Author's Notes: Great! I somehow managed to stuff parts of my never to be published "Kuja's first years on Gaia" fic into these two chapters! Now I finally have an excuse for not finishing that damnable thing. :)
So far, two people have asked about my first language, and even though this info can be found in my bio, I shall perhaps repeat myself here, just to avoid further questions – it's Polish. Please, check a random map of Europe if you're not too sure what the hell I'm talking about.
I'm such as sucker for father-son fics that I couldn't resist twisting the final King-Kuja scene into something strange. Basically, I've always liked to imagine that the rightful owner of the Auction House is still alive during the game—and that he and Kuja share an almost friendly, family-like relationship ('almost' being the keyword here). Is that really such a bad idea? To think that King might have been one of the very few humans Kuja has ever cared for, in his own, little way?
Chapter Six
"Doctor Tot told me everything about King's condition. Things he thought I needed to know, things I didn't even want to know. Basically, it turned out that the old count was dying, overcome by some mysterious illness, for which no cure could be found." Kuja winced slightly, tossing a couple of long, curly strands over his shoulder. "For some reason I can no longer recall, Tot felt indebted to the man and took everything that happened to him quite personally. He was upset about the whole situation, frustrated at his own powerlessness, and he wished he could do something—which is why, no matter how absurd it might have seemed at that time, he asked for my help."
Hilda nodded. It sounded like a strange turn of events, to say the least. "Are you a doctor?"
"Doctors had already tried, with pathetic results." The man grimaced. "No. I'm a sorcerer."
She frowned, yet kept all her thoughts to herself, unwilling to show her surprise. True, she would have been even more surprised to hear a positive answer to her question, but this sudden confession had also been startling. Although, she had to admit, it made perfect sense, or at least explained the mages' presence—to a certain extent. Hadn't he said he had created them? What kind of sorcerer was capable of achieving something like that?
She didn't really want to listen to Kuja's story, but her curiosity was slowly replacing whatever skepticism she might have felt only a couple a moments ago. Besides, just as usual, she was under the impression that the man would keep talking even if she started to yawn, roll her eyes, or show her lack of interest in any other way. He was an incorrigible egocentric, after all.
"Doctor Tot," Kuja went on, perhaps failing to notice Hilda's expression—a wry, meaningful smile hovering at the corners of her mouth, "gave me a letter of recommendation, and then exacted a promise from me. I was supposed to try, as well. Two days later, much to my own dismay, I found myself standing at the old man's bedside."
Francis Touggourt King was dying. It didn't really take a doctor to realize as much; the hints were more than obvious. The old noble lay in his bed, completely motionless, with a pair of unseeing, lusterless eyes fixed on the ornate ceiling, and a few droplets of saliva trickling down his chin. His wrinkled skin was sickeningly pale—translucent, even—with a tinge of ugly, greenish color around the lips. Most of his bones could be seen underneath. His lungs were making small, wheezing noises with each breath he took.
Kuja sighed. Heavily. He felt like turning on his heel and leaving without a single word. This place was making him sick. He cared neither about the man's suffering nor about his life, but the sight was unpleasant, to say the least, and the intense stench of death seemed almost unbearable. He had always been sensitive to such things, it came as a part of being an experimental Genome.
Unwilling to dwell on that last thought, he tried to look in a different direction. Whoever had assumed that covering the windows with thick curtains was a good idea, had obviously been wrong. The chamber was almost as dark as an underground cellar: certainly not the best way to infuse the count—and a potential doctor—with optimism.
A dispassionate voice rang by his side, "Would you please wait here?"
"Of course," he replied.
From his place by the door, he watched the butler—the very same man he had seen two days ago, at the mansion's gates—walk up to the huge bed. His efforts to stay quiet were completely nonsensical. The old noble didn't even blink at the sound of his servant's footsteps, as if, regardless of his open eyes, he was totally absent from the room, trapped in another dimension.
Kuja ran a hand through his long hair. Once again, he was beginning to question his decision to come here. He had made a promise to Doctor Tot, a promise he was willing to keep, but he still found the whole situation annoying. He was an Angel of Death, after all, not some merciful physician who traveled round the world and healed people out of compassion. He was supposed to kill thousands, not save individuals, at least as far as Garland's wishes were concerned. Honestly speaking, his own needs didn't include wasting his time on helpless old men, either.
In fact, the only thing that kept him here was the sheer irony of it all.
"Master King," the butler spoke quietly, leaning over the immobile count. "This is the young magician I have told you about. Perhaps he will be able to help you."
Magician? Before Kuja could snicker, though, the old man moved, nodded his head at the servant in a barely visible gesture. No words fell from his lips, but the brief exchange was enough to send the white-haired youth into a state of mild shock. The living zombie had just proven that he was indeed alive.
The butler straightened himself up and raised his head to meet the boy's gaze. "Please, sir, try to do your best."
Shaking himself off his surprise, Kuja resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Fine, I shall try. Now leave."
"I will stay by His Lordship's side," came the man's flat answer.
And watch me go from one Terran spell to another? Feh. Unlikely. "…You're making this difficult."
"Do not misunderstand me, young man." The servant folded his arms across his chest. "I am responsible for His Lordship's safety."
"I'm not planning to do anything 'unsafe'," he scowled. "Seriously, how can you expect me to concentrate with someone breathing down my neck?"
"It is my duty to protect my master."
Such loyalty... – Kuja turned his head away, trying to hide his snicker – Garland would have been awfully touched, no doubt…
"Fine," he growled in reply. "Just move on towards the wall and pretend you're not even there, okay?"
The butler nodded stiffly; whatever he felt like saying, he didn't actually say. Without taking his eyes off the youth, he took a couple of steps back, disappearing into the shadows. Kuja suppressed an annoyed sigh.
He walked up to the bed and sat down next to the noble's side, reaching for one of his cold, pale hands. A pair of gray eyes moved slightly to meet his own, blue ones – and much to his surprise, Kuja found himself looking away rather quickly. The man's gaze hadn't been empty.
He knew the expression all too well. Crushed hope. He had seen it before. In the mirror.
…Aaah, just where had that distracting thought come from? The sooner it was done, the better!
Scanning the man's aura was a easy task, he instantly noticed some major abnormalities. It was as if the energy flow had been reversed. Life was leaking out of this body, much faster than it should have, instead of just staying within the vessel. And the inflow of elements had been blocked, too. As if somebody had simply turned off the tap. Set the switch from 'inflate' to 'deflate'.
Now, the only problem would be to locate this switch. After ten minutes of strained search, Kuja still couldn't tell just where the magical button lay. The spell—for he was sure the disease couldn't be of natural origin—was too complex, composed of so many threads that it was almost impossible to keep track of them; the strings ran in every possible direction, knotted, tangled up, some even broken… and the more Kuja struggled to solve this puzzle, the more lost he got.
The count's unmoving gaze had become awfully unnerving by now. Leaning forward, Kuja whispered a couple of words, and the lids fell down. He had almost expected the man to look healthier in his sleep, but no, the old face was still twisted in pain, and the wheezing sounds didn't fade away.
He straightened himself up, turning his head to the right, where he expected the butler to be. "This illness," he spoke calmly, watching the man come closer, "is not of physical, but of spiritual nature. His body," – he had purposely skipped the title – "would've been perfectly fine, if it hadn't been for some disturbances in his aura."
"Yes, we already know that." Even if the servant found such lack of manners appalling, he certainly didn't let it show. "However, up until now, no doctor has been able to discover the source of these 'disturbances', let alone cure His Lordship's disease."
"Two days," Kuja eventually said, leaning backwards in a casual, nonchalant manner, not really caring if he was crumpling the carefully arranged sheets
"I beg your pardon?" The butler blinked in surprise. It was perhaps his first display of emotion in the youth's company.
"Give me two days, and I'll find the source of all problems."
He couldn't care less about the man's life, but he would not let some Gaian sorcerer get the better of him.
"Back then, I had no idea what it was. Only much, much later did I discover that it was a curse placed on him by one of his old business partners, convinced that King had cheated him out of a large sum of money, or something like that. The funny thing was, that foolish man died of age before the curse actually began to have an effect. He didn't even get to see his arch-nemesis bedridden, let alone dead…" Kuja turned his head to the right, met Hilda's wide, concerned eyes. "Feh, slapdash work." He smirked. "I guess that's what happens when amateurs try to play with magic."
She flinched, as if he had physically struck her, and then averted her gaze as quickly as possible, even though—she was certain of it—that could only confirm his suspicions.
A curse… created by an amateur… Ah, but she had been perfectly aware of what she had been doing! Surely, there had been no risk, for it was only a charm, a simple spell, one that could easily be reverted… not some deadly, malicious curse Kuja had just told her about! Besides… she wasn't such a complete amateur, either. Certainly not skilled enough to pass for a professional mage, yet there had been a few rather good wizards among her ancestors, and she knew she must have inherited at least some of their talents. Cid was fine, temporarily stuck in the body of an oglop, but safe, nonetheless… and as soon as she was back home she would turn him into a human being. Nothing could go wrong…
Well, things have already gone wrong, a traitorous voice at the back of her mind whispered, for you can't return to Lindblum any time you want, can you? No, you're trapped here in this golden cage, and unless you find a way to escape, you will stay here forever—because Kuja certainly doesn't intend to let you go. It brings your revenge to a whole new level. Cid will have to spend his entire life in that–
…that was too much. Hilda raised her head, forced herself to unclench her fists. Fortunately, Kuja just let the matter drop, allowed the sentence to hang between them for a couple of seconds, then went on, his tone as dispassionate as ever.
"At that time, I wasn't really interested in such details, I couldn't care less about 'who' or 'when'. The only thing I needed to know was 'how'. I guess I treated it as a challenge. It took me three days, but I finally managed to discover just how the curse worked, and then I simply destroyed it. King got better almost instantly. On the fourth day, he was already able to sit up in his bed. And he wanted to talk to me."
Hilda looked at the mosaic under her feet. It pictured a rushing chariot, with a few shattered columns and a huge, setting sun in the background. She was willing to think about everything but her husband. "…Possibly about your fee."
"Yes," the man's pale lips were twisted in a mocking grimace, "but instead of getting down to business, he began with the story of his life. He was looking for someone who would take care of his money. A successor of sorts, seeing that he was already seventy-two, a childless widower, possibly impotent for the rest of his days… not to mention pretty unwilling to bequeath his entire wealth to the state, let alone to his remaining relatives. Basically, in return for saving his life, he asked me to inherit the title and his family name. With all resulting consequences."
She took a deep breath. "And then you agreed."
"No." Kuja's voice had turned cold, metallic. "I refused. In the rudest way possible, without mincing my words. I laughed in his face, called him a naive old man, told him that I wasn't going to waste my time on his stupid affairs, and that he should have perhaps found himself a different minion, an accountant. I was so frustrated with Doctor Tot's absence that I practically took out my whole anger on him. To tell you the truth, I cared neither about his reaction nor about his award. I kind of expected him to get furious, to throw me out as soon as I was finished. And the funny thing was – he didn't. He didn't even comment on my outburst. He just asked me to stay for a couple of more days."
Hilda shook her head in disbelief; this tale was getting just more and more absurd. She could hardly picture anyone refusing the noble's offer. There was simply no excuse for Kuja's bluntness, such behavior escaped all human logic. What had kept him from agreeing? 'Frustration', as he had put it? Pride? Disregard for all earthly possessions? Ah, but it was ridiculous; one look at her surroundings was enough to assure her that he did care about these things…
Secondly, why would Lord King tolerate such impudence coming from a boy? True, she didn't even know the man, perhaps he was the pure embodiment of patience and good-manners, but still, his second invitation made no sense at all.
"I knew that Doctor Tot wouldn't be back for another three weeks," the young man went on, his lips curled into an unpleasant smile, "and so I figured I could as well accept King's generous invitation. It was better than staying in an inn, anyway. For such a wonderful city, Treno sure can't be proud of its innkeepers' hospitality."
They had just reached a broad, marble stairway, spiraling upwards like a giant conch. As soon as they started to climb, Hilda moved a bit closer to the balustrade, allowed herself a quick glance at the distant ceiling, only to see it suspended at least forty meters above her head. If it hadn't been for the countless candelabra, she would have never managed to make out the details of a huge, silver-green fresco it was covered with.
"A week later," her captor was saying, "a new visitor arrived at the mansion. He introduced himself as Murcy King, the old man's nephew. According to some documents he kept waving in everyone's face, he was supposed to inherit King's fortune after his death—which he thought was about to come 'any day now'." Kuja let out a short, amused laugh. "Imagine his surprise, then, when he actually got to see his uncle's face. Oh, sure, the old man hadn't even begun to walk by then, but at least he no longer resembled a living corpse, and judging from his words, he was feeling as good as never." The sorcerer shook his head. "Unfortunately, the ambitious whelp was too dumb to take the hint and just leave, possibly to wait yet another twenty years. I was sure he was plotting something."
"He wanted to murder his uncle." Hilda frowned in understanding. She knew how it was done, if not from her personal experience, then at least from countess tales and gossip.
"Yes," Kuja agreed simply. "It was pretty obvious to everyone but the count's servants. That what's-his-name, Murcy, probably bribed them, anyway. King's fate was sealed."
She tilted her head to the side. "And you took pity on the old man."
"No," came the flat, dispassionate reply. "It wasn't about the old man at all. I was just pissed at that little, disgusting idiot. He was acting as subtle as a marten in a henhouse, obviously convinced that he had everyone in his grasp. He just barged into the mansion, tried to throw me out, even though I was still a guest." Hilda winced at these words; crossing Kuja certainly didn't seemed like a very smart thing to do. "Besides," the sorcerer went on after a small pause, "it occurred to me that killing the old man would've been a total waste of my work."
"Oh…" She didn't even try to understand. Following Kuja's train of thought seemed nearly impossible at times.
"To make a long story short," she head him speak up, in a startlingly casual voice, "I got rid of that whelp, once and for all. Next day, I asked King whether his offer was still valid. And it was."
"Article twenty-eight: shall there any contentious issues arise within the first three months of–"
Kuja sank deeper into a soft, leather armchair, his head rolling to the side with a small, bored sigh. He had stopped paying attention to the lawyer's words at least fifteen minutes ago, when the man had still been halfway though article four, which basically discussed "both parties' legal capacity to claim responsibility for their own actions", or something to that effect.
It was nothing but a stupid formality, after all. He couldn't be too sure about 'Master King', but he had already read the document they were going to sign. Twice. He knew its contents by heart. Still, the old man insisted that everything happened under the law, in the notary's presence.
Fortunately, there were only two more points left.
"–and shall also inherit the rightful title, as well as the legal basis to–"
Oh, yes. The title. He stifled a dry laugh. Count King. Count Kuja King. It sounded ridiculous even to his own years. Especially to his own years.
Garland would have so loved this…
"–you agree to these terms," the lawyer's voice once again pulled him away from his thoughts, "then please put your signature in the space provided at the bottom of every page." Kuja looked up, meeting the other man's somber gaze. "I'm afraid that you would have to sign three copies–"
…which made exactly twenty-seven signatures in total. Francis King was the first one to reach for the parchment. Kuja waited, more or less patiently, for the old noble to finish, then took the quill himself, started to work his way through the numerous pages. He had a feeling that both men were staring at his hands.
"There." He finally looked up, gave the documents back to the notary, who eyed them scrupulously. "Is that all?"
The lawyer didn't answer at once. "…Yes. I suppose that would be all. Congratulations, Master King." He finally rose to his feet, reaching out to shake King's hand across a low table. "You are now, officially, a father." With a small, cunning smile on his lips, he turned to Kuja. "Congratulations to you as well, young man. You will be inheriting quite a fortune."
The boy smiled back, trying his best to appear natural, although he was certain that his smile turned out rather sour and awkward. Fortunately, before this moment could get even more embarrassing, King's hoarse voice broke the silence.
"Yes, indeed… Thank you for your hard work, Leddar."
The notary bowed. "The pleasure is all mine. I shall always remain at Your Lordship's disposal."
And then it was finally over. A tall, noiseless servant arrived to lead Leddar out of the room. As soon as the door closed behind them, Kuja fell back into his armchair, staring blankly at the two copies the lawyer had left behind. At his own signature—neat, Gaian letters, so simple and childishly easy to produce, especially compared to the complexity of the three Terran alphabets—visible at the front page of each document.
He had a feeling that it was a big joke. Some stupid, most incredible dream he'd ever had, one that would soon be over…
If Garland could see this… well…
He wasn't even able to imagine Garland's reaction. Would there be any…? After all, the man cared very little about his Genomes, and Kuja, in spite of his individuality, his status as an Angel, was hardly ever worth any extra attention, be it positive or negative. Perhaps Garland would have simply dismissed everything with a mere shrug…?
"What it that bad?" A deep, somewhat unsteady voice broke his train of thought. "You should perhaps see the look on your face. You seem absolutely unhappy."
"Do I, really?" Kuja leveled his cold gaze at the man, feeling embarrassed despite himself.
"What's done is done. You may as well try to get used to it."
The casual tone was a bit infuriating. "You don't expect me to live here, do you?"
"I expect you to take care of my business, that is all." The count's bony fingers clenched around the armrests, knuckles instantly turning white. For a brief moment, Kuja felt like springing up from his seat, just to help the old man stand up. He resisted the urge, though. "I simply wish to spend my remaining days in peace, without worrying too much about finance or politics."
"You make it sound as if you were about to die in a moment," the youth grimaced, but his voice sounded nowhere near as hostile as before.
"Ah, no." His face still twisted in pain, the old man slowly got to his feet, leaning on his mahogany walking stick. "Actually, I haven't felt so good in a very long time… All thanks to you."
"Don't even bother," Kuja mumbled, momentarily looking away.
Honestly, he had no idea how to deal with this… this unexpected gratitude. He hadn't saved King's life out of compassion. Wasn't it obvious? He had acted on a whim – because he had wanted to see if he could break the curse, outsmart some Gaian sorcerer, then because he had gotten so furious at that little moron who actually dared to threaten him… – and if so, there was no point in the older man's thanks.
Ah, but on the other hand… the way it made him feel…
Almost… almost as if he were… It was so easy to pretend that none of this was artificial…
"I do not understand your objections," he heard King speak up. "I felt that it was perhaps the only fair solution. And I haven't come to regret my decision yet."
Not for the first time in the previous few months, his thoughts ran to Zidane—damn it all, there hadn't been a day when he wouldn't be thinking about his brother. He still didn't understand why he hadn't killed the brat when he had had the chance. He had his fingers clenched around the boy's throat, for hell's sake; the little Angel had been completely defenseless, staring up his face with a pair of half-clueless, half-terrified eyes, practically begging to be strangled, and yet…
And yet knocking the child unconscious had been the only thing he could do. It was funny, really. His whole life, he had been taught how to kill, at his Master's command, without questioning, and when he had finally had the opportunity to act of his own free will, to fulfill his own wishes, to save himself, some silly hesitation had taken over. Instead of getting rid of his problem once and for all, he had merely pushed the brat through the portal.
Of course, he had no idea if Zidane was still alive. That makeshift teleporter had been unstable, completely random—it could have thrown the boy anywhere, from the bottom of a lake to a stony desert. If he had been lucky, he might have landed in some forest, perhaps even in some inhabited area… then again, what did it change? He had been but a helpless child back then, barely capable of zipping up his suit, let alone defending himself against a hungry wolf, or surviving on the outskirts of, say, Treno, where people tended to be more dangerous than monsters.
"How am I supposed to understand your silence?" King's voice was coming from far, far away.
He couldn't resist the impression that fate—more like 'pure coincidence'; he had never believed in fate, anyway—had been kind to the brat, felt nearly convinced that Zidane was alive, stranded somewhere on this planet. And he couldn't help but wonder… had the boy found his home here, on Gaia? Managed to come to terms with his heritage? Or had he simply forgotten, dismissed his previous life as some strange, unsettling dream? Found some semblance of normality?
He… he didn't deserve any of that. Why the hell should Zidane get a chance to live like this, like… a human being, whereas he…
"Kuja?" This time, there was unmistakable worry in the other man's voice.
"You don't know me at all." The words were on his lips before he could actually stop himself. "How can you even trust me?"
Too late, he had already said too much, hadn't remembered to keep the emotions out of his voice, allowed the mask to slip away, if only for a brief moment. Looking up, he saw the older man smile in a rather unpleasant way. "Well, I can't."
"Then why…?"
"Call it an old man's fancy."
"Seriously–" he began, but King didn't even let him finish.
"Maybe I've really gone senile over the past few months. Maybe I just wanted to take all these vultures down a peg or two. Offering my money to a complete stranger, heh… That'll certainly give them something to talk about. Of course, people will never get to know the details. Some things shall stay within these walls, I suppose we have already agreed to this."
"You…" Suddenly, Kuja found himself at a loss, struggling for words. "I didn't save your life to… Not because… You see, I'm not…"
"Not too fond of me. I can accept that. However, I wish you would be more polite at times."
"Ah…" He leant forward in his seat, stiff, uneasy, exasperated. "No, what I meant to say is that… that I am not…"
Human. Oh, for hell's sake, just get this over with…
"Not a good bookkeeper," he finally gave up, raising his head to meet the man's calm, unmoving gaze.
Damn, he thought, why do I even bother? It's not like I owe him anything! He wanted this, I practically pulled him out of his grave, so let him repay his debt! He can't expect me to be grateful, can he? After all, I could've done perfectly well without his money… without his… Why is he acting like this? As if he actually… as if…
"It's okay." The old man sounded a bit perplexed. "Don't worry about it too much. Hire a few accountants, a legal adviser, whoever you like. I just want you to–"
"And you should also be aware," Kuja interrupted sharply, afraid that it was now or never, for if he didn't say certain things today, the chance would be lost, "that I'm keeping a lot of things from you."
His whole life was based on lies, oblique statements, false assurances of loyalty, so why was it so hard to lie now? Why did he insist on being honest?
Francis King fell silent for a long while. "I have lived in this word for seventy-two years, my boy," he finally said, no trace of anger in his calm voice. "And I am not as foolish as you think. Yes, I have a feeling that you are keeping many things from me, but I do not mind."
"You…"
"Are naive, is that what you wanted to say? No, Kuja. I may not be able to see what is going on inside your head, but one thing is certain. If your intentions towards me had been insincere, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Whatever you were trying to say just a moment ago, was enough to make your lips tremble. Obviously, even in spite of this," King gestured at the document on the table, "we are still strangers. It is hard to be honest with a stranger. I don't expect you to tell me your secrets."
Kuja sank deeper into his armchair. Yes, coming to think of it, his lips were definitely trembling. Right now.
It just… made no sense at all.
And he was already beginning to regret his sincerity, this sudden outburst of emotions, this weakness. There was no need to complicate things too much. Strangers, that was all they were. And strangers they should remain.
"As promised," he said coldly, finally standing up, "I will take care of your fortune, to the best of my abilities. Just don't expect me to act like your son, all of a sudden." Fourteen steps, and he was already by the door, reaching for the handle. "Because I won't. Not ever."
"You think I made it all up, don't you?" Kuja's low chuckle eventually broke the silence, which had fallen after his final words. "The whole story sounds a bit far-fetched, doesn't it? Like an abstract from a cheap conversation piece, or something equally absurd."
"If you put it this way…"
"You know, Lady Hilda…" She stirred, surprised with the subtle traces of anger she could hear in his previously dispassionate voice. "There are many interesting rumors circulating around Treno. Some people insist that the tale I've just shared with you is nothing but a convenient story told to the public, whereas the real Lord King is already dead, murdered by a vagabond."
"I didn't say that."
"Yet such thoughts have most definitely crossed your mind. What's the difference?" he replied coldly. "Well, let's leave it at that. This would be your room, my lady."
Hilda could only catch a glimpse of an ornate, intricately carved handle before he pushed the door open, instantly taking a step to the side, in a wordless invitation to enter. Nodding her thanks—an empty gesture between them, nothing but a game of appearances—she slowly walked into her new prison.
It was a luxury apartment, to say the least, with all necessary furniture and a royal, four-poster bed, but the first thing she noticed was actually a window: a real one, rather large, made of thin, perfectly translucent glass, framed by a pair of lovely, muslin curtains… and with no bars. It certainly was a surprising sight, especially since she had half-expected to end up… well, if not in a dungeon of sorts, then at least in some claustrophobic basement. Turning around, she threw her captor a questioning glance. Surely, he was smart enough to know that it just wouldn't be wise to keep a prisoner in a room like this…?
"It's no use, Lady Hilda," the younger man said calmly, walking up to the nearest candlestick. In spite of the early hour, there wasn't too much sunlight in the chamber, and almost everything was bathed in shadow. "You won't be able to escape this way." Several tiny flames flickered to life at a mere snap of his fingers—Hilda's eyes widened in surprise, yet she wisely chose to remain silent. "Go ahead, take a look outside."
Of course, he had seen through her intentions in a matter of seconds—not that it really surprised, or bothered her in any way. They were both adults, after all, perfectly aware of where they stood. Pretending would be useless, and so, swallowing her pride, she slowly pushed the curtains aside, reaching for a small, wooden knob.
Well, at least now it seemed clear why there was so little light in the chamber. The window didn't overlook an open desert, just a deep, narrow canyon, walls steep, smooth, no more than two hundred meters apart. Hilda risked a careful glance down, and what she saw was enough to make her head spin. Even a professional acrobat would think twice before trying to use this escape route. In her case, it would be pure suicide.
"It's really up to you," Kuja's dispassionate voice rang somewhere behind her back. "However, I'd suggest that you stay indoors."
Mockery or not, it was certainly a very good suggestion. No matter how desperate she felt, she knew she would have to find a different way. Turning around, she saw the man smile in his usual, charming manner—head tilted to the side, a few white curls falling into his eyes—and she couldn't resist the impression that he was somehow capable of reading her thoughts.
"Well…" he traced a wide arch in the air, "the palace is all yours, my lady, at least for now. Of course, you may leave your room any time you want, just try not to get lost… for that would be quite problematic, not only for you. This place is rather big."
"How courteous of you," she replied dryly, even though, in reality, she felt more than just a bit relieved.
"I shall perhaps warn you," he returned the nod, "that you won't be able to active any of the teleports without my assistance. Besides, you are not allowed to enter the top floor. Mainly for your own safety."
Let me guess, Hilda thought sourly, not really fond of the bluntness, let alone of the man's commanding tone, more monsters? Or his private chambers?
"Why is that?" she asked. "What can be found on the top floor? An exit?"
"No." This time, he was deadly serious, almost to the point of sounding concerned. "Not an exist, but a special defense mechanism. It's supposed to ignore your presence in the palace, however, just like every other device, it's not hundred percent reliable. I don't want it to attack you in the least expected moment. You wouldn't be able to survive that, I'm afraid."
He wasn't lying, was he? "I… understand."
"I'm glad about that." He made no attempt to smile. "Well then, my lady. A puppet will bring all your belongings here in a matter of moments. Try making yourself at home. I shall leave you for now."
"Wait," she cried out. "You… you were right, this place is huge. Where will I be able to find you?"
"No need to worry, Lady Hilda." Already in the doorway, he bowed once again, not a trace of mockery in his calm eyes. "I will be the one to find you, not the other way around."
End of Chapter Six
Author's Notes: Wow, it took them only two chapters to reach Hilda's room! -snickers- Seriously, though, this story progresses so slowly… At this rate, I'll never get to write the best parts… such as a very naked Kuja in Hilda's arms… -eyes sparkle- …Oh? What? I must've been daydreaming again. Somebody pinch me. Hard.
(And you think I'm joking… Honestly, you should know better! Just wait for a couple of more chapters. A good Kuja fic can't do without fanservice, after all! -insert maniacal laughter here-)
Dear Readers, many thanks for taking the time to leave an opinion, and – in some cases :) – for answering my lordship/countship question! It was really important! If it hadn't been for you, I would be still running in circles!
Sors, your reviews are so nice, I melt every time I look at them. :) Please, keep reading! And as for Hilda and the library… well, you shall see (I already have that part written :P) Just remember that – in my head – I keep comparing Terran to Japanese. :) A bit problematic for Hilda, ne? Three alphabets and all… -laughs-
Black Mage Dad, praise coming from you means a lot to mebecause I liked "Return…" so much, and I know that you are a talented author. I only wish you would write a new Kuja fic!
Steeple333, you reviewed every single chapter of this story, and it makes me feel awfully grateful. I'm happy to know that you're still reading!
Sable, you're the kind of reviewer a fic-writer can only dream about. :) Once again, thanks for your wonderful e-mail. I suppose we'll somehow stay in touch from now on, 'cause I still need to discuss a few things with you (…concerning the C2 community, of course. :))
It took me a couple of sleepless nights to finish this so soon, but it'll only take you a minute to review. Just think about it, please. :)