Chapter Twenty-One: Linked by Blood

Mizael walked into the nearly empty barracks at lunchtime. One figure lay on his stomach on a bed near the middle of the room, blood seeping through the bandages draped over his back as he gazed blankly at the bed next to him. Mizael stopped at the bed and paused for a brief moment before sitting on the edge tentatively, his back to the figure on the bed.

They remained in silence for a few minutes before Mizael finally spoke. "You're an idiot."

"It stings a bit. Could you get the bandages wet to soothe it?"

"I'm serious, Durbe."

"So am I." With apparent effort, Durbe propped himself on his elbows and turned his head to look at Mizael. The two locked eyes for another moment before Mizael let out an impatient tsk and stood again.

"You're never going to be an effective king if you refuse to let those who serve you take responsibility for their own actions."

"When my actions affect those I serve, then I should take responsibility."

"Letting yourself be publicly beaten for breaking curfew and lying about forcing me to go with you is hardly noble, Durbe. You forget that I made an oath to keep you safe, something I can't very well do when you pull stunts like this."

"It really is starting to sting. Water would be nice."

Mizael huffed and grabbed a bowl of water from the bedside table. Without prelude, he dumped it on Durbe, ignoring Durbe's whimper as the cold water doused his head and back, and slammed the bowl back on the table before stalking off.

"Mizael."

Mizael paused and turned around to see Durbe gazing after him, shivering. "What?"

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"For thinking I could change our kingdom. I don't deserve your loyalty."

Wordlessly, Mizael walked back to the bed where Durbe lay propped up, shivering slightly under the wet bandages covering the lesions on his back, and slapped him across the face.

Stunned, Durbe didn't move as Mizael turned on his heel and stormed off again.

"If you dare suggest to me again that I committed treason for a senseless coward, I will do much more than slap you, Durbe."

The door slammed behind him, leaving behind a dazed Durbe with a stinging cheek and freezing water dripping into his eyes.

For nearly four hours, Durbe tried to talk to him, but Mizael kept his arms crossed, his expression sullen, and Durbe finally gave up and left him. He was sulking; he knew that. It was childish, disgustingly human behavior, but he had a hard time bringing himself to care. It carried on into the early hours of the following morning, and he barely slept.

He had read Captain Kamishiro's journal multiple times since it came into their possession with no problems, but hearing Durbe recount that night in his soft, emotionless voice triggered memories Mizael had long since tried to bury.

Tsukumo's account wasn't the same as he remembered it, of course. To Tsukumo, and by association, Captain Kamishiro, Mizael's actions that night were void of feeling or remorse. But Mizael's memories of that night were different.

Durbe knew that, but he didn't seem to care.

"How long are you going to refuse to speak to me?"

The sun had not yet risen; Durbe rarely came by before dawn without a good reason. Without turning to the door from his prone position on the bed, Mizael smelled the bitter coffee, a luxury Durbe had grown dependent on, and knew he would find the lord in his human form. Barians had no need for the drink.

Mizael remained silent. Durbe sighed.

The soft clink of Durbe's mug on Mizael's end table preceded the mattress sinking, and Mizael turned deeper into his pillow.

"If I'd known it was going to affect you like that, I would have sent you into the hall with Alit and Gilag."

"How could the memory of torturing a man to insanity not affect me, Durbe?" Mizael pulled himself from his pillow and turned at last to Durbe, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to Mizael. True to Mizael's observations, Durbe sat in his human form. "For that matter, how did you think I would feel about playing a major role in taking a good father from his children?"

Durbe turned and gazed at him for a moment. There was a strange look in his eyes; a combination of pity and resentment, and he folded his hands with more rigidity than usual. "Empathy for humans; how unusual of you. Do you feel a kinship with the fatherless children, Mizael? Or, should I say, the abandoned children?"

Mizael clenched his fists and sat up. The overwhelming urge to grab Durbe by his pretentious scarf, to slam him against the wall and vent his frustrations overcame him – how dare he – but he forced it down. The last thing he needed was to hurt the only one with the authority to keep him out of a cell. He contented himself with gripping Durbe's wrist. "There was no need. Ordering me to do as Vector commanded was a mistake." He squeezed his eyes shut and relinquished his grip on Durbe. "They think we're going to cure him. You should hear them talk about it when they don't know I'm listening. Trust the Barians, Mihael. They'll save Father. If I give myself to them, they'll return the favor and return Father to normal." He laughed bitterly. What fools they were.

Durbe looked away again. Mizael couldn't tell what was going through Durbe's mind. Part of him yearned for Durbe to beg his forgiveness, but he knew Durbe was too proud for that. A king should never have to repent.

"It was for the best," Durbe said finally, rubbing his wrist. Mizael must have gripped too hard; Durbe was bleeding.

"The best for whom, Durbe? For all of humanity? For the Barian Empire? Or for you?"

"You're acting like a spoiled child."

Mizael laughed again. "Good! Isn't that what I am? The fatherless Barian." He held a hand to the asymmetrical wing of his face. "Cursed with a broken body, a broken soul. An unwanted child."

"You're not unwanted." Durbe's voice quivered.

"I was such a shame to my parents that they rejected me. Imagine that, Durbe! Sacrificing part of your own soul to bring forth life, only to reject it."

"It doesn't matter now, Mizael. You've done great things with your life despite-"

"I've committed treason!" Mizael hissed. He pulled himself to the edge of the bed next to Durbe. Durbe's tired human face turned to him. "Treason, Durbe! All for your sake! I've killed dozens in your name. In the name of persuasion, I joined you in ripping out souls and crafting a madman out of a once-peaceful king. And I don't understand fully why."

Durbe remained impassive throughout Mizael's rant. It infuriated Mizael, how Durbe could be so calm all the time; it infuriated him how Durbe could keep secrets from him still, even after all these years and everything Mizael had done for him.

Durbe closed his eyes. "What do you want me to tell you, Mizael?" He kept his tone soft.

"I want you to tell me what it's all for. What is your endgame, Durbe? I kept quiet while we worked to make you a lord. I've kept quiet since our conquest began. I deserve to know what's next."

For the first time, Durbe hesitated. "I… am afraid you won't understand."

He may as well have slapped Mizael, however gentle his words. He wouldn't understand? "You don't trust me to know? I've thrown in my lot with you. I've sacrificed myself to you. The least you could do is trust me, unless thirty years of loyalty means nothing to you."

"Don't be foolish. Your loyalty means everything to me." Durbe reached across Mizael for his coffee. Mizael shoved his arm away.

"I feel like a faithful tool, Durbe. I build and destroy by your hands, never asking questions about what you're building. You cherish my usefulness. But when I'm worn thin and ineffective, you'll toss me aside."

Perhaps he wished Durbe would get defensive, would raise his voice and deride him – you fool; how could you ever assume that I see you as nothing more than a tool? – but he didn't expect Durbe's gaze to fall to the floor and his eyes fill with tears.

Mizael had only ever seen Durbe cry once, during their days as recruits in the Barian military. Filled with youthful invincibility and carrying their naïve dreams for a better future for their kingdom, they often escaped the camp late at night to research in the library. Durbe learned everything he knew about politics from these ventures; he admitted to being from a small, unlearned village on the edge of the Waste, far removed from great libraries and unable to study history and war. Durbe treasured the library at Baria.

But one night, they were caught, and Durbe lied to save Mizael from punishment. They tied Durbe to a post, stripped him, and beat him until his thick skin hung in tatters on his back.

It dissuaded Durbe from returning to the library, but at that point, he had read enough to know what he wanted to do.

He cried not from physical pain this time, but from the fear that he had hurt Mizael. At least, Mizael thought so. He wanted to believe that Durbe felt remorse for keeping secrets for so long.

"I understand now," Durbe whispered, rubbing a few stray tears from his cheek. "You're scared I'll abandon you in the end. Like everyone else did."

"I'm not scared."

"Yes you are." Durbe slid from the bed and brushed his morning robes. With the heel of his hand, he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. "I expect you at breakfast in one hour. Lord Christopher has news for us, or so I understand. Please arrive in your formal clothing and in your human form."

Mizael watched him cross the small room, listened to his wispy slippers sidle across the cherry floor. "Are you going to answer me? Or are you going to continue to leave me behind while you continue to rise?"

Durbe paused with his hand on the doorknob. "You've waited this long," he murmured. "Just wait a few more hours."

Jasmine-scented steam filled the spacious bath chamber, clouding the gold-framed mirrors and the windows shut against the morning frost. The steaming water was paradise for Akari's exhausted, stiff body, but she pulled her legs close to her naked chest as a Healer poured a copious amount of hair potion over Akari's head. Three weeks without a bath had left Akari's scalp itching and like straw, and her own stench repulsed her. She didn't know what was going on; she had been dragged from her cell early in the morning and brought to this chamber, where the Healer went to work cleaning Akari's hair and body. The Healer didn't seem to know much more than she did.

"Lady Akari, if you wouldn't mind moving your arms away from your chest…?"

Akari tightened them. "Give me the cloth and I will wash myself."

The Healer sighed. "I have tended to women before, Lady Akari, and a woman's body is not foreign to me." She handed over the rag anyway and Akari scrubbed the dirt and sweat from her underarms and chest. The Healer turned to a pile of soft towels. "When you're finished, I'm to escort you to a set of chambers where you will be given-"

"Why?"

"Pardon?"

Akari pulled herself to the side of the tub. "Why are the Barians doing this? What's the point of cleaning me?"

The Healer didn't respond at first, and though Akari couldn't see her face, she could see her shoulders shaking. "Your brother…" She trailed off and ran her hands over her face. "You might have to go to his execution tomorrow."

Akari gripped the sides of the tub to keep steady, but to no avail. The Healer knelt next to the tub and pulled Akari's upper body back out of the water, holding Akari's dripping body to her chest as Akari's anguished wails filled the chamber. Execution?

"He's just… a child…"

The Healer gently pulled Akari from the tub and wrapped her in a towel. "He's a man, Lady Akari. He made oaths to lay down his life for his-"

"What good is an oath like that?" Akari screamed, pulling away. The Healer's soft brown eyes widened at Akari's outburst. "What good does it to do die for your kingdom? He's an idiot and this is what he gets-" Her voice gave out on her and she buried her face in her towel. Why did he have to be so stupid? Why didn't he stay at home?

Durbe's recounting of Yuma's time in hell terrified Akari. The thought of her baby brother – so innocent, so naïve – taking lives in vengeance, committing the ultimate sin…

The Healer squeezed tears from her eyes and half-dragged Akari across the cold floor to the adjoining bedchamber. "You can't mean that. He's your brother."

Akari shook her head. She had nothing more to say.

Vector was already seated when Chris and his brothers arrived in the dining hall for breakfast. Mihael had helped Chris braid back his hair, which now fell loosely over his shoulder, and all three wore their formal robes.

It's a historic occasion, their father had insisted. You should all look your best.

Thomas cast Vector a barely concealed look of disgust as they sat. Vector lounged back in his chair, plate and glass upside-down, still very much in his Barian form.

I thought Father told them to come in their human forms. It hit him then that he had never seen Vector's human form before. Was there a reason for that?

"You three look dashing this morning," Vector said conversationally, twirling a fork with a clawed hand as he deliberately ignored Thomas's snort.

"Did Lord Durbe neglect to inform you that this was a celebratory breakfast feast?" Chris said, keeping his tone level.

Vector glanced upward thoughtfully. "Hmm. Maybe. I don't remember most of what Durbe says, to be honest."

"That explains a great deal."

Chris turned to see Durbe, dressed in his pristine white dress robes, stride through the door with Mizael at his heels. Alit, wearing red robes with black embroidery, and Gilag, with his green robes hemmed in silver, brought up the rear. It was always strange to see the Barians in their human forms – Mizael and Durbe with their slender bodies, handsome, dark-skinned Alit, and gruff Gilag with a body far too brawny to belong to a normal human. They looked so young, made more jarring by the fact that Chris knew each of them had lived for half a century.

Durbe took a seat next to Vector, and his generals occupied the seats next to him. "I notice that you wish to defy Arclight custom when invited to drink with the royal family?"

Vector stretched. "I've got stuff to do today. No time for drinking."

Chris caught Mizael rolling his eyes. Next to the general, Alit shoved a handful of granola from a bowl on the table into his mouth. "Is Father on his way, Lord Durbe?"

Durbe straightened his cutlery. "Yes, I believe he went to get someone."

"And here she is!" Byron's voice boomed from the door.

Chris and his brothers stood respectfully as Byron dragged a woman into the room behind him. It was only the third time Chris had seen her, and she was infinitely more presentable now than she had been before. Her red hair, which had hung limp and filthy around her shoulders, was now washed and pulled into a braid, and her simple red dress hung loosely from her emaciated frame.

"Say hello to the future Queen of Arclight!" Byron announced, gesturing at her.

His father clearly hadn't told her what was going on, judging by the way the color drained from her face, nor had he told the Barians, who each wore a look of varying incredulity. Chris exchanged a weary glance with Thomas. He was grateful for his brother, who helped him prepare remarks for this breakfast. It had been difficult; Chris found his throat constrict each time he thought of what might have become of Kaito. Part of him – the childish part of him, doubtless – wished Kaito was still alive, but Thomas was right; he couldn't have Kaito any longer.

Vector composed himself first. "What?"

Chris approached the shaking woman, who had tears streaming from wide, terrified eyes. He held out his hand. When she shook her head, he grabbed hers anyway. "My lady, I am Christopher Arclight, eldest son of Byron Arclight. We are to be-" His voice caught in his throat. Thomas raised an eyebrow at him. The look in his brother's eyes was clear – think of something else and get through it. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I have chosen Akari Tsukumo to be my… my wife… in the hopes of achieving unity between Astral Kingdom and Arclight Kingdom." The words came easier, now. "It is my prayer that our union will cast out any ill-feelings between our two kingdoms brought on by your brother's poor associations and decisions."

The tension in the hall was so thick that Chris could practically touch it. Vector gripped his fork so tightly that it bent; he gazed at Chris through eyes squinted in disbelief. Vector was easy to read. So was Mizael, who wore an almost permanently annoyed scowl each time Chris saw him in his human form. The scowl had twisted almost into a grimace. Alit had an eyebrow raised and his nose scrunched, and Gilag stared down at his plate as though hoping for something to appear there so he didn't have to think about the situation.

But Durbe… Durbe's face was always hard to read. Apart from his initial eyebrow raise, his face was impassive, his eyes set in that serious way Durbe always wore, mouth set in a straight line. It was impossible to tell what Durbe thought of the situation, and that worried Chris.

It was Durbe who replied first, holding up his empty glass. "I think congratulations are in order, Lord Christopher. This is… truly a grand day." He glanced at his generals, who sighed almost in unison and muttered congratulations as they lifted their empty glasses. A servant hurried over with a bottle of wine and poured some into each glass. Durbe waited until the brothers and Byron had been served to lift the glass in a toast. "To Lord Christopher and Lady Akari. May their union bring… peace to the kingdoms and unite our land." He took a sip, and the others followed, Gilag and Alit echoing Durbe's sentiment before sipping at their glasses. Mizael muttered something indistinct and drained his glass.

How uncharacteristic of General Mizael to drink any wine at all without Durbe nudging him into it.

Chris pulled Akari along. She resisted and tried to tug away from his grip; he held her hand firmly and leaned close to her. "Please do not make a scene, Lady Akari."

"I want to see my brother," she said loudly.

"This is not the time."

"This is the perfect time. I heard he's going to be executed tomorrow. I demand to see him."

Vector giggled. "Oh? They told you, then?"

She seemed to notice Vector's presence for the first time, and pulled behind Chris. Her hand tightened in his as Vector stood.

"I'm tired of the formalities, so before you all start getting drunk, I think I'd like to leave." His eyes scrunched up into his bizarre, mouthless smile. "It's going to be an exciting day tomorrow."

"On what grounds is he to be executed?" Akari burst out.

Vector shrugged. "Treason, of course."

Akari spat on the ground. "Treason to you, you demon?"

The humor evaporated from Vector's face as he took a furious step around the table. Durbe's hand shot out and grabbed Vector's wrist. "You don't speak to me like that, you filthy human!"

"Vector, sit down," Durbe muttered.

"I'm a lord!" Vector wrenched his hand free. "A lord! And this disgusting piece of filth just-"

"This disgusting piece of filth is the future heiress to the Arclight throne," Durbe interrupted. "Either sit down and shut up or leave us and do whatever it is you deem more important."

Vector glared down at Durbe for a moment before turning on his heel and vanishing. Durbe pinched the bridge of his nose and whispered something under his breath. Given the two lords' relationship, Chris could only assume it was something uncharacteristically impolite of Durbe.

A long silence followed. Durbe finally stood. "Please forgive Lord Vector, Your Majesty."

Byron waved a dismissive hand. "I can hardly blame him." He gave Chris a piercing stare. "My son should better control his future wife."

Chris placed his hand over Akari's mouth before she could retort. She grabbed at his hand and he leaned his face next to her ear. "Calm yourself and this will be much easier for the both of us." He straightened up as her shoulders slumped. "I will have a talk with her. Perhaps it's best that we take our leave."

"So soon?" Byron tilted his head. "You won't even stay for the festivities?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Shame." Byron grabbed Akari's trembling hand and kissed it. "Do be good to my son, won't you? And hold off taking him in bed until you're married, won't you?"

Thomas snorted again, this time with laughter. Chris grimaced. "Father, please."

Byron wagged his finger at Chris. "Now, now, I just want to ensure that you keep to the letter of the law and refrain from any… untoward behavior outside of marriage."

Chris's heart skipped a beat and Thomas's laugh cut off abruptly. If anything could have cemented his fear that his father knew about his relationship with Kaito, the tiny smile on his face was it. Chris licked his dry lips. "Of course." He flinched as his father clapped him on the shoulder.

"What a dutiful son. Well, if we're all abandoning the festivities, I suppose I may as well go talk to the seamstresses. If they get to it now, they can have a wonderful wedding dress prepared by tomorrow morning."

The half-empty glass of wine slipped from Chris's hand, shattering on the marble floor. "Tomorrow morning?"

"Of course." Byron smiled. It held no warmth, and Chris wished desperately for the days when his father's smile was reassuring and not frightening. "The public will be on the grounds already for the execution. What better way to lift their spirits after watching Yuma Tsukumo's neck break than to witness the union of two kingdoms?" He glanced at the glass on the floor and ignored Akari's whimpering. "You should clean that up." He strode out without another word, door slamming behind him.

"Oh gods!" Akari wailed, sliding to the ground. Chris hesitated a moment before kneeling next to her, patting her back as her body heaved with loud sobs over her brother's fate. He glanced up at Thomas, whose mouth had dropped open, and at Mihael's pale face. Even Durbe's stoicism was gone. He looked troubled, and if the Barian lord was troubled, so was Chris.

Droite crossed her arms, gazing around the unusually crowded inn commons while Gauche haggled for cheaper drinks. She had been to many roadside taverns and inns, and none of them were full on any given night, especially since they were less than ten miles from the palace. There were many inns in the city that were cleaner and probably cheaper than this one.

"…ever be that much, you swindling-"

She nudged Gauche. "Something's wrong here."

"I'll say," he muttered. "This ass is trying to charge me four times what this drink is worth."

She leaned across the counter and slammed a knife between the innkeeper's fingers. The man pulled his hand back with a quickly stifled scream that drew several pairs of eyes to the counter. "We'll take two, and we will pay one pomma."

The innkeeper gave her a terrified whimper and slammed the mugs on the counter before vanishing quickly to the backroom. Droite tossed the tiny silver coin on the table and grabbed her mug.

"Don't grin like that, it makes you look ridiculous." She was acutely aware of several people watching them closely now. They'd have to watch themselves.

Not that she doubted she could take care of herself.

"I can't help it. You scared him shitless."

They sat at the only vacant table in the room, somewhere near the middle. Droite hated leaving her back to anyone, but Gauche sat across from her and she knew he'd keep an eye out.

"Hey, you."

A neighboring man glanced up at Gauche. "What?"

"What's going on in town today?"

A man a few tables over laughed. "How could you not have heard? There's a public hanging in the morning."

Droite paused mid-sip. "A hanging? For whom?"

The first man shrugged. "Some upstart terrorist from Astral. I heard he tried to kill the emperor."

"Too bad he didn't succeed, eh?" another man chimed in.

"Shut the hell up! You want them to hear you talking that kind of shit about them?"

Droite raised her eyebrows at Gauche. He seemed to get her meaning and nodded. "In the morning, you say? At the palace?"

"Where else? Lord Durbe had announcements posted all over the kingdom early yesterday morning."

"And everyone dropped everything to come watch a poor man they don't even know die?" Droite said tonelessly.

"Not much else to do anymore, is there? Ain't been a public execution since my grandaddy's time. Maybe we're a bit curious. No harm in that, eh?"

Droite pushed her half-empty mug away and stood. Gauche scowled at his mostly-empty mug and followed suit. She hated wasting perfectly good alcohol, especially the night before a mission, but…

If this man slated to be executed was the same man the Dragoon twins wouldn't shut up about, perhaps…

"A rescue mission?" Gauche muttered as they hurried back to camp.

"That Dragoon man won't hesitate. That's what he's going there for."

"And in the confusion of an execution gone awry…"

The perfect diversion.

"Aren't you going to wash?"

"I'll wait."

"You're acting as though I've never seen you bathe before." Rio waded through the stream and leaned on the bank, watching her brother. With Gauche and Droite gone for a few hours, Kaito muttered that he felt disgusting and headed a quarter of a mile upstream to bathe, ignoring Ryoga's helpful comments that he looked disgusting too, and that perhaps he should consider returning to Tenjo to get pampered. Over the past few days, Ryoga had to endure Kaito's constant jabs at their half-breed blood and Anna's frequent reminders that they were thieves and murderers, and that she was going along with them only because she believed they were going to kill her to keep her quiet.

It was very tiring.

"Are you worried that Anna might see you?" Rio went on slyly, folding her arms in front of her chest. "I think she's out of sight, if that's the problem."

"Whether or not that whiny woman sees me naked is the least of my concerns. We're in Barian territory, and what does concern me is a Barian seeing me naked."

Through the dim moonlight, Ryoga clearly saw her roll her eyes. She shivered involuntarily; though the spring night was warm, the water was still very cold. "Whatever. Is something actually bothering you, dear Brother, or are you just being sullen for no reason?"

He glanced up, where wispy clouds muted the stars. He enjoyed stargazing; looking at the different shapes against the black canvas of the universe beyond fascinated him. He had taught Yuma about constellations. Yuma had enjoyed it, he thought. He wondered again whether he was too late to save Yuma. "I had a talk with Kaito a few nights ago."

"Oh? You actually had a civil conversation with Kaito?"

"I'm trying to be serious, Rio."

She hoisted herself onto the side of the bank and reached for a blanket to dry herself with. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Whatever." He looked down at his gloved hands. This was the last conversation he ever envisioned having with Rio, but despite his reservations, despite the… wrongness of it all, he had to have it, had to exhaust all avenues. He waited to continue until she began dressing. "I just… it reminded me of something. That it's just you and… and me."

She paused in the middle of pulling her armor back on. Her eyebrows shot up, and he thought she knew exactly where he was going with this.

"We've been alone for a decade, Ryoga," she murmured. "Surely that fact, at least, hasn't escaped your notice all these years."

"Mara and I…" He swallowed. His hands clenched on his knees, and Rio reached over and firmly grabbed his hand.

"Don't you even think about it, Ryoga. It wasn't your fault."

"I didn't love her, Rio."

"I know you didn't."

He turned to meet her gaze. Her boots were half-laced and her vest hung loosely from her chest, but she didn't seem to care. "It was duty."

"Ryoga-"

He clamped his hand on her wrist. She clenched her fist and tugged, to no avail. "Is it still our duty, Rio?"

His voice was pleading, weak, and he hated it but he had to ask. He had to know. He needed her reassurance. He had prayed and meditated for too long with no answer.

He could pinpoint the exact moment she figured out what he was trying to say. Pity and despair filled her face. Fear. Most frighteningly, a quiet understanding. They had grown up with the same laws and customs seared into their minds from the time they could talk. Propagate the race. Keep the race alive, at all costs. For we are the chosen children of the gods.

"We're blood, Ryoga," she whispered, clutching his wrist with her free hand.

"The last drops of blood run through our veins."

"And the last drops of blood will dry up when our bodies return to the earth." She finally managed to pry her hand free. "We've sacrificed enough. Let the gods deal with it now." She climbed to her feet and turned her back on him, looking to the other side of the stream bank at the sparse cottonwoods and sagebrush. This was the last vestige of life before crossing over to the Waste, half a day's journey from where they were. But they weren't there to go to the Waste. Not yet. "You should bathe now."

"I will, but… Rio."

She finished lacing up her vest. "What?"

Ryoga looked at his hands again. What does Yuma Tsukumo mean to you?

He'd thought of little else since Kaito asked it.

He was scared to know the answer.

"What if we do it? What if the prince is saved? What if Yuma…" He couldn't finish.

The look of pity returned. She was his twin. She knew him almost as well as he knew himself. Maybe better, sometimes. "How important is your duty to a dead clan, Ryoga?"

She headed back into camp. Ryoga ran his hands over his face, feeling the familiar guilt, humiliation, and fear – fear of himself, fear of his duty, fear for his race – and most of all, the shame for his overwhelming longing to see Yuma's childish smile again.

The Barians allowed Yuma to share a cell with Astral for his last night. As a request from Lord Christopher, Alit had said tonelessly. Astral wondered at this, but didn't question it. Yuma had barely reacted to Durbe's last two hours of interrogation, and Durbe eventually grew bored with Yuma's lack of response. Byron returned not long after to tell Yuma that a public execution awaited him. A hanging.

They huddled in the corner, Yuma with his arms around Astral's waist, burying his head into Astral's bony shoulder. Astral held him close and gripped his hand. He prayed quietly for Yuma to receive peace and forgiveness in the life to come, hoping to elicit a response from the broken man. None came.

Astral hesitated before placing his lips to Yuma's forehead. "No matter what awaits you," he whispered, "I will be forever grateful to you. For everything you have given to protect me."

Yuma pressed his face harder into Astral's shoulder. Astral felt Yuma's warm tears soak through his robes.

It was no wonder Yuma feared to die.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway and Yuma's arms tightened. It couldn't be morning already…?

Astral winced against the torchlight flooding the cell. Chris Arclight stood in the hall, next to a woman in a red dress – Yuma's sister – who practically threw herself at her brother. Astral met Chris's gaze for a moment before the cell door closed. Chris didn't move; Astral couldn't hear any retreating footsteps. A temporary arrangement, then.

They sat there, the three of them, arms awkwardly wrapped around one another. Astral had never met Akari before his imprisonment. But her face, her eyes, her sorrow mirrored her brother's so exactly that he knew she needed comfort as much as Yuma did.

He was, after all, her only brother.

She finally seemed to realize that she had clawed her hand into Astral's shoulder and pulled away.

"I'm… so sorry, my prince."

"You have no need to apologize," Astral murmured. "I am no longer a prince."

She shook her head frantically. "Why are they taking my brother from me? Why would they… what do they have to gain?" Each word came out in a broken sob until tears streamed from her eyes. "He did nothing wrong. He's…"

"I failed."

Astral tightened his grip on Yuma's hand while Akari ran her fingers through Yuma's hair. "Yuma, you did your best. You did more than anyone could have."

A sob punctuated Yuma's humorless laugh. "It wasn't enough."

"There was nothing more you could have done," Akari whispered. "You swore to… to give up your life for your kingdom."

Yuma closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "I suppose I did." He reached up and touched Astral's wet face. "I wish… I could have seen Ryoga again."

Astral's eyes flickered to Akari, whose face crumpled as she watched her brother's face melt into a sad smile. "He would have liked that."

"If you see him… tell him that I pray we…" He gave a shuddering sigh, but Astral understood. Gods, but did he understand. "Sis, what's going to happen to you?"

She squeezed the tears from her eyes. "They're letting me live."

"Good." Astral's heart broke at the contentment in Yuma's face. He was preparing to die. He was coming to grips with it.

And Astral wasn't.

He couldn't.

"What about Gran?"

"She's fine, too. They're taking… care of us."

"I'm so glad."

Yuma closed his eyes once more, taking him to his earthly dreams one last time.

Kaito tossed a stick in the fire. There wasn't any need for it; the fire was doing just fine. But he was feeling antsy. They were maybe six hours from the palace now, and they hadn't encountered a single Barian. They had seen them, of course, across the river, in the distance. They'd navigated unnoticed around the lake and followed the scrubby grasslands along the river, keeping hidden in the shade of the towering cottonwoods. They were even ahead of schedule; they would reach the palace before sunrise if they started out again soon. The assassins assured him that they would be gone only for a short time, enough to gather information about the state of things in the kingdom. Kaito had been gone for long enough that he expected the Barians to have done something drastic. Durbe was ruthlessly efficient in that regard.

He hated it when things went too well. It was a sign that things were about to fall to pieces.

Anna came back from her bath first, muttering about how cold it was as she sat entirely too close to the fire. The Dragoons were gone longer; Rio returned to camp looking worried, her lips pressed thin and her eyebrows furrowed. They sat in silence for nearly a quarter of an hour before Ryoga arrived, looking much the same as his sister. He sat across the fire from her, between Kaito and Anna, and Kaito raised his eyebrow.

They must have fought about something. The twins normally refused to leave each other's side, especially around Kaito.

"We'll leave when the… other two get back."

Ryoga nodded stiffly and picked up his water pouch. "How exactly are we going to get into the palace?"

He and Chris had explored every inch of that palace looking for secret places to steal kisses. He felt a pang in his chest at the thought. "I know a few back ways in. It shouldn't be difficult." He ran his fingers over his heart. The swelling had almost vanished now. He didn't know what had done it – perhaps Droite's herbs and questionable medicinal practice of bleeding out – but he didn't care. He felt better than he had since… that day. Physically, anyway. He needed to get Astral out of Arclight and back to his brother. He'd deal with the Barians after Haruto's illness was cured.

"And you're not concerned in the slightest that there are at least four powerful Barians that live in the palace?" Rio said skeptically. "I doubt the four of us can take them together, as much as I hate to say it."

"Excuse me," Anna interrupted, "but the four of us?"

"You don't really have a choice in the matter at this point," Ryoga growled over his water pouch.

Anna cast a disgusted look at him. "I never wanted to get mixed up with any of you. Two murderers for hire, a renegade prince, and two wanted fugitives? No thank you."

Kaito opened his mouth to reply but a barely audible rustle in the sagebrush beyond the cottonwoods caught his attention. His hand was on his sword as he turned-

"It's just us. We've gotta go. Now." Gauche kicked dirt onto the small fire, which smoked violently as it was choked out.

"What's going on?" Anna demanded.

The Dragoons slung their packs over their shoulders. Rio watched Gauche with narrowed eyes.

Droite turned her gaze to Ryoga. "There's a public execution in seven hours."

"A public execution?" Kaito demanded. Impossible. There hadn't been a public execution in decades. It had to be an enormous political statement, whoever it was. His chest clenched. Perhaps one of the Arclight brothers…? "Whose?"

"We think it's your friend," Droite said to Ryoga in a dangerously quiet voice.

Kaito's first reaction was relief; it wasn't Chris, then.

But Ryoga's lips parted as his hands wrung his lance, and Kaito could practically hear the Dragoon's heart shatter.