The Golden Power
Chapter 12: A House Divided Cannot Stand
Chateau du Sud, The Principality of Ghent
In the pouring rain, the fortified castle village of Chateau du Sud loomed up like an unbreakable ocean monolith shedding the endless waves of the tide. Jeanette looked up out of her carriage's small window and contemplated the terrific walls in quiet awe. The wizened, half-crumbling walls of Monseille were the only others she'd ever seen, and they were nothing compared to these fastidiously maintained, almost manicured fortifications. This was the rock against which any invasion from the troll lands to the south would inevitably have to break, the first and last shield between the wide open heartland of Ghent and the people's ancient enemy. Seeing it like this filled her at last with a sense of small hope that had been so hard to muster in the frantic days since her improbable rescue from the heart of the Southern Swamp.
Cloistered in the warm solitude of her private carriage, that nightmarish experience seemed worlds away, little more than a terrible dream. Alas, it was a dream that haunted her, both in her nightmares and on into her waking hours, and all the many mysteries that still surrounded the entire experience weighed upon her, making this essential operation she'd embarked upon all the more difficult.
Escaping from the swamp had been entirely uneventful after that rakish foreign brute had joined her bodyguard—his scouting of their path lead them past unknown dangers without incident, and they'd found themselves under the unobstructed light of the sun within a day. It was a day of incessant hard riding, and the endless hours had threatened to rub her thighs raw. At length, she'd become so exhausted that Manuel, the sturdy youth she'd come to trust as more of a reliable kept man than a military officer, had been forced to strap her to his back to keep her on the saddle.
Jeanette had taken their emergence into the plains to indicate a change of pace to something saner, but she'd been wrong. That inhumanly energized, driven man had allowed them only a short reprieve as he left to search the countryside, locating an absolutely gorgeous horse in only a few hours of searching and blowing on that little whistle of his. With that magnificent beast beneath him and his charges switching between the two winded Veraqs, they'd made unbelievable time toward a thriving southern hamlet some day's travel north of the Chateau. The place was a trade center and travel crossroads that supplied almost all of the fortified farming colonies and guard posts in the southern region, and was possibly the only city in the country that could compare to Monseille in sheer development.
The recent air of fear had not been kind, and they'd found its un-walled suburbs almost abandoned as anyone with money fled to safer climes. Troll raiding parties were all around, and everywhere the army posts had been stripped to the bone to answer the muster call in the north, which made everything outside of its laughable little white stone walls utterly dangerous to inhabit. The town's militia managed to keep the people within the walls calm, and they'd finally met human civilization again as they came to one of the gates.
Predictably, the hard-eyed militia guardsmen were not pleased to see Veraqs, but the shock of such a novel concept as a man riding those creatures was enough to at least get them heard. Once he had the guards' ears, Manuel proved his rank with a series of coded challenged phrases that the grunts actually had to call an officer in to confirm. After that hassle of formality was through, they were welcomed warmly enough, Manuel being swept away in a storm to tell the story of half-lies and omissions that would explain their unorthodox arrival with the least amount of ado possible. He was not able to warn the guards here yet of the coming threat, or mention any part of their adventure in the swamp, because they would never be able to explain why they'd come so far north rather than immediately reporting to the first military personnel they could find.
The reason for this was simple enough—warning the military of the mustering troll army was not nearly as urgent as transforming Jeanette back into something resembling royalty. As explained thoroughly by the mysterious woman who spoke from the vagabond's magic stone, no one would ever believe Jeanette was who she said, not looking like a half-drowned urchin as she did. Only a handful of people had any concept what their monarchs looked like, and the rest was all image. Thus, presentation would be key when she showed up and tried to issue royal edicts. Here they would find many things essential to that paramount cause, not the least of which was Manuel's family, who were destined to be essential players in restoring her to the throne.
Jeanette paused in her ruminations to glance backward out the window. They were turning now, and she could just spot the second carriage trailing behind hers. Inside were her 'nurse,' Manuel's gorgeous young wife Christine, her 'Tutor,' his lovely sister-in-law, Miranda, and her 'handmaiden,' the precious daughter, Monica. Jeanette could scarcely imagine what the reunion between them and their man, Manuel, must have been like.
At the time it was taking place, Jeanette had been dead to the world, sleeping like a corpse in the finest bed Caredan gilders could by at the town's largest inn. Among other surprises, the foreign killer turned out to be wealthy, too, and he'd felt it only proper to treat her. Despite his token effort at treating her with some dignity after she'd put her foot down, she got the impression he would have done the same for any young girl who'd been through what she'd faced.
Still, as that situation developed, it was not his wealth that bought her back into a station befitting a princess, but rather, that of Miranda. She was present this time, when that man, Link, had explained the dire situation to her. Manuel and Christine were off becoming 'reacquainted' as young couples will, and their children were asleep, but the three of them had been conspiring. The woman turned out to be intelligent as well as beautiful and rich, and knew exactly how to proceed. She didn't even stagger in deferential surprise when she realized Jeanette's identity, which is more than could be said for the rest of Manuel's family.
They spent a day in preparation. If she'd been asked before, she did not believe such a transformation could be possible in a single day, but still, it was done. With funds withdrawn from a local bank, Jeanette found herself in a salon of the highest caliber, a place that catered to the wives of provincial nobles that liked to consider themselves trendy. Hours of pampering transformed her utterly.
Jeanette would be the first to admit that her own features were unusually beautiful, perhaps even unnaturally so. After a lifetime of hearing as much from every source, show-stopping beauty had become a part of her inherent psychology, and her return to being akin to a masterfully crafted doll restored her as no amount of medication or sleep could hope to. Some of the stylists, in a show of customer-flattery or a genuine burst of silly enthusiasm for their work, literally wept to see what they had wrought. The salon's director begged her to sit for the local portrait artist, as hers would be the establishment's crowning achievement, but she would have refused, even if there were time. She'd once been told that the two greatest artists in all of Careda had abandoned all dignity and broken into a fistfight when the question of which one would paint her had arisen. A back-country painter simply couldn't hope to do her justice.
Appropriation of these carriages and suitable luggage had been the next step, and then they'd been on their way. Manuel had parted from his family with only the greatest regret, and by now was inside the castle already, having 'only just' escaped from the Southern Swamp with a tale that would doubtless become a thing of military legend. With him he carried the war beads that he'd 'recovered' during his 'daring escape,' bearing a nation-saving warning to what defenders remained here. If there was a country left after this coming war, he would doubtless be a hero of no small renown. She found the situation rather amusing, but he must have felt it bitter to take credit for so many actions that were not his own. Once again surprising her, the Hylian had convinced her completely that he didn't care if his exploits were credited to someone else. More and more, she simply could not anticipate him.
They were at the gates now, having 'only just arrived from the southern port,' where her ship had been 'forced to land after a storm' while 'conveying her home from the distant convent' where she'd been 'recovering from a dire illness.' That the story was an utter fabrication was besides the point—it was what the majority of people already believed, if they'd heard that she wasn't safe at the castle at all. Any confusion could be attributed to an administrative foul-up, and her traveling incognito was just melodramatic enough to fit the common man's inherently romantic view of the monarchy.
Jeanette's chest tightened as they came to the gates. Beyond this point, she'd be playing things by ear. In an extensive discussion with the mystery woman of the magic stone, she'd planned for various contingencies. That person, whoever she was, was as brilliant and devious as any shady courtier Jeanette had ever gossiped with. It rankled her to never even have a name to match the voice, but the council the voice gave was more precious than gold, and she could not begrudge her the anonymity. If she did weather this ordeal, it would be entirely due to that one's scheming and the astounding warrior she apparently commanded.
There was a commotion outside as her driver was challenged. He was a trustworthy friend of Miranda's family who managed their southern assets, and he'd been only too happy to throw his hat in with their plot. At this point there was a dispute over why they were even here. 'What's all this then,' she could imagine their confusion at this unexpected arrival. 'Don't you know who this is?' exactly the kind of thing a gate guard didn't want to hear. Any moment now, they'd require some gesture of proof that she was the improbable caller that the driver claimed. There was a polite knocking at her door exactly on cue, and she paused for effect before giving her response.
In a dainty gesture, she cracked the window and thrust her delicate hand out into the rain. There on her finger was a tiny golden ring bearing the royal seal, and the guards almost fell over one another to genuflect, despite the weather. They didn't give her entourage anymore trouble.
The ring was another key feature, considering they had no actual credentials to speak of. The original was doubtless decorating some troll's gnarled finger by now, but this forgery was more than enough to convince the ignorant of her providence. It had taken a vast sum of money to have the jeweler rush the job, but it was worth every cent. Here they were, floating on a raft of lies, and now they were being freely admitted to the most secure fortress in all of Ghent.
On Top of the Second Carriage
Link crouched under his weather-proofed cloak and gripped the reigns tightly in both hands. To his right was another of Miranda's good southern friends, a jovial, middle-aged man who worked wholesale to supply grocers. The two of them had made some half-hearted attempts at communication, but the rain discouraged that. They sat in mutual misery on the drenched carriage roof and watched as they were waved into the fortress. Success.
Link crouched down further as they passed through the checkpoint, using his cloak hood to hide his pointed ears. They clattered quickly through a small village of squared streets, the shops and residences housing all the equipment and labor needed to keep a military outpost like this well supplied. Every feature had been lain out with defensibility in mind, from the design of the streets to the sturdy stones of the buildings. Eventually they and their entourage of confused guardsmen reached a sheltered, heavily built doorway that guarded the only ground-level entrance to the main keep.
Passengers unloaded in a flurry of rain cloaks, and he was gratified to see that they never missed a cue; not even little Monica made the mistake of giving him a second look. Once the VIPs were gone, the guards barely spared the teamsters a second look, and they were pointed toward the stables. That was where Link was going to be spending the next, highly critical phase of this job, in which he played absolutely no role.
In a way, it seemed rather boring, and he wasn't at all looking forward to waiting out this part in silent suspense. Of course, he probably should have known better than to even think something like that, but he didn't catch himself until it was too late.
"Is this to serve as thine abode, Link?" a familiar voice echoed inside of his skull. For a moment, he was certain he'd imagined it. "Tis a respectable fortification, but it dost lack class. I find it laughable."
"Arrika?" Link said out loud, when he finally recognized what was going on and berated himself mercilessly for daring to complain of boredom, even silently. "Good to hear you again, 'milady. I was beginning to fear I'd imagined that entire encounter down in that tomb."
The other drover cast him an odd look, and Link waved at him pleasantly, prompting him to edge away with a dubious expression. Infuriated by his own carelessness, Link changed tactics.
"Can you hear it when I do this?" Link spoke the words in his mind only.
"Of course not! Why on earth wouldst a magical entity that hast bonded with thine soul possess the power to read thine thoughts? The very concept is preposterous!"
"Well, at least you have a well developed sense of humor." Link audibly sighed. He'd feared as much during the less serious parts of the binding ritual. Behind her imperious, even vicious pride, there lay a rather fun-loving gal. It was an interesting change. "Even if your joke wasn't all that funny."
"Well, no, certainly not as funny as that princess's face," Arrika changed the subject violently, and Link actually choked on a snigger that snuck up on him out of nowhere. "To imagine that such a strumpet is the pinnacle of modern beauty. Jean was far more comely than she—bachelors were known to prostrate themselves at her feet, and many a married man wept to see her out of reach. Shame she was such a fanatical prude. I never got to see anything fun riding around in her head."
"Wha—huh?" Link sputtered out loud, getting another odd look from his fellow teamster. He tried to find a way to respond to that, but was at a loss. Instead, he noted something else. "Uh… are you aware that your manner of speech is changing?"
"Certainly. How long do you think I've been doing this, anyway? Do you have any concept of how often I've had to adjust to changing languages over my lifetime? Indeed, Father himself anticipated the fact. Now that I've finished relocating my focal point to your soul, I have access to much of your knowledge, language included. Anyway, I must say, you're quite the swordsman. It's been a thousand years since I contracted with a genuine blademaster—and never before one quite like you. This should be even more interesting than I could have hoped in my wildest dreams."
"A blade-what?" Link started to ask, before he recognized the more momentous portion of that statement. "HEY! Don't you go rooting through my memories you hopped-up potato peeler! If I find out you've been into my personal history, I'll have you chopping livestock bowels for the sausage rollers!"
"Do relax," the easy amusement in her tone lightened as she sensed the sincerity in that threat. "I have no access to your personal memories or your current thoughts—I can merely hear what you subvocalize and reference the facts that you know." She paused for a moment. "In other words, I've moved into quite the vacant loft."
"Okay, now you're just begging for an intimate encounter with the boot-callous on my big toe."
"Alright! Calm down, I'll behave. What I meant was that I was impressed. I've never had a partner whose mind was so completely dedicated to knowledge of the killing arts. From what I've seen, the only things you know well besides combat are animal husbandry and fly fishing."
"Don't forget bug-collecting," Link admonished her, feigning offense. "Anyway, education is for wizards, merchants, and nobles. Not having one has hardly managed to slow me down so far."
"Hmph," the indignant sound was quite odd confined to the inside of his head, "with an outlook like that, I'm astounded you've lived so long. You're fortunate that I consented to grace you with my support. I suppose I'll have to take it upon myself to squeeze some knowledge between these pointy ears of yours."
"Oi! If I'd realized I was signing up for this, I might have thought twice about lugging your sword out of that grave! Did I just not notice the fact that isolation had driven you crazy, or is this some kind of pre-prepared bait-and-switch?"
"Be reasonable, or I'm liable to find you boring! I've been locked in half-dreaming hibernation for over fifteen times longer than you've been alive. Not only that, but my last contractor had a gigantic stick labeled 'religious asceticism' lodged right up where the sun doesn't shine. For your information, I'm just happy! I don't see how it's my problem if you can't tolerate a little enthusiasm now that my life is suddenly renewed. Before you came traipsing by, my soonest prospect of feeling the sun again was if the swamp above me should happen to erode away under the force of applied eons. I think I'm entitled to some high spirits. Anyway, the way you're going on, you'd think I was behaving like that lady who gifted you that magic trinket."
"Oh, and just what are you on about now?" Link sensed that she was getting at something. She didn't answer right away, and he had time to help store away the carriage and stable the horses, including Epona. The carriage had never been searched, just as Zelda had promised, and Link felt like an ass as he removed his personal equipment from the hiding place on the carriage rack he'd gone to some trouble to devise. At length, he found a nice dry portion of Epona's stall and buried himself most of the way into a haystack. Arrika's sword was there with him, wrapped protectively in the oiled leather and canvas he'd rigged in lieu of a proper sheath.
"So you understand that I've been aware and observing this entire time, even while I could not speak?" Arrika's voice piped up eventually. Link, who'd been well on his way to sleep, perked up at this.
"It became clear when you started cracking jokes about recent events, yes," Link agreed. He spoke out loud now that he was alone, mostly because it helped him to believe he wasn't just talking to himself in a weird, if not insane, internal debate. A weird, if not insane external debate was a slim improvement, but it was an improvement.
"So… you realize that your princess, the Hylian dame at the other end of your magic stone, is using you, right?"
Link was shocked, because of all the things she might broach, this was one he'd certainly never seen coming. He had a brief flash of anger at the mere suggestion, but that faded quickly enough. The truth has a way of penetrating willful ignorance, at least with intelligent, inherently honest people like this young warrior.
"Yeah… basically, I am." Link admitted. "Heck, I essentially signed up in the first place to be used. Oh, I made some noise about keeping my independence and checking her orders against my own conscience—whatever that is—but I don't have much in the way of illusions. I'm as much Zelda's sword as you are mine. I guess it's a really good comparison, actually—I even give her feedback the way you can."
"And… that's okay with you? I'm not criticizing, I'm just interested in who I'm going to be beholden to, ultimately. Is this woman worthy as you are? If not, we might have issues."
"Zelda's no power-hungry tyrant," Link assured her, certain of at least that much, even as he noticed in shock that he was talking of her by first name. "I dread if she ever turned down that road, though, with all I owe her. She's supplying me with a purpose, after all. I'm a freak, Arrika—that I've managed to impress you with my worth is just one more symptom of that. I can't be happy living peacefully in one place, and if I just wandered around fighting without purpose, I'd probably go crazy. At some point, I decided I might as well follow the path set by the one person around who's as smart as I am deadly. I get to protect my loved ones, help out the only person who can really hope to understand me, and I never run out of faces to break. I figure I'm making the best of an impossible situation."
"If you say so," Arrika didn't sound pleased. "So tell me, why haven't I tasted blood yet?" She changed the subject. "I figured you'd have greased me up with warm innards at least a few times by now. I'm practically disappointed, although I can't say I was looking forward to more troll, even after centuries of rest. I've had my fill of those things several times over, you know."
"I can imagine, and I figured it was a sign of respect." Link patted Arrika's sword. "I've had the most trouble finding opponents worth drawing even my old, totally mundane sword on lately. Generally I don't bother unless they at least have an impressive numerical advantage or time is of the essence. It just doesn't seem sporting—and giving the other guy even so much as the illusion of a sporting chance is all that keeps it interesting these days."
"That is an attitude that will see you dead—but I understand it." Arrika did understand it. Link didn't want to feel like a freak, no matter how self-evident his unusual qualities were. Lowering his fighting level to something that was almost believable, even at a threat to his life, was one way he exercised that prerogative. She could feel in him no suicidal devotion to the practice, however, and so she let it drop.
"I suppose though, that if this war pans out, you'll see plenty of innards soon enough. Troll innards, I'm afraid to say." Link was beginning to nod off again in the darkness of the stables, the patter of rain on the rooftop as much a lullaby as any he'd ever heard.
"Wonderf—" Arrika began, before the door was kicked in and a lamp shined down in Link's face. He wasn't sure how he suppressed the reflex to draw Arrika and charge, but he managed it. He betrayed nothing but annoyance as he glimpsed up through the lamplight, hearing some guard challenging him in Ghentese. Apparently security was tighter around here than he'd thought.
"Arrika, you speak Ghentese, what does this asshole want?"
"He wants to know why you're sleeping in the horse stall… duh."
"How do I say, 'I like horses, now leave me alone'?"
Arrika rattled off a string of Ghentese, and Link echoed it as best he was able, stumbling over the nigh-impenetrable pronunciation. The guard immediately lowered the lamp, so that Link was able to see the dumbfounded expression he now sported. Link rolled over to go back to sleep, and the guard stepped away. He managed to get about halfway down the hall before he burst out into a huge belly-laugh that quickly receded into the distance. Suddenly, Link realized that he'd asked for a translation from an entity with a twisted sense of humor.
"What did I just say to that guard, Arrika?" Link asked, no nonsense in his tone.
"Use your imagination," Arrika advised him, the laughter concealed between the words.
"Seriously, what did I say to him?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"ARRIKA!"
She taunted him with a sudden giggling that echoed inside his head, and he slumped in awful resignation. Clearly, this was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
Inner Audience Chamber, Chateau du Sud, The Principality of Ghent
Jeanette sat in the position of honor at the wide meeting table in the keep's most lavishly decorated room. Around her was her impromptu entourage, Christine with her babe at her breast and Miranda with a neutral, serious look. Little Monica was doing her best to keep from fidgeting in the serious atmosphere, and yet, Jeanette had to admit that they were holding up perfectly. The deception was hardly as complete as she could have wished, her lacking most all of the staff and servants she would be expected to have accompany her anywhere, but the pretext of her traveling secretly should cover that, and the number had to be kept down. You could only include so many people in a conspiracy and hope for it to remain secret, after all.
"What's all this then?" A large, middle-aged man burst into the room with a huff and a rush of air that shattered the uncomfortable silence and made all the girls jump in shock. The man's full brown beard and mustache gave his youthful face a powerful sense of dignity, which he proceeded to destroy with eyes that flashed with laughter. "Jeanette?" his confrontational front dissolved the moment he laid eyes on her.
"Uncle Pierre?" Jeanette was caught totally off guard, and her face burst into a glow of utterly genuine happiness. No one had been able to confirm who the commander of the fortress currently happened to be, and this of all people was a wonderful surprise. She stood from her spot at the table and abandoned all dignity to scramble over and embrace him.
"Ah, my darling Princess, it is the Goddess' own blessing to see you well!" The man could hardly be parted from hugging her long enough to explain himself. "The nation is in turmoil, the nobility in an uproar—and no one knew where you were! When I heard someone claiming to be you had shown up here, I was certain it was a fraud. I don't think I've ever been so happy to be totally wrong in all my years!"
"Oh, Uncle Pierre, I never wanted to worry anyone!" Everything about Jeanette, from the way she carried herself, to the fluttering of her eyes, and especially her voice, were all completely different as she addressed this man. Her partners in conspiracy couldn't help but notice it, and Link's head would probably have spun to see her revert so completely and suddenly to the vacant creature she'd been before that evening in the swamp. "The trip out of the country wasn't my idea at all. I was so sick, and the doctors here couldn't treat it! Now I'm finally home, and everywhere I go I hear these dreadful rumors! Please, tell me what has happened here?"
"Ah… of course…" The man called Pierre suddenly looked utterly crestfallen. "I really can't think of any easy way to say this, Jeanette, but my cousin, your father, and your mother both… they've… passed away."
Jeanette gasped, her face freezing in a look of utter shock that she had to fake only by half. She'd been preparing herself for that news for days, ever since she'd first come to terms with the idea that the coup the Hylian had described was real. Now she found herself pouring out bitter tears, her kind, clueless Uncle almost in tears himself to see her in this state.
In a way the tears were real, because a young girl had just lost her only parents. But, in another way, they were the most contrived device an actress had ever put on display. This is because Jeanette, who would be fifteen in three months, had already decided that her parents would have to go, even if they somehow survived her Uncle Sebastein's plotting. Now, she almost owed that snake for doing away with her parents so she wouldn't have to muster the courage to have it done herself. After all, traitors like her mother and father deserved no other fate.
Her bitter feelings toward her parents had a perfectly reasonable source—she'd realized two days past that they'd poisoned her in perhaps the foulest manner imaginable. Jeanette had been born special, after all, enlivened by a condition that made children mature mentally much faster than normal. It was a rare thing, and while among the common people it was considered a mere novelty for six-to-ten-year-old children to go around opening shops or mastering professions, in the nobility it was known as a stigmatic freakishness. She'd spent her premature maturity under the directive to behave like a normal child, and out of self-preservation as much as duty, she'd learned to fake the vapid selfishness of a pre-pubescent, spoiled child.
Jeanette's memory became a foggy blur as early as one year ago. Her last clear thought was taking tea with her mother. She sipped from her cup to find it unusually bitter, and then her concern for that melted away into uncomplicated joy. Uncomplicated joy was about all she could recall for a frighteningly long time. And then, she'd sipped that foreigner's curative draught, and been cured of the 'cure' for her condition. Now she was here, weeping crocodile tears for the parents that had tried to numb her into complacent stupidity, almost certainly so they wouldn't have to suffer the embarrassment of her brilliance when they could hide it no longer.
Kind, innocent Uncle Pierre held her shoulder like he was handling a delicate infant animal, his own heart breaking to see her so put-out.
"Come, come, Jeanette, it is a bitter draught to swallow, I know, but I am here for you, and I know your Uncle Sebastein will be overjoyed to hear of your return. He and the entire nation have been frantic to discover where the Prince hid you. Your arrival here now can be nothing short of divine providence."
Jeanette said nothing, but let her display of inconsolable waterworks wear on. In her mind, she saw Sebastein Orlouge laughing himself silly over the corpses of her mother and father, and patting himself on the back about the way he'd had her spirited off to set the whole thing up in the first place. It must be divine providence indeed—nothing short of the manifest blessing of The Mother herself could have delivered the Hylian and his mistress to her aid, and slipped her away before the trap could irrevocably close on her life. Now she and her unexpected allies were about to turn that brilliant piece of treachery into the noose Sebastein Orlouge would hang upon.
Maybe. Perhaps he would have his uses still, and she would keep him around. That situation had yet to develop, even as this one had come together with wonderfully unexpected ease. She allowed herself to be led away to an open guestroom in the castle's dusty noble's quarter, satisfied that things couldn't be going better here. Distracted by her distress, Duke Pierre Orlouge, Lord of the Southlands, hadn't even asked why she had an entirely new staff.
Three Days Later: Monseille, The Principality of Ghent
"Milord?" a messenger stepped into his office, and Sebastein Orlouge looked up in annoyance from the fifth petition of pardon for Sergeant Commander D'tannen he'd had to veto this week. These things were usually expedited in matters of treason, but only the Monarch could give an unchallengeable order of execution, and whatever capacity he'd been acting in this past week since his beautiful plan had come to fruition, he hadn't been crowned yet. Meanwhile, the man's loyalists were not only flooding the legal process with one delay after another, they were also in control of the walls and gates, including the jailhouse. It was impossible even to have the blasted man's throat cut in the dark of night. Only the fact that he'd been silenced by that nerve toxin let the Duke keep his hair, and the timer on that reprieve was ticking slowly away too.
Burdened by these thoughts, the Duke nodded at the messenger, who marched in and handed him an envelope dressed in high-priority military markings. The messenger let himself out, and his lord opened the message, briefly noting it to be from his cousin, the man in line for the throne after him, actually, Duke Pierre Orlouge of the Southlands.
Two minutes later, he was reading the letter again, willing his eyes to slow down enough to actually take in and process what he thought he'd just read, because obviously he'd misread it the first time. It couldn't possibly say what it said, but it did, and he screamed violently as he jumped to his feet and tore the letter to tattered shreds, as if his pure vitriol could somehow make this sudden nightmare disappear.
When his vision cleared of the red haze, Duke Orlouge staggered back into his chair. The little slut was alive. The little slut was alive, and the trolls were mobilizing for war. He couldn't quite believe either fact, but the one did go with the other, and the only reason Pierre could possibly have to lie was—
The Duke paused, his apprehension clearing as he grew a bemused, wondering smile. Could that be it? Was that little snot actually trying to outmaneuver him? Pierre had shown himself to be an almost disgustingly kind, honest man, and so it hardly fit what little he knew of the fellow. But still… it was certainly more likely that the man had suddenly grown a pair and was making his own bid for the throne than it was that a bubble-brained little bed-warmer-to-be like the princess had escaped from the Southern Swamp, a place none had returned from since the Great Troll Wars. And yet… best to be sure.
On his desk was the enchanted brazier that his troll counterpart used to contact him. He darkened the room and performed the small ritual over it that would cause it to contact her in turn, and was rewarded with a response within ten minutes. When he was certain he had her ear, he began with the most oblique approach he could manage.
"Thereva," he addressed the troll queen by name, "What's this I hear about your army mobilizing? It seems some war beads turned up around the border and now my people are throwing a fit."
"Ya 'eard about dat den?" her voice was its usual harsh, filthy mangling of his language. She cursed in Trollish, and the man who'd called to be reassured found himself totally caught off guard by his former ally. Apparently she assumed he already knew of her betrayal and had called to taunt her, because she attempted no duplicity. "Well, a 'uman stopped bai during an importahnt cerahmony, and 'e was da cause ahv da deadliest distatah in Troll 'istory. Da chieftains took it ahs an act ahv war, and I don 'ave da juju ta convince dem odderwise. So… we jus gonna 'ave ya 'ole country fah dinnah. Ah'd say it wahs nice knowin' ya, but ah'd be lyin'."
"What are you saying?" Orlouge was nearly struck mad as his carefully lain plans disintegrated. "I'm all ready to move on Hyrule, all you have to do is back your armies down and I'll be able to hand you their treasure on a silver platter! Turning on me now is madness!"
"Ah 'aven't any choice, an' I 'onestly don care dat mach, ya' know? I get what ah wan eider way, just in a differen' ordah." She laughed a deep, chilling, evil laugh. "Ah… dis was meant as a surprise, baht what da 'ell? Considah ya country 'on da menu' Or-lou-ge!" Her laughter trailed away as the fire glowing above the brazier suddenly blazed higher, scorching a mark onto his ceiling. Just when he thought it was dying down again, it exploded, and he was saved from burns only by ducking under his desk. When the smoke cleared, the men stationed outside his room had broken his locked door down.
For a moment, he wondered why no one was checking on him, until he climbed up over the desk again and saw all of his guards staring in horror down at the floor. He followed their gaze, and for a moment, his eyes couldn't make sense of what they were seeing. When they finally did, it was such a shock that he had to look away or loose his breakfast.
There on the floor were the sparse remains of a human body. The damage done to it was so extensive that it wasn't immediately recognizable as such, and the barest contemplation of the extent to which it had been mauled and twisted was sickening. What was worse was that the face was still recognizable as the Earl of Bayshore. His mouth was venting smoke and a blooming tatter of ashen paper, and the Duke was horrified to note that this was the very treaty he'd been sent to deliver. There were no more illusions for the Duke to hide behind now, he'd been undone.
"Sir… what is all this?" Orlouge's second in command was looking to him for guidance, his wits scattered by the lack of any kind of reasonable explanation for what he was seeing.
"What does it look like?" the Duke snapped, using anger to cover his own rattled wits. His schemer's mind scrambled for workable lies, until he finally continued, "It's an assassination attempt, you blithering idiot! Dark sorcery is at work here, trying to burn me up in my own home!" Gasps of horror went around the room as everyone latched onto this explanation with the utter certainty of the terrified being led by the nose.
"But… but…" his lieutenant wasn't quite satisfied, but Orlouge didn't give him time to come up with reasonable questions.
"Look!" he picked up the military envelope his bad news had come in, "not even twenty minutes after I received news of the trolls mobilizing at the border, and now this! It doesn't take a genius to know that they've finally decided to pay us back for 300 years ago! They've been attacking us at the top to set the stage for their invasion!"
"Do you mean… the Prince?" Orlouge's lieutenant went even paler. "But… you said the Hylians—"
"And I haven't ruled it out yet. I wouldn't put it past those mongrels to sell the trolls equipment and information for their assassination on my beloved brother! But those dogs will have to wait. There's no time to waste!"
Orlouge made a decision right then and there. Maybe Jeanette was alive, defying all odds and his best scheme ever, and maybe she wasn't. One way or another, he'd see himself in the throne some might say was rightfully hers, but a throne would do him no good if his kingdom was being chopped up for troll cook-pots. His victory, and of course, the rape of Hyrule, would just have to wait until he put these filthy, bestial man-eaters in their proper place.
"Muster my personal guard! I'll be riding out to meet the army as soon as possible. If we don't march south immediately, there'll be no stopping them!"
His guards snapped into action around him; there were messages to be sent and preparations to be made. Orlouge, despite the utter dissolution of all he'd worked toward, still felt only moderately set-back. Even if, by some awful miracle, Jeanette was still alive… well then so what? As far as she knew, he was still her loving uncle. There would be all the time in the world for her to meet some tragic accident, or hell, barring that, she would certainly need a regent until she could be properly married.
Marriage! Now there was an avenue he hadn't explored yet. Perhaps he could find a nice puppet of a Caredan Don to play marionette to his strings while distracted with his new toy—er—bride. Ah, but those were considerations for after this little war was won.
Cheateu du Sud, The Principality of Ghent
Jeanette sat awake in her bed and contemplated the makings of her eventual victory. The situation between her and her Uncle the Traitor was at a stalemate. He'd announced her as missing, assuming she'd never be found and that he could reluctantly accept the position of Prince. Only now word of her re-emergence had spread far and wide at the speed of the royal post as she sent letters to everyone she knew by even the slightest familiarity, heartily acting the brainless sop just recently reconnected to society. That meant she was officially back in line for the throne—Orlouge of the Northlands couldn't hope to press his station as anything more significant than regent while she still breathed. Unfortunately, he still commanded every stitch of the regular army worth noting, and if he wanted to make a fight of it, there was little she could do to stop him.
Of course, there was a difference between having the power to rule the nation, and having the legitimacy to wield that power. Jeanette had confidence that the soldiers themselves would generally balk at any orders to oust her, and that the people at least would stand behind the rightful line of succession, which the Duke could never claim while she lived. That made the next trick an act of survival. In fact, she had no fear of assassination either, not when everyone was presented with the much more real threat posed by the trolls.
It couldn't be much longer now before they finished mustering, and Chateau du Sud was a lot closer to the Southern Swamp than it was to the Hylian border. The chances of the regular army arriving before the trolls could lay siege to this fortress and begin to pillage the countryside were slim at best, and there was a powerful air of tension around the area as efforts to mount a defense were redoubled. Orlouge of the Southlands had already collected the Sergeants in command of every local militia unit and began planning to concentrate them into a mobile army. It would leave the villages exposed, but the main concern now was not small raiding parties.
The most conservative estimates, based on the sheer number of war beads that Manuel had captured, was that the trolls would outnumber any force they could assemble by three to five times. It was a sobering thought, and all across the borderlands, people that had been clinging to their homes now finally packed what they could carry and fled northward. Many of the irregular soldiers looked like they would much like to do the same, but discipline held them here along with exhortations for them to stay and cover their families as they fled. Despite this bit of fortune, it was an entirely dire situation.
"Knock, Knock?" a voice came in clearly from her window, and Jeanette sat up in bed and held her blankets up over her nightgown for modesty. The poison that had reduced her to a muddle-brained pre-teen had also loosened all of her inhibitions, the better to make her into a pliable wife, and even now Jeanette remembered those days of quasi-nudity in agonizing embarrassment. Still, this was one visitor she'd been expecting, and she mumbled a confirmation that she was alone. Well, not quite alone, as Monica was sleeping in the room's servant cot, but she hardly counted for this meeting.
The Hylian vagabond climbed up into her room through her window and quickly secreted himself against the wall beneath it to better elude any wall sentries' eyes. Granted that they'd be looking the other direction, but he hardly needed to be caught after going to all the trouble of scaling the keep's walls and circling around the tower to this inward-facing window. That he was sitting here in her room, hardly even breathing heavily after that nigh-impossible climb, was a source of new amazement to the princess. Every day, the impossible feats she'd witnessed in the swamp threatened to fade into a dream of a memory, and then he did something like this and denied her the chance to rationalize his impossible ability.
"Good night, Your Majesty," Link said, tossing her a playful salute as he lounged back against her wall in a comfortable sprawl. "I'm expecting a call from our mutual friend any moment, but I just wanted to say, good job with this whole messy thing. I saw the messengers leaving and the soldiers arriving both, and it seems like you've more or less got a kingdom again."
"That remains to be seen," Jeanette sniffed, as usual completely unsure of how to deal with this man. For the most part, if a person wasn't intimidated by her rank, he or she was intimidated by her beauty. This man had never really stopped treating her like the half-naked waif he'd plucked from death's door, despite a pretense to the contrary, and she was finding it extremely frustrating. Dealing with someone who simply refused to be cowed into an inferior position was entirely outside of her experience.
"While I have to admit that Uncle Pierre being in command here was an unexpected stroke of luck, Uncle Sebastein could still make trouble. He'll try at least one assassination attempt, given the opportunity, and I'm not sure yet if I can block his inevitable bid for regency. Remember, we have no proof that he's betrayed me, or that he's the one who killed my father. Without that, he's free to make the next move, and I have no real power until I'm coronated on my twentieth birthday."
"Damn. Well, I was hoping to see that snake roast, but I suppose we have to deal with the trolls before anything else. I've never seen a full-scale war before… it should be educational."
"Ah? Something the freakishly capable warrior is ignorant of?" Jeanette teased, hoping to have an angle to dig at him from, but he merely shrugged.
"Wars are hard to come by, where I come from. Anyway, as long as we're talking about freaks, I have my suspicions about you, with all due respect, of course, Your Majesty." The last-moment nod to formality did nothing to disguise the lightness he was treating her with, and she frowned. "Oh, don't be like that," he chided her immediately, "one of my best friends is three feet tall and already the greatest merchant I've ever known. What I can't figure out is why you bothered with that air-headed-tart act back in the swamp. It's been bugging the hell out of me."
"It wasn't an act," Jeanette said, deciding that the quickest way to settle this was with honesty. She was shocked by her own decision, but found herself rationalizing it easily. Those of her countrymen that could even understand this man would never believe a word he had to say, so he made a rather convenient confidant. That he didn't fear her at all made him unique in another way, and suddenly she found herself unburdening her pained heart onto him with no ability to stop herself. In moments she'd related the brief version of her life's story, and she watched carefully as his face went through exactly none of the phases of pity and disgust she'd expected and feared.
"Your own parents did that to you, huh?" was all he said, when she'd finally gotten herself under control again. This man was frightfully easy to talk to, and already she regretted what she'd said, even as she felt worlds better for having spoken freely to someone after a lifetime of enforced secrecy. "I have to admit, I've been learning all kinds of new things lately. You know, not a year ago, I'd never have imagined that a Royal could even ponder a dishonest act? I was, so to speak… a sheep. Or maybe that kind of thing was just so far above me that I never gave it a second thought. Now, I've met with and dealt with more royalty in the past few months than I'd ever hoped or dreamed to glimpse in a passing parade before that, and I've started to understand how wrong I was. The gods and goddesses give you the mandate to rule… but you're all still just people, aren't you?"
Jeanette had never given divine right a second thought, herself, and his bringing it up this way proved an excellent distraction from her discomfort over having confessed herself to him. In her mind, the argument that the Prince sat on the throne of Ghent because the Mother Goddess granted him divine providence was little more than a way to mollify the masses to the yoke they'd been clapped under. Now, with the evidence of miracles as real as the life she'd been granted against all probability, she had to give it a second look.
"I must admit, it most certainly seems that The Mother is watching over me," Jeanette admitted, eventually. "She sent you to me, after all, and to this I owe my life, just as to your friends and mysterious ally, I owe my current success. What do you think? Are our mutual goddesses playing games, with us as the pieces?"
"Maybe so…" Link said, but he looked absolutely distraught as he did. "It looks more like it every day, in fact."
A dour silence fell after that, and lasted until the mystery woman used her magic stone to contact them. Jeanette took the stone from the Hylian wanderer and launched into the discussion she'd been preparing for most of the last few days, detailing this and that feature of her progress and all the new developments she was aware of. The two traded facts in whispered Ghentese, and the man was left to linger, excluded. As usual, the woman astonished her with everything from her ability to recall facts to her powerful grasp of all varieties of information. Shortly, they'd finished their commiserations, and Jeanette found herself with one final thing to say.
"As well, mademoiselle," she said in Ghentese, "I must express how impressed I am with your agent. I was quite unable to keep myself from unburdening all my secrets to his ears. I fear I've quite betrayed myself, and that it is your doing."
"Oh?" the woman responded, and there was a laugh in her voice, but not a victorious one. "So you noticed that too? I fear he has that affect on everyone, myself included. I doubt the obstinate jerk will tell me any whisper of your secrets, just as I'd expect him not to mention any of mine to you. I feel I can trust you to know that he's far less my 'agent' than you seem to imagine, despite all appearances."
For some reason, Jeanette believed her. The man didn't strike her as the kind of person to go spreading around gossip, or even talking very much at all, and perhaps that was another reason it was so easy to confide in him. He also didn't seem like the kind of person to be yoked by authority, even if the handler of that authority was this astonishing mystery woman. He certainly seemed to take her direction like a lackey, but appearances could be deceiving, after all.
Knowing this now, Jeanette couldn't help but look at him a little differently. Despite herself, she felt an interest stirring in her immature body, the same interest she'd felt in the swamp while unburdened by anything resembling a reservation or deep thought. She rushed to strangle that feeling in its infancy, but she could not do as much with her curiosity.
"If that is indeed the case, then what exactly is your relationship?" Jeanette asked. She knew she was prying, but it couldn't hurt to ask. Tonight seemed like a night for penetrating secrets, anyway.
"Link and I are…" the woman paused. There was a quaver of deeper emotion to her voice now. The circumstances of anonymity on her part had to be intoxicating. She could say anything she wanted, really, and never have it come back to her, considering the advantage she had over Jeanette. Still, with all that, she hesitated, showing either the depth of her prudence or the extent of her uncertainty and embarrassment. "allies. Allies and… friends… I suppose. Why do you ask?"
"Only friends…?" Jeanette asked, the faintest glimmer of a forming plan hinted in her tone. It was a flight of fancy to be sure, but even intelligent people were allowed to have impossible, silly dreams. For teenage girls, this was double true.
"Oh, I wouldn't go getting any ideas," the woman from the stone sounded like she'd caught on to Jeanette's train of thought. Clearly, it amused her. "Link is married to his wanderlust, as far as I can tell. That or his sword. You'd do better to look elsewhere, even as a fantasy, I assure you. Although… I'll admit you're never likely to find his equal."
"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?" Jeanette teased the woman, having finally gotten an angle on her she could exploit to her advantage, and also just for a little fun. The woman sputtered indignantly, telling her she'd scored a direct hit. "Or perhaps… it is guilt I hear? Has a certain 'friend' been featuring this warrior in her own flights of fancy?"
"That's quite enough of that!" the woman closed the subject, but Jeanette was smiling mischievously.
"Of course. I would not want to injure your dignity, mademoiselle," she relented. "Clearly you are afflicted by the same roadblock I've found. He's out of our reach, is he not? A commoner, and taboo. And of course, he would not give this body of mine a second look anyway… although in five years time… he could be quite the distraction…"
"That is quite enough. This conversation is over." The stone flickered and died down to its normal level of light. Jeanette stared at it for a moment and tried not to feel too victorious. That woman was obviously a Hylian noble of some kind, perhaps even her counterpart, the Hylian Princess. It was all speculation, of course, but she'd certainly reacted like a noblewoman, betraying herself as she'd been quite careful to avoid before. Perhaps he was her weak spot. Jeanette filed all that information away as she prepared to part ways with them both for the time being.
The next phase of the operation, which involved little more than surviving until the war had been decided one way or the other, had been more or less planned out. The situation was moving out of their hands, and back to the men they depended upon for such brute endeavors. This was actually their last planned meeting until the conflict had been resolved, as Link had to be mobile again when the fighting broke out in earnest.
"I sincerely hope this is not the last time I see you," Jeanette told Link when she handed back the whispering stone. If he noticed any deeper meaning, she couldn't tell, and she damned the fate that left her in a child's body, the same fate that had plagued her all her life. Only time would change that, and time was something she didn't have as far as her relationship to him was concerned.
Careless as a rogue wind, he gave her a nod and a toothy smile, and then turned to collect his gear and leave. He hefted the sword he'd been idly handling while he waited, and for an instant, its hilt was lit by the full light of the moon. The unusual white gems that formed the center of its decoration sparkled with a haunting glow, and the vision speared into Jeanette's memory.
"My Sweet Goddess!" she shouted, far too loudly, and had to clamp down over her mouth reflexively. Yet, the damage was done. Monica instantly sat up in bed with a start and it was only seconds more before an urgent knock at her door announced that the castle's maids had heard her as well. Link was startled into a moment of paralysis, but recovered with just enough time to leap into the crevice between her bed and the wall an instant before the door opened.
Jeanette had a flustered moment of confusion before she could come up with a lie to send the lady away, her incoherence fortunately playing well to her explanation of bad dreams. When they were safely alone again, Monica asked what had really happened, and the princess gave her a dirty look.
"Was that really necessary?" Link asked, as he clawed his way out from the awkward angle he'd landed at. Jeanette didn't answer, because she was staring at something with a look of near-religious awe in her eyes. Link followed the gaze and found it on his sword.
Minutes Earlier
"They're talking about you, ya know," Arrika told him, breaking the counter-intuitive press of monotony that somehow managed to come while waiting in the private chambers of a famously beautiful girl after dark.
"Yeah, right," Link had decided to take everything the disembodied woman said from now on with a grain of salt. For the most part, he'd found Arrika to be surprisingly entertaining, with seemingly limitless knowledge about this and that subject that she was never too bothered to explain to Link when things were slow. At the same time, she had the oddest sense of humor, and while she was certainly much more engaging and personable than either Zelda or Midna, he just couldn't trust what she said in any but the most serious circumstances. "I'm so sure that two women charged with protecting the better part of a fourth of the whole continent are spending this secret meeting gossiping about a goat wrangler who hasn't bathed properly in days."
"Hey, hey," there was a laugh in her tone, "you don't have to believe me, but it is true. My, they're getting quite catty about it too. That Jeanette has got quite the mouth on her, and Zelda is way too easy to fluster. You'd think they were sisters, the way they're going on. It's almost sickening. Oh, they seem pretty serious now. There might even be wedding bells in your future."
"HA!" Link knew she was joking now. "I'm an orphan ward of a village that's greatest claim to fame is a perennial top-ranking spot in the regional cheese festival. I have a better chance of marrying you than wedding into a royal family. The most I'd ever be to a princess is a boy-toy, and I'm not about to enter any kind of relationship where I'd have to sneak around to halfway enjoy it, anyway. It's just not my idea of a good time."
"Well, listen to you, Mr. Convictions," Arrika seemed genuinely impressed. "Most men would jump at the chance to bed royalty, and let the consequences be damned. I guess those two will have to learn some humility to be ready for when you shut them down."
"Are you still going on about this?" Link complained. It was a little far to carry a joke, especially one so crude. Princesses were nowhere on his social menu, unless it was listing who he was cooperating with to best protect Hyrule. That he was so intimately embroiled with them already was more of liability than anything else, as far as he could tell. He was about to give Arrika a piece of his mind for being so perverted when Jeanette interrupted him by handing him back the whispering stone.
Realizing his cue to leave, Link began to inventory his equipment.
Link lifted Arrika's sword to weave it back into his harness, and Jeanette let out a sudden loud shout of surprise that practically shocked Link out of his skin. There was no question that it was noticed, and he was torn over the best way to hide. If he ducked out the window without being ready for the climb, he'd have to just hang there until whoever checked was gone again, however long that might take. That was far too long to be hanging on a wall with all these sentries about, and… and… and his hesitation was really taking far too long too!
"Behind the bed!" Arrika decided it for him, and he leaped back that way, becoming lodged in the tight space and practically dislocating his shoulder. There was some talking in Ghentese, and soon everything was quiet again. Link crawled back up ready to raise hell at Jeanette, princess or no, after she almost blew the whole operation, but choked up when she turned out to not be listening. She was staring at Arrika's sword, in fact.
"Uh… oh boy. Looks like I've been made. I was wondering if my reputation was still up to snuff these days." Link almost asked her what she meant, but the situation went out of his hands far too quickly.
"Bijou Blanc!" Monica barely managed to keep her shriek of delight and wonderment quiet, and the words seemed to snap Jeanette out of her reverie by confirming her own recognition. Both of them were staring at Arrika's sword now, and little Monica actually scrambled across the room to get a closer look. The expressions of fixed amazement and awe on both petite ladies was giving Link a distinct sinking feeling.
"So… uh… you know something about this sword?" Link said, realizing he sounded utterly lame. He wasn't the least bit prepared for anyone to spot Arrika's blade as anything special, and he kicked himself for his stupidity.
"Where did you get that?" Jeanette asked, angry gravel in her voice as her awe slowly boiled into fury.
"Huh? Well…" Link quickly weighed the benefits and risks of lying. "I found it in the swamp, to be perfectly honest. It struck me as a charming weapon, and I'd lost my own sword, so I… uh… appropriated it from the tomb it was decorating. The place was a mess anyway, and I couldn't stand to see such a beauty of a weapon rust away in the dump."
"Smooth one, Link." Arrika gave him active criticism of his attempt at duplicity. "Just go right ahead and admit you robbed the grave of their nation's greatest hero in recorded history."
"You found it? You just… found… the single most famous lost treasure in all of Ghent? My Goddess… you have a fool's luck! It is almost too much to be borne!" Jeanette shook her head in an almost dazed wash of astonishment. Apparently, for all her talk of fate, she'd yet to come to terms with divine intervention quite like Link had.
"Honestly…" Link tried to play the whole thing off, as if it were possible. "I'm surprised to hear you recognize it. Granted it's easily the finest sword of its type I've ever come across—"
"HEY! What's this, 'of its type' crap?"
"—But I never thought it would be famous…"
"Famous…?" Jeanette looked at him like he was crazy, stupid, or both. "Link, you're holding an item that is either a cultural heirloom or religious artifact, depending on which version of the history you find more appealing." Monica chimed in with something now, and Jeanette giggled girlishly at the younger child's perception of Link's confusion. "She wants you to know that 'Bijou Blanc is the weapon the Lady Hero used to chase the trolls all the way back into their swamp.' You see, even a child knows it, and with good reason. There's a forty-foot mural on the side of the Mother's Cathedral in Monseille that depicts the Lady Hero wielding it."
"What? A crummy mural? Those cheep bastards! The original plan was for a fifty foot statue! Link, is there any chance we could go hunt down the descendants of a few scum-sucking—"
"No kidding?" Link didn't have to fake his impressed expression. "Well, thanks for the history lesson, I'll make sure to take good care of this. I'm sure this Lady Hero of yours would appreciate the use I intend to put her weapon to as well."
"No, Link, I don't think you understand," Jeanette shook her head, "this changes everything! Do you know what a morale coup it would be if we could somehow rally the army behind the very same symbol that drove back the trolls 300 years ago? Men would fight with five times the fury, they'd fight without fear! That's the kind of thing that makes people feel like destiny is on their side!"
"Ah, yeah, you mean you want the 'Lady Hero' to show up in a 'manifest miracle' and rally the army?" Link caught her drift clearly enough, and hated to be the one to burst her sudden enthusiastic turn. "There's a problem with that. I wasn't going to mention it unless it came up, but this sword is rather magical. It can't even be held by anyone but me without trying to break his arm. Sorry."
"Well… yes… the stories all said that only Jean Orleans could wield Bijou Blanc, but that begs the question of why you can." Her suspicious expression smoothed out, and a smile slowly came to her lips. "On the other hand, I think there's still a way we can make this work. Quickly, contact that woman of yours again. We might be able to work something out…"
"I think I know what she has in mind…" Arrika drawled, a tang of mischief coloring her voice. "This promises to be HILARIOUS. I praise whatever gods brought us together, Link. I haven't had this much fun in millennia."
Link found himself surrounded by excited women, and for one reason or another, he was unable to enjoy the fact in the slightest. All that, and Jeanette had the most devious expression lingering on her pristine lips. It did not bode well for him at all.
Second Full Revision Notes:
In my opinion, this chapter more or less marks the high-water mark for book one, and edges toward the best part of the story as a whole. Certainly when combined with the action sequence in the next chapter, it makes a more than adequate climax to book one. Truly, when I read the running summary I produced to start this chapter, I shake my head in wonder and desperately try to divine why I can't produce work that good when I write original fiction. I have to go back and wonder if I actually wrote it or if I got myself mixed up with some other, much more talented writer. Then I read chapters like the previous one, riddled with errors, and remember that it's just little old me.
The huge problem with this chapter goes back to the problem of serialized fiction. I didn't decide to make Jeanette a child savant (similar to Malo from the original Twilight Princess game) until I was about sixty percent of the way through last chapter. Thus the plot twist wasn't properly foreshadowed, and ends up thoroughly jarring. I tried to soften it a bit with minor revisions in this second full overhaul, but it remains a point of regret for me with the story as a whole.
On a fairly meaningless personal note, I completely lost my original copy of this chapter. I had to export the copy on ffnet to edit it. As a result of not having this one on hand, all my chapters are misnumbered on my computer after this one. Funny, huh? Well, its fixed now.
