Penelo ran. Like the coward he'd accused her of being, she fled headlong for the safety of her room, as if by outrunning his prediction she could somehow negate it. But it beat her there nonetheless; it was waiting for her in the silence of her room, resounding in her head, mocking in its certainty. She didn't want to believe it was true - but then, he'd managed to tempt her into something she'd known to be a terrible idea already.
It was just that she had been curious about him. Well, not him, per se - but more the idea of him as the man she might've ended up married to, had their lives not been uprooted by war and strife. They were both different people now, of course, with drastically different lives, and that prior engagement was irrelevant - he didn't know, and she would never tell him. But how could she not have wondered what her life might've been, what sort of husband he would have made, whether they would even suit?
She hadn't wanted to like him. She had been rather determined not to; he had represented everything she'd spent the last several years reviling. But he had turned out not to be quite the demon she had thought him, else he wouldn't have bothered to safeguard her self-esteem. Oh, he was arrogant and cunning and manipulative, but not nearly to the depths that he would have believed of him. He had cultivated an image - indeed, he had chastised Reddas for jeopardizing that image - but in private moments he maintained it only haphazardly at best. But simply not being quite as reprehensible as he might've been did not justify her actions.
He was a poor risk; nothing would come of such a dalliance. But then, she wasn't so foolish as to equate sex with love. She'd seen enough, been propositioned enough in the past to know that love had nothing to do with it whatsoever. She knew better than to expect such a thing from him, anyway.
And just like that, a curious thought surfaced - she knew better than to expect anything to come of it. There was no point, no goal, no chance of anything meaningful arising. But there didn't have to be. After years of sacrificing for the sake of others, wasn't she entitled to something only for herself? To reach for something not because it was a noble and selfless goal, but simply because it was, for a change, something she wanted? So many years wasted doing the right thing despite the cost to herself. She would never reclaim her old life, and she didn't want it, besides. She was an orphan, a girl of no small amount of infamy, and there were no longer any rules of decorum for her to uphold, no chance for an advantageous marriage. No need to bend to the dictates of propriety, no reason to cling to an innocence that had been defiled years ago, from the moment she'd set foot in that club.
He had been right; she had been warped by her experiences there. She had felt soiled, dirtied, each and every time. With every proposition, though the offers had grown to astronomical proportions, she had felt worth less and less, as if each of them chipped away at her, stolen a bit of something precious that could never be reclaimed. She had held herself apart, distant, because it was her only protection against the filth that surrounded her.
She had been pawed at before, and she had always felt filthy afterwards, as if she might well have been dragged through the gutter. But she hadn't felt filthy with him. His hands had been warm, gentle, reverent - like the heat of them could singe away the shame of her tawdry past, erase the memories that lingered like bruises deep beneath the surface of her skin.
She didn't love him, and he didn't love her - but at least he was honest. He held her in enough esteem to want her without the mask, without the prestige attached to the famous body. Just her, as she was. That had never happened before. No one had ever wanted just her.
At least with him, she would know what she was getting into. He'd never pretended to be any better than he was. And she had believed him when he'd said that his proposition had had nothing to do with her past; he had had ample opportunity to shame her for it, and instead he'd only ever sought to shield her from the consequences - even when she'd been bound and determined to seek them out.
He'd said it was inevitable. Maybe he was right. And maybe it wasn't the terrible thing she'd initially believed it to be. Maybe she would seek him out after all. Maybe she owed it to herself to snatch up happiness and pleasure where she could find it.
But if she did, it would be on her terms - not his.
Balthier would never be entirely sure how he'd made it back to his room without cracking open his skull along the way. Nonetheless, he had awoken late into the morning with the devil of a headache, still halfway in the grips of fevered dreams that didn't bear consideration in the light of day, having somehow managed to partially disrobe and sprawl out haphazardly across the covers.
He seemed to have made it out of his vest and his shirt, but had lost interest thereafter - or otherwise perhaps the buttons of his pants had become too complicated for his hands, clumsy from drink, to be able to manage. His mouth was dry, yet another unfortunate side effect of too much liquor.
At least he could take comfort in the fact that the room he'd chosen was in a newer section of the house, equipped with running water, so he would not need to call for servants and await the buckets of hot water they would otherwise have to lug in. He'd not have wanted anyone to see him in this condition, regardless - he'd spent years cultivating his image, and he'd not have it dismantled in one fell swoop by revealing the after effects of a night spent wallowing in drink.
Still, it had not been entirely unpleasant - there had, after all, been Penelo's scintillating company. He remembered the slight weight of her body settled over his lap, her cool fingers sliding through his hair, the delicate pressure of her lips - all of which had been ample enough fodder for his shameless mind to conjure up dark, delectable dreams, tormenting him even in his sleeping hours. He remembered, too, that she had taken exception to his offer to accompany him to his room, which he could now admit was a sound decision, for it was unlikely that he'd have been in any condition to do her justice should she have accepted.
But he was sober now, and in complete control of his faculties. He'd been a bit more candid than he ought to have been last night, freer with his words as alcohol was wont to encourage. He suspected he'd unnerved her at least a little - but then, in her days as a dancer, she had maintained a distance from the patrons, and he thought perhaps there was a chance she might not have had such an experience before, had succumbed so easily due to her inexperience. Just as easily, he dismissed the thought - she had hesitated to touch him intimately, but only briefly, and then her fingers had become bold, eagerly exploring him through his leather pants. His actions had not shocked her; she had merely been thrown by what they represented - a swift descent into hedonistic pleasure when all she had expected was a simple kiss.
Well. She knew better, now. And she had fled, mortified by the surety he had espoused in her surrender. She'd have her guard up once again, that prickly armor she wore around herself to ward others away. But it wouldn't hold - he knew now that she could be tempted into a fall, and he was more than up to the challenge.
He strolled into the drawing room, well past the time he ought to have been there. It had gone past noon, and everyone had already gathered - even Penelo, who sat with her legs draped over the arm of the sofa, gazing sullenly out the window.
"Good of you to join us," Basch said acidly. "Though we could have done without the delay."
Balthier was not particularly aggrieved by Basch's ill-humor. "We're in no particular hurry."
"Are you mad? Your father -"
"Whatever my father plans depends upon her highness," Balthier responded, nodding to indicate Ashe. "Therefore, he awaits our leisure. We'd be remiss did we not take this opportunity to regroup and plan our attack. Only fools would rush in blindly."
His response was met with stony silence, but Basch's jaw clenched - until Ashe said at last, "Basch, you know he is right." To Balthier, she said, "We have been waiting upon you for hours to discuss Giruvegan. Patience has grown short in supply."
A far cry from the imperious admonishment she might once have given; thus he humored her by sinking into a chair, and said, "My apologies. Please, you may begin."
Ashe drew a steadying breath. "The Occuria summoned me to their council, far removed from Ivalice. I know not where, precisely. They charged me with a task - to cut of the Sun Cryst my own shards, to fulfill their directives in the determination of Ivalice's fate."
"So we are to fight the power of the existing shards with new?" Reddas inquired.
"Not...precisely." Ashe rubbed her temples, as if recalling the information required pained her. "The shards in Archadia's possession, they were meant only for the Dynast King, Raithwall. It is why they have long been sealed away; their power is unstable, unpredictable. The new shards would have their power a hundredfold, but pure and untainted by the years and unworthy hands."
"These new shards, then...they could combat the ones lost to us," Basch suggested pensively.
Ashe fixed him with a sharp look. "They could raze entire kingdoms to ashes and rubble in the blink of an eye," she said. "Archadia could be obliterated, as if it had never existed at all." And then she sighed heavily. "And that's what they want. They charge me with this power, this duty to surrender the fate of Ivalice to their will. Over thousands of years, their power has waned, the shards have been secreted away, hidden. They are losing their control, and they want it back within their grasp."
"The Dynast King," Penelo murmured. "Not merely a conqueror, then -"
"No. A puppet of the gods, a tool for their use. Seizing power and kingdoms where the gods will, untouchable with their protection." Ashe made a disgusted sound in her throat. "Raithwall was content to do their bidding in exchange for the power they offered; they have chosen me for the blood that runs through my veins."
"You are Dynast King, now - you can use the shards as you see fit. They can serve our cause and then be hidden away as were the others," Balthier suggested.
"I would that it were so simple," Ashe sighed. "If I cut the shards, there would always be the temptation to use them. And their power corrupts, leaches the good intentions from the heart to better enslave you to the whims of the gods. I would trust no one with this power - not even myself."
Vaan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he said, "Then...just don't cut the shards."
Ashe indicated the Treaty Blade laid out on the table before them. "This blade, it is the only thing that will pierce the Sun Cryst. It cannot merely be hidden away - secrets have a way of coming out. And if I do not use it, the Occuria may revoke their blessing - and the blade with it - to choose another successor. There are too many with weak hearts and weaker wills. Would you trust another to refuse such a gift, such terrible power?"
A fair question. A profound silence hung over the room - it was one thing to plot against an invading kingdom, and quite another to buck the will of gods.
"There is still the matter of the rogue god, Venat," Ashe said. "Venat allies with Cid, and seeks to overthrow the Occuria and their hold over the fate of Ivalice - but by bestowing the power of the nethicite to the masses. Can you imagine the chaos?"
The entire world would be thrust into war, the destruction beyond comprehension. Madness, pure and simple.
"So Cid would use you to achieve that end - and ensure the destruction of Ivalice in the process," Reddas said.
Ashe nodded gravely. "And with Venat at his side, with all the knowledge of the Occuria, he knows where to await us. He is doubtless planning upon our arrival."
"Where, then?" Basch asked. "Where are we to meet him?"
Ashe turned her head briefly, gazing out the window past the endless blue sea stretching inexorably toward the horizon. "Past the Ridorana Cataract," she murmured. "In the Pharos Lighthouse. At the precipice, the Sun Cryst lies dormant, awaiting the chosen Dynast King."
"What a wretched predicament," Balthier muttered. "Cut the shards and win the war - but lose to the twisted machinations of gods, or leave the stone and lose regardless to the whims of another puppet of the gods."
"There's no help for it - we must go," Basch said. "Cid cannot be left to his own devices. He's wrought enough damage. He cannot be allowed to live, not when he is in allegiance with Venat." And he looked to Balthier, as if expecting him to object.
"No arguments from this quarter," Balthier said. "Any relationship we shared was severed long ago. As it happens, I agree - he'll stop at nothing to pursue his ends; therefore we must stop at nothing to keep him from achieving them."
Reddas rose from his chair. "To cross the Cataract, we shall have need of a skystone. It is fortunate, then, that I have one in my possession. I shall give the order to have it installed, but it may be some days before we may leave."
Ashe rose as well, knitting her fingers before her. "Reddas, we have relied upon you too much as it is. You have obligations here; you need not accompany us."
He stared intently at her for a moment, as though he were trying to determine whether her remark was in earnest or if she simply did not care for his company. Finally, he said, "If it is your wish I should remain behind, I will honor it. It is true that I had not intended to leave Balfonheim unprotected so soon - but I can be an asset to your cause. I have been across the Cataract, to the Pharos. Can any of you say the same?"
Of course they had not - skystones were rare enough even amongst pirates. Skystones powerful enough to allow passage over the Cataract rarer still. That Reddas had acquired one was a stroke of excellent luck indeed; that he would give it over to them without question was all the more incredible. Though Ashe likely still held Reddas in some suspicion, she could hardly doubt his willingness to aid their cause.
"You've been to the Pharos? Have you seen the Sun Cryst?" she inquired.
"I have. It is dormant, as you say, embedded permanently into the stones that comprise the Pharos - but I can guide you there. I remember the path."
"Then we will be glad of your assistance." It didn't come out entirely placidly, hardly the smooth, deliberate reply of a queen who expected subservience. Rather, it was the careful response of a woman who could not afford to turn her nose up at such an offer, regardless of the quarters from which it came. It might have pained her, but she had come to the conclusion that some things were greater than her desire for revenge, retribution - that her suffering was insignificant in comparison to the suffering that might be averted should they succeed. The noble queen had learned that there were causes to which even she might bow her head and quell her pride.
"It will be done, then - I shall order the preparations be done at once. The Strahl will require a fair bit of modification, but my men are thorough. We will reach the Pharos safely - that, I can assure you. Whether we leave it safely is another matter entirely." Reddas hesitated, then addressed them as a whole. "It is possible - probable, even - that we will fail. Lest we falter at the crucial moment, I suggest you take this time to make your peace with death, for that is what we face."
Of course, they had known they faced nigh-insurmountable odds. But that had been when they had believed their opponent was merely the power-hungry Emperor Vayne, who, if vanquished, would be succeeded by Larsa - and Larsa would surely bring about a swift end to the war. Vayne was only one man; even protected as he was, he was infinitely more vulnerable than gods.
"We have come this far already," Ashe said in a clipped tone, as if Reddas' remark had offended her. "There have been many opportunities to turn back, where any one of us might've slipped off quietly into the night, or quailed beneath such a burden. And yet we have persevered, despite the obstacles cast into our path. I must believe we will continue on as we have. And so I would give your warning back to you and ask if you are prepared for the same."
A moment passed in utter silence but for the muted sound of waves breaking along the rocky shore. At last, Reddas laughed; a low, self-deprecating sound. "Princess, my die was cast when I turned a blind eye to the atrocities committed in the name of expanding the Archadian Empire, when I burned a kingdom to ashes. I have been prepared for death for years."
It had been some hours since the household had retired for the evening. Night had long since settled like a shroud over Balfonheim, a thick layer of cloud cover pressing down upon the city, muting the nighttime noises to reverential silence.
Supper had been a solemn affair. It wasn't that the meal itself had fallen flat; it was simply that the diners themselves had shown a marked reluctance towards polite conversation. They had gone their separate ways shortly after the uncomfortable meal had concluded, disinclined to voice any private concerns they might've had.
And so Balthier, dissatisfied with the idea of remaining in his own room until morning, had somehow found himself back in that disused study where Penelo had come upon him the night before. He did not expect that she would come round again, but...he poured a glass of sweet wine, just in case.
The imposing grandfather clock against the far wall chimed one, then two. He considered pouring himself a glass of brandy, or perhaps port, but decided against it and grabbed a book from the shelf instead. He'd done enough damage by blotting his senses with alcohol the night before; he could not afford the sloppiness that came with it.
The book was an overblown and flowery history of the Rozarrian Empire; monumentally boring and stuffy. If nothing else, it would put him to sleep and therefore out of his misery. So he dragged an ottoman close, stretched out his legs upon it, and settled in.
He'd read the same passage three times, the words blurring before his eyes, when a sound from the corridor snapped him to instant alertness. Another sound, the soft pad of bare feet across the polished wooden floor. He closed the book, set it on the table to his right, caught up the glass of wine that had spent the better part of two hours aerating, because unless he missed his guess...
Penelo. She appeared in the doorway, her lips pursed, as if he had issued a summons she had been compelled to obey rather than come of her own accord. Though he presented no immediate threat, given that he was still seated, she hovered just beyond the threshold as if she might need to flee at any moment. And she might truly believe that, given how he had behaved with her just last night. But if she were so reticent, why had she come seeking him out?
Perhaps it wasn't him she feared - perhaps her annoyance was with herself instead, for failing to resist the lure.
And yet, he had not called her, he had offered no encouragement, given no invitation. She had been the one to seek him out.
Wordlessly, he held out the glass. For a moment she stood motionless, undecided. But he made no move to rise, gave no indication that he cared overly much whether or not she chose to take it, because ultimately the choice was hers. Finally, she stepped resolutely over the threshold, crossing the room in sure, quick strides to take the glass from his hand.
She settled onto the sofa, curling both hands around her glass. "How did you know?" she asked.
He shrugged, nonchalant. "I didn't. But I find that being prepared for any eventuality is a worthy enterprise."
She considered that and sipped at her wine. The one he'd chosen clearly appealed to her; her eyes closed as she savored it with a tiny hum of contentment.
"Bhujerban," he said. "Perhaps a bit dryer than you would prefer, but I thought it would suit nicely."
"It's quite nice," she replied, taking note that his hands were empty, and no glass rested anywhere nearby. "Nothing for yourself?"
He chuckled. "I cost Reddas a fortune in bourbon last night. It would hardly be respectful of me to repeat such an offense."
The corners of her lips tilted up in amusement. She passed a hand over her mouth as if to wipe the smirk off her face. "Please. You suffered the consequences of over imbibing. You probably are still."
He might still be nursing a bit of a headache, and his stomach might be the tiniest bit queasy - but he'd not admit to her that weakness. "I was thoughtful enough to prepare a drink for you merely on the happenstance that you cared to join me, and in return you cast such aspersions on me," he chided.
Cynically, she snorted. "You were hoping I would change my mind."
He hadn't expected her to bring it out in the open, hadn't even intended upon bringing it up himself, but he found himself fascinated with her candor. He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair and cradled his chin in his palm. "Have you?" he inquired.
She ran the pad of her index finger around the rim of her glass, smiled. "No," she said.
Disappointment swelled. He hadn't expected...but he had hoped. Clearly in vain.
"At least, not yet," she clarified.
Despite his astonishment, he managed to keep his face carefully neutral. "Last night, I was under the impression that your answer had been a resounding 'no,'" he said. "Might I ask what has changed to sway you from that?"
She leveled an arch look at him; the pressure of her finger upon the rim of the glass coaxed a high-pitched musical tone from the crystal, pure and sweet. "Do you really care?" she asked, finally.
He did. He actually did. Not that he required an answer, per se - but that the workings of her mind were intriguing, baffling, confusing. He cared not because the answer itself was important, but because she was interesting, and he wanted to understand her better.
Instead, he said, "I suppose it doesn't matter."
And she nodded, as if she had expected such a response. She had finished only half of her wine, but she set it aside anyway, and made to rise. "It's late. I don't fare well on little sleep."
"Shall I wait for you tomorrow night, then, should the Strahl's modifications not be completed?" he asked.
"If you like." It was a bland, noncommittal response. "But I make no promises, so don't set stock in it."
Against his will, he found himself grinning. She was amusing like this, though she didn't intend to be; he could almost believe that she was truly as indifferent as she sounded - except that her voice had quavered a bit there at the end. She was trying, then, to pretend at a sophistication she lacked in order to protect herself. He admired her bravado.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I shall pour a glass for you, then...just in case."
The smooth tenor of his voice had her golden brows arching in surprise, uncertainty - as if she'd suddenly realized that he might not be as easily managed as she had expected. But she masked it quickly enough, her delicate features setting to that perfect, placid neutrality. And then she slipped silently out the door and was gone.