Penelo drew in a swift breath as Balthier swabbed at her split lip with a clean, wet cloth. She twisted her fingers in her lap in an effort not to wince from the pain. Balthier's features were arranged in a scowl so fierce that she was amazed at the careful pressure of his hand cupping her chin, the delicacy with which he handled the cloth, the deliberate lightness of the strokes as he staunched the thin trickle of blood.
"I should have burned this godsforsaken place to the ground when first I had the chance," he snarled through gritted teeth.
"Don't be ridiculous," she mumbled, drawing back to escape his relentless prodding with the cloth. "That's enough; it stings."
"Of course it stings; Bartaan split your lip."
"Actually, that was Jiraj. Bartaan only knocked me unconscious," she said inanely, and regretted it when she saw the sharp flare of ire in his eyes. "Now, Balthier…"
"Oh, no," he said. "They've earned what they've got coming to them, and I'll not be swayed from retribution this time around." He thrust a glass into her hand, curling her fingers around it. "Drink this."
She sniffed the liquid in the glass, wrinkling her nose at the smell. "It's a bit early for whiskey."
"It's for medicinal purposes. Bartaan's first-aid supplies consist solely of bandages – the whiskey will disinfect the wound." He sponged at her cheek, scrubbing away the last remnants of the sand and dirt that clung to her skin. The removal of the grime only highlighted the beginnings of the bruise that shadowed her cheekbone and receded into her hairline. Bartaan had struck her hard enough to leave a massive mark in the imprint of his hand – she'd look like she'd come out the wrong side of a bar brawl for a few weeks at the least.
Penelo dutifully lifted the glass and swallowed down a mouthful, choking as the whiskey seared her rent flesh. "Good gods – that hurt."
There was a thump from down the hall, followed by muffled sounds of rage. Penelo's brows rose in surprise.
"Well, I could hardly have them yelling the place down, now, could I?" Balthier said by way of explanation. "It might attract unwanted attention."
"So you gagged them."
"Mmm." Balthier plopped the wet cloth down on the table. "I used discarded socks that I discovered in Bartaan's room. I'd wager he hasn't bothered to do his laundry in weeks."
Despite the pain it caused, Penelo was helpless to smother the laugh that rose in her throat. "No wonder they're furious."
"I'd imagine they're also not particularly pleased to find their situations reversed with ours." He cleared his throat. "I appreciate your timely rescue," he said.
Abashed, she ducked her head. "You would have done the same."
He collected her hands in his, linking their fingers. "Of course. But you're never to do it again."
She heaved a sigh, canting her head to one side, and asked, "Are we going to fight now?"
"No. No, I simply want your agreement that you'll wait for reinforcements before you go charging in." His voice came out a little more exasperated than he had intended, and for the first time she realized exactly how terrified he must've been to see her brought in by Jiraj.
"I'll wait for reinforcements," she said. "If there's time."
His fingers tightened on hers. "Penelo –"
"You ought to know by now that I don't take well to being ordered about," she said. "How could you expect me to stand back and let something happen to you? Something I might be able to prevent? You wouldn't do it."
"It's different. I would rather know that you are safe. I've years more experience to my credit than you have –"
"And I still managed to get us free," she reminded him. "I would rather not sit on my hands and do nothing. I need to be useful. I need to know that I've done everything possible – especially if it's my fault you were taken in the first place."
He slipped free one hand to smooth her tangled hair away from her face, then cupped the back of her head, drawing her close to touch his forehead to hers. "It wasn't your fault," he said. "Asraen's got more reason to come after me than you. Our traveling together simply made it easier to target the both of us." His lips brushed her cheek, careful to avoid the bruise. "I love you," he said. "I never want you to sacrifice your safety for mine."
It was one thing to hear it from Fran, but another thing entirely to hear it from him. Her throat clogged with emotion, and she blinked back a sudden wash of tears. Raen had said those very words to her on more occasions than she could count, but she'd never realized just how false they had sounded until there was something honest to compare them against.
She drew in a shuddering breath and sniffled, wiping at her eyes. "Well, then," she said, clearing her throat to dislodge the lump that had formed there. "You'll have to make sure not to get yourself captured again, because I'll always come rescue you, even if you wouldn't want me to. It's probably for the best if we stick together. Less likely to be taken that way."
He managed a rough approximation of a chuckle. "I suppose I should take that to mean that you intend to make this, er…not quite so temporary an arrangement?"
She nodded. "I've still got some issues, I know –"
"Darling, who hasn't? We'll get through them," he said, his voice full of indulgent affection. He heaved a sigh, and said, "I suppose we'd best find a way to get a message to Fran. While we might not need a rescue, we'll certainly require a ride back to the Strahl."
"Jiraj's got an airship, and it might have a communications system," she said. "But we can't go – not while Raen's still out there. We've got to do something about him; he can't go free, not after all the havoc he's caused. And he won't stop chasing us down if he thinks there's something to gain from it."
Balthier paused to mull it over. "It's possible we could turn this around on him," he said. "He'll be sticking with more pedestrian means of travel and off the beaten path, I would think – the larger the city he travels through, the greater the possibility that someone will remember seeing him. It would explain the delay, and reduces the likelihood that he'll be bringing his own reinforcements with him."
Penelo pushed one of Balthier's weapons across the table toward him. "You've got your guns back, and you're a better shot than he is," she said. "We could stake out the tavern and take him by surprise. He must've planned to come here and wait for someone to bring us in – and since he posted the mark anonymously, there's no way for anyone to contact him."
Balthier's gaze darted down the hallway, to the door within which Bartaan and Jiraj had been locked. "And therefore no way to inform him that we've thrown a wrench into their plans."
"For all he knows, he's about to get exactly what he wanted," Penelo said. "We could take advantage of that. Use his arrogance against him, and get the drop on him."
"It's still risky," Balthier said. "We can't be certain that he's coming alone. And I don't want you in the line of fire."
"That's a shame, as I've got no intention of waiting patiently while you go it alone," Penelo snapped back. "For the gods' sakes, Balthier – we've been through worse and come through all right. In the jungle –"
"Venturing into the jungle was a mistake, and my arrogance in even attempting it very nearly got the both of us killed," he said, heaving a sigh and pressing his fingers to his forehead to rub away the frown lines that etched his skin.
"Balthier," she said gently, "I won't be shunted off to safety, even if you think it's for my own protection. That's just a different sort of prison."
He wanted to argue; she could see it in the thin line of his lips, in the way his cheeks hollowed as if to hold back a rejoinder. He was a man at war with two conflicting desires – the primal need to keep her safe, and his commitment to providing her the choices she had previously been denied.
When at last he deigned to speak, his voice came out a guttural growl. "We will need to take every possible precaution," he said. "And take no undue risks."
Good enough. "I'll see if I can get a message to Fran," she said. "You ought to check on our captors-turned-prisoners, and make sure their bonds are holding. Jiraj is mostly useless, but Bartaan – he's smarter than he looks. I don't trust him, even tied up."
Balther tapped his pocket. "Fortunately, you were clever enough to bring several more sachets of sedative than we required. If they're causing too much trouble, I'll simply dose them again." He paused reflectively. "Though not, I think, before I give them a taste of their own cruelty. I've recently discovered that, in addition to chains, Bartaan has a fondness for starvation."
Penelo tried to mask it, but he caught the brief hint of a flinch at the words, her eyes shifting away from his. Fury surged to life once more; coursing through his blood like fire – if it had been a single occurrence, it would surely not have elicited such a reaction.
"How often?" he asked, curling his fingers into a fist to prevent them from reaching for the pistol laid upon the table.
She shrugged noncommittally. "Every so often, I guess. When there was a bad night, when I'd broken something, when I mouthed off."
"How often is every so often?" It was impossible, given the circumstances, to erase the threat of impending violence from the tone of his voice. If he had to hazard a guess, he suspected she knew he was but one unfortunate revelation from doing murder, and thus her reluctance to discuss it.
She lifted her chin defiantly, but spoke in a rush: "It's not important anymore. I really need to go – Fran's probably sick with worry." She edged toward the door.
He caught at her wrist. "Fran's never been sick with worry in her life; she's at her best under pressure. Tell me."
"No! I'm not going to give you an excuse to kill anyone!"
"They deserve to be punished."
"Yes," she said. "But death is easy. They deserve to languish in prison, suffering the same walls day in and day out for years. Justice isn't served in killing them; it's in parity."
His grip loosened. She was not quite so softhearted as he had been inclined to believe. And yet, he didn't believe it was only vindictiveness that drove her. She had always had a bit of a justice complex. She might turn her cheek to a slight against herself, but she would ruthlessly punish any evil or injustice that had the chance of touching someone else. These two she had judged a danger to society as a whole, and she would see them punished in the same measure as they had intended for her.
She stared him down, her chin tilted at a pugnacious angle. Quite possibly they hadn't the time to bicker amongst themselves as to what constituted excessive retribution. She had a message to relay to Fran, and he – he had a bit of punishment to mete out. Though perhaps not as much as he would have preferred.
With no small amount of effort, he shook free of the fury that had gripped him fast in its clutches. Though it simmered still just beneath the surface, it remained checked enough to allay her concern; she relaxed her tense posture, settling back onto the flats of her feet and unclenching her hands. "Go," he said. "I won't kill them." More's the pity. "However, they did strike you. I'd wager that deserves a bit of retribution."
Her fingers touched her split lip, stifling a wince at the pain evoked by even the faintest brush. She heaved a breezy sigh and waved a hand dismissively. "If you must…"
"Oh, I must. But I shall endeavor to do no lasting damage." He caught up one of his pistols and pressed it into her hand. "Take it with you and be careful. Don't let yourself be caught unaware. Give a shout if you notice anything amiss."
"I will." She engaged the safety mechanism and tucked the pistol into her waistband. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Take that into account when you're checking on Bartaan and Jiraj."
Jiraj must've figured that no one would even consider stealing his deathtrap of a ship. The codes she needed to start the engines were scrawled upon a scrap of parchment laid upon the dash. The ship sputtered, wheezed, and hissed with the effort to start the engines, and the whole thing shuddered as if it were in its death throes. Penelo wasn't altogether certain that it wasn't – and if it did decide to kick off, it could very well take her with it.
The communications system was ancient and confusing. Rather than simply typing in the frequency code, there was a series of gears to be aligned into the correct sequence, after which there came a high-pitched shrill over the intercom, which she assumed was the sound of the communications system attempting a connection.
Within moments, there was a burst of static, and Fran's voice cracked forth like a whip, more irritable than she'd ever heard it, as if the time wasted in answering calls from unknown frequencies were more of an annoyance than she was willing to tolerate. "State your purpose."
"Fran, it's me. Penelo."
There was a gusty sigh. "Are you well? Is Balthier –"
"Fine. We're both fine. We turned the tables on our captors; they're trussed up and locked away for the time being." She hesitated. "Raen has yet to turn up. Are you still on your way? We might have need of you."
"Of course we're still on our way." There was a hint of a snap to her tone, as if the very question were insulting. "And we've called for reinforcements besides. Your captors, they are Rozarrian nationals?"
"Yes, I think so. At the very least, it's where they reside. How long do you suppose it'll take you to reach the tavern?"
"Roughly two hours, should the winds remain favorable." Fran made a rough sound in her throat. "What were you thinking? Such a foolish scheme – I hadn't expected that sort of recklessness from you."
"It worked, didn't it?" She couldn't quite keep the sullen tone from her voice; generally Vaan was on the receiving end of Fran's lectures. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. I did what had to be done."
"I suppose Balthier was furious."
"Bit of an understatement." Although that anger had been stoked by his fear. She suspected the only reason he had yet to shout at her was because they currently lacked the time for a proper tirade. There were far more important things that required their attention.
"Are you armed?"
"Mm. We've got Balthier's pistols and a couple of daggers between us. Unless Raen brings an army along with him, we ought to be fine. Still, I'm not comfortable flying Jiraj's rust bucket back to Tarram, and we've got to find a way to make certain that he and Bartaan stay locked up for a very long time." But how to manage that? Any authorities in the area were unlikely to toss them in prison simply on her word that they'd committed a crime.
"I think we've got a solution for that, but I will need the line to cement the details. In the meantime, be safe and wait for us," Fran said.
"We'll be as safe as we can be," Penelo sighed. "I just want this to be over."
"One way or another," Fran said, "it will be."
They heard Ashe before they saw her.
To her best recollection, Penelo had never heard such a strident tone issuing forth from Ashe's mouth, but it was clear that the generally composed queen was in a high dudgeon, as her voice sailed clear through the walls of the tavern to reach them from outside.
"I want them, and I mean to have them. It matters not to which country they claim citizenship; they have trespassed against one of my own, and I will not stand for it!" The door of the tavern cracked open as Ashe's booted foot slammed against it, and a cloud of dust burst forth, floating in the still air. Ashe stormed through the doorway, followed by a contingent Dalmascan soldiers. On their heels followed Al-Cid Margrace, brushing the dust from his clothing.
Penelo scrambled to her feet, dropping the wet cloth she had been using to blot away the blood from Balthier's knuckles, which had been scraped raw from the pummeling he had unleashed upon their captors-turned-captives.
"Ashe?" Penelo gasped. "What –"
Ashe's voice softened. "Fran called in the cavalry. That would be me. Larsa's on his way as well." She crossed the room to draw Penelo into a hug. "Not to worry. Those miscreants will never see the light of day again; they'll rot in my dungeon for the remainder of their days."
Al-Cid said, "We've yet to come to terms in that regard, your majesty."
Rounding on him, Ashe hissed, "If you wish to forge a more agreeable trade agreement between Dalmasca and Rozarria, you will give them to me. Or are you prepared to make a sacrifice of that magnitude for a pair of unrepentant criminals?"
"Oh, I think you'll find that they're at least a smidge repentant now," Balthier drawled, flexing his ruined knuckles.
Ashe's brows rose toward her hairline. "Good gods, Balthier – what did you do?"
With a perfectly expressionless face, Balthier replied, "They ran straight into my fists. With their faces. And their ribs. Repeatedly. They yet breathe – it is just that it takes them a great deal more effort to do so."
Al-Cid cleared his throat, scrubbing his hand over his mouth. "I would hear the charges laid against them."
"Kidnapping. False imprisonment. Slavery." Balthier gestured to Penelo, to her split lip and the bruise forming on her cheek. "Assault."
Al-Cid let out a breath and sank into a chair. "I think perhaps we can come to an arrangement," he said. "I am given to understand that these two Rozarrian citizens, they undertook these actions at the behest of another?"
Ashe gave a sharp nod. "Yes; an Arcadian citizen – one whom Lord Larsa has already agreed to surrender into my custody."
Al-Cid spread his hands out in entreaty. "But should not the instigator bear the brunt of the punishment? Is it needful to punish the underlings so severely?"
Penelo drew a harsh breath. "The underlings are just as culpable," she said. "Bartaan kept me captive here for three years, serving against a debt that wasn't mine to pay…and Jiraj would have delivered me right back into it."
Al-Cid's brow furrowed. "These names are known to me," he said. "Both are wanted men in Rozarria." He turned to Ashe. "They owe a debt to Rozarria in penance for their crimes, but I am not prepared to sacrifice trade negotiations on behalf of two known criminals simply to retain the right to imprison them here. Perhaps their penance is just as well served in Dalmasca as in Rozarria."
"I should say so," Ashe said with a sharp nod. "Now, let us put pen to promise." She gestured to a guard, who produced a leather satchel, from which she drew an inkwell, a pen, and parchment paper. Together, she and Al-Cid began to outline a contract to solidify their bargain.
And fifteen minutes later, as the cadre of soldiers hauled Bartaan and Jiraj from the tavern to Ashe's airship, Penelo fluttered her fingers at a scowling, bloodied Jiraj and said, "I did warn you."
An hour later, just as Penelo was laying out a simple meal of stew and bread that she'd cobbled together from supplies pilfered from Bartaan's stores – considering he would have no need of them ever again – Fran and Vaan walked through the door.
Vaan made a beeline for the table, snatching up a bowl and a hunk of bread. "I'm starved," he said by way of greeting, cramming half the bread in his mouth. "We've been flying all day."
Fran gave a subtle shake of her head in exasperation. "What news?" she asked, taking a seat across from Ashe.
"We yet await our primary conspirator," Ashe said. "Bartaan and Jiraj have already been surrendered into my custody and are being held on my ship for transport back to Dalmasca."
Larsa, who had arrived shortly after Ashe, with Basch in tow, said, "But where is Yulia?"
"I'm here, sir!" Yulia's cheerful voice sailed in from outside.
Vaan rolled his eyes. "She's climbed up onto the roof," he said. "Says it's a good vantage point." He circled his finger at his temple, indicating his impression of Yulia's sanity.
"She's correct," Fran said. "Would that you were half so dedicated."
"I'm hungry," Vaan groaned. "I'll be dedicated again after I've eaten."
Penelo smothered a laugh as she slid back into her chair beside Balthier, having passed out the last of the bowls and spoons to the soldiers who waited at nearby tables. "This feels like a reunion," she whispered to him. "The circumstances are less than ideal, but…I think it's nice."
Beneath the table, he caught her hand in his. "It's been a handful of years already – and yet we settle straight back into the same banter as before. Once again, it's the six of us banding together."
Penelo coughed into her fist. "Er, a bit more than six," she said. "There's Larsa and Yulia – not to mention some twenty soldiers between Ashe and Larsa." She shifted in her chair. "Probably a few more reinforcements than were strictly necessary."
Balthier chuckled. "I would remind you that Asraen recently said that women were wont to exaggerate their own importance. I believe I shall very much enjoy seeing the expression on his face when he comes to understand the error of his opinion. He has no idea what he will be walking into."
Afternoon wore into evening, and Penelo found herself almost surprised at how pleasant the day had turned out, considering how miserably it had begun. Bartaan's liquor flowed freely, and the last several hours had been spent in jovial conversation, reminiscing and catching up on each other's lives, considering that the last five years had taken all of them in drastically different directions.
Penelo had grown so accustomed to merely surviving from one day to the next that she had forgotten what it was like to have friends – friends that would, and had, come running from all corners of Ivalice at a moment's notice had she need of them, no matter how much time had passed since last they'd met. Powerful friends – friends who would go to extreme lengths to protect her, just as she would them.
She had let Raen take them from her once. She had become a victim of her own naïveté, and for that she had spent three years friendless and lonely, a drudge tucked away in an isolated tavern.
Balthier had rescued her from that. He had given her back her life, and offered to share his with her. He had been responsible for every bit of happiness she now enjoyed, and somehow she just knew that they'd barely scratched the surface of it. Five years ago, she would never have thought that she would fall in love with Balthier, of all people – but she was certain now that he would never make her regret it.
Ashe sighed over her tankard of ale. "I do wish this Asraen would hurry himself along," she said. "I think I'd rather not spend the night in this tavern – it doesn't seem sanitary."
There was a thump outside as Yulia scrambled off the roof and through the doorway. "Speak of the devil and he appears," she said. "I'm quite certain that's him just down the path. He walked right past two royal airships with nary a second glance! Can you imagine?" She gave a gleeful giggle, sliding to the side to position herself against the wall near the door.
"Was he alone?" Balthier asked, rising to his feet and plucking a pistol from its holster.
"Quite alone," she said. "More fool, him."
Within seconds, more than a dozen weapons were trained on the doorway, the merry atmosphere that had only moments ago pervaded the tavern fading to tense silence as they awaited their newest arrival.
At first there was only the sweep of the wind across the roof of the tavern. Then came the groan of the planks comprising the steps, heralding the footsteps that paused just outside the door.
At last the door flew open to reveal Raen – dirty, unshaven, his once-fine clothing stained with the sweat and dust of his travels. It took half a second for him to realize exactly what he had walked into; his face went slack with surprise, mouth hanging open in mute horror and astonishment.
"Why, Asraen," Balthier sneered, leveling his pistol at Raen's head. "What a surprise. So glad you could join us."
Asraen's jaw worked desperately, and he stammered through an attempt at speech, his eyes flitting from Balthier to Penelo to Larsa as his face leeched of color. "H-h-how –"
"We're resourceful," Balthier said. "Better men than you have tried – and failed – to best us. You were doomed to failure from the start."
Larsa rose from the table, scowling in disdain. "I leave him in your hands, Ashe. Do with him as you will."
"Oh, I intend to. He's going to rot in my dungeon with the others," she replied, gesturing to the guards, who began to close the distance.
Raen gave a cry of distress, turning to flee – only to find himself facing Yulia, who aimed her pistol directly in his face.
"Do try it," she said, the venom in her eyes belying her sweet tone of voice. "My divorce has yet to come through. I'd be just as happy to make myself a widow."
In a manner of seconds, Raen was apprehended by a set of guards, frisked for possible weapons, and shackled securely. Though he struggled against their hold, it took only two of them to lift him straight off his feet and carry him bodily out the door.
"Pity," Balthier mused, "I should have liked to rough him up a little. If anyone deserves a beating, it's him."
"You've done quite enough damage to your hands already," Ashe said. "It's a wonder you're even able to hold a weapon."
Penelo sank back in her chair with a sigh, dizzy with relief, brushing her mussed hair away from her face. "It's over," she said, exhaustion settling heavily upon her shoulders. "Thank you – thank you all."
"Penelo," Ashe said fondly, "Of course. We will always come if you have need of us. You have only to ask. Whatever happens, however much time may pass, we will always be able to rely on one another. We've been through too much together not to." She reached out to squeeze Penelo's shoulder as she rose from her chair. "I would enjoy a visit from time to time. One does weary of toadying nobles, you know."
"And I would appreciate a letter now and then," Larsa said. "I've quite missed them."
"Maybe we could manage a collaboration one of these days," Vaan suggested. "Lemurés is still mostly unexplored, and –"
Balthier groaned, cutting off Vaan's proposal. "That's quite enough nagging for the moment, I think," he said. "I'm certain that in between other adventures there will be time for visits and letters and collaborations." He held out his hand to Penelo. "But for now, it's time to go home."
