Brazen it out! her mind shrilled.
Vayne had drawn to a halt before her, clearly expecting the reverence he was due as Emperor.
Bow to no one.
It was such a risk to take, but...she tipped her chip up, gracefully extending her hand to hover in the space between them. A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd at her temerity. But Vayne's brow had lifted in interest - and he bent over her hand, taking it in his and raising it to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles.
Her skin crawled; she barely stifled a shudder of revulsion. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Balthier go rigid, poised to attack. She gave a tiny shake of her head - with so many guards about, he'd be dead before he tried.
"My dear," Vayne said as he lifted his head. "This is quite a surprise - and an honor. Do allow me to escort you inside, and you may tell me how you have come to be here." He lifted his arm for her to take.
"Your Excellence is too kind," she demurred. "But I can go nowhere without my guards - for reasons which ought to be obvious." Her gaze flickered to the crowd; his mouth drew into a frown as he considered the chaos that had swallowed up the palace steps moments before.
But he didn't spare so much as a glance for the two men she had proclaimed her protectors; merely waved to the guards to allow them through. "Of course. I shouldn't wish you to feel unsafe," he purred.
As Balthier and Reddas cautiously approached, stopping only a foot or so behind her, she set her hand on Vayne's proffered arm, and allowed him to lead her inside the palace.
This was a dangerous game she played - Vayne was shrewd; unless she handled herself exceedingly well, he would sense something was amiss. She would have to captivate him, hold his attention so thoroughly that he would be dazzled, unable to see past the sparkling exterior she showed to the roiling turmoil beneath.
"The last I had heard, you called Rabanastre home," he said. "You must imagine my surprise to find you outside my gates. How did you say you had come to be here?"
A simple conversation, fraught with such peril. She had never had to charm a man in her life; now she regretted that she had not, for surely such skills would have benefited her here and now. Flattery, flirtation - they were alien to her. Think, remember! She racked her brain; how would the girls at the club have handled him?
"I didn't," Penelo countered neatly. She tipped her head back, releasing a sweet trill of laughter, hoping it did not ring false, and lightly squeezed his arm. "My lord, surely you will allow a woman some secrets."
Success. His lips curled in a half-smile. "Some, perhaps," he acknowledged. And he paused briefly, lifting his free hand to trace the edge of her mask. "But not all."
His message was clear - he hoped to unmask her, to see what no one else had.
Penelo gently drew away from his hand, murmured, "That remains to be seen." Flattery and flirtation would get her only so far - she had to be original, unique. He would remain interested only so long as she kept him guessing.
He arched a brow, clearly fascinated by her confidence. "You dare much, lady. Not many are those who would gainsay me."
"Have I, my lord? I do not recall saying as much." She shrugged, an elegant lift and fall of her shoulders that sent her wild curls swaying down her back. "I merely have yet to decide whether we would suit."
He coughed into his hand, ostensibly to muffle his surprised laugh. "Are you seeking a patron, then?" he asked, the barest hint of interest coming through in his voice.
She inclined her head gracefully, but elaborated no further, and allowed him to draw his own conclusion as to her purpose here. They reached an intersection in the hallway - to the right, the sounds of gaiety and merriment echoed along the marble corridor. To the left, silence. After a moment's hesitation, he gestured to the left, and they proceeded - away from the celebration in his honor.
At length, he asked, "Am I to assume that you have come to make me a proposition, then?"
Again she laughed, her lips curving in amusement. "No indeed, my lord."
"Oh?" he asked. "Might I inquire, then, what it is you have come for?"
She favored him with a smile. "I thought I might do you the honor of being the first to plead your suit."
He stopped abruptly, and for a moment she feared she had overstepped - but at last he threw back his head and laughed, delighted by her daring. Then he sighed and reached out to cup her chin in his palm, stroking his thumb along her cheek, just beneath the edge of the mask. It took everything in her to keep her eyes soft and welcoming, to resist the urge to jerk away from his touch.
"My private office," he said, nodding to indicate a set of double doors a few feet away. "If you will join me, I believe we have terms to discuss." His gaze flickered briefly to Reddas and Balthier - he acknowledged their presence but considered them beneath his notice. "Alone."
"Of course, my lord," Penelo murmured. She gave a dismissive wave, indicating that they should wait without, and allowed Vayne to lead her into the room, the doors swinging shut behind them.
After they had been shut out, Balthier turned to Reddas. "Go," he whispered. "Find Fran - tell her all. She'll come up with something."
"Better we both go," Reddas said.
Fear was a sharp knife twisting in Balthier's gut - Penelo was alone with a monster. "No; I'll remain here - someone's got to." Because she was unprotected, in a dangerous game of cat and mouse - one on which her very life might depend.
Reddas stared, bemused. "She's handled herself well enough thus far - had him eating from the palm of her hand."
"Go, damn you," Balthier hissed. "The longer you tarry, the longer she is trapped in there with him!" Vayne would entertain her audacity for only so long. He was the most powerful man in Ivalice; he would not be denied. Behind closed doors, anything could happen - and Penelo was without weapons. Closeted away in that office, Vayne held all the power.
Vayne gestured to a low sofa against the wall, indicating that she should sit. He crossed the room toward his desk, upon which rested a crystal decanter and a couple of etched glasses.
"May I offer you a drink?" he inquired, pulling the cork from the decanter, filling one of the glasses with amber liquid.
"Please," she said.
Obligingly, he filled another glass, then replaced the cork and the decanter upon the desk and collected the glasses. He strolled towards her, offering her a glass, then took a seat beside her - too close, but she could not move away; she was in his domain, trapped.
She lifted the glass to the light, admiring the way the etching in the crystal refracted the light, colorful glimmers of light dancing across the walls. Cautiously, she took a sip; the liquor burned like fire down her throat, and she coughed.
Vayne chuckled. "Brandy," he said. "The best in Ivalice - Bhujerban in origin. You don't imbibe?"
Tread carefully. "Certainly not of the swill served in Rabanastre," she said. "I'll confess an occasional indulgence in sweet wines, however."
"Oh?" She had not noticed how his arm had settled over the back of the sofa; he brushed his palm over her shoulder, catching a lock of her hair in his fingers and rubbing it between them. "And what else will you confess, my beauty?"
With a shock, she felt a tug on the strings of her mask. She gave a haughty sniff and pulled away, lifting her chin to frown disapprovingly at him.
"My lord, we've yet to discuss terms," she said firmly. "I am not in the habit of sharing secrets without security."
His patience was wearing thin, she realized, for he merely scrutinized her, his brows drawn. "And I am not in the habit of making a purchase without first inspecting the merchandise," he said crudely.
Her back snapped straight in outrage. "I think perhaps we will not suit after all," she said icily, and made to rise.
He snagged a fistful of her hair in his hand, dragging her back down. "Not so fast, sweet. A woman in your position cannot afford to let slip so powerful a patron so easily. I can make it well worth your while."
"You ask too much, my lord," she hissed. "This mask is more than my protection; it is my livelihood. I could not expect such a lofty patron were I to remove it - every man wishes to be the first."
"And so I shall be," he said. The light of avarice gleamed in his eyes - more than her body, he wanted the prestige, the envy that would follow her favor. He was a man who believed he was due the best of everything - and he had decided that he was entitled to her. "So do away with your disguise, and we may commence our negotiations."
To refuse would be suicide - he could easily compel her obedience. Still, her fingers trembled as she reached for the strings that would unmask her.
A furious knock sounded at the door - Vayne hissed an expletive. She pitied whoever had drawn his attention, for surely they would bear the brunt of his ill humor. He slanted her a speaking glance; he would take it poorly did she move from her seat.
He jerked open the door, snapping angrily at the guard who had dared intrude upon his privacy. Hushed words were exchanged; the door was left standing open as he crossed to her once again. She risked a glance beyond it, heart dropping to her feet as she realized that Balthier and Reddas were gone.
Vayne had composed himself somewhat, though a banked fire still glowed in his eyes. "You will excuse me," he said tightly. "A matter has arisen that requires my attention. I trust you will await my return?"
She gave a swift nod, but his eyes narrowed - he did not believe her, she realized. She had overplayed her hand; he knew that she would flee were she able. And as he exited the room and closed the door behind him, she heard the click of a key in the lock. She took a gasping breath and dropped her head into her hands. She was well and truly trapped.
Balthier listened for the sound of retreating footsteps, and only then poked his head out of the door he'd slipped into. The hall was deserted - Vayne had likely not even noticed that Penelo's guards had slipped away. She had kept him so captivated that, until the untimely interruption, he had had eyes only for her.
He crossed the hall, twisting the handle - locked. From within, he heard a muffled sob. He extracted his pick set from his pocket, dropping to his knees before the door. Moments later, the lock gave way, and he rose, flinging the door open.
A gasp - Penelo had leapt to her feet, hand over her mouth. For a moment she merely stared, eyes wide and stunned. At last she seemed to process that he had crossed the threshold rather than Vayne - with a whimper of relief her legs buckled beneath her and she collapsed to her knees on the floor.
He reached her in three strides, kneeling down and grabbing her shoulders. "Are you well? Did he harm you?"
She shook her head frantically, tears sliding down her pale cheeks beneath the mask. "S-scared," she managed brokenly. Her hands gripped his arms, seeking the steadying strength of them. "I th-thought you had left."
His heart twisted in his chest - she was so young, so fragile, that indomitable spirit smothered by the fear that had her clutched in its grip. As if of their own accord, his arms slipped around her; drawing her close to his chest. She trembled - quaked in his arms - and her head dropped onto his shoulder; she sobbed in earnest.
"Shh, darling," he soothed, stroking her mussed curls. "You've done beautifully. Shh. It's over; you're safe."
She went rigid, her nails biting into his back. "C-Coming back," she stammered. "We've g-got to go. N-now." Her sobs had subsided to unsteady pants, as though she could not draw enough air into her lungs.
"Can you stand?" he asked. She nodded shakily; he rose and helped her to her feet. Still she trembled; he had to get her away to safety. He seized her hand tightly in his; she gripped his fingers like they were a lifeline.
The hall remained deserted - Vayne and his retinue of guards had gone left, and so Balthier lead Penelo to the right.
"I sent Reddas on to find Fran and Vaan," he whispered to her. "Probably they've created the diversion that called Vayne away. Now we need only -"
A low whistle sounded; he thrust Penelo into an alcove, pressing her against the wall with his body, hoping they would be shielded from view. Slow footsteps approached; Penelo tensed - she drew in her breath and held it. The fear in her eyes clawed at him.
"Ahhh, there you are."
Penelo jerked at the words - but then her shoulders went lax; she shivered in relief. "Larsa," she whispered. Balthier shouldered away from the wall, turning to face the hallway.
Larsa's mouth drew into a frown as he saw Penelo's obvious distress. "You must come at once," he said. "The others have already gone - I've hailed the Strahl; she awaits beyond the gardens. I will show you the way."
Larsa lead them through a maze of corridors, winding deeper into the palace. Though they had encountered no guards, still Penelo clutched desperately at Balthier's hand, starting at even the slightest noise.
When he dared, Balthier finally spoke, "How did you find us?"
"Fran and Vaan found me," he said. "They asked about Giruvegan, and I told them what little I know of it. They told me of your plan, and I offered to contact the Strahl so that they could escape. I was taking them to reconvene with her when we came across Reddas - he said my brother had trapped Penelo in his office." He shrugged. "Once I had delivered them to the Strahl, I merely had to come in search of you. Of course," he said mischievously, "I did tell the guards to inform my brother of intruders in the west wing beforehand."
Penelo sniffled; Balthier reflexively squeezed her hand reassuringly in his. "Our thanks for your timely arrival," he said.
Larsa waved away his gratitude. "Cidolfus has a great deal of influence over my brother, and not for his betterment - if you can stop him, I would be much obliged."
Wisely, Balthier kept his peace - the boy was not yet ready to admit that Vayne was too far gone to be rehabilitated. That day would come, but it would not be this one, and he would not alienate Larsa by pressing the issue.
They turned right down a hallway, and it opened into a large anteroom with windows lining the far walls - and a set of glass doors, leading out onto a terrace.
Larsa gestured toward the doors. "Those will lead you out into the gardens. Stay to the right, if you will - if you go left, you'll wind up near the ballroom, and there will be guards upon you before you can blink." He stared solemnly up at them. "I cannot go with you - Vayne will not be occupied for much longer. But I wish you good luck and safe travels."
Penelo managed a tremulous smile. For a moment, Larsa appeared spellbound, and Balthier glanced at her to see what had elicited such a reaction from the boy. Like he'd been struck with a current, he jolted - so much had happened so quickly that he hadn't gotten a proper look at her until now. The velvet cape was loose about her shoulders, exposing the gown beneath - it shimmered like liquid gold, lovingly molded to the curves of her body, emphasizing the narrow dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. The sparkling mask framed her kohled eyes, the black paint only making the blue of her eyes more striking. Her fair hair was a riot of wild curls, only just tamed by a pair of gold combs. Her lips had been stained a lustrous ruby, moist and inviting.
She bore no similarity to the waif she had been just days ago - she looked like a woman who had just returned from an assignation with a lover. And Larsa was staring as if she was every dream he'd ever had made flesh. Something about Larsa's smitten expression got Balthier's hackles up; he only just resisted snarling a threat - which would hardly have been appropriate, given the circumstances.
Abruptly, Larsa snapped out of his stupor. "You must go - you'll find the Strahl beyond the garden. And you must leave Archades immediately - Vayne is nothing if not determined. He will find you if you linger here." He peered through the windows up at the night sky. "Watch for the flares; they'll guide you safely to the Strahl. With any luck, they'll be mistaken for the fireworks."
Balthier nodded stiffly. "Again, our thanks." He gripped Penelo's hand tightly in his, dragging her along in his wake to the door.
Outside the palace, the humid night air was redolent with the fragrance of flowers, heady and sweet. As they passed through the immaculate flower beds lined with perfectly trimmed hedges, the dark settled over them like a shroud.
Behind him, Penelo stumbled. "Keep moving," he ordered firmly.
"I need both of my hands," she whispered back, in a thin, monotone voice. Shock, he realized - she was going into shock. "It's so dark - I keep stepping on the hem of this blasted dress."
That blasted dress, indeed - no one had the right to wear such a thing. At least not in public; it ought to have been illegal. Surely it offended common decency. She had looked as though she'd been poured into it, it clung so sweetly to the soft contours of her body.
"Balthier? My hand," she whispered.
What the devil had he been doing? He released her hand at once; she gathered fistfuls of material, lifting the skirts so that she could move unencumbered. In the distance, above the merrily chirping crickets, he heard the soft hum of the Strahl's engines. And then, with a soft pop, a burst of light tore through the sky, marking their destination.
"Not much further," he said, his voice curiously thick.
As they rounded the last bend that would put them out on the back lawn, the ship came into view. The ramp was let down, and even in the darkness he saw the glow of the moon on steel - someone was standing watch at the ship, gun at the ready.
Penelo's breath shuddered out in joy - she dashed forward, running headlong for the safety of the ship. As she flew past, he, too, increased his pace. She reached the ship before him, of course, the sound of her boots thunderous on the metal ramp. He heard a triumphant cry and boarded the ship to see Fran curl her arms protectively around Penelo.
Ashe was petting Penelo's fair hair, murmuring to her soothingly. "There, there," she said. "You've done so well, dear." At the kind words, Penelo dissolved into wrenching sobs.
The dock closed behind Balthier, sealing them inside the ship. Basch took a seat at the helm; he was not so practiced a pilot as Balthier - the lift-off sent the ship lurching to the right. Balthier cleared his throat, barely avoiding a snarled order to Basch to have a bit of care with his ship.
"Fran, will you take her bed? She's overwrought; she'll need rest to recover," Ashe said.
Penelo lifted her head from Fran's shoulder long enough stay, "N-no, I'm fine; I want to hear it - about Giruvegan." But her breaths were coming in fierce pants and she had begun that wretched trembling again, overcome with the relief of escaping the confines of the palace.
Ashe whispered to Balthier, "Dear gods - what has happened to her?"
"Vayne," he said grimly. "He stumbled upon us - bloody awful timing. Penelo's quick thinking saved us all, but nearly at the cost of herself. He had her locked in his office for a while, but Larsa invented an emergency to have him called away." He shook his head, his heart pounding anew with the realization of how close a shave it had actually been.
Ashe shuddered delicately. "What a nightmare - and she has been so brave."
"More so than you know," he murmured. She had faced a monster like Vayne head on, challenging him, smiling sweetly into his face whilst they plotted behind his back. She had shouldered an enormous risk. He was not surprised she had fallen to pieces in the aftermath - he was only surprised that she had made it through the ordeal with Vayne before her resolve had given way.
"She thought we had left her behind," he muttered. "She faced him alone, thinking we had abandoned her."
Ashe's face drew into a somber expression. "Poor dear," she sighed. "I cannot say I would have possessed her courage."
"To bed with you," Fran urged softly, brushing Penelo's tangled hair away from her face.
"No! Don't I deserve to hear? Haven't I d-done enough?" she cried, her face streaked with tears, the smudged kohl leaving sooty trails down her cheeks.
Balthier made a rough sound in his throat. He crossed the deck, prying her out of Fran's arms. He reached behind her head, tugging the strings of the mask free, pulling it from her face. With the sleeve of his shirt, he gently scrubbed the kohl from her cheeks - they were clammy and cold beneath his fingers. She allowed the gesture - her eyes closed, and she swayed on her feet. He pressed his fingers to her throat, felt the rapid flutter of her pulse.
"It's not a matter of deserving to hear," he said in a low voice. "Anyone would be shaken by what has occurred today. You're in shock; you need to be abed. This will keep until morning."
To his utter astonishment, she nodded. Her voice was a bare whisper. "All right."
"Fran will take you; let her assist you."
"No, wait -" she clutched desperately at his sleeve. "You could have left me." She hiccoughed. "You could have left me there with him. You probably should have. But you didn't."
"Darling -"
"Thank you," she whispered. Her eyes opened, clear as day, so bright, tears trembling upon the dark lashes. Her lower lip quivered. "You could have left me, and you didn't. Thank you for rescuing me."
Her piteous whisper dredged up a riot of emotions; they roiled within him, warring in his head. In her conflicted mind, he had become her savior, he realized - in her darkest moments, when she had been most afraid, he had been the one to rescue her. She would obey his order to retire not because he had talked sense into her, but because she trusted him. In those moments when she had despaired, he had made himself into her champion.
Oblivious to the stunned stares all around, he pressed his lips gently to her forehead, and murmured, "Sweet, it was my pleasure."