Chapter Nine
The Truth
It was over before Edgar could even begin to register what happened.
The figure beside him had been thrown off balance. On instinct he twisted and kicked out. His foot connected, the impact jolting through his leg, and Edgar heard a grunt as the intruder slammed into the wall. Ignoring the pounding in his ears, he scrambled for his crossbow. There. His fingers closed around its grip.
He whipped around to point it at the intruder.
"Don't—" he tried, but choked on his words. His mind raced with thoughts and questions and warning bells, but he forced it down. "Don't move."
"Oh," Brea said from the ground. A scornful grin twisted her face. "Well, if you insist. You do make a convincing argument."
Edgar stood there, trying to breathe. For a moment, Brea simply looked up at him; then with slow, deliberate movements she drew herself up to a sitting position. "All right," she said, shrugging and presenting her empty hands in a clear gesture of surrender. "Fine. You win. So what are we going to do now?"
"Stand up. Hands in the air." Edgar punctuated his words with a wave of his crossbow.
"Sure, no problem." Brea's voice was mocking, but she complied, her movements smooth and relaxed. Not a good sign, but what could Edgar do? Did he even have anything to tie her with? He glanced around quickly, but no, the rope was kept upstairs. A sleep spell would surely be easier, but he'd need both hands for that incantation and she was watching him closely.
"Walk upstairs."
She stood, keeping her hands in sight, and obeyed.
"And while you're going, you could start by telling me what exactly you were doing," he said, trying to keep his tone casual.
"Oh, just coming down for a talk, you know? Seemed like a good time."
She was trying to distract him, Edgar knew, but she'd chosen her method unwisely. There was nothing he could do quite as effortlessly as talk. He forced himself to smile as they reached the deck and Brea turned to face him again. "Well, I'd never turn down a chance to talk to such an interesting woman."
Brea laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh. "Oh, so I've heard. You do have quite the reputation, Your Highness."
Everything stopped.
For one terrible second, Edgar stood there; the world narrowed, unbalanced, as if it had slipped out of alignment, and his mind raced frantically to recalibrate.
None of it showed on his face. Edgar swallowed back the cold dread and affected a puzzled frown. "I'm afraid I don't—"
"Don't give me that, Highness. I know."
"All right," he said, slowly, carefully. "What exactly makes you think I'm... not who I say?"
"Well, you talk like you have a royal scepter up your ass, for one." She laughed again. "And back when Deathgaze attacked, you started ordering everyone around like it was second nature. Besides—" Her face twisted into a smirk, and suddenly something shone in her hand. Edgar tightened his fingers around the trigger, narrowing his eyes—but it was only a small round object. "I guess you just have one of those faces."
She flicked the coin in the air; it hit the ground with a thump and rolled towards him, settling before his feet. For a second, Edgar had to remind himself to breathe.
"I'll give you credit, though," Brea was saying. "It's a pretty decent disguise, if only because no one expects the King of goddamn Figaro to show up in the middle of nowhere."
Edgar watched her quietly for a second, then forced himself to smile. "I'm impressed. No else has figured it out yet."
"Impressed enough to let me go?"
"I'm afraid not. Turn around. Hands behind your back."
Brea's smile widened just a fraction before she obeyed. Edgar grabbed the rope and looped it around her wrists. Dammit, he didn't know anything about knots, did he? He should have listened to Locke more.
"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me," he said as he worked.
"And why should I tell you who I am? I happen to enjoy advantages."
Edgar fastened the rope one final time, grabbed his crossbow back, and moved to face her. "Is some common courtesy too much to hope for, in these troubled times?"
She laughed. "Oh, I'd never dream of being uncourteous. Very well, then. My name is Brandt. Pleased to meet you again, Your Highness. You'll forgive me if I don't curtsy."
"Brandt." He knew the name. Not nearly as notorious as Locke's or Shadow's, but the set it belonged to had been a thorn in his guard force for a while. His guards had caught most of the gang, eventually, but a few had eluded them. "Your wanted portrait does not do you justice."
"You've heard of me. I'm flattered."
"The reports of your gang's deeds graced my desk many times, and despite what the Chancellor seems to think, I do actually read them. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."
"Likewise, I'm sure."
For a few moments, they stood there facing each other. Edgar broke the silence. "What were you doing with Niels? Were you planning to rob him?"
"That idiot? Nah, he's small time. Was small time. I met him in Kohlingen and he kept going on about making it to South Figaro. I wanted to get there myself, and since no one else was brave or stupid enough to try it, I figured he was my best chance."
"And South Figaro would have offered more opportunities for someone of your profession. Still, the risk was pretty high."
"Oh, it was worth it. I was sick of that dump. I need to be somewhere with pubs and targets worth a damn. Plus, I wanted to find some old associates of mine." She grinned at him. "Maybe you should come, too. I'm sure they'd have a lot to say to you ."
He ignored that. "Why try to kill me? I didn't know who you were, and even if I had, I don't exactly have any power right now. I'm no threat to you."
"Best time to kill a king, if you ask me." A deadly smile twisted her lips. "Best to take advantage of an opportunity while you still have it, wouldn't you say?"
Edgar felt tired, all of a sudden. Even here, with his his kingdom in shambles, his castle beneath the sand, and desolation all around him, he couldn't escape. He wondered if he ever would.
"All right. How about you, then? What are you doing here?"
"The same as you, of course. I need to get to South Figaro."
"Don't beat around the bush. You know that's not what I'm asking. They found you in the ass end of nowhere, and you clearly spent a lot of effort getting there. From the other side of the strait. If you were trying to get to South Figaro that way, then you'd have to be pretty damn stupid."
"Maybe I am. I'm certain you've heard the rumors to that effect."
"Sure I have. And I'm not stupid, either."
"Of course not. And I think a woman who managed to outwit my guard force should be able to figure it out by herself. Or are you telling me I should invest my money in better guards?"
"Oh, you do. Believe me, your guards couldn't tell a criminal from a nobleman."
"An understandable mistake, I should think. The overlap is significant."
Brandt laughed. "Touché. But you haven't answered my question."
Edgar paused. He had no wish to explain himself. Not to her. "South Figaro isn't the only part of the kingdom. There are others who need my help."
"The castle?" There was incredulity in her voice. "That's what you're doing? Really?"
"Really."
For a moment, she simply watched him, her face unreadable. "I see. All this to bury a bunch of corpses? You know they're all dead by now, don't you?"
"They might not be." And maybe the answer felt hollow, but there was nothing else.
"And as long as there's a chance, you'll keep trying? Is that it? Why?"
Edgar clenched his jaw.
"Hmm." Brandt looked at him through narrow eyes, as if she were studying a difficult puzzle. "You know, Your Highness," she began. Her smile was that of an old cheat dealing her cards. "Back in Kohlingen. I don't think you were lying when you told me you were unhappy in Figaro. Were you?"
He didn't have an answer to that.
When she next spoke, her voice was almost gentle. "You don't have to do any of this, you know."
He blinked.
"What?"
"You could leave. Has it even occurred to you? No one knows who you are now. Except for me, and I won't tell," Brandt said, a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye. "You could just leave. Do what you want. Live another life. Why waste your life for a doomed little country in a doomed little world?"
Silence settled between them. There it was. A simple solution to a simple problem. It was what it all had been leading up to, wasn't it? He could... leave, and forget about the country that had given him so many headaches.
He hesitated for a second, balancing at the edge of a precipice he couldn't name.
"Of course not," he said. "Don't be ridiculous."
He felt calm, all of a sudden, calmer than he'd been in months. He'd spent ten years weighing and measuring and tallying acceptable losses, and maybe it had been necessary, but he knew the one thing he wasn't willing to lose, no matter what.
All this time he'd been waiting for some kind of revelation to come down from the heavens and hand him a reason for him to keep doing what he was doing. But, in the end, there was nothing. Only himself.
It wasn't about duty or obligations or honor. It didn't matter whether he had to do this or not, because he chose to.
And, now that everything else had been stripped away, it was all that was left.
"I see," Brandt said. She looked almost disappointed. "I'm not stupid, you know. You can't possibly be doing this because you actually believe that anyone down there is still alive. So you're really just trying to get back into power. You know, for a moment I actually thought you were better than that."
"You're wrong. I don't care about any of that. I just want to fix what's broken."
"And what is that? I've heard what the world is like, back there. No government, no jails, and the guards are too busy helping the refugees to bother with thieves like me and my gang. If you find your castle and reestablish authority, one way or another you'd take it all away from us. Can't you see why I'd want to stop you? I'm not a fool—I know that all the stories about the hidden weapons in your basement aren't just rumors. It's not the people in it that give you power, it's the goddamn fortress that matters here, and you know it better than me."
"No," said Edgar, quietly. "No, it isn't."
"All your pretty words. Spoken like a true politician. You know, I liked your reign well enough. But times have changed, and yours is gone. This land is now a paradise for a bandit like me. That's all."
"Paradise? You call any of this paradise? Have you seen the monsters? Have you seen what's growing? Do you want me to tell you what Narshe was like? The world is dying! Do you really like it so much that you'd want to continue living in it?"
"No, I don't." Brandt's face hardened. "Fine. It's hell. All we have left is our freedom. Do you want to take that as well?"
"No. I want everyone to be free. I—" And he hesitated, but just for a moment, because this was it, wasn't it? He'd tried to avoid the thought, but in the end, it all came down to one thing. One man. "What I'm concerned about here are the bigger evils."
Something twisted in Brandt's face. "You're concerned about Kefka? And even if you raise your little castle, what will you do? Bring the Light of Judgement down on us all? Kefka's a god now. You won't change anything. We're better off without you."
Edgar clenched his hands. This was exactly it. "No. Kefka's not a god. And as long as we all keep treating him as one, then nothing will ever—"
He never got to finish the sentence.
Edgar really didn't know anything about knots. In one lucid moment, he saw the flash of the knife appear from her sleeve. He jerked to the side. The blade whistled past his ear, but she was closing the distance. He raised his crossbow, finger on the trigger.
She was quicker. The crossbow flew from his grip she slammed him into the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs, and suddenly it was just like all those years before when he used to scuffle with Locke, who was quicker and had better reflexes—but it was not his friend's taunting eyes he met now, and he was no longer the safety of his castle, and it wasn't a game any more.
She was on top of him before he could blink, fast and powerful as the desert wind. With her left hand she pinned his forearm to the ground. Her right arm moved in a flash of metal and Edgar threw up his free hand to block her. Her blade sliced across his palm. He grasped her wrist, and for a few moments they remained like that, locked in a motionless struggle—but she was strong, and his arm was beginning to tremble from the pain. The tip of the knife hovered but an inch from his throat.
He looked up to meet her eyes. No bloodthirst showed on her face. Only sheer, focused determination.
"You're a tough one to kill, aren't you, Your Highness?" she snarled through gritted teeth.
"It's 'Majesty', actually. I've been meaning to tell you." Blood ran down his sleeve, warm and wet.
He couldn't cast magic, not without the use of his hands. He watched her, looking of a chance, an opening. With his right hand, pinned against the deck, he grasped at the ground—
And found his coin.
He clutched it tightly. Even now, the weight of it in his palm made something in his chest settle. Steadying his breathing, he tried to clear his mind and focus. The knife inched closer and closer.
Slowly, carefully, he placed the coin between thumb and forefinger and flicked it towards Brandt's head.
She jolted sideways. It was the quickest of motions, but it was enough. He broke free of her grip and thrust his arm out blindly. The words came instinctively to his lips.
Flames burst from his open palm, bright and burning.
With a strangled yell, Brandt jerked away. Edgar's eyes stung from the sudden burst of light. He pushed himself up.
When he caught sight of Brandt, he tensed. But she was kneeling, one hand on the ground for support, the other clutching her eyes. "What was that?" she asked, quietly. Her voice held no anger, no confusion, no pain. It surprised him.
"A fire spell," Edgar replied. "Magic."
Brandt breathed out, slowly and shakily. For a while, she was silent.
"Kill me, then."
"What?"
"Kill me." Brandt laughed a quiet, horrible laugh. "Stop stalling and get it over with. What else are you going to do with me? You can't exactly throw me in jail."
Edgar stared at her, for several long seconds. He hadn't considered what to do next. Could he even do it? Sit on his throne and decide who would live and who would die? Brandt wasn't a good person. Maybe killing her would make the world a slightly better place than before.
She'd thought the same of him, hadn't she?
"No," he said.
"What?"
"You heard me. I am the King of Figaro, and by the power vested in me I hereby pardon you of all charges of attempted regicide. All other charges will be examined once we get a proper judiciary system running again." He crossed his arms and paused.
"The hearing is concluded," said the King of Figaro.
He stood there, waiting for her to say something, anything. But Brandt remained silent, kneeling motionless on the ground. He shook himself, quietly. His coin lay a few feet away. His father's profile looked up at him from the ground. He picked it up and placed it carefully in his pocket. The cut on his palm throbbed with pain; he healed it quickly and wiped the blood on his shirt. His skin tingled where the wound had been. Then he walked over to Brandt and knelt down beside her.
With a whispered word he let the magic flow through him and into her. Through the green, sparkling mist of the healing spell he saw her blackened skin begin to change, smoothing over and mending itself. She turned away from him brusquely, and touched her healed skin in wonder.
"So. This is magic."
"It is."
"I didn't—I thought it was just—How—" she began, but stopped. She was quiet for a while. "You said you meant to go after the bigger evils. Do you truly think it's possible?"
"I don't know."
He missed his friends. With them, it might be. But his those days were over, and maybe he was the last of them. He missed foulmouthed little Relm and her cheerful old grandpa. He missed Cyan and his unyielding honor, Setzer and his laughter and his thrills, Gau with his wild mane of hair and his piercing eyes. Cold, tough Celes, Terra with her endless questions and inner fire. And Locke, his closest friend. Most of all he missed his brother, like a missing cog in the machine.
"But it might be."
Edgar closed his eyes and he thought of a fading world, vast and relentless, and of one man, laughing madly as everything died.
"It might," he said, and he felt his throat tighten.
She didn't reply, and silence fell upon them like a thick, oppressive fog. They sat there for a while, the stillness of the ocean all around them. Edgar turned his coin over and over in his hand.
"Earlier," he began, at length. "Earlier you said you were trying to find old associates."
Brandt turn to stare at him, silently. Her eyes looked all wrong, misted over, like they hadn't healed properly. After what seemed like an eternity, she seemed to come to a decision. She smiled, almost gently. "Very good, Your Majesty. Yes. I got a pigeon from my gang, about two weeks before you arrived. They knew I was lying low in Kohlingen and managed to send me a note."
A cold feeling began to spread from the pit of Edgar's stomach. "The Crimson Robbers... I threw them in prison. They were in the Figaro Castle jail when the world ended." Even spoken aloud, the words didn't seem quite real.
Brandt was silent.
"Where are they now?" Edgar asked.
"They said were thinking of going to Nikeah on the ferry. Our old boss was killed, and they said they were going to seek their fortune. Catch a boat to somewhere, or maybe try to head down the Serpent Trench."
Edgar nodded, and looked out quietly at the horizon. And, as he sat there, he could feel the gears slowly, uncertainly begin to turn.
It felt like a cruel joke.
But if it wasn't...
He stood.
"Come on," he said and held out his hand. "It won't be long till we get to South Figaro."
