Iceman

by SerialRavist

Suppose the Death Corps really did manage to kidnap a Beoulve.

11. One Foot in the Heavens

Open your eyes
See all the love in me
I've got enough forever
Don't be afraid
Take all you need from me
And we'll be strong together
-- DJ Brisk & DJ Trixxy, "Eye Opener"

Chapter Eleven: One Foot in the Heavens

Ramza awoke with a start. It was daytime -- morning -- and the sky had turned somewhat cloudy, islands of puffy white drifting along a sea of blue overhead. His head was resting on something soft, maybe a folded-up cloak. Not Rafa's legs, this time. Had that actually happened? The memory was foggy, just her sad smile and dark pools of eyes staring down at him in the night. Maybe I dreamed it.

Frowning, he threw aside his blankets, then sat up and glanced around. They were camped on another hilltop, a broad space some twenty paces by forty and bordered by rather steep drops; more distant peaks, dotted with rocks and dappled with cloud-shadows, rose in the hazy distance in every direction. Agrias, standing a half-dozen paces away and chatting with Jasmine, gave him an odd look, prompting the spellcaster to turn and offer him a weary smile. Vector stood a short distance past them, adjusting the new ninja edges hanging from his waist, while past him sat Rafa and Alicia apparently trying to fix a chocobo saddle.

"You're up," noted Agrias, nodding, drawing every other eye to him. "Good." Still she was studying him strangely, her expression unreadable.

Ramza stared back at her, then shifted his gaze to include everyone else present. Alicia was glaring at him more fiercely than normal, Rafa watching him with wide, expressionless doe-eyes, and Vector staring at his left arm.

Oh. Oh yeah. Swallowing, Ramza glanced down at the limb in question. Someone had rolled his sleeve up to the elbow to expose his arm, or what remained of it. Halfway between his elbow and wrist it just... ended. No wound, just smooth skin. Pinkish, like scar tissue. Forgot about that.

Shaking his head, he glanced back up at everyone else, only to find them still uncomfortable. Oh, for... if that's not it, what is it? "What?" Scowling, he climbed to his feet.

Agrias' golden eyebrows twitched together. "Two things. First, Lavian and Knox are dead." Ice-blue eyes regarded him flatly, without blinking.

He hesitated, seeing confirmation written in every other pair of eyes in the group. "How?"

"They fought Vormav to give everyone else time to escape. They knew how it would end."

Ramza shook his head, shuffling closer to where the Holy Knight and Jasmine stood. "What's the second thing?" As he spoke, something about his face seemed stiff; a moment of fumbling with his remaining fingers revealed what had to be a scar angling down over the bridge of his nose, onto his cheek. Right. He cut me there too.

"We killed Kletian and Izlude." Without looking, Agrias reached into her coat to pull out a glittering gemstone, then tossed it to him. "Izlude had this."

He caught the thing, already certain what it was, and the Pisces crest served only to confirm his guess. A deep, beautiful blue, like sapphire and water.

After a moment he tossed it back to her, shaking his head once more. We lost two people and got another stone. What do you even say to that? Sorry? Next time we'll try to make sure only one person dies? Who will it be, though? Jasmine? Rafa? Maybe me.

When he said nothing, a vague rustle of activity washed through the hilltop as everyone went back to what they were doing, though he could feel Rafa's eyes on him. Would she be mad? Did she hate him now? Probably not; she hadn't known either of the deceased all that well, and didn't strike him as particularly judgemental. Not if she didn't hate him already for killing Malak. Scowling at the ground, he bent to roll his blankets back up.

Soon, however, brisk footsteps hissed through the grass towards him. He paused, knowing both who and what was coming, but taking a moment to turn to face her. "What?"

Alicia glared up at him from less than a pace away, teeth bared. Her eyes, a liquid brown, were narrowed with menace but also welling with tears. She had a scar too, now, a jagged pink line stretching down one temple to her jaw. Oddly, it made her hair seem even redder.

It didn't slow her down, though. If anything, her punches were getting faster. Harder.

Shaking his head to clear the stars, Ramza spat blood into the grass and checked for any loose or missing teeth. Finding none, he turned only his head to gaze up at her from where he knelt.

"Lavian is dead because of you," she whispered, swallowing. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, one running almost parallel to the new scar, and as she spoke she wrapped both arms tightly around her middle as though cold. "Knox is dead. Your plan got my friends killed. What do you have to say to that?"

Ignoring Alicia's angry sniffling, Ramza shifted his gaze to where Agrias was watching the confrontation with a weary, bland expression. "You were right," he told her, hearing his words come out flat, uninflected. Dead. "You said Vormav would be hard, and you were right. You're always right. I guess I need to listen to you more often."

Agrias rubbed a hand over her face, then shrugged. "Let's... just get moving, okay? We're out of potions, and almost out of food."

With a twist of his lips he nodded, then glanced back up to Alicia, who was still glaring at him through her tears. Planting hands against the ground, he pushed himself to his feet and faced her again. "Do you need another one?" The entire left half of his face throbbed after her first strike, but if it would take two or more before she felt better, then that was what it would take.

Surprisingly she bit back a sob at this, as though his words caused her even greater injury. Before he could do more than blink, she whirled and strode off to the edge of the hilltop, where she simply stood and shook, staring off over the distant valleys.

Ramza gazed after her for a moment, then turned his back on her, put her out of his mind. Not like she wants a hug, is it? Tying his belongings together with only one hand, he discovered, was something of a chore.

In moments everyone was packed and moving. Jasmine and Vector rode the two chocobos Agrias had stolen from the Shrine Knights; the priestess tried to get him to ride one instead but he didn't even acknowledge her when she brought it up. Travel proceeded in a dark silence, or if there was any speaking, he didn't hear it, lost as he was in angry retrospection over the plan and the battle that had killed two of his people.

That night, as Vector handed out travel rations and everyone else settled in to their minimal camp, Ramza strode some fifty paces away, through silvery moon-shadows and over rocky soil, and sat. Sat and stared off into the night, at the dark and unpopulated hills visible for miles around. Somewhere in the vast and empty distance, a bird's call echoed and faded.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his face into his fist. Knox had had younger sisters. How to explain it to them? That his oh-so-bold-and-clever plan had gotten their only brother killed by a demon?

Behind him, the breeze sighed among weeds and stubborn grass. "How are you feeling?"

He shook his head without opening his eyes. Every time I go somewhere alone, it's like asking her to follow me, isn't it?

When he didn't answer, clothes whispered together as Rafa claimed a seat beside him on the hilltop. "Aren't you going to eat anything?"

"I'm not hungry." Letting his arm drop, he lifted his head and gazed back out over the night-cloaked world.

Silence met this reply; she probably didn't believe him, but chose to make nothing of it. Above, a shooting star flashed silently across the sky, a diamond-scratch of white against the black, before disappearing as quickly as it had come.

"Ramza...." Gentle fingers touched his knee. "You're trying too hard."

His jaw clenched of its own accord, and he turned to scowl at her, but she just stared back at him, patient, waiting, with dark eyes like caves of shadow. Her pale hood and garments caught the moonlight but seemed somehow muted in their glow. Of course; an assassin wouldn't want to stand out in the night.

After a moment he gave his shoulders an irritated roll and tore his gaze from hers. "You think I should try less hard? How would that help?"

Fingers slid along wool until her whole hand was resting on his knee. "It's okay to make mistakes. You learn from them, so that you're smarter and stronger for the next time."

"I don't fault myself for making mistakes," he muttered. "I fault myself for making preventable mistakes." The wind swirled again; below, trees danced, vague shadowy shapes shifting in the thin moonlight.

"So what would you have done differently?"

He shook his head, suppressing a sigh. Her hand squeezed his knee once, then retreated. From somewhere behind them came Agrias' drifting voice, her words lost to the breeze as she spoke to the others.

When Rafa didn't say anything further, he shook his head again. "I've never seen Alicia so upset, and I piss her off all the time."

"She'll get by," came the Heaven Knight's soft reply. "She's a soldier, like Knox and Lavian were. They all know what they stand to lose, every time they go into battle. They accept the risks, or they wouldn't be doing it."

His lips curled back from his teeth. "I'm surprised to hear you say that. It seems... cold."

"I'm an assassin, Ramza. Like you."

"No, not like me."

"Yes. Like you." Her voice was gentle, not accusatory at all. Fingers alighted on his knee once more, a brief touch, before disappearing. "What you do in life is you target people and kill them. I know how it is. My hands are black with blood, like yours." She paused. "It's okay. Just keep in mind that the people you travel with are as determined as you are. Remember your fallen friends, but you do them a disservice by beating yourself up over them. They wouldn't want you to."

Too much talking. He shifted, jerking his knee farther away from her even though she was no longer touching him. "Is that how you treated Malak's death?"

Her breath caught; a quick sideways glance showed her biting her lips, ducking her head as her hands squeezed together in her lap. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, hoarse. "No. He... no."

He grimaced, rubbing his forehead. I said that just to hurt her. What the hell is wrong with me? "Rafa... you... should go. You don't want to talk to me."

She sniffled, scrubbing the back of one hand almost daintily against her pert nose. Then she nodded quickly, rippling the waves of dark hair spilling from her hood. Planting hands against the hard ground, she pushed herself to her feet and crouched to grip his shoulder. "I understand." And then she was gone, ghosting back to the others.

Ramza swallowed and stared at the ground where she'd been sitting. She'd been upset... but not at him. And unless his guess was wildly wrong, she "understood" exactly why he'd told her to leave. She sees too much. Too deeply. His hand clenched into a frustrated fist for a moment before he could relax it.

Some time later he climbed back to his feet, then turned and made his way towards everyone else. They hadn't made a fire -- too much risk of Vormav finding them, if he was even following them, which he doubted -- so shadows lay thick over the rocky hilltop. Shadows and pale moonlight, illuminating only what was already white or silver.

Five pairs of eyes swung his way as he shuffled to a halt at the edge of the campsite. "I want to talk to Delita again."

Agrias frowned at him from where she sat beside Alicia. "Why?"

"He mentioned last time I talked to him that he'd worked for the Church. For the Shrine Knights." Ramza paused, thinking back, then shrugged. "He must know things. Like who might have the other stones."

Alicia's dark eyes narrowed. "That's a good idea. Why didn't you say that before we fought Vormav?"

He shifted his gaze to her, feeling a vague frown steal over his features as breeze whispered through the short grass all around. "Because I didn't think of it. Same as you. Understand?"

She swallowed, then tore her gaze away with a twist of her lips. Curly red hair bounced with the gesture.

He watched her a moment longer, then turned his attention to everyone else, meeting every other pair of eyes but Rafa's. "If no one has any problems with that, I'm going to sleep."

---

"The High Priest is aghast at this needless bloodshed. He would be most pleased if you would hear his terms for the peace settlement he proposes."

Delita lifted his eyebrows, then scratched an itch on his cheek. He and the Church mediator, a greying fellow called Marlowe, sat in Goltana's study. Now his own study. Stark and hard-lined like the rest of Bethla Garrison, the room was the largest around, some twelve paces square. More than big enough to feel empty with only a polished oak desk and a handful of matching chairs in it. There had been banners on the walls a week ago, dozens of captured standards representing every faded color of the rainbow, but he'd had them torn down. Ivalice had no use for men drifting along on the momentum of past victories.

As the silence stretched and the mediator opened his mouth to speak again, Delita grunted and leaned back in his chair. "You know... I have to tell you I'm not really interested."

Marlowe's mouth compressed into a thin line for just a blink before his glittering smile came back. With waves of salt-and-pepper hair and a face as stubbled as it was rugged, he looked like the sort of man designed to set every woman's heart aflutter. "Are you sure you cannot be convinced?" His voice was a soothing, hypnotic bass. "Certainly your own men would thank you if this fighting could be--"

Delita snorted and the mediator cut off with a frown. My men? They'd be angry I didn't press the advantage and end the war. Flowing to his feet, he adjusted the scabbarded blade on his waist. "We're done here, Marlowe. Enjoy your trip back to Murond." Without a second glance he strode for the door.

The other man leapt to his feet, then slid to catch his wrist. "I beg of you, General. Please hear our terms. Surely it can't hurt you just to listen for...."

Delita froze, eyeing the mediator's hand, then glancing up to his face without expression.

Marlowe snatched his hand back to his chest, then swallowed. "My... my apologies. But are you certain I can't have just a moment more of your time?"

"I already told you you're going back to Murond," he murmured, stepping closer to the other man, maintaining eye contact. "You can choose whether you go by ship or by casket."

The mediator swallowed again, then offered a minimal bow, little more than a dip of his head. "As you wish. I shall convey your response to the High Priest."

Delita turned and was already out into the hallway as the man finished speaking. A pair of Nanten guards stepped away from the wall to follow without a word as he strode through his garrison. A peace settlement? Funeral's plan to gut our leadership failed, but he's still trying to play it out? And thinks it might work? He shook his head. Zalbag and the Hokuten are done. Out of the game. Ruvelia is locked up downstairs. I'm the only threat to the Church's plan. They should be sending assassins, not mediators, to stop me.

His lips curved of their own accord, but only for a moment. Unforgiving stone hallways echoed his footsteps back to him.

He found his sister and Ovelia where he'd left them just moments before, in the garrison's cramped excuse for a courtyard. With little but golden stone and a handful of the hardy flowers that could grow in this arid region, the space could just as easily serve as a place to drill soldiers as it could a retreat.

As his boots scraped out onto the weathered courtyard surface, the two women spun to face him, swirling their dresses, and both smiled. One smile pale and sunny, the other dark and gentle.

He smiled as well, then swept a bow on reaching them. "I'd heard there were beautiful flowers in the courtyard, but nobody told me there were plants too."

"Cut it out," grinned Teta, as Ovelia smiled at her slippers. "How did your meeting go?"

Stepping forward, he slid an arm around each woman's shoulders and directed them gently towards the courtyard's fountain, though now the thing was little more than a shallow empty pool four paces across. "Quickly enough. I met with their emissary long enough to reject his offer to read me the High Priest's terms, and then sent him on his way."

Teta, beside him, made a disappointed sound. "You didn't even listen to what he had to say? Why did you meet with him at all, then?"

He turned a wounded frown on her. "I didn't want to be rude."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Delita?" Ovelia's voice was soft on his other side.

"Hmm?"

She ducked her head, perhaps embarrassed to speak up, and golden hair spilled past her shoulders with the movement. This close, he could make out faint pink spots decorating her pale cheeks. "Is... everything is going well, then? You don't foresee any more problems?"

Shuffling to a halt before the fountain, he extracted his arms to grip her hands in his own. "No more problems. Or if there are any, there won't be any we can't handle. The hardest parts are over; all that remains now is the endgame. The cleanup."

The princess smiled again, then glanced up to meet his gaze with an obvious effort. Though the smile remained, her dark eyes carried a note of question. "You always talk about this like it's a game."

"It's more fun to play games."

"I... I'm serious. This is--"

"Don't worry," he assured her, squeezing her hands once. "I'm not...." He trailed off, aware of his sister's careful scrutiny without even having to glance her way. With a sigh he let his eyes slide shut, and his hands tightened of their own accord on the future queen's. "I'm serious too, Ovelia." He kept his voice quiet, almost gentle, a tone he seldom used anymore. "I might talk like that, but this is all deadly serious to me. I don't play around."

Her own fingers curled in his hands, gripping him back. "Are you serious with me? What happens to me when we win?"

He snapped his eyes back open and stared into her own, hoping to convey his sincerity through sheer force of will; her fingers trembled at his directness. "When we win, you'll be the Queen. If you want, I'll be there too. No one will have power over you again. No one will use you, or threaten you."

She swallowed, and a concerned crease formed in her forehead. "But you... you've used me. You've threatened me."

"Yes." No lying. Not to her. "I had to. I'd do it all over again, too, if it was the only way to get you to this point, a step away from the throne. That's the kind of man I am." He paused, waiting for his meaning to set in, watching as her frown faded to an expression of thought. "Is that so bad? Are those unforgivable faults?"

The princess averted her gaze, and a nervous smile touched her lips. "No. Not if I can trust you."

"Ovelia." He waited again, until her eyes slid to meet his own. "I would die before betraying you. You don't ever, ever, need to worry about that." His own smile was long gone; as he'd told her, he was deadly serious.

She exhaled, slumping, like some permanent tension inside her body had suddenly vanished. And then her arms were around him, her forehead buried against the armored plates over his chest. Long strands of golden hair slowly floated back into place after her sudden movement.

He hesitated only a moment before returning the hug. She was slim in his arms. Fragile.

Moments later, a throat cleared. "This is... very touching and all," murmured Teta, "but there is a third person here, you know."

Delita smiled. Not for long. Shifting his hands to Ovelia's shoulders, he pushed her back just far enough to lean in and kiss her.

She froze, fingers curling into fists against his chest, but managed to recover much more quickly than he'd been expecting. Willowy arms wrapped around his neck, pulled him closer; her lips were alive against his own, her shallow breath hot on his cheek.

"Oh, for God's sake," muttered Teta. "I'll see you guys at dinner."

---

Ruvelia Atkascha, Sovereign of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of Ivalice, hated darkness.

Hated it. It was strange, threatening. Cold. She hated it.

There had always been light before this. Candlelight. Lamplight. Starlight filtering in through gossamer curtains to leave a ghostly glow on marble floors. Even sunlight was acceptable, for all that her skin didn't care for it.

Underground there was no light.

No sound, either, just an absolute blanket of silence punctuated only by the fluid and irregular thumping of her heart. The staccato rasp of her breath. Sound, she could take or leave -- or make -- but the absence of light was a crime. Closing her eyes and opening them, only to find no difference in the blackness... it was suffocating. Intolerable. A smothering pillow over her gasping mouth, stealing her breath.

"I hate you!" she shouted at nothing, at anything. "Do you hear me? I hate you! No one can do this to me! I'm the Queen!" Peeling lips back from her teeth, she lunged for where the darkness hid the door. Lunged and stopped on her knees, with a metallic rattle; heavy manacles dug into the worn and corrupted wounds on her wrists, wounds caused by too much of this in the countless years of her unlawful imprisonment. "I order you to free me! Anyone who hears this and doesn't obey will die a gruesome death! Violated by red-hot irons while you drown in maggots! Is that what you want? If not, get me the fuck out of here!"

As nothing but her own hoarse and cracked voice echoed back to her, she slumped, letting the manacles hold her upright. "Dark," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. Despite her efforts, warm liquid leaked from them, trailing down her cheeks. "It's so d... I can't even see. Please." Shivers stole over her limbs as they sometimes did, making her arms quiver, her teeth chatter.

Nobody came. Nobody helped. If there was a God, he enjoyed watching her suffer. More tears flowed down her cheeks, quickly growing cool in the subterranean air.

She'd half-expected the Nanten to torture her. Bind her, stretch her, rape her, stick needles in tender places, whatever. She could take it; they couldn't hurt her face, her beauty, so the effects wouldn't last.

But they hadn't touched her. They'd locked her down here, still in her clothes, and hadn't touched a thing but her mind.

"I'm the Queen," she whispered. Swallowing, she strained at the manacles, pulling herself to her feet. "The Queen. I'm the most important person down here, the most important person anywhere, and they can't even be bothered to torture me? Question me? All I get is this... stale food and... the water tastes like it came from... like... just like any other prisoner would get? Doesn't anybody...."

Abruptly iron scraped against stone, and a rectangle of light opened across the cell. She hissed, stumbling and crouching back, holding up a hand to protect her eyes from that precious, precious light. Time to feed me again. Water me. Like I'm a fucking animal.

Slow footsteps approached, making barely a whisper on the mildew-coated floor. "Ruvelia." A man's deep voice. Steely.

She tensed, calculating the prison keeper's position by hearing alone. After he dropped off the food or whatever it was, she could... her teeth could rip through his throat, if she could reach that far. Make somebody else suffer for once. He'd deserve it too, deserve that and whatever else she chose to inflict on him while he choked on his own--

"You look like a dead whore, Ruvelia. Have they been treating you well?"

"What?" Swallowing past a rusty throat, she spread her fingers apart, just enough to squint between them. The man standing two paces away was, slender, of moderate height. Armored, too. With the light behind him she could just barely make out the colors, but the armor looked... gold? And robes, and a hood. Blue? Green? "A Shrine Knight?"

Rather than answer, the man squatted on his heels in front of her. Whatever his face was under the hood, she couldn't make it out at all. "It's Rofel. You don't know me."

She snarled at him. "It was you! The Church! It's your fault I'm here! If you hadn't let Goltana's stupid troops take me from--"

"Goltana's dead, Ruvelia. Delita Hyral commands the Nanten now, and Ovelia. He was the brains behind Goltana's whole plan, and he's more dangerous to you than Goltana ever was. Would you like the chance to strike back at him?"

Ruvelia summoned a laugh. "Why the hell should I trust your kind? You stabbed me in the back once already. And do you have any fucking idea how long I've been down here? Years. I don't even--"

"Fifty-one days."

"--even... wait, what?"

Rofel sighed. "You were captured fifty-one days ago."

She eyed him sideways, cautiously. Was he lying? Surely it had been longer. Though her eyes had grown accustomed to the light, she could still make out nothing of his shadowed features, nothing to show of any deception on his part.

"Although," he continued, "I understand it hasn't been pleasant here. How thoughtless to treat one of royal blood so. But God uses suffering to prepare the soul for greatness."

She sneered. "Greatness? I'm already great."

By way of answer Rofel pulled out a stone from his pocket. A gem. Green, a deep green, and glittering. "Do you want out of here?"

She licked her lips, for some reason unable to pull her eyes from the gemstone. "What do you want in return?"

---

A week of travel. Hills, flatlands, desert, cities. Battles, too. The missing hand gave him trouble until Vector had a leatherworker in Dorter come up with a solution, a thing of straps and buckles. A way to affix a dagger to what remained of his left arm. It was hardly elegant, and didn't make much sense with the monk fighting style, but it was better than nothing.

They heard of nothing but the battle on the way to Bethla. Not even in inns, either; people went out of their way to accost them on the street just to ask if they'd heard about the battle at Bethla Garrison. A million dead, they claimed, which meant probably less than a hundred thousand. Ramza had kept his face down during these conversations, let Agrias or Jasmine brush off the rumormongers. Rafa simply stood next to him without saying anything.

Dycedarg was dead. They thought he cared. He didn't bother explaining, and to her credit, Rafa didn't ask.

Dycedarg, dead. Larg dead, Goltana dead, Delita running the Nanten. Zalbag commanding the remains of the Hokuten. Strange to think that if Alma hadn't died, if he hadn't run off, he'd be commanding divisions of soldiers now, under Zalbag.

Bethla still reeked of death, a week after the battle. Even after crystallization, a hundred thousand dead would do that, just from the blood. Jasmine's face scrunched up in sick dismay over the smell, and Vector wore a constant grimace. Ramza didn't wear his distaste on his face but didn't breathe too deeply either. Above, razor-thin cloud waves hung etched onto the bone-dry sky.

The guards at the garrison's north gate gaped at him. "Wha... who... who are you?" managed one, a thick-set man gripping his sword hilt with white knuckles.

Ramza let his eyes narrow in impatience; the man had to have recognized him, or else he wouldn't have reacted with such a panic. "Ramza Beoulve. I'm here to see Delita Hyral."

"But... but you're a...."

"A heretic. If you don't plan to collect the bounty yourself, I suggest you tell Delita I'm here, or I'll do it myself."

The guard shook himself, then scowled. "Just hang on. Rosa!"

"Right." A skinny archer gave Ramza a hard look, then turned and bounded into the keep.

Outside, Ramza crossed his arms and waited.

---

"Sir! There's news!"

Delita rolled his eyes. "Trevor, you don't have to tell me there's news. You can just tell me what the news is." He stood in his study, with his back to the door, poring over a collection of maps by the flickering light of a single bronze lantern. Maps of Lesalia.

"Yes, sir. Ruvelia's gone, sir."

He blinked at this, then spun to face Trevor so quickly the man backed away a step, into the hallway. "Gone? How?"

The squire swallowed, then edged back into the room. "She... the guards are all dead, sir, except for one man who was only knocked out. He says he saw a Shrine Knight just before it happened. Cosmos is on her way with the full report."

Delita grunted and turned back to his maps, thinking. Without doubt the attackers had left the one surviving guard alive on purpose, just to rub salt in the wound. They probably weren't happy with his decision to ruin their plan for the battle. "Okay. You can go."

"Is... uh, is that all, sir?"

"I said you can go."

"Very well, sir." The door closed with a soft click.

Delita clenched a helpless fist as he studied the lines of ink on the yellowing paper before him. Hills. There were hills around the castle at Lesalia. Close enough for siege weapons? Would it even matter? With a solid but not overpowering advantage in numbers, he'd probably have to starve them out, or else weaken their defenses from the inside if Olan could manage it. But in either case he'd have to accelerate his schedule. Ruvelia by herself couldn't do much in Lesalia -- the Hokuten needed an extra forty thousand soldiers or so, not a woman in a dress -- but who knew what else the Shrine Knights were planning.

Another knock sounded from the door, disrupting his concentration.

He scowled at the maps but cleared the expression in an instant. "Come."

The door clicked open again, allowing a faint swirl of air and distant conversation to drift inside. "Sir," came Cosmos' girlish voice. "You must've heard already, but something else just came up."

Sighing, he turned around and planted hands on the desk behind him. "What is it?"

Cosmos gave her lips a twist. She was one of Olan's people, a "specialist," and her cold green-eyed stare made her high voice seem out-of-place. "The heretic Ramza Beoulve is here to see you."

He paused, lips thinning. Ramza, and the disappearance of Ruvelia. A coincidence? It has to be. Ramza would open his wrists before doing something to help the royalty now. "Send him in."

---

Teta ducked into the courtyard and squinted against the midmorning sunlight. Her brother stood only a short distance away, by the empty fountain pool, and he waved a hand in greeting on spotting her. She smiled, then gripped her dress in both hands and hurried towards him.

"How are your studies faring?" he asked as she drew near. Sunlight slanted across his face, leaving his eyes clear and hard.

"Fine," she murmured, throwing him a frown. "But Master Albert was annoyed that you summoned me away from his lesson again. What is it?"

"Ramza's here."

"Oh!" She blinked, then grinned. "Why?"

Delita shrugged, shifting his gaze to the shadowed hallway from which she'd just emerged. "Not sure. We'll find out in a moment."

Teta nodded, following his gaze. "Where's Ovelia?"

"She's afraid of him. I didn't want to put her through it."

"Oh."

"Mmm."

Clearing a frown, Teta chewed a lip as she watched the doorway. Watched and waited. It had been months since she'd last seen Ramza, since he'd showed up out of the blue in Zeltennia. Has he gotten any better? I wonder.

In moments, sooner than she expected, two figures stepped out of the shade and into the courtyard. Ramza and a woman, though Teta found her attention drawn to her childhood friend. He looked, if anything, even more grim than he had before. He was lean now, almost gaunt; what little bare skin he left exposed had tanned deeply, and looked stretched taut over his muscles, with all the fat boiled away. His face lacked expression and was badly scarred besides, with the ghost of a pale gash jagging between his eyes and onto one cheek. Part of his left arm was gone, and now some contraption had been strapped to what remained in order to hold a gleaming dagger there instead. But was alarmed her most was his eyes. Dead, hollow eyes, empty even of grief; when they flickered to her, under her scrutiny, she could see no recognition in them at all. No flicker of life. Oh, Ramza.

The white-clad woman with him, in contrast, smiled warmly as they approached. She stood a hand shorter than him and was beautiful besides, with honey-colored skin, full lips and a lithe natural grace that somehow made her flow rather than walk. She carried no weapon but a slim staff, taller than her, with regions worn smooth where her hands would likely rest in combat.

"Ramza," greeted Delita when the newcomers shuffled to a halt. "Good to see you again."

Ramza nodded once, then gestured with the dagger to the woman at his side. "This is Rafa."

Delita bared his teeth in a glittering smile as he studied Rafa. "Delighted."

Teta ducked her head, murmuring an appropriate greeting, though her attention was on her brother. She knew him well enough to be surprised at his reaction. That smile wasn't him flirting; he was wary.

"I know you're busy," began Ramza in a flat tone, "so I'll be brief. You'll control all of Ivalice soon, and Ovelia will be the Queen. The Church has been playing the Hokuten and the Nanten against each other, and now that you've won, they'll want to cut you to make sure they're still needed. They're probably desperate to get you out of their way." He paused. "Now, I hate the Church. I want to destroy it, or at least kill all the people using Zodiac stones to stir up conflict. The Church who wants you dead claims ownership of the stones."

Delita's dark eyes narrowed in consideration. "Go on."

Ramza nodded. "You once told me you were working with the Church, or the Shrine Knights. I want to know what you know: who has the stones. Give me what I want, and I'll clean up the people who are after you."

Delita gave his lips a twist. "They didn't exactly share that information with me."

Ramza didn't even blink. "But you still know it." Beside him, Rafa's eyes flickered between the two men, following the conversation.

Laughing, Delita nodded. "Not personally, but there are... sources I can tap. I can get you your information, but it won't be right away. Tomorrow sometime, I would think."

"Good."

"In the meantime," continued Delita, spreading his hands, "you should stay here. I won't have much time to socialize, but you and your people can have rooms here. Maybe relax a little. Looks like you could use it."

"I'm fine, but I'll take the rooms anyway." Ramza gave his head a slow shake. "I suppose I should offer you early congratulations on taking the crown. You will be the new king, won't you? I'm assuming you've made sure of that."

Delita smiled, but his eyes stared inward. "I'm leaving that up to Ovelia."

"Right. Anyway, congratulations."

Teta studied her brother, frowning. There was a detail he'd left out so far, something Ramza would want to know if he was offering such an arrangement. "Delita."

He shifted his gaze to her, dark eyes guarded, defensive, forehead creased in a scowl. After a moment he sighed and shifted his attention back to Ramza. "There is... one more thing. Ruvelia's gone missing."

Ramza blinked. "The Queen?"

"That's her. She's escaped."

Silence fell for a moment as the two men locked gazes, but eventually Ramza shrugged. "I don't suppose it'll matter in the long run."

"No, probably not."

Ramza nodded, then turned to go. Rafa, beside him, smiled at the sun-washed stones under her boots and made as if to follow.

Teta darted forward, laying a hand on her friend's arm. "Ramza?"

He paused, then shuffled about to face her. Eyes like scuffed bronze regarded her, hooded and expressionless.

She swallowed, then smiled. "Like Delita says, he's busy a lot. So while you're here we should talk. Catch up. Don't you think?"

His gaze slid away from hers. "Sure."

"Okay." He doesn't want to, does he? She kept the smile up regardless. "You know, we've heard so much about you here. Nobody who knows you believes the awful things the Church is saying about you, so disregarding all of that... it seems like you've accomplished a lot. I think Alma would be proud of you."

Ramza's shoulders slumped at this; his eyes squeezed shut and he drew a ragged breath. "I... don't think she would, Teta. There's a lot you haven't seen about the world, I think. I hope you stay that way."

Confused, she released his arm, stared after him as he and Rafa made for the courtyard doorway. What's happened to him?

Delita edged closer to where she stood. "You may just want to let it go," he murmured. "He won't want to chat over tea."

"I... guess not." Shaking her head, she watched until Ramza had disappeared into the Garrison, then directed a concerned frown at her brother. "Are you really going to help him?"

He blinked, apparently taken aback. "Of course. Some of his premises are wrong, but he's basically right, and someone needs to do what he's doing." Pausing, he thinned his lips. "I need to talk to Balmafula, though."

Teta felt herself scowling. "You be careful around that woman. I don't tru--"

"Oh, relax," laughed Delita, patting her shoulder as he strode past her, towards the doorway. "Balmafula does what I want."

As he, too, disappeared into the keep's interior, Teta sighed. That's what I'm worried about.

---

It was late. Late enough that the keep's hallways were empty of all but the distant whisper of broom-wielding servants. The gentle hiss of flames dancing in the lamps casting cheery illumination through unpeopled corridors.

Rafa paused outside the room given to Ramza. Paused and squatted to listen to the crack under the door, taking care to make sure her shadow didn't fall there to alert him to someone's presence outside. From within she could hear... silence. No, breathing. Very faint. Regular, too; was he sleeping?

A distant voice pulled her head up, tugged narrowed eyes towards the nearest corner in the hallway. A man's voice, but... not getting any closer. Probably one of the servants.

Nodding, she bent back down to listen. Her trainers had been as exotic as they'd been complete. For a whole summer, once, she'd fought blindfolded and suffered countless bruises and worse, until she could gauge her enemy's position by hearing alone. A handy skill, it was, for a--

There. A tight, frustrated sigh from within the room. He's awake.

Straightening, she tapped softly on the door. "Ramza? It's Rafa."

No response.

She ducked her head, toeing at the floor. "I know you're awake. Can I come in?" She kept her voice low, loud enough to carry into his room but hopefully none of the others nearby. Although she didn't care if any of their companions found out they'd met at this hour, he might.

"Yeah, I suppose." A mutter from within, muffled by the door.

Lips thinned, she lifted the latch, careful not to make noise, and slipped inside. In the moment of light before she closed the door again, she spotted him seated on the edge of his bed, head hanging; he'd removed the knife-frame from his bad arm and set it on a nearby birch nightstand. Once darkness fell again she shuffled over the square-patterned floor rug to stand before him, facing him. "I noticed something today."

"Hmm."

"It actually hurts you to hear praise, doesn't it?" she whispered. "Especially if it involves Alma."

"Rafa...." He swallowed audibly. "What are... why are you talking about this?"

"Don't worry," she assured him. "I'm not going to say anything nice about you. I understand."

He sighed again. "Okay. Good."

She nodded, though he couldn't see it, and folded herself up on the rug. She said nothing, only reached out to touch his dangling leg.

Some time later, clothes whispered as he shifted about. "It's just... people don't know. They don't get it. Anyone who thinks well of me just doesn't know me well enough."

"That's not true, Ramza." She frowned, considering her words, while her thumb rubbed soothing circles into his shin. "People just have different ways of judging what they see. What one person sees as a monster, another might see as... someone too honest to wear the mask of humanity others wear. Someone too trustworthy to put up a front, and who therefore can never betray."

Long moments passed before he spoke again. "What do you want?" He was barely even whispering now; she had to strain to pick out his words.

She hesitated, then let her hand drop from his leg. "I think you know, and I'm not going to hide it. So I think a better question is, what do you want?"

"Nothing. I don't.... Look, I don't want to talk about it."

She tilted her head. "You trust me. I know you trust me. Do you really think I'm going to hurt you?"

"Hurt me? No. I just... I don't know. You should just... you should go, I think."

You should go. Just like what he'd told her earlier, after throwing the Malak event in her face. He wasn't worried about himself at all; he never worried about himself. I see. "Ramza... think about what you know of me." She paused, waiting, and he didn't interrupt. "How do you think you're going to hurt me more than I've already been hurt?"

"No, it's... it's not even... well, not only that." He sighed. "You have so much to... I mean, you don't need me dragging you down. Somebody else, anybody else, would be a better... I don't know. Just go. Please."

Oh, that's how it is? Of course. I get it. Climbing to her feet, she shuffled forward and pulled his head to her stomach, combed gentle fingers through his hair. "It's not a matter of somebody being 'better' or 'worse,' Ramza," she murmured. "It's not a matter of anybody deserving anything. What you're thinking of, what I'm here for... it isn't some kind of prize. And sometimes...." She hesitated, swallowing past a lump in her throat. "Sometimes it's actually a theft, not a gift at all."

He shook, actually started to tremble, and lifted an arm; his good hand came to rest on her hip, then paused there, seemingly uncertain. "I don't understand you, Rafa. I don't see how you can be this way, after all you've... you just... I don't get it. I don't get it at all."

"It's okay." She continued to stroke his hair, continued to press his head against her stomach. "I think you do. We understand each other, don't we? We're alike."

His shaking intensified; his fingers tightened, curling into a fist among the folds of her clothes. "No. Not like this, we're not."

"We are." Pausing, she stared down at the top of his head, barely visible in the ghostly light sneaking in under the door, and let out a long breath. "I've seen the scars, Ramza. Jasmine saw them too. Needle marks. The Church did that to you, didn't they?"

He didn't answer, only tensed further as his arm and shoulders quivered. Warm liquid leaked into the soft fabric over her stomach.

"They hurt you, Ramza." Her eyes stung as she whispered, and she had to swallow. "They hurt you so badly. But it didn't make you afraid of needles, did it? You'd still let somebody you trust use one on you if there was need, to... pluck out a sliver, or what have you. The same as anyone else. The same as me. Do you understand?"

He shook his head weakly, but didn't pull away from her stomach. "Please, Rafa, just... I can't...."

Taking a deep breath, she knelt down before him, gripped his stubbled face in both hands and pressed her forehead against his own. "I'm not going to hurt you," she whispered, "ever. But first I wanted you to understand, and I think you do now. So if you want me to leave, I will."

Again he shook his head, moving hers in the process. His lips parted and he drew breath to speak... but no words came.

She waited. Wide brown eyes, little more than glittering drops of shadow, stared at her almost without blinking from mere inches away. Eventually the tear-lines on his cheeks, on her hands, grew dry. His shaking slowed, then stopped altogether.

Without warning she closed her eyes and slipped her mouth to his. His lips were dry, salty from his earlier tears, and hot against her own as he pushed back, returning the kiss with authority. Her breathing grew shallow, little nervous gasps into his ear as his lips roamed down the side of her neck, and when she pushed him back, onto the bed, he didn't resist.

---

Rafa was still there in the morning.

Slept late, awoke in a warm tangle of blankets. Sleepy, sunny smile, shining eyes; dark hair a mess, a tangled halo on the pillow, with a few strands on her glowing face. Head pillowed on one folded arm. Fingers dancing over his bare chest and stomach, touching.

He excused himself to clean up for the day, and then didn't go back.

Bethla Garrison wasn't a palace; it was a fortress. No luxury, just utility. In the washroom near his chambers, a plain ceramic tub. A smaller washbasin under a cracked mirror showing him his own damn scarred face, haggard. Razor in one hand, forgotten as he leaned on the basin to stare himself in the eye.

He'd hurt her, in the beginning. She'd tensed, had made a face, but hadn't let him stop. Not wishing to make a scene, he'd obliged her, but her pain had still been his fault. He'd hurt her.

That wasn't what disgusted him, though. It was something else that curled his lips back from his teeth, something else that narrowed his eyes as he glared at his fractured reflection.

There were rules. No matter how low a man fell, or how hard, there were rules. The rules weren't lofty; rather, they were minimal, ensuring he stayed a step above the murderous animals plaguing Ivalice.

One of the rules was that you weren't crude. You mastered your own appetites.

He'd hurt Rafa... but more importantly, more reprehensibly, he'd used her. She knew him too well, it seemed, understood all the murky principles by which his mind operated, and as such her arguments had indeed been compelling. But as much of a motive as anything she'd said had been a simple question.

What would it be like? To be with a woman?

Well, now I know, don't I? Sighing, he flicked the excess water from his razor and resumed scraping it along his jaw.

When it came time to meet with Delita, he took Agrias along instead.

The man who'd kidnapped Ovelia, whose people had killed Mustadio, met him with a smile in that same courtyard from the day before. Teta was there as well, Teta and her brown eyes full of sincerity and worry; he avoided meeting her gaze. Above, puffy white clouds drifted sedately along the celestial canopy.

"Here's your list," began Delita without preamble, producing a folded square of creamy paper from under his cloak. "I didn't bother including the ones I already know you have."

Ramza strode to the fountain and swiped the thing from his friend's hand, then fumbled to unfold it while Agrias peered over his shoulder. Then he grunted, scanning the list of names. "We already got Pisces from Izlude, and... wait, Ruvelia? Ruvelia has a stone?" Scowling, he glanced up.

Delita made a wry face. "She was seen in the company of a Shrine Knight, and they didn't leave through the doors. You figure it out."

Ramza shrugged, then returned his gaze to the list. "Fine. Although... what's this? Orlandu's dead. How can he have one too?" What the hell kind of list is this?

"No. I only faked his death so he could escape." Delita shrugged, glancing off at a bed of hardy flowers among the golden stone. "The Church wanted him dead too, of course."

"Okay." Ramza tried to fold the thing back up, then, growing frustrated, handed it off to Agrias. "You'll know when they're all dead, I guess."

"Yeah. Take care, Ramza." Delita's voice had grown quiet, and his dark eyes serious. "These are dangerous people. Elite people, like us."

Without blinking Ramza raised his crippled left arm. "I know."

After a moment Delita nodded.

Ramza nodded as well, then turned to go. Agrias hurried to catch up, muttering under her breath.

It took mere moments to gather everyone up, and he made sure to do so in Agrias' guest room rather than his own. It was nearly the same, though, just a narrow bed, a nightstand and an aged cedar chest in one corner. Six people made a rather tight fit in the modest space.

"You got the list?" began Alicia, staring at him with hard, glittering eyes. "Let's see."

He gestured to Agrias, who handed the thing over, and then everyone was crowding around the redhead. "Don't bother asking," he commanded as they read. "I already asked Delita and he confirms the items on Orlandu and Ruvelia."

"Meliadoul Tingel," mused Jasmine with a frown. "Vormav's daughter?"

Agrias nodded without taking her eyes off the list. "Yeah."

"Is she like Izlude?"

"No. Probably stronger. Older, at least, and better trained."

Jasmine nodded. "Still, she might be the easiest to handle out of all these people. I mean, the Queen? Orlandu? Not easy."

"There's no way to know where she is, though," sighed Agrias, folding arms over her chest. "She could be in Murond, or in the next room, or anywhere in between."

Alicia grunted, passing the note off to a frowning Rafa. "What about Elmdor? Limberry's not too far from here."

Vector grinned. "Definitely easier than tracking down Orlandu or Meliadoul. Or... you know, Vormav again. Which would be, um... yeah."

Ramza nodded; he'd already come to the same conclusion. "Elmdor, then. Anyone disagree?"

Silence fell. Jasmine kept trying to read the list over Rafa's shoulder despite undoubtedly having memorized it already. Agrias shrugged, pressing a fist against her mouth to stifle a yawn. Rafa, while holding the paper for Jasmine, turned wide brown eyes on him. Eyes carrying a trusting affection, a smile not echoed on her lips.

Ramza dropped his gaze to the floor. He'd hurt her and used her, but the worst part was how happy she seemed about the whole thing. Like he'd done something good.

When nobody spoke, he sighed. "Okay, let's pack up and get out of here. Limberry awaits."

---

Meliadoul dropped a few coins into the guard's outstretched hand. "For your trouble."

The knight nodded, grimacing, and glanced over his shoulder, though the doorway behind him stood shadowed and empty. "It's no trouble at all," he muttered, turning back to her. "I thought he was going to kill me."

She frowned. "Explain."

He sucked air through his teeth, then rand a hand through his dark hair. "He just... showed up out of nowhere. Seen his face on all the posters for months, only now he's got a wicked scar on his face, and he's got a knife in place of his left hand. A knife! Like a... like an opera villain! Says to me he wants to see General Hyral, and that I should tell him, and just... just made it sound like he'd have no problems at all stepping over my corpse if that's what it would take to get inside."

Meliadoul pondered this. "I see. Is he still here?"

The guard shook his head, pausing to spare another quick glance over his shoulder. "No. Stayed less than twenty-four hours, I'd say. Left this morning, heading east, towards Dolbodar."

Dolbodar. That meant Limberry, probably. She nodded. "Is that all?"

"All I know, lady. Who are you, anyway?" He squinted, trying to peer under her hood.

She bared her teeth in a snarl he couldn't see, hidden as her face was in the thick shadows outside of Bethla. Gripping her sword hilt in one hand, she drew an inch of steel, letting starlight gleam off the weapon's milky surface. "I'm sorry; what was that?"

The guard flinched, holding up both hands. "It, um... nothing."

Nodding again, she let the weapon slide back into place. "Thank you for your time. Remember: you saw nothing."

"Right. Nothing." The man gave his head a slow shake.

Putting him out of her mind, Meliadoul turned and strode off towards where she'd hidden her mount. It would have been nice to have an entire squad with her, but this mission wasn't sanctioned by the Knights. It was personal. And in any case, killing him by herself would be more satisfying, worth the inevitable reprimand once she returned to Murond.

On reaching Gigas, she untied him and hopped into the saddle, then set off eastward, loping over flat, barren rock. Guard yourself well, Ramza Beoulve. Don't die before I can kill you.

---

Two days to Limberry. It started raining while they were in the dismal Dolbodar swamp, and then never let up. Never changed, either, just a solid, steady drizzle falling straight down from the unbroken blanket of grey above, soaking everything in sight.

Two nights to Limberry. Rafa tried to sleep next to him each time and he let her. She was bold in her own quiet way, but he doubted she'd try to make moves on him while everyone else slept a few paces away. Everybody noticed their proximity, but nobody said anything. Despite that, Jasmine was clearly delighted, grinning whenever she glanced their way, and Alicia was just as clearly angry. She'd probably just intuited, without being told, how he'd treated Rafa and was devising some appropriate payback.

The guards at Limberry's gates let him pass, trying not to stare at the crippled arm. It seemed the bounty posters hadn't been updated yet.

Once inside the city, they angled into they alleys, out of sight, and quickly found an abandoned house in which to huddle while Vector scouted the castle. Ramza stood near the window, watching rain patter into mud puddles in the alley outside, while Rafa stood beside him and said nothing.

In less than an hour, a dripping-wet Vector slipped in through one of the other windows, then shook himself. "Okay," he breathed, holding both hands out. "So, the castle is just standing there open. No guards."

Ramza blinked. "Open. No sign of struggle? Forced entry?"

Vector shook his head. "None. Just looks like someone left the door open."

Ramza paused at this, then slid his eyes towards Agrias. "What do you think? Trap?"

"Trap."

He nodded. "Okay. Let's go, then."

"Whoah, wait." Alicia flowed in front of him and planted a hand on his chest, holding him in place. Narrowed brown eyes stared up at him, glittering in the dim light. "Who's going to die from this stupid plan, Iceman?"

Something cold fluttered in his stomach, tingled up through his chest, but he kept the anger from his face. "They know we're here. What else would you have us do? If we wait for them to take the fight to us, other people could get caught up in it."

Her brow furrowed as though she hadn't considered this, but the hand on his chest didn't leave. "Then at least don't go in the way they're expecting."

He met her staring gaze a moment longer before nodding. "Okay. Good idea. Vector, you did a complete circuit of the castle, right?"

"Yeah."

"Any ways we can sneak in?"

The man chewed a lip but nodded. "Yeah. Lots."

Ramza shifted his attention back to Alicia. "Good."

The redhead's lips thinned and she stepped back, letting her hand drop. "You want to go now?"

Glancing sideways, to the rain falling past the windows, he frowned. "Let's wait until dark."

---

Celia loved having a body.

It was a bother at times, of course; it had taken her a week to get used to all the demands it made, all the "eating" and "breathing" and "getting tired" and everything, and it was soft, not chitinous or scaly. And there was the fact that there were apparently two kinds of humans, males and females. When she'd asked about that, what some of the parts were for, Zalera had just laughed.

But it was that feature, that distinction, which had warmed her to the body. It afforded pleasures that simply could not be found back home. And, as she was discovering, she couldn't get enough of them.

The body did other things, too. It sweated, and it trembled, and it let out little sounds called "moans" whenever certain things were done to it. And that was what it was doing now.

She could see despite the darkness in the room where she was, but she let her eyes slide shut anyway. Threw her head back as she pressed the palms of her hands against the bare skin of her hips. The human beneath her was moving, and she moved with him, letting him set the--

Celia.

--set the pace of... of their.... She froze, blinking away her distraction and not a small amount of irritation. Almost every time Zalera reached out in this way he interrupted her. But then, this was how she spent almost all the time she wasn't required to be with him. She and Lede had gotten very good at making humans do as they wished in this respect. What?

Something is... wait, are you doing it? Again?

Her face frowned. What is it?

Something's amiss. The kid isn't approaching the way we thought he would. Find him.

Of course. Clearing her frown, she met Lede's expressionless gaze through the darkness. Then she climbed off the man they were using and retrieved her garments from the pile on the floor. Lede did the same thing, at the same time, like a mirror; without doubt she'd gotten the same message.

The man pushed himself up to his elbows, then frowned at the rustling sounds they made while dressing. This whole process worked better with men; for some reason most women seemed unwilling to provide them with this sort of pleasure. "What, um...." He swallowed. "Are... are you done, or...?"

"We have to go," answered Lede, tugging a long boot onto one leg.

"You've been very helpful," added Celia, fastening a series of buttons over her chest.

"But we can't have you trying to find us again," explained Lede.

Before the man could stammer another question, Celia ghosted forward and crushed his throat. That was another thing about bodies; those belonging to humans were fragile, easily broken in a process called "killing." Zalera liked it when they killed people.

Once she was dressed, she shared a glance with Lede, then willed herself between the threads, to the castle itself. Killing wasn't a pleasure for the body, but she enjoyed it nonetheless.

---

"There. See that window up there?"

Ramza squinted up through the rain, wiping warm water from his face as he followed Vector's pointing finger. Sure enough, there was a single window, a rectangle of glowing yellow light, easily spotted in the darkness. But there was a problem. "It's got to be at least sixty paces up, Vector."

"I know." The ninja grinned, then pulled a coil of rope from a backpack at his feet. "We climb."

"Uh, Vector...." Agrias sighed. "Not all of us are sneaky like you."

"Look." He shook the rope towards her, swaying the portion hanging groundward from his fist. "It's knotted at regular intervals. Even... even you should be able to climb it."

Blue eyes narrowed. "Watch it."

"Oh. Sorry." Vector grimaced.

Ramza watched the man a moment longer, then shifted his gaze back up, into the rain again. Sixty paces up to the window, with two different levels under it, the flat rooftops of lower castle levels. A tiered climb, then.

In moments Vector was swirling the grappling end of the rope in a lazy circle. The first upwards toss clattered across the stone roof, making everyone flinch, but latched solidly onto something unseen.

When no alarm sounded and no guards came shouting, Ramza nodded. "I'll go first."

---

Celia blinked to the Grand Hall, where Zalera was, and went down on one knee. "We found him."

Lede appeared next to her in the same position. "They're trying to sneak in through a window on the fourth floor."

Zalera whirled to frown at them. He was wearing his Elmdor body again, as always, a sleek and silver-haired male one. Most unlike how he really looked. "And?"

Celia exchanged a silent glance with Lede, then faced her master again. "You told us to find him."

Zalera's -- Elmdor's -- eyes narrowed at this. "Kill him. Kill him and take the stones."

She nodded, aware of Lede doing likewise, and blinked away, upwards, appearing in a square room whose only purpose appeared to be hosting the window to which the Beoulve and his companions were climbing. A place from which to view the city, perhaps. Humans liked such things.

Lede shifted into existence beside her, and then the two of them flowed to the window. A metal hook hung from the sill, supporting a knotted rope hanging fifteen paces downward, to another rooftop below. People were climbing it. The Beoulve was first, climbing carefully on account of his missing hand, followed by a female in armor and another in robes, while the others waited their turn.

After a moment's thought Celia pulled one of her blades from its scabbard and sliced cleanly through the hanging rope. It tumbled downward along with the rain and the people on it. All landed in a clatter of metal and shouts and curses.

While they recovered, she drew her other blade, then leapt out into the rain, into the night, followed a blink later by Lede.

---

Ramza picked himself off a groaning Jasmine only to see Vector go down in a spray of blood. As the ninja toppled with a gurgling cry, he revealed a sculpted woman in bluish silks standing over him with a sword in each fist. The steady rain seemed not to upset her or even register in her awareness, despite it pushing her pale hair around and ruining her garments, and as he watched another woman just like her, save for garments of pink instead of blue, dropped to the roof beside her without a sound.

Both women's heads turned towards him, a glassy-smooth movement. Their faces could have been crafted of porcelain for all the warmth or expression they carried.

Ramza's skin crawled, and with a snarl he scrambled to his feet. The blue woman flowed towards him, blades blurring through the rain, and he fired an Earth Slash through her. Stone roared and roof tiles flew in every direction, but in a blink she was on him, sporting only bruises.

He deflected a backhanded slash with his dagger, only to have the thing nearly knocked from his arm. Spinning under the attack, he twisted into a powerful punch to her midsection, but succeeded in striking only fluttering silk. An upward slash nearly cost him his good arm before he skidded back in a panic.

"Welcome to Limberry Castle." The woman's voice was low and cool, not at all like she was fighting, and her eyes never left his. "We thought you'd be here sooner."

"We want you to feel welcome here," added the other in the same voice, as she yanked a blade free of Alicia's chest, "before we burn you to death."

Ignoring Alicia collapsing to the puddled rooftop, Ramza lunged for the assassin fighting him. One sword hummed towards his face as he advanced; he batted it aside with the palm of his hand, leaving the second one free to score a gash across his stomach. Gritting his teeth, he followed the woman as she slid back. Drove a fist into her throat, spun a booted foot into the side of her head.

She skidded three paces away, then straightened herself without expression. Blood leaked from a swollen lump on her temple but her eyes remained as flat and unblinking as ever. Like a doll's eyes. Beyond her, the other one was busy heaving an armored Agrias four paces away, into Rafa.

Without a word the blue-clad one advanced again. Silk rippled behind her; twinned blades sliced falling raindrops apart as she lunged towards him.

Ramza slid aside from the path of an impaling stab, then twisted into a sweep at the woman's legs. She leapt like a dancer, spinning smoothly over the attack as though she'd been anticipating it. Soft-booted feet landed noiselessly on the rooftop, then pivoted; one blade blurred towards his neck.

Unable to block the attack, Ramza instead drove his dagger forward, into the woman's forearm, arresting the blow's momentum. Before she could recover, he snapped a kick up, into her chin.

The assassin flipped back and landed on her feet. Blood flowed freely from the wound on her arm but she still gripped the blade tightly as ever, and no pain showed on her face.

He grimaced. They're not human, are they? They can be hurt, though. Without hesitating he kept up his offense, leveling another Earth Slash at her. The nameless woman lifted her blades, crossed her arms, perhaps hoping to block the brunt of the attack.

Good. He was already running, following in its wake, when the thing tore through her. The roof was wet, slippery; it was an easy matter to drop to his knees and bend back, skidding between her spread legs. Once behind her, he planted a boot on the mangled roof and twisted, up and back.

His dagger sank for the entirety of its length into her back. Wrapping his good arm around her neck, he withdrew the weapon and stabbed her again, lifting her off her feet. She was slim, surprisingly light for someone of such strength.

She dropped one of the blades with a clatter, then reached over her shoulder, fumbling for his face, his ears, anything she could reach. With lips thinned he evaded her reaching fingers. Stabbed her a third time, twisted the dagger. Felt steel grate against bone. She didn't make a sound.

Somehow she managed to make a fist in his hair. Holding his head in place, she slammed her own head backwards, into his face. Stars blossomed in his vision; blood leaked from his nose.

When his vision cleared she'd gotten away from him, though she'd dropped to one knee, breathing heavily. Blood had stained her silks along with the rain, looking black in the thick night-shadows.

The one in pink paused in the act of hacking at a bloodied Rafa, paused and swiveled her head to the one in blue. They exchanged a silent glance. Somewhere above, thunder rumbled.

Then both faced him again. "Ramza, come inside," instructed the one in blue. Her voice was a wet, bubbling rasp, though even now her face remained free of pain.

"If you want our stone," added the other, "come and get it. We'll be waiting."

Ramza bared his teeth, lunging for the wounded one, but something rippled and flashed. And then she was gone. They were both gone.

Skidding to a halt, he stared through the rain at the empty space in which the assassin had just been kneeling. Then, with a grunt, he turned to examine his companions.

Vector, a motionless form in a puddle of blood. Alicia, much the same. Agrias, huddled and pale, with a hole in her chest, through the armor, leaking blood. Jasmine, on her back, facing the sky. Rafa, up but wounded, clutching a bleeding injury in her side.

Great. Jaws clenched, Ramza hurried to Jasmine, checked her for a pulse and found one. Just unconscious, then. Without a word he scrambled over to Vector, a few paces away. Placed hands on his bloody chest, willed some of his own life into the other man.

Vector coughed and groaned, clutching at his ribs, but Ramza was already gone, already to Alicia. Another chest wound, right through the heart; brown eyes wide and surprised, unblinking despite the rain striking them. With lips thinned he folded his hands over the injury, repeated the drill he'd done on Vector.

She convulsed but didn't come back. Swallowing, he tried again, put more of his own vitality into the attempt; his vision blurred and the world roared, but when it all cleared Alicia was breathing. Eyes closed, mouth open, probably unconscious, but alive, and the wound in her chest had largely sealed up.

With a relieved sigh he spun and hurried to Agrias, only to stumble to his knees halfway there. Everything swayed and he doubled over, planting his hand in the puddles on the roof, waiting as the dizziness passed, as he fought the urge to retch. Too much. Gave too much. But at least Alicia's alive.

When he could see again, Rafa was already tending to Agrias. Jasmine was sitting upright too, blinking around the rooftop as though surprised to find the battle already over.

Oh, good. Everyone's... everyone's fine, then. His arm wobbled, then gave out, depositing him on the rooftop.

Boots splashed through puddles and then Rafa was squatting before him, rolling him over, touching his face. "Ramza?"

"I'm fine." Squeezing his eyes shut against the rain, he held up a hand to ward off her concern. "Potions and healing for everyone. We need to keep going as soon as possible."

---

Meliadoul frowned up through the night. Far above, on a rooftop some forty paces above the ground, lights were flickering in a telltale pattern. Magic, or possibly sword skills. But either way, there's a fight. That means Ramza is there.

Glancing around, she sought and spotted the nearest castle gate, a rectangle of deeper black among the shadows of the wall. With a nod she broke into a run towards it.

---

The hallways of Limberry Castle stood brightly-lit and empty, silent but for the hollow echoes of their footsteps. Either it was just an empty place, or its inhabitants knew enough to stay out of sight at the moment.

Ramza wandered. Feet shuffling, frowning, eyes closed, wandering. Something tingled his skin, stirred the hair on his arms and neck, and he was following it. It was a familiar sensation, bringing to mind Velius, Queklain, and that meant Elmdor was near. So he ignored his vision, and instead let the blackness in his heart resonate with something it must have considered kin. Or maybe it was the Zodiac stones doing that, but whatever it was, it led and he followed.

Mere minutes after entering the Castle he pushed open a pair of gilded oak doors and strode into... a ballroom, it seemed. A vast space, longer than it was wide, with tall ceilings boasting glittering and jeweled chandeliers, it sported a plush rug over most of the stone floor and marble statues of rulers past lining the walls.

The people he'd come to kill were present as well, the two assassins and the manicured and silver-haired Marquis Elmdor. The women no longer showed any signs of injury, and all were well-dressed, presentable. Ramza's lips peeled back from his teeth.

"Ramza Beoulve," greeted Elmdor, flowing forward with something like a dancer's grace. Dark eyes flickered across the party in neutral acknowledgement before sliding back. "It's a pleasure to meet you. You've come for me, haven't you?"

He nodded. "Give me your stone."

The Marquis laughed, throwing back his head, even clapping black-gloved hands together over his chest. "I'm afraid I can't do that. It's a part of me, now."

Ramza frowned at this, shuffling a step forward. Rafa ghosted ahead with him, with Agrias on his other side. "You're Lucavi. I can tell." He paused, but the other man didn't answer, only blinked back at him with unreadable eyes. "The only way to get your stone is to kill you, isn't it?"

Elmdor spread his hands amicably. "I would imagine so, young Beoulve. Have you tried to use one? They're... rather hard to part with."

"Why would I bother?" Without waiting for an answer he turned a sideways glance on Agrias. "Remember what I told you." The two assassins could kill people faster than Jasmine could bring them back, so the only viable tactic here was an all-out offense. Which suited him fine, but the Holy Knight had found it distasteful, earlier.

Agrias gave her lips a twist, slid clear sapphire eyes towards the waiting demons. "I haven't forgotten." She'd argued, of course, but the bloody aftermath of the last skirmish had convinced her in short order.

Ramza clenched his remaining fist, shifted his gaze ahead, to Elmdor. His opponent. Jasmine would hang back for support and the others would split up to cover the assassins, one to occupy each and one to attack her back, leaving Elmdor for him alone.

Candlelight flickered in the cheery chandelier above. The Marquis and his assassins waited.

Without warning Ramza broke into a sprint, arms pumping, bolting straight for Elmdor, and instantly the assassins drew their blades and darted ahead to intercept him. Rather than try to slip between them he leapt up, diving with arms outstretched, and vaulted off the head of the woman in pink. Two blades whistled after him, a blink too slow to catch more than a corner of his clothes, and then he was tumbling into a roll to meet the waiting Elmdor.

Only Elmdor wasn't there when he came up. A quick whirl showed him half the room away, attacking a panicked Jasmine.

Growling, Ramza angled towards the man, only to have the blue-clad assassin step in front of him, dark eyes flat and watchful. Past her, hidden, Jasmine screamed.

Shit. I don't have time for this. Clearing his face, Ramza darted aside, hoping simply to slip around the woman, but she slid to match his movement. Something cold flared in his chest, maybe anger, and then he was advancing on the assassin, running. An Earth Slash cleared the path for him, and while she was blocking it he opened up her belly with the dagger.

The woman didn't scream, didn't react at all. Lowering her crossed blades, she whirled, dancing off at an angle to attack him back-handed. With a hiss he caught the first slash, caught the naked blade near the hilt with his bare hand, felt the weapon bite into his flesh. Then, tugging it off to one side, he drew the assassin off-balance enough to twist a kick into the side of her head, snapping it around. Another slice with the dagger opened her throat, and then he shoved her coldly away.

The woman remained on her feet, though. Stumbling as though dizzy, she caught herself, then shuffled around to stare at him. The entire front of her body was little more than a mess of glistening crimson, and some emotion had finally managed to work its way across her perfect features.

Confusion.

He struck again before she could recover. Another slash, one across the face. A knee to the wound in her stomach, doubling her over. An elbow to the back of her head, driving her to the ground. A twisting planted boot, snapping her neck.

Panting, Ramza glanced up to scan the rest of the battle. Agrias and Vector were busy occupying Elmdor, while Jasmine was safely away, though sprawled on her backside and touching her throat with a shaking hand. The others, Alicia and Rafa, were harassing the other assassin, keeping her on the defensive.

With a shake of his head, Ramza inspected his wounded hand. Blood was flowing freely from the gash across the palm, and his fingers would barely move. A hurried chakra left the blood but at least restored some of his movement.

Before he could join the fight again, however, the body of the assassin on the ground exploded. Throwing up an arm to block his eyes, he backed off a pace, prepared for the worst. When the light and rumbling ceased, what stood in the woman's place was a massive clawed demon grinning at him.

Oh, for fuck's sake. Ramza didn't wait for the thing to speak, or attack, or whatever the hell it was going to do. An opening Earth Slash, followed by two swift strikes to the throat and chest. An open claw into the side of his head, raking across his face.

Pausing to blink away the blood trickling into his eye, he gritted his teeth as a column of emerald light speared through him, turning his blood sour. Then, with limbs burning and tingling, he launched another attack, another sequence of strikes to confound and maim. A punch to the face, followed by a sidestep to avoid the predictable counterattack. Gripping the beast's outstretched arm, he ducked under it and twisted, causing bones to crack, and a boot driven sideways into the creature's knees toppled it with a wet crunch and an angry bellow. Following the demon's fall, he danced around, still holding the massive arm, and slipped it between his legs for another twist, another set of broken bones. Then, crouching, he slammed the thing's head into the floor once, twice, and followed it with a pair of stabs to its neck.

The subsequent explosion left nothing but dust in his eyes and a ringing in his ears. A moment of concentration removed the poison the demon had inflicted on him.

Sighing, he took stock of the battle once more, then nodded. Alicia and Rafa had finished off the other assassin, or demon, or whatever it was, while Agrias and Vector had brought Elmdor to his knees. The Marquis looked to be missing some of his equipment, too, doubtless courtesy of Vector.

Slippery bastard. Serves him right for not staying to fight me. Ramza shook his head and trotted towards the others.

With one gloved hand on the golden stone wall for support, Elmdor swayed and blinked as though battling seasickness. "These... these bodies aren't all they're cracked up to be," he muttered. Then, snarling, he pointed his free hand at Ramza. "You want my stone? Fine. Come get it. In the basement." As his last word still hung in the air, he rippled and disappeared.

Ignoring the departed noble, Ramza turned to Jasmine, who was just now climbing to her unsteady feet. "Are you okay?"

She swallowed but spared him a sunny smile. "Yeah, I was just... yeah, I'm fine."

He nodded. "Let's heal up and go."

---

Safe in the shadow of an empty doorframe, Meliadoul waited until the group's footsteps had faded down the nearby stairwell. Then, slipping out, she followed after them. Though they shouldn't be able to hear her footsteps and clinking armor from so far below, her instincts advised wariness, so she moved more slowly than they had. Dangerous criminals required unusual measures of caution.

Lamplight flickered cheerily across golden stone as she descended the spiraling stairs. Soon, brother. Soon I will avenge you.

Long moments later, a distant, muted voice caught her ear. Slowing, she tilted her head to listen. A man's voice. Elmdor? She hadn't heard him before, not in person, but the speaker sounded to be of noble blood. And didn't sound like Ramza, the little she'd heard of his voice as they'd walked past her.

Frowning, she resumed her passage down the stairs and shortly found herself emptied out into a broad landing of sorts, a wide poorly-lit space of dark stone. Unpolished, undecorated. Surely no one ever came this far down, not more than once or twice a year.

The speaker's voice was still drifting out through one of the dark doorways. "...end here, in this graveyard!" A harsh, desperate shout.

Yeah, that's Elmdor. With a shake of her head, Meliadoul edged towards the door, let her eyes adjust to the dim space within. The Marquis was indeed the one who'd been speaking, she saw; he stood, or knelt, at the center of everyone else's attention, while a half-dozen pale undead surrounded Ramza and his troop, some atop the slanting graves of the forgotten dead.

Lips thinning, Meliadoul ducked behind the wall and kept only her head out, just enough to watch. Best to attack when they were already fighting. She hadn't expected the Marquis' help in killing Ramza, but there was no reason to reject it. Although, undead? Why are....?

Before she could finish the thought, blinding light radiated out from Elmdor, braiding crystal rays angling wildly across the walls and ceiling, accompanied by a floor-rumbling explosion. When she could see again past the strobing afterimages in her eyes, the Marquis was gone.

In his place was... a demon. An insect, enormous, flying, dripping with ooze. A demon.

Her eyes widened of her own accord, and her striding feet carried her out into the cemetery. "What the hell is this?"

As one the heretics glanced back at her, then fixed their attention back on Elmdor. On the thing that had been Elmdor. "He's a demon," explained Ramza in a flat voice without turning back around. "Lucavi."

"That's right!" shrieked the demon, fluttering its gossamer wings in a gesture she interpreted as laughter. "This is the power of the holy stones!"

"What?" Meliadoul stopped in her tracks, felt the blood drain from her face. "But... but my father.... Does he know?"

The Lucavi laughed again; the fluttering wings made her skin crawl. "Does he know? He's one of us! He's a suitable host, not like you or your stupid brother. A blood member of darkness!"

Too stunned even to be angry, she stared at the demon. The power of the holy stones? Abruptly she was aware of the one she carried, of Sagittarius in her pocket; was it just her imagination, or was it... active? She could feel it there, feel it pulsing, like it was echoing this terrible beast's heartbeat. She swallowed, licked her lips.

"We're going to kill him," added Ramza, "and take his stone. You going to help?"

A demon. And he insulted Izlude. "Yeah, if you get out of my way." Drawing her blade, she ignored the undead and advanced towards Elmdor, slipping around Ramza to do so.

As though her movement was some signal, everyone else in the room leapt into action as well. The Oaks woman launched one of her Holy Knight attacks, killing one of the surrounding undead instantly, while the spellcaster -- Jasmine, the reports claimed -- began an invocation. The others rushed their nearest targets, save Ramza, who dodged around an undead knight to reach Elmdor.

Meliadoul joined him and reached the beast at the same time. While her heavy blade bit into monstrous flesh, shearing into a brittle wing, the heretic managed to land no fewer than three blows, two punches and a slice. The demon shrieked again, batting claws at her and Ramza, invoking foul pulses of magic to shred through her body. Pain followed, a dizzy sensation that threatened to topple her, but she gritted her teeth and ignored it. Landed another slash, hacking two-handed into the monster's slimy exterior. Blinked away spittle that burned little pinpricks into her face.

Out of nowhere a column of blue-white light erupted, lancing through the demon with a fearsome purity not to be found by other means in the mortal realm. The beast froze with its head thrown back, howling, but Meliadoul, not content to wait to see if it was defeated, thrust her blade right into the thing's neck. Felt steel crunch through bone and cartilage. Then, growling, she gave the weapon a twist, causing more white light to spill out of the wound.

And then the demon exploded. Threw her back against the wall, where she slid to the damp floor below. Something moaned somewhere, the low keen of some frustrated spirit.

Giving her head a brisk shake to clear it, Meliadoul planted the tip of her sword on the stone floor and pushed herself to her feet. As she did so, the remaining undead, frozen, dissipated like smoke on the wind, going... somewhere. She twisted her lips at the thought.

Ramza still stood where the thing had died, and was now squatting on his heels to retrieve a glittering gemstone. Turning it over in his hand, he examined it for a moment, then grunted. "Gemini. Figures." Shadowed dark eyes glanced up without expression, scanned over the rest of the room. "Everyone okay?"

Oaks drew herself upright to face him, though Meliadoul doubted she was aware of it. "Yeah. Surprisingly few injuries, actually." Indeed, the worst affected by the fight looked to be the ninja Vector, whose bloody leg Jasmine was already tending to.

Ramza nodded, seeming uninterested, and focused his gaze back on the gem in his hand. Then, with a shrug, he tucked it into a belt pouch.

---

"Ramza."

He blinked, then shifted to study Meliadoul Tingel. She still stood where she'd been thrown, a shadowy green-robed figure. Shorter than he'd been expecting, too, about Jasmine's height, though clearly strong enough to swing that beast of a sword. "What?" As he spoke, Agrias drifted over in his direction, one hand on her sword hilt, eyes on the Shrine Knight.

Meliadoul twitched, then strode briskly to meet him. A noble frown creased her features, what little of them he could see among the thick shadows of her hood. "You killed Izlude. Right?"

"That's right." Beside him, Agrias shifted into a ready stance, probably expecting to draw steel at any moment, but he kept his eyes on the Shrine Knight. "Why?"

"He was my brother," growled Meliadoul. She, too, gripped her massive blade as though ready to draw it and lunge at him. "You killed my brother. What do you have to say in your defense?"

"I was going for Vormav, and Izlude was there. He fought us." He knew why she was asking, of course, knew what kind of boiling rage she had to be bottling up for the moment. "Why? Are you going to kill me?"

Meliadoul's eyes narrowed at this, glittering slits in the deep shadows of her hood. "You're... unapologetic?" she whispered. "You've lost your own sister, I'm told, and yet you... you're almost mocking me. You're a villain, aren't you? A real, honest-to-God villain. Everything they said about you is true."

Ramza felt his face grow tight, felt his hand clench into a fist at his side. "You didn't answer my question."

"About killing you?" Her voice was still a whisper, but sharp. "Who's to say? Perhaps I'm still thinking about it."

He nodded, thinking. Meliadoul had a stone. Sagittarius had just walked right up to him, in a place with no witnesses, where no one could hear her shout or scream. Maybe it would be best just to....

Abruptly he blinked, then sighed and rubbed his face. She'd lost somebody too. She was still an enemy, and would be until she died or went renegade, but.... He shook his head, reached out to rest his hand on one plate-armored shoulder. "Let's just... this isn't a good place to talk." She saw Zalera. Maybe she can be reasoned with. "We all need to get out of here, including you."

The Shrine Knight pondered this for a moment, tense under his hand. "Yes. Elmdor. They'll find us. I can't kill you if Limberry soldiers do it first, right?" She laughed then, a hoarse, almost rasping sound. Jasmine laughed as well, though uncomfortably, while Agrias still regarded the green-robed knight with flat suspicion.

Ramza watched Meliadoul until she cut herself off in mid-laugh, then gestured to the doorway. "Go ahead."

She bowed, actually bowed with a flourish, and echoed his doorward gesture. "No, after you. I insist."

He turned and left her there in the darkness before she even finished talking, trusting that Agrias would keep her from stabbing him in the back, at least on the ascent through the castle. A whisper of cloth announced Rafa falling in beside him, her movements smooth and fluid as ever. He slid his eyes towards her but said nothing; she would speak once Meliadoul was out of an earshot, he guessed.

Moments later, as they were climbing up the spiral stair, she proved him right. "You were thinking about killing her," she murmured, keeping her eyes on the steps ahead. "Weren't you? Meliadoul, I mean."

Ramza grimaced. Opened his mouth, then closed it again without speaking.

"She said she was thinking about killing you," continued Rafa, reasoning aloud, "and you got to thinking about how she had a stone, and how maybe it would just be better to take it. Then you realized you were thinking about killing a grieving woman in cold blood and got disgusted with yourself, so you got really gentle with her to make up for it." All this, in a low, breathy monotone. It wasn't even a question.

Damn it. She understood far too much. "Rafa... why do you--"

"It's okay." Her knuckles brushed against the back of his hand as they continued they climbed the spiraling stairs. "I understand, Ramza."

He shook his head and didn't answer. The ascent back the surface elapsed in silence.