Disclaimer: We do not own Square Enix's Final Fantasy XII, nor are we making any money off this fanfiction.
The Trial of Fire
Chapter Seven
Fire Magick
Penelo hadn't gotten a dozen pages into Simple Magicks when the doorknob rattled again. In a panic, she shoved the books under the pillow and grabbed another off the shelf without looking. Her elbow jabbed into one of the book's edges as she settled, teeth locking together to keep from cursing. But then the door swung open and it was too late to move.
Therese stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised. A pot of steaming water was balanced on her hip, along with some cloths and a thick pottery jar. Something smelled strongly of mint, but not quite the same, as if a hot spice had been added in. She bumped the door closed with her hip and set everything down on the wardrobe.
"Lord Larsa said ye knocked up yer ankle good," she said as she started sorting out her things, laying out what looked to be bandages. "This oughta treat it up an' get ye back on yer feet afore he's home."
Home? Was this Larsa's home? It didn't seem like the sort of place he'd settle. "You don't have any potions?" Penelo asked dubiously, clutching the book she'd grabbed to her chest. She'd had plenty of experience with home remedies, since her mother preferred them, but they always dragged out the pain and were almost never pleasant. "I don't see what that's going to do for a sprain."
When Therese opened the jar, the smell of mint and spices exploded in Penelo's nose so thick she sneezed. Instantly her eyes and nose started to run. Therese smeared some of it on one of the cloths in a sticky white paste with steady workman-like hands. "Ye'll see what it does. Out this way, potions're for worser hurts than ye've got there. Lord Larsa wasn't tellin' tales 'bout the beasties and wyrms."
If she had to lie around with that paste on her, she thought she might suffocate from the smell. It was so strong even across the room that her head was stuffed with it. Penelo had no idea how Therese could stand to work with the stuff so close. "But a potion would be faster."
"Ye've got plenty o' time, moppet." Bangles tinkled musically as Therese pulled a tiny glass bottle out of her pocket and sprinkled its contents over the paste. Where it touched, the stuff turned bright blue. "Don' ye go rushin' t' be up, Lord Larsa ain't coming back fer a few days. 'Ere we go, leg up."
Uncertain but not having much choice, Penelo stretched her hurt leg out. First Therese dipped another rag in the hot water and wrapped it around her ankle in a double layer of cloth. The heat was wonderful, easing the sore throb down to a more bearable twinge. Over that she put the prepared bandage. Whatever was in the mix, it was scalding hot, tingling all the way down into her bones. Penelo hissed, knee jerking, but Therese caught her leg before she could yank it away.
As she worked, Therese kept up a steady chatter, her coarse, rolling accent at odds with the motherly tone. "Now, don' go touchin' this with yer hands, pretty, ye'll come away with welts the likes o' which ye never seen. I'll be changin' it fer ye, mornin' an' night, or my Farra will. Don' be tryin' t' walk about, ye jus' stay in bed when ye can."
Great. A dangerous home remedy, not just one that smelled bad. Her mother would have loved it.
Penelo's throat tightened when she thought of her mother. Was she worried for her daughter? Arramis would be thrilled to think that Penelo had landed herself a rich lord of a suitor, but Emilie had always been more practical. Surely she hadn't bought Larsa's story, would have wanted to say goodbye and pass on some embarrassing advice of some sort.
She wouldn't have just thrown Penelo away like that, just because Lamont said he wanted her. Would she?
Not that there was any point in thinking about it. Nothing could be done until she got back to Rabanastre. Crying would just slow her down, make her weak, and she couldn't afford that. Still, her eyes burned from more than the fumes. Penelo hastily wiped them before it could turn to tears. "That stuff smells horrible," she muttered to cover the moment. "What's in it?"
"Bit 'o this, bit o' that. Good cures 'lways smell bad 'r taste bad, and ye ain't drinkin' it." Therese topped the smelly bandage with a thick wrap of cotton that covered her from mid-calf to the ball of her foot. "Tha' should keep. Ye just stay offa it."
"Not like I've got much choice," Penelo meant to snap, but it came out too sullen. The old, familiar anger didn't come as easily as she was used to. She was just too tired and homesick to work up a proper, righteous rage at being held prisoner. "What am I going to do, run circles around the bed?"
Thesere snorted and patted her knee. "I'll pretend tha was a thank ye, seein' as ye've had a long day an' ain't got much reason t' be happy, but bein' polite never cost no one a gil. Ye jus' rest, an' feel free t' keep tryin' t' learn yerself some magicks."
"Magick?" Penelo's face went pale. "I don't know anything about magick," she sputtered. "I can't even light a candle."
"I c'n tell." Gently, Therese reached over and pried the book from her fingers. In worn gilt, the cover read, On Arcane Magick, Necromancy and Resurrection Spells: A Guide to the World Beyond. "This's a mite much fer startin' out. Why don' ye try an easier one, hm?"
Penelo watched as Therese turned to the bookshelf and started picking through the volumes. She selected three of them, two slender pamphlets and a thick volume that read Encyclopedia of Magickal Elements on the binding. "Here ye be, with tha' book ye've got tucked under yer pillow there, this'll get ye started."
She accepted the books with a doubtful expression. It couldn't be that easy. "You're not worried that I'll use them to get free?"
"No spellstone." One of Therese's bare shoulders moved in a graceful shrug. "'Thout a proper spellstone it'll tucker ye right out an' no mistake. Lord Larsa could use a mage on 'is side, an' it'll keep ye outta trouble."
"I'm not on his side!" Penelo snapped. "I don't want any of this—I just want to go home!"
She wished she could write it in giant letters on her forehead. Bad enough when everyone was telling her she liked Lamont, because at least then she was fooling herself, too. Now that it was Larsa she just wanted to wash her hands of him. Whatever madness had kept her flirting before was long dissipated.
The ever-present sound of jewelry clinking accompanied Therese's movements as she gathered her things. "How old be ye, moppet? Twenty, thereabouts?"
It was better than the fifteen Larsa had first pegged her as, at least, but she still bristled. "I'll be twenty-two in a week."
The corner of Therese's mouth lifted in a smile that was quickly hidden by the fall of her hair. "Twenty-two, as ye like it. Belike tha's more'n old 'nough to stretch yer wings." Penelo didn't get a chance to answer before she vanished out the door.
Stretch my wings? Ha! That was easy for Therese to say, when she wasn't the one who'd been snatched from her home and taken off to gods-knew-where.
Her fingers feathered over the three new books. The two smaller ones were safety tips for beginners and a manual of gestures for spellwork. Between them and the other, she should have everything she needed to show Larsa a thing or two, and then make a run for it. Except spellstones, but fire magicite couldn't be that different, could it? Spellstones were made out of magicite, after all, and the book had said they could be used to draw power.
Tucking the smaller books under the encyclopedia, Penelo pulled Simple Magicks out from under her pillow and opened it again.
...long known truth that fire magick is the most elemental, but also the most volatile...
It took three days for Larsa to return to the strange home he'd abandoned her in. By then, Penelo had had enough practice that she could probably singe his eyebrows, though not much more. She'd been so bored out of her mind, and stuck in her bed from her lame ankle, that she'd had nothing better to do than to read the books Therese had given her. She'd read through each of them twice, and she thought she had a good idea of casting better spells… it just required more magicite than what she had.
Admittedly, Penelo was a bit thrilled. She would have never considered herself a magick-caster… yet she just knew that the second she got her hands on some proper spellstone and a license, she could obliterate somebody or something. It was a heady, powerful sensation—and a scary one at the same time. Not scary enough, though. Not when revenge against Larsa burned so steadily in her mind.
She'd been helpless against him. He'd kissed her, put that stupid sleeping draught in her mouth, and she'd been naïve enough to fall for it. Not anymore, she thought as she hobbled around her bedroom. It was the first day that she could walk without flinching in pain if she put any weight at all on her ankle. Teresa's stinky salves had seen to that.
Penelo flexed her fingers. She'd been a simple merchant's daughter. Sure, she could read, which was more than the average person could say—she could do math, too. But self-defense? She hadn't known a thing of it. Larsa had had to rescue her in the Estersand from that pack of wolves. Her pride alone had barely been able to handle it, though it had softened her toward him. And for what? That moment of weakness had cost her dearly! Her father thought she had been spirited away to Tchita for a season of romance!
A sudden bang at the door drew her attention, and she whipped about just in time to see Larsa strolling into her room. She yelped as her ankle twisted painfully, flailing her arms. She was going down, and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the impact of the hardwood floor.
It never came.
Breathing unsteadily, she opened her eyes to mere slits. When she realized she was being held in a pair of strong arms, she looked up to see Larsa staring down at her. He looked just as surprised as she felt. Though her ankle was throbbing now, all she could do was keeping gazing into his eyes, her heart hammering from both the near-fall and his close proximity. Funny. On the airship, he'd been close then, too, and all she'd wanted to do was give him a black eye.
Days of being apart from him had made her less angry toward him. His features looked so good, so handsome, and her eyes dropped to the soft curve of his mouth. When he'd kissed her… like he was close enough for now… whatever had come after it, it had been heavenly, for just a moment…
His fingertips touched over her jaw. Her eyes flitted closed despite herself, and she felt his breath caress her mouth. Were his thoughts following hers?
She gripped onto his biceps to steady herself. By then, he was already kissing her. She let go of her control for just a moment—let herself lose her thoughts at the touch of his lips. His tongue brushed against the seam of her mouth, and she parted it, a thrill darting through the pit of her belly. His stubble was rough on her chin. She could feel each thread of his jacket beneath her fingers, her senses suddenly hyper-sensitive.
He made her head so floaty, so weak, like she could drift away at any moment, not tethered by gravity. It was both freeing and enslaving at once. Freeing because she wanted to clutch to that solitary moment of bliss. Enslaving because she knew what it meant for her that he could make her feel this way. It made him hold power over her.
His teeth grazed her lower lip, and she heard herself sigh. It made her fingers tighten against his biceps, hard enough to leave bruises. His hands circled more closely around her waist, pulling her up against him. The hard press of his body was nice, dizzied her senses even further. Slowly, with shaking fingers, she released his biceps to put her arms around his neck instead.
He opened his mouth wider, his tongue fervently tangling with hers. Arousal sparked hotter than ever, and she lifted up on her tiptoes, sinking into him. She threaded her fingers in his hair. His hands slipped down, covering her rear as he gave a small moan. More than anything, she wanted this to continue, to never end. Her skin was tight, feverish. Her lungs were expanding against her chest.
She thought she heard him murmur her name. She wasn't really sure over the roar of her rushing blood in her ears. He backed her up a step, then another, toward her bed—
Pain exploded through her ankle, and she cried out, wrenching away from him and collapsing onto the edge of her bed. She reached down, clutching onto the swollen thing, squeezing her eyes shut against sudden tears.
"Penelo?" Another set of hands joined hers on her ankle, warm and gentle. She watched through tear-blurred vision as Larsa kneeled by the bed and gently rolled her ankle in a circle. "Are you still hurt? Therese was certain you should be almost healed by—"
Agony shot through her leg all the way to the knee when he forced her to point her toes. Instinctively, Penelo lashed out, yanking the one foot away and kicking with the other. The blow landed solidly, her bare heel slamming into his jaw.
Larsa toppled over, landing flat on his back with a curse suited to a pirate. "What was that for?" he demanded, cupping his face where she'd hit it. Blood dotted the corner of his mouth—likely her blow had caused him to bite his cheek or something. "This is the gratitude you show simple concern?"
"It hurt!" she shot back, clutching her aching ankle. The pain was sharp and grinding now, worse than it had been even when she'd first injured it. Outrage that he'd kissed her again curled through her chest, but it was muffled by the immediate issue of her ankle. "What were you doing, manhandling it like that?"
"I was checking for a break, if you absolutely must know." Larsa worked his jaw to make sure it wasn't broken, then levered himself upright. The place she'd kicked was already bright red, tending to maroon. Experience from all the fights Vaan had been in told Penelo that it was going to turn into a livid bruise, but it wasn't serious. "How serious is it?"
Tears still stung her eyes and pain made her head swim, but Penelo forced herself to let go of her ankle and let it rest on the floor. Even that little jolt hurt, but damned if she was going to let him catch her in a moment of weakness again. Every time she did, something terrible happened. "It's fine," she lied. "I just stepped on it wrong, and your yanking it around made it hurt worse."
His eyes narrowed in obvious disbelief. "We can't afford to have you injured. If you are, you must tell me."
She couldn't believe him. "There is no 'we'," Penelo corrected him, taking the pain in her ankle and using it to make her voice cut. "There is you, the kidnapper, and me, the kidnapped. That's all."
Larsa stared at her, then nodded slowly. "As you will, then." Pushing to his feet, he brushed off his trousers and turned for the door. "Seeing as your ankle is 'fine', I will meet you in the main room. We depart in an hour, be ready."
An hour? "Where are we going?"
He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "That is hardly something a kidnapper would discuss with the kidnapped, don't you think?"
The door didn't quite slam behind him, but it came close. Penelo bit her lip, looking down at her ankle. Therese's concoction, ghastly as it was, had been doing a good job of speeding up the healing before Larsa's return. Now it was swelling again, and even trying to move it a little hurt worse than ever.
Gingerly, Penelo stood up, shifting her weight slowly to the injured ankle bit by bit. It barely took anything before the pain flared and it gave out. Her whole knee buckled, sending her crashing back down to the bed. Panting, Penelo closed her eyes and waited for the pain to ease again.
It was no use. There was no way she'd be able to bluff her way past Larsa if she couldn't even put weight on the thing.
Magick? A cure spell was minor enough, and she still had the fire magicite to draw from. The books had warned against trying to use the wrong spellstone to cast, but surely a little spell wouldn't be too bad. She didn't even need her leg fully healed, just enough to walk past and wipe the smirk off Larsa's face. Even just dulling the pain...
Penelo rolled over, taking care not to bump her ankle, and reached for the books on the bedside table. There, at the bottom of the pile, was the one she needed: 101 Ways to Use Cure.
The first time she'd flipped through the book, she'd found out that the title was misleading. It wasn't ways to use the spell so much as ways to misuse it. How to tailor it to do the most damage to certain types of monsters, how to cheat a night of sleep, how to use it against people and, what she needed, how to use it without a proper spellstone.
Cure, being one of the simplest of spells, is also the safest to experiment with for low-powered casting. Be warned that using an improper power source may have unanticipated side-effects, which may not be equivalent in level to the spell being cast. Unlike a properly cast spell, the power from the source will linger for a period ranging from several hours to several days. To minimize this, draw as little power as possible from the source stone.
Underneath the opening was a list of sources and how to draw from them. Fire magicite was right at the top, and listed as the easiest source since fire in its raw form was pure energy. She read and reread the instructions three times. It seemed easy enough, but it if it was then why the fuss in all the other books about only using spellstones?
Grabbing the bedside lamp, Penelo wiggled the covering back and forth until the raw magicite fell out into her lap. It glowed a faint red without the lamp to enhance it and was warm, sending odd tingles through her skin where it touched.
She took a slow breath and concentrated on the book's directions, on the push and pull of power. The magicite grew brighter and then dimmed as she focused on her ankle. Energy burned under her skin, raw and angry and ready for use. "Cure," Penelo whispered, twisting her fingers into the most basic cure spell.
White light spread out from her fingertips in red-tinted tendrils. They curled around her leg and ankle, heating everything they touched. Penelo hissed between her teeth at the burn. Slowly, the glow sank into her skin and faded, leaving only tender skin and the taste of mint and ash on her tongue. In her hand, the magicite's glow was gone, leaving only a dull, faintly glowing reddish lump of rock, its power still setting her blood on fire.
Testing, Penelo twisted her ankle around in the air, then hopped to her feet. It only hurt a little, as if she'd been sitting on it for too long and it had gone stiff. A hard bounce hurt more, but she could do it. As one final test, she rose to her toes and twirled.
Not even a little stumble.
Ha! That would show Larsa, and all the makers of those spellbooks. The magicite had worked just fine. Better than fine, she was almost completely healed, without any of the side-effects that the book had gone on about.
After doing a few more twirls, Penelo decided she was ready to go downstairs. She didn't have anything to take with her, so the hour of preparation was more for Larsa's sake. Then again, she thought maybe she could talk Therese into letting her have a hot bath. The lady might scold her about improperly using a source, but Penelo was fine, and she'd be quick to reassure her of that.
All of her plans vanished the second she hit the bottom stair, her hand on the wall and her eyes on the living room.
The front door burst open, bringing sloshing rain with it and men in armor and uniforms. They clanked in, swords at the ready, three dark-haired men at the back in red and black leathers with their hands clasped at their back, ready to stand at parade rest. Larsa was by the fire, and he whirled, but not in enough time to prevent Therese from being snatched up.
In seconds, she was dead.
Penelo screamed as the knife went across her throat and blood spurted, and the elderly woman who had been taking care of her since Larsa's departure slumped to the floor, bleeding her life away. That alerted the men at the door to her presence, and one of the Leathers jerked his head in her direction. An armored soldier came forward, weapon at the ready.
Larsa was a blur of action, his own sword out and swinging. He parried a blow at his head, twisting his sword and quickly disarming his opponent. A swift kick to the head, and the soldier's helmet went flying as he groaned and crashed to the ground. Larsa was prepared for the swarm of the five soldiers, a sight Penelo couldn't believe. He was going to die if she didn't do something!
What was going on? she thought frantically. Why were they attacking like this?
"Larsa Ferrinas Solidor," a deep voice rose from the door over the crash of swords. "You are hereby under arrest for violating the grounds of your banishment."
So they had to kill Therese? That made no sense!
Anger burned inside of Penelo, hot and consuming. They were going to kill her, too. That was something she couldn't allow. She had to do something to avenge Therese's death.
She rushed to where the fire was, ignoring the twinges in her ankle, and picked up a poker. Larsa had somehow fended off three of the five soldiers with brilliant swordsmanship, but two were left, and he was having trouble deflecting all of their blows entirely. The men in the leather exchanged looks, then strode forward, drawing their own weapons.
"Penelo—run!"
Larsa lunged forward, snatching her by the wrist and hot footing it for the stairs. They flew up them, the wooden floorboards creaking noisily with every thud of their feet. Penelo heard the rush of soldiers behind them, her heart hammering, but Larsa never slowed, as though he was so focused on his task, he didn't have time to be afraid. She wished she could be that strong.
Upstairs was as much a labyrinth as downstairs. Larsa's hand stayed strong around her wrist as he yanked her down halls, left and right and right again, through so many rooms and corridors that she lost track of the ways they circled back and around. Behind them the men in leather followed closely. From the sound of their crashing about, they were just as lost as she was, but they had Larsa to follow. Every now and then a cry would rise as one of them spotted them, and again pursuit would be nipping at their heels.
Just like below, wooden walls and floors turned to rough hewn stone, lit by magicite lamps. There the circling stopped and Larsa just started pulling her along faster and faster. His long legs gave him the advantage over her on the straight stretch. Penelo soon found herself helpless to do anything but be dragged along like so much dead weight, struggling to breathe against the growing stitch in her side. Her skin felt fever hot from the exertion, her mouth parched and lips dry.
So quickly were they moving that when Larsa stopped, she nearly shot straight past him.
Directly in front of them, only a few steps, a chasm yawned. The floor simply ended. There was nowhere else to go, no corridors or rooms to double back through. They'd passed the last one ages ago. Penelo had been so caught up in running that she hadn't noticed. Behind them, the sounds of the Leathers shouting back and forth to each other echoed off the walls. No time to back track—they'd just run right into their arms.
Larsa grabbed both her arms and pushed her toward the edge. "I'll hold them off. You must jump. If they catch you, they'll kill you."
"What? No!" Penelo dug in her heels, refusing to be moved. His weight all but fell against her, doubling her over, but she didn't budge. "I'm not leaving you!" Her voice bounced off the ceiling, and a second later one of the Leathers shouted in response.
"They're going to kill you," he repeated sharply, giving her an extra shove. "At least me they'll take in for questioning if they can. Go!"
She shook her head and kept resisting. He managed to shove her a few inches, but she won them back by weaving her weight against his. "Come with me!"
"If I do, you'll never escape! Go now!"
Footsteps approached, heavy and final, rushing toward them. Penelo shook her head wildly. If she left, he was going to die. There was no doubt of that. Larsa was good, but anyone with sense wouldn't take chances on letting him escape. She couldn't do that to him. "No, no, I'm not—" Twisting around in his grip, she broke free and scuttled away from the hole. Her skin was getting hotter and hotter, anger and terror and a bleak sort of loyalty spurring her on. "I'm not going without you!"
Something strange lit Larsa's eyes. He lifted his sword, the edge catching the magicite light wickedly. "A stand it is."
The Leathers came into sight, in full stride and barely winded. Penelo's throat tightened as she stepped up to Larsa's side. Unthinking, her hand reached out to clasp his free one, fingers locking tight together.
They were going to die. She knew it with a sort of absolute faith that rang in her ears like sandstorm bells and drained everything from her but a terrible calm. The worst had happened, and she was going to end her days in some strange cave with a man who kissed and kidnapped her and then kissed her again. Therese was dead. Her parents would be, if it was found they'd been dealing with a Solidor. And they would be dead, too, in a moment.
Damned if she was going down easy.
Metal jangled as their attackers slowed their approach, stopping a good ten feet away from the point of Larsa's sword. Five of them blocked their exit, at least one showing signs of Larsa's skill with a sword. The leader, the man who'd slit Therese's throat, kept his sword unwavering on Larsa, but his eyes cut to her.
"You're with him, huh, girl? You know what this is?" His voice was light, conversational. "You going to help this monster? Just you come with us. We won't hurt you."
"Just like you didn't hurt Therese?" Penelo's voice was harsh from lack of breath, but she managed to meet his eyes. "I'll stay with the monster I know, thanks."
The leader stared at her, then nodded. At his signal, the other four rushed them.
Calm turned to wrath in a single heartbeat. Penelo screamed, her voice high and piercing, and threw herself between Larsa and the men. She was barely aware of what she was doing, heat rushing under her skin, burning her from the inside out. Red light burst to life around her fingertips, over her skin and around her arms. It swirled into a mass that slowly turned blue-white with heat. In a flash it expanded into a blinding nova, fueled by pure and utter rage.
Behind the white haze created by the flood of light and a bang worthy of lightning crashing, the Leathermen screamed in agony. A sharp, sweet smell of cooked meat filled the corridor, accompanied by the acrid stench of burned hair and the dull thud of cracking bones where they were thrown against the walls.
Drained, Penelo's knees buckled under her. Strong, familiar arms caught her. Penelo could just barely make out Larsa's face through the spots that blinded her. His lips moved, but she couldn't hear anything other than ringing. Something caught his attention, making him look up sharply. Without warning, he scooped her entirely off her feet and tossed her in the air.
She didn't land.
The light dropped away, leaving Penelo in total darkness as she tumbled down and down and down. Wind snapped her braids behind her, tugging at her clothes and skin. No rocks caught her a blow, no handy limbs tugged her hands to slow her down. There was only the wind and the darkness and the never ending fall. Belated terror tore a scream from her throat, accompanied by a brief, irrational nightmare of tumbling through the earth forever.
Icy cold water gushed around her, pouring down her shoulders as they kept falling together. It glowed, tendrils of golden light twisting around her limbs. As the light grew stronger, her tumble slowed and steadied until she was almost floating.
With the water for light, she caught sight of what was below just in time to take a deep breath before the river engulfed her.
Darkness.
Penelo couldn't see. Couldn't figure out what was what.
The waterfall—there'd been a spell—something that had slowed her descent, made her almost float—and then this—cold, icy cold, darkness everywhere, like she really was falling through the earth. She screamed, and bubbles burst from her lips, joining the thousands of others that had been created by her flailing limbs.
Then arms grabbed her around the waist, and she was hauled in an upward direction, a direction she couldn't find seconds earlier. She sputtered as she broke the surface of the river, as hard ground and silky grass met her palms. Already, she was shivering all over, from the attack, from the fall, from the numbing cold of the water she'd just been submerged in.
"Penelo, come—"
She was being dragged to her feet. The world tilted ominously, and her stomach threatened to heave.
"—come, Penelo—"
Rustling noises, shouts from above, so far, far above. Penelo cracked her eyes open to see that Larsa was half-dragging, half-carrying her across an open field. They were headed for a copse of trees, where he probably intended to lose the soldiers there. Not that any of them could follow so quickly. Had he really thrown her over a waterfall…?
They walked a ways, and by then, Penelo's ankle was throbbing miserably again. She stumbled, nearly taking Larsa with her, but his arms tightened at the last second, and he steadied her. She could tell he was growing irate with her because she kept snapping every twig and finding every branch in their path to smack around. They were making more than enough noise to alert anyone of their presence.
He stopped, and she bumped into him.
"It should be around here…"
Penelo stifled a groan. Her ankle was hurting her something fierce. "Larsa, what—"
He shushed her, so harshly that she quieted instinctively. She was too tired to argue. Too scared. She hated that she felt that way, but she'd just watched the woman who had been taking care of her for days die. And instead of throwing Larsa to the imperials, she'd helped him out. Why? It didn't make any sense.
Larsa crept forward through the trees, staying low to the ground and moving so lightly he might have cast Float. She didn't have a choice but to follow, much less gracefully in her exhaustion. Dirt and grime stuck to her shoes and legs. Old dead leaves crackled with every step. They were both soaking wet, Penelo's clothing sticking to her like a second skin. Longingly, she thought back to the bath she'd been thinking of caging out of Therese, of hot water and maybe scented salts, if there were any.
The ridiculousness of the thought struck Penelo into stumbling. There were unknown men after them, she'd been thrown over a waterfall, and she was thinking of a relaxing bath. A hysterical giggle rose up in her throat, forcing her to slam a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Her lungs and eyes burned, laughter threatening to turn into sobs. She braced herself against a tree, taking deep, unsteady breaths.
Therese was dead. There wouldn't be any scented salts from her. No scolding for using the wrong power source, or praise for her first spell. She might not even get a marked grave.
Penelo had never seen someone die, much less seen violent death. It felt unreal, a nightmare that should have been banished, but stayed lodged behind her eyelids even in the bright light of day. She couldn't unsee the split second of realization, the splash of blood, didn't think she'd ever forget the sound of the body falling. Therese might have been her prison guard, in a way, but she'd been alive, and now she wasn't. All because she'd helped a Solidor.
A gloved hand, cool and damp, touched her bare shoulder. "We must keep moving," Larsa whispered. "There may be more of them."
Blinking back tears, Penelo looked up into Larsa's face. Seeing compassion there just made it worse. "I—" Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to straighten. "You're right. Sorry." There wasn't time to grieve. Later, when she could get her head on straight, she could come to grips with everything that had happened. Until then, survival had to come first.
Larsa squeezed her shoulder before taking the lead again. This time Penelo stayed close on his heels, determinedly focused on the task ahead.
It seemed like they walked for miles, taking strange turns and, inexplicably, curving entirely around before Larsa came to a stop and darted behind a shrub. Penelo followed sharply, ending up crouched shoulder to shoulder with him.
They were at the edge of a clearing that rang with the trickle of a stream, nothing as large as the river Larsa had fished her out of, but enough that it might be trouble to cross. More worryingly, voices carried over the sound of the river, talking amongst themselves. Larsa's lips framed a silent curse as he peered around the edge of their cover, then ducked back.
Parting the shrub a few inches, Penelo caught sight of two pairs of legs, both with sword scabbards, and an airship anchor. As she watched, a third person joined the other two. Gently, she let the branches relax back together, barely making a whisper of sound.
"They have discovered the Diamond Dust," Larsa murmured in her ear. "We shall have to fight. Have you any magick left?"
Penelo did, in fact, have magick left, so long as it hadn't gotten lost in her journey down the waterfall, but she'd been saving it for her ankle. For a moment, she argued fiercely with herself. What good was the magick, anyway, if her ankle wasn't up to snuff? She'd hardly be able to maneuver. But, on the other hand, they couldn't just crouch here, and Penelo certainly couldn't go in empty-handed.
"Yes," she admitted reluctantly, digging into her pocket.
Larsa, sensing a problem, glanced appropriately down to her ankle. "You know, a potion would ease the strain on your ankle…" He slipped his hand into his pocket, and Penelo thought of how decent he was being for once today, aside from the whole on-the-run situation they were now in. "With a sprain, it would be wholesomely knitted within the next thirty seconds, I'd wager."
Caught up in the moment, Penelo nodded, reaching for the vial he had offered. "Sure, than—" Just as she was reaching for it, however, he jerked it just out of reach, shaking it as he looked at her. Penelo stared at him, not understanding.
"Not everything comes so freely. Give me another kiss, darling, and I'll be more than happy to part ways with it."
Penelo gaped at him. Every time she thought he couldn't possibly get any more galling…! "Are you really playing games at me right now?" she hissed, hoping to shame him. "One wrong move in there, and we could die, and you're telling me I have to kiss you for a potion?" The urge to hit him was so strong in that moment, she didn't know how to overcome it, only barely managing. Equally difficult was keeping her voice down, not letting it raise with her ire.
"It is perhaps because I know that we could surely die that I ask you of this in return now…" He leaned closer to her in the small spare they shared, his eyes hard on hers from beneath his lashes. Admittedly, it made her swallow, even as she tried to lean away from him, which she couldn't without rustling the branches.
"Stop it—"
He caught her retreating hand in his, the vile pressed between their palms. His lips were at her ear then, giving the barest brushes against her skin. He was barely speaking, his voice was so low. "Just think on it, Penelo… here, just now, in this moment, when you might die… can you not admit to me that you love the feel of my mouth just as much as I crave the touch of yours?"
The gods damn him—
His lips lowered to her jaw, and, breathing shallowly, she turned her head to see him. He wasn't more than an inch away now, his nose brushing against hers. His eyes were intent on the shape of her mouth, and reflexively she licked her lips, moistening them. He was drawing nearer, she could taste his breath, at any moment now their lips would—
"Well, now, Lamont, I hadn't taken you for the type to get so romantic in a moment such as this." The words, followed by a cocking of a trigger, made both Larsa and Penelo's heads jerk up. But whereas Penelo gasped, quickly assessing the dead bodies—or were they only unconscious?—littered around the clearing, Larsa only grinned in a lazy way, cold hatred shimmering in his eyes.
"Balthier," he said, "I must admit, when I arrived on the scene and saw your hiding spot, I was quite surprised to see you, given the way we last parted."
It took a moment to process that, and when she did, she ripped her eyes away from the bodies to see the profile of Larsa's face. He'd known? He'd known that this man was about to pop up and take care of their problem and he'd still insisted on that drivel about her kisses…?
She was suddenly so absolutely infuriated, it took all of her strength to sit there and not move a muscle. When she thought she had her immediate instincts under control—taking that twig there and ramming it up into his eye socket—she looked at the person who Larsa was currently focusing all of his hatred on.
Her heart stopped beating.
Gods, he was handsome. Cinnamon brown hair, waving gently in the breeze as the birds chirped and the sun shined on behind him. Smooth, tanned skin, a crooked tilt of his lips, the deep brown of his eyes. Her gaze lowered down the trim cut of his body in form-fitting clothes before it landed on the gun focused on them, the fingers bedecked with rainbow rings around its handle.
Oh, shi—
