"No?" Balthier repeated inanely. She had refused him?
A wistful smile. "It's simply not possible, Balthier."
"Of course it is. I managed to get in, didn't I?"
"Ashe has me under constant watch; you might be able to sneak in, but I would never be able to escape. And I wouldn't, even were it possible." She managed to keep the smile from slipping - he would never know how it wounded her to refuse him, how it wounded her that he thought of her as a thing to be stolen. How hard it was to blink back the threatening tears before her vision blurred! What a terrible mess - how lamentable that she, who had so rarely been driven to tears in the past, seemed to find herself constantly driven to them by him.
Another partner change came and went, another rebuffed gentleman flounced off to partner the similarly abandoned lady. His grip only tightened on her as if asserting his ownership; his jaw clenched, she imagined that behind the black mask, his brow might be furrowed in confusion.
"I thought you wished to travel," he murmured.
"I do. And I will. But you cannot steal me away, Balthier," she said in a deliberately light tone. "I'm not a pawn you can use to thumb your nose at Ashe. I'm not a possession."
"Perhaps I phrased that poorly. Penelo -" But the last strains of the music were fading, and the floor was emptying. "Damn, there's no time."
"You ought to go," she said softly. "You've already been noticed." And she nodded to indicate Ashe, who was speaking to a pair of guards and gesturing to where Penelo and Balthier stood. Balthier made an irritated sound in his throat, his mouth compressing into a thin line, betraying his frustration.
"I shall return," he said.
"I don't think that would be wise." She clasped her hands demurely before her. Poised, calm, collected - she would not shame Ashe by acting anything other than the perfect lady this night. The guards were threading their way through the crowd, slowly approaching; he could stay no longer, and she was glad, because she could not hold her pretense of civilized detachment forever.
But in what would no doubt incite weeks of scandalous gossip, Balthier swept her into his arms and kissed her. "Then I am afraid I shall have to be unwise," he said as he released her. And he disappeared into the crowd on the opposite side of the dance floor only moments before the guards appeared.
The Sandsea tavern was a rather rough-and-tumble establishment, known for its rotgut whiskey and barely edible food, but Vaan was known to frequent it regularly despite his recently elevated circumstances, and it was there that Balthier found him, slouched over a mug at the bar. Though he suspected that Vaan would be less than thrilled to see him, Balthier was intensely aware that he had exhausted most of his options, and Vaan was all that remained.
So he dropped onto the barstool beside Vaan and said, "I need your help."
Vaan skewered Balthier with a glare over the rim of his mug. "What the hell has possessed you that you think I would be predisposed to help you? I was inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt, at least until we heard about your treatment of Penelo in Balfonheim - and then to hear nothing from her in weeks!"
"That was a misunderstanding," Balthier muttered crossly. "I had actually begun to make progress with Penelo, in fact, before Ashe took her from me."
"Make progress?" Vaan echoed incredulously. "Is that what you're calling it? Because it seems to me like you've put your foot in it again, and Penelo has suffered for it."
"No, damn it." Balthier sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, by sheer dint of will resisting the urge to throttle Vaan to within an inch of his life. A half-inch, perhaps. "Whatever damning nonsense you've concocted in your head, I can promise you that it is not what you're thinking."
Vaan narrowed his eyes shrewdly on Balthier's face, assessing the scowl etched upon his normally-neutral face. "So you're claiming you didn't chase her down and hold her against her will? You didn't take her to bed again?"
The scowl deepened; Balthier's eyes slid away almost guiltily. He opened his mouth briefly as if to argue his case, then promptly snapped it shut with a sound of vexation.
"As I thought," Vaan snorted in disgust. He tossed back the last of his ale, slamming the mug on the counter as he swiveled in his seat to face Balthier. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't beat you to a pulp."
The threat got Balthier's hackles up; he stared Vaan down with that singular combination of arrogance and disdain that Vaan had always loathed. "Aside from the fact that I would wipe the floor with you - you've got talent, mind, but you haven't experience enough to have developed it properly - I am going to marry her."
Cold anger fled, replaced by disbelief - Vaan gaped, uncomprehending. "Huh?"
Intensely aware of the hush that had come over the tavern as its other occupants watched the scene before them unfold, Balthier snagged Vaan's collar, dragged him close, hissed his response. "If you value your life, you will not make me repeat myself. Let's take this conversation to somewhere more private, shall we?"
"Yeah," Vaan mumbled. "There's private rooms upstairs; gimme a minute." Balthier's fingers slowly uncurled, releasing Vaan's collar, allowing the younger man to fumble in his pocket for a handful of gil, which he plunked down on the counter. From the barkeep he collected a bottle of whiskey, two glasses, and a large silver key.
The two men retreated up the stairs, and Vaan shoved the whiskey and glasses at Balthier while he managed the lock and let them into the room. It was small and sparsely furnished; just a round, wooden table, the surface of which had been scratched beyond salvation. The table was surrounded by a cluster of wooden chairs, and they, too, had seen better days. Even a good sanding and refinishing would hardly aid the massacred furniture.
"Sorry it's not up to your exacting standards," Vaan said snidely, taking note of Balthier's distaste. "Not all of us grew up in the lap of luxury. Penelo's far more comfortable in these surroundings than in the palace, so you might as well get used to it."
Balthier dropped into a chair, leaned back, plonked his boots on the scarred surface of the table. "I do enjoy my creature comforts, but I'll make do with whatever I can get. I left Archadia with naught but the clothes on my back and a stolen airship; it was rough going until I made my way as a pirate."
Vaan cracked open the bottle of whiskey, poured a generous amount in each glass, slid one across the table towards Balthier. "Have you come, then, to ask for permission to court Penelo?"
An inelegant snort. "I'm not asking for permission to do a damn thing," Balthier snapped. "And even if I were, I would hardly be asking yours. I'll do as I please. As it happens, it would please me to rescue Penelo from Her Majesty's...hospitality."
"What if Penelo doesn't want to be rescued?" Vaan sipped his whiskey, the picture of nonchalance.
"Of course she does," Balthier responded immediately. "She loathes it there. You must know she does."
"Allow me to rephrase," Vaan leaned forward, leveled a meaningful stare at Balthier. "What if she doesn't want to be rescued by you?"
Balthier's boots hit the floor with enough force to cause the bottle of whiskey on the table to wobble. "She does," he said. "She must. She loves me." He grabbed for his glass of whiskey, swallowed a mouthful, grimaced. "Gods, that's foul."
Vaan didn't care much for it either, but at least he wasn't so high in the instep that he couldn't manage it without flinching. "She used to love you," he said. "You've shot yourself in the foot with your treatment of her. She deserved better than you - a fact of which I imagine she is now very much aware. I'm surprised she didn't simply jump ship and abandon you." Balthier blanched, and Vaan swore. "She did, didn't she? What, did you chase her down and drag her back? Does what she wants mean nothing to you?"
Balthier set his glass down, scrubbed his face with his hands, sighed heavily. He composed himself, leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "The reports you heard were greatly exaggerated," he said. "Specifically, in Balfonheim - yes, I carried her off kicking and screaming. She'd over-imbibed; I simply wanted her out of the city before she made herself ill." He hesitated briefly. "And yes, she did later flee from me, and I did chase her down. Perhaps in the moment she was angry that I pursued her, but in the weeks that followed she could have fled again a hundred times and yet she stayed. I broke trust with her before, but I was regaining it before your queen snatched her away."
Vaan...believed him. Which was a shock in and of itself, but caution compelled him to ask: "She's been here over a week. What's taken you so long, then?"
Balthier made a rough sound in his throat with an expression that might've passed for something akin to embarrassment. He dug in his pocket and withdrew a small, gold ring and held it aloft.
Vaan's eyebrows arched - Balthier had come prepared. That said something for his sincerity, at least. "It takes a week to find a suitable ring?"
"It does when one wishes to have it inscribed," Balthier shot back snidely.
Vaan held out his hand for it. "Let me see."
Balthier snatched it away, sneering. "Not a chance."
"I'm making it a condition of my assistance," Vaan said. "I'm this close to actually believing you might be sincere enough to merit going against Ashe's orders."
A long-suffering sigh; Balthier relinquished the ring to Vaan, dropping it into his palm and folding his arms over his chest. Carefully expressionless, he waited impatiently as Vaan turned the ring in his fingers, letting the light catch the delicate lettering on the inner curve of the ring.
Vaan's brows jerked toward his hairline as he read the simple inscription. He cleared his throat and handed the ring back to Balthier, who glowered at him as if daring him to comment.
"All right," Vaan said. "I'll help you."
Penelo enjoyed the cooler weather, taking her tea out on the terrace leading down to the sprawling gardens, poring over a stack of correspondence that Ashe had handed over to her. It seemed to all be from the steward managing what was now Penelo's estate, detailing the manor house, the tenants, the crops. He was nothing if not thorough; he had been sending letters twice a week for months, apparently.
Of course, Ashe would not yet allow her to visit the estate; she deemed it too risky a move considering Balthier's propensity towards thievery. But she felt that the steward's letters provided a rather clear picture of it - and her desire to see it for herself surprised her. It did sound lovely; golden fields of wheat, apple orchards, a stream running through the vast gardens crossed with stonework bridges that climbed with ivy and shaded by wisteria and willows.
She was penning a letter of her own in response when Vaan dropped into the chair across the table. He, too, had eschewed formal wear for a more casual style, his shaggy hair falling over his forehead, seeming in perpetual want of a good cut. A servant passed by, placing another tea cup down on the tray before Penelo as she went, and Penelo dutifully poured and watched Vaan clumsily handle the delicate china with no small amount of amusement.
"What brings you?" she asked.
"Wanted to see how you were holding up, being cooped up here and all," he said.
"It started miserably, but it's grown tolerable, I suppose. Actually, I'd like to go visit this estate. My estate, I mean. But Ashe won't hear of it, not while Balthier's in Rabanastre. She thinks he'll try to kidnap me or something," she ended on an unconscious sigh.
Vaan shifted forward, lowering his voice in so they would not be overheard by the guards lingering nearby. "I saw him last night," he said.
"Did you?" She returned her gaze to the letter before her, affecting a disinterested expression.
"He asked for my help in liberating you."
The letter dropped from her fingers, instantly abandoned. "Liberating me?" she scoffed. Her chin lifted, her eyes narrowed. "What rubbish. It's just a pretty word for stealing. But then, he is a thief, for all he'd like to paint it in a more flattering light."
"I don't think -"
"Vaan, don't tell me you agreed to this nonsense." She fixed him with a disapproving look.
"Fine, I won't tell you," he huffed. "Just come walk with me for a moment, and I'll explain." He stood, offered her his hand. After a moment of indecision, she rose to her feet and sorted the papers on the table into a neat pile, then laid her hand on Vaan's arm.
The guards made to follow as they headed towards the gardens, but Vaan waved them away. "I've got her," he said. "Won't let her out of my sight - but we'd like a few moments of privacy, if you please. I'll return her to you shortly." And the guards, familiar with Vaan, did as they were bid. Penelo felt a twinge of annoyance - of course they would obey Vaan.
"You missed Ashe's ball," Penelo chastised gently.
"Ah, come on, Penelo. I was never any good at that sort of thing. Not like you." He lead her along the cobblestone walkway, behind the first row of hedges. "Never could get the hang of all that etiquette stuff. Too many rules; seems pointless."
"I think speaking in complete sentences would make a nice start," she said. "You're dropping words from yours like they're ten gil a piece and you're trying to cut costs." The fragrant scent of roses drifted out to meet them as they passed into a new section of the gardens, bursting with hundreds of varieties of them. The meticulously trimmed hedges abutted stone walls which were adorned by a thick blanket of yellow climbing tea roses. Penelo had never particularly cared for the perfume of them - it was too sweet, too cloying - but she did love the satiny softness of the petals, the way they furled tightly in on themselves until the sun coaxed them into lush bloom, the vast array of colors they boasted.
"Don't suppose it really matters much, in the long run," Vaan said. "Who'd dare correct me? Besides Ashe, that is."
Penelo smiled, stroking the downy-soft petals of a lovely lilac rose anchored by a trellis to the stone wall. "I would. You really do have terrible manners, you know. Someone's got to try to break you of your bad habits. You should visit the palace more often; I've got nothing but time." She cupped the fragile blossom in her hand, but instead of the overly sweet scent of roses, she thought she smelled...sandalwood. The chill of the air was chased away by a radiating heat at her back, and when a warm hand cupped her shoulder, she already knew she would not find Vaan when she turned around.
Traitor.
Her hand curled reflexively into a fist; a thorn pierced her index finger. She did not flinch, but drew her hand away, sucking away the droplet of blood that welled on the pad of her finger.
"Where is Vaan?" she asked.
"Elsewhere, as he should be." His voice was a warm, low rumble, conjuring up erotic memories that brought an answering heat to her cheeks. But she kept her gaze focused on the rose she had crushed in her fingers; the blossom drooped on its stem, petals bruised.
"You shouldn't be here." But his free hand was sweeping her hair over her shoulder, exposing the nape of her neck, and she felt his lips press a tender kiss there and closed her eyes against the ache that stabbed her heart.
"Darling girl, I did say that I would return. Am I not a man of my word?"
She took a deep, steadying breath, steeling herself against the warmth of his hands on her bare arms, the heat of his chest at her back. "I don't know, Balthier. Are you?" She had intended the words to be light, distant, but they came out trembling and wistful instead, imbued with all the uncertainty that had tormented her in the past weeks. Shame assailed her - she had never intended to give him another weapon he might wield against her. Head bowed, she muttered, "I don't know you at all."
His fingers tightened fractionally. "You still don't trust me," he said slowly, in a wondering tone, as if he had not considered this fact.
A helpless bubble of laughter escaped, before she muffled it with a hand clapped over her mouth. "Don't sound so incredulous; you must know you don't exactly inspire confidence. Considering our history, I'd have to be a fool to trust you." She shrugged off his hands, composed herself, turned to face him. "It was bound to end sometime, Balthier. You ought to be grateful, really. Ashe saved you the trouble of staging your death when you'd grown bored." She neatly side-stepped, no longer backed up against the wall of roses. "But at least you've got the Strahl; that should please you."
The faint bitterness in her tone made him wince. She was freezing him out; she had convinced herself that he had been amusing himself with her, that he had pursued her here only because she had been taken before he was ready to relinquish her. She thought he could be appeased with the offer of the Strahl in her place, as if the ship were more valuable, more precious. As if she were merely a toy that could be easily exchanged for another. And he realized that she did think that, that his emotions were that shallow. Of a certainty he had not given her cause to think anything else, at least not in regard to her.
Somehow, he had thought this would be simple - sneak into the palace, find the girl, present the ring, spirit her away to freedom. But her face was guarded, wary. In the safety of the palace, she held all the power. He could not coax or cajole her into coming away with him, nor could he steal her away. And he thought that she truly believed that he might prefer it this way, that he might welcome the chance to bow out gracefully, pride intact. With a stab of remorse, he realized that it was more than he had ever given her - he had savaged her pride over and over. Small wonder that she did not trust him.
Her hands were clasped loosely before her, but her shoulders were stiff, as if it took all of her strength to keep from wilting like the flower she'd inadvertently crushed. He eased a step closer, tentatively, afraid she might flee if he got too close, but was gratified that she held her ground. He lifted a hand, cupped her cheek - her eyes widened just a fraction, she tensed as if poised to run - rubbed his thumb across the sweet curve of her lower lip.
"Dare I ask why you think I returned?" he asked.
"Pride, I suppose." Her lower lip brushed his thumb as she spoke. "Anger. The chance to tweak Ashe's nose."
"No. Nothing so simple." He drew his fingers along the smoothness of her cheek, cupped the back of her neck, slid his fingers into the cool silk of her hair.
"Why, then?" Her palms flattened against his chest as he gently tugged her closer, but she exerted no pressure - not forcing him away, but keeping her options open nonetheless. So he kept his hold light, nonthreatening; the barest caress at the nape of her neck, the careful pressure of his other arm at her back.
He ignored her question; she would not yet believe an honest answer. "Fair warning, darling, I'm going to kiss you."
The downward sweep of her lashes, the minutest trembling of her lips. Dear, sweet girl, trying so hard to be strong, resolved to refuse him despite the pain it caused, doing her best not to let him see how it devastated her. "What purpose would it serve, Balthier?" she whispered, and it was not truly a question, more like a hopeless, resigned statement. "I can't go with you."
Not wouldn't, but couldn't. And he didn't think it had anything to do with Ashe's protection - rather, she was in a prison of her own making, trapped by the doubts and fears he had instilled in her, unable to place her heart in the hands of the man who had broken it too many times already. Her heart was encased in a thicket of thorns, but he had sown the seeds of mistrust, so perhaps he ought not to have been surprised at what crop they had yielded. He had been so careless in the past; how could she trust him to be careful with it in the future?
She couldn't. Of course she couldn't - he would have to teach her to trust him. He ran his index finger along the curve of her jaw, tipping up her chin to raise her face to his. Her fingers curled, scraping across the fabric of his shirt, drawing in a shaky breath. "The guards," she whispered. "They'll come looking eventually..."
His lips brushed the apple of her cheek, and her eyes closed. "I imagine there's at least a few minutes left before they begin to grow suspicious. Really, the queen was scraping the bottom of the barrel with those two; a more inept pair I've yet to see," he said. He kissed the corner of her mouth, the lush curve of her lower lip, hardly more than a whisper of sensation. "I could steal you away right now, I imagine. They'd have to search the whole of the gardens for you first."
She tensed, going rigid against him, sweet pink lips flattening into a firm line. "I won't go quietly," she said. "I'll scream, I'll -"
"Darling, it was an observation, not a threat," he soothed. "I've no desire to abscond with an unwilling captive; it's such a fuss. No, you're going to come with me of your own free will."
"I won't."
An affectionate buss against her forehead. "Not today, perhaps. But eventually, yes, I think you will."
A high-pitched, discordantly-whistled tune preceded Vaan a few seconds before he reappeared, as if he thought to provide warning of his presence lest he catch them in a torrid embrace. And while Balthier's arm wrapped around her waist could hardly be called torrid, he nonetheless raised an eyebrow.
"Well?" Vaan prompted.
Balthier shook his head. "Not today." He tucked an errant lock of hair behind Penelo's ear and drew away to a respectable distance. "Until next we meet, darling."
And Penelo's stomach clenched with the uneasy feeling that 'next time' would be a good deal sooner than she had anticipated.