble to the ground. It was a very morbid mental image.

"We will still hold a memorial service for them this evening," Seymour continued after a moment, "though, of course, they have already been sent. I would not deprive you of a chance to say goodbye."

The pain in his voice sounded very genuine. In fact, Yuna found herself wondering whether or not he was really sorry to have lost two of his guards or if he was saying these things to make the others believe he really cared about them. The way he spoke now was completely different than the way he had addressed her and her companions coldly during battle. It was easy to see why everyone wanted to trust him.

"Lord Seymour, you should go and rest," Tromell said quietly.

"I can't," Seymour replied, standing, "I have more to do."

He shrugged back into his robes and retrieved the staff from where it was leaning against a table. For the first time since arriving here, his gaze met Yuna's.

Let me catch you trying to cause trouble, his expression seemed to say, I dare you. Especially now.

She could only stare after him for a moment.

The actors must play their parts, his voice from long ago on that day in his Guadosalam mansion replayed in her head.

"Maester Seymour! Do you need any help?" she blurted out about three seconds too late. Everyone was already exchanging glances. Seymour was almost to the door. He turned, his rigid hair rustling against the fabric of his robe.

"Of course," he replied, "if you're feeling up to it, Lady Yuna."

The train of his robes slithered like a snake as he left the room. Yuna reluctantly followed the dark-plum-with-white-designed fabric, knowing she was committed now. She was trying to walk far enough back that she didn't step on the hem.

"What kind of Sinspawn was it?" she couldn't help but ask.

"The kind that had so many claws and fangs that the rest was indistinguishable," Seymour answered darkly, "and an apparently strong taste for Guado."

He didn't seem to want to talk about it anymore, so she didn't press it. They arrived in a chamber that was set up like a makeshift office. There was a rock that was big and flat enough to serve as a desk with rolls of paper and quills and pots of ink. The first thing that must be done was to contact the families of the deceased. This was always Yuna's least favorite part of the job and Seymour didn't appear to like it any more than she did. He unrolled the parchment, smoothed it out, and began to write a letter. Yuna sat on the other side of the desk and wrote the other one. Neither of them talked except for Yuna asking how to spell Lonny's name correctly. She glanced over at him once or twice, but only at his hand moving the quill across the paper. His handwriting was very neat and tightly controlled, giving away a lot of his personality. Her own more playful loopy script seemed wrong for this kind of thing. Seymour sent two couriers with the letters and bags of Gil. A bunch of coins could never add up to a person's life or ever compare to it, but it would give the grieving families some time and resources to handle their situations without the added stresses of financial burden or work on top of the pain. Next there was a list of preparations to be made by that evening. Yuna took the list that Seymour gave her to the kitchens and Tromell oversaw the rearranging of the dining room and the placement of caskets. The bodies were retrieved, cleaned up, redressed, and made to look more presentable and peaceful. That, too, was very hard on everyone. It didn't help that Lonny's face had contorted into a pained grimace—the flesh was rigor-mortised so they had to really work at rearranging things. After the bodies were prepared, there wasn't much more they could do until the actual service started.

"Now you see why I wish to grant Spira an eternal rest," Seymour pointed out to Yuna as the grieving soldiers and servants began to fill the long benches laid end-to-end in two sections, "imagine how much more their families will suffer because of this."

Yuna sighed.

Just when I was beginning to think you had a shred of humanity left… she thought, disappointed.

"Just a little while longer…" Seymour said quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder. She fought every instinct she had to pull away.

"…and they will all sleep. No more tears ever again."

Yuna couldn't help but wonder if the Sinspawn had actually killed the two soldiers or if there even had been a Sinspawn in the first place. But then how would he have dislocated his own shoulder? These constant mental accusations wore her out.

The service began. Seymour, to his credit, managed to make a very moving speech about Lonny and Ada and how brave they had been to face the Sinspawn. According to him, they had placed themselves between Seymour and the Sinspawn to spare his life because he was getting married soon and didn't want Yuna deprived of a husband. This made Yuna sick to her stomach, but she forced a watery smile. No wonder all the Guado were so happy—he played the engagement card very well. She was relieved when he was finished. He returned to her side as the Hymn of the Fayth was sang, then the servants began to rearrange all the furniture again while the pallbearers took the caskets outside to bury. Seymour took Yuna's hand in his and they led the line behind the caskets. The entire thing was so…dark.

I don't understand you at all… Yuna thought irritably of him, two of your own people die and all you can talk about is this sham of a wedding that's coming up. I see who you really are.

They watched as the caskets were lowered into the graves and covered. Then it was time to go in and have dinner. Again, Yuna was struck by how hungry she was—she and Seymour had worked right through lunch and her appetite had been temporarily suppressed. Seymour was, of course, sitting beside her though he was probably eating more for show than for actual need. People came up to him and thanked him for his beautiful words. Some of them broke down sobbing which was awkward, but Seymour handled them with an almost supernatural grace. He never objected to them wanting to hug or cry on his shoulder and he always managed to say something that made them feel better or even smile. His voice was deceptively gentle.

Where has this version been hiding? Yuna wondered. She knew it was all a mask, but it was a very good one. It was especially effective when an elderly woman went into hysterics—Seymour had cast some kind of spell on her to calm her down. Yuna wasn't sure what it was, but she could feel the vibration in the air that was always present with magic. After the old lady had begun to smile again and went to be with her fellow servants and friends, Seymour let the mask drop for one small instance. His shoulders were slumping, Yuna noticed. While he probably didn't get physically tired anymore, he probably still got very mind-weary at times.

"You really should get more rest, Maester Seymour. You look a little run-down," someone said. Seymour chuckled darkly. Of course he'd find something like that amusing.

After dinner was over (which took longer than usual because everyone was talking), Seymour informed Tromell that he was heading for his chambers and didn't want to be disturbed. Yuna was relieved—she'd spent most of the day with him and just being in his presence got on her nerves. She decided that she would call it a night, too. She didn't see him behind her, once again, and nearly screamed when she felt his chilling breath on her ear.

"I'll be just down the hall over there if you need anything," he whispered, "or…have a nightmare."

And with that, he was gone. She watched his back retreating and shuddered.