It took weeks for repairs to be completed in the Outlands. By day, the Kingsglaive reported via radio to the Citadel, gathered their strength, and trained what hunters they could spare from repair detail. By night they stood guard around the clusters of refugees huddled in the rain—some in outposts, some not—and served as a barrier between them and the daemons.
Inside the Crown City, matters were less dire but no less busy. Somehow the storm and its effects needed to be addressed and dealt with while the normal workings of the government continued. It was one more drain on Regis' time—one he fought against when it stole away his hours with his children. The compromise he settled on was to attend what necessary court and council sessions he could without encroaching on his regular family hours, and make up for the time spent with Reina and Noctis by working well after they had gone to bed. Sleep became a thing of the past.
Though Reina's lessons cost him another hour of sleep or work, and though they seemed to benefit no one, he refused to allow that time to be swallowed by his duty. She was morose enough about losing her time in court without having him steal this time away, as well. Though she was unerringly—and sometimes unnervingly—sensitive to his moods.
"We don't have to Dream tonight, Father," she told him one evening, sitting up in her bed. "I know you're tired."
"I appreciate the thought, my dear, but I would not have that interfere with your time. This is, after all, for your benefit."
"I know. But I know you're tired and I don't want you to worry so much about my Dreams. I don't need to Dream tonight, if it's a bother."
Sometimes she was much too wise for her age. Other times she sat in council and accidentally shared secrets he had been harboring for years.
Regis smiled and smoothed her hair back from her face. "I am tired. But this is important. For us all. Come now; lay down and search for the future."
In spite of their persistence, however, she struggled to find any future pertaining to Tenebrae or Ravus. He wondered if her mind wasn't focused on the task at all, or if something else wasn't preventing it. Her Dreams were far from consistent. It was a small wonder she had managed to Dream the date of Ramuh's awakening on the first try.
And so they tried. But did not progress, so far as he could see.
With the constant rush of his schedule, he had little time to consider Weskham's offer. Though it hovered in the back of his mind during any quiet moment he stole for himself and plagued him in those brief hours he should have used for sleep, he still had no answer. By the time the Glaive returned, two weeks later, he was no closer to a response than he had been the day Weskham had called.
As per Captain Ulric's schedule, they were due to arrive early in the morning after their final nightly rounds. It was a short deployment, by all standards, but Regis was loath to leave Prince Ravus in the field for the lengths that the Glaives often endured. And with that prior knowledge of their return came the expected conflict.
"Please may I come to welcome Prince Ravus back, Father?"
It had been only a few weeks since their last discussion. And yet she had shown both responsibility and restraint during those days. On those nights when he was too tired to resist her suggestion that they cancel her lessons she had given him no reason to regret leaving him unsupervised. She did not Dream on her own, even when he could not watch over her. Further, reports from her tutors suggested she was excelling in her extra lessons, even as Noctis insistently dragged his feet.
"I am nearly twelve years old," Reina persisted. It must have seemed a considerable age to her. To Regis she was still just a child. "And how shall I prove that I can be responsible if you give me no opportunity?"
She was, however, learning a knack for persuasion. Regis glanced at Crea, who shrugged one shoulder. The choice, she seemed to say, was his and the results would—perhaps—not be world-changing either way. Save that if he said yes, Reina would be pleased and if he denied her once more he would be forced to face tears.
Persuasive indeed.
"Very well, my dear," Regis said. "I shall permit you to attend court on one condition. You must swear to me that you will speak not a word without my permission."
She was beaming so brightly she had to force the words out around her grin. "I promise!"
"Run quickly, then, and dress for court." Regis shooed her away and turned to find Crea watching him. "Time will tell."'
"I'm sure she'll be fine," Crea said.
And so it was that Regis found himself walking to court with Reina on his arm and Avun at his heel. They walked more slowly. Once, Reina might have jogged beside him to keep up with his usual sweeping pace, but today she was wearing new shoes, which clicked gently on the marble with every step. She moved in a measured and dignified fashion that he was almost certain someone had taught her in the last year.
It may not have been the most efficient mode of transportation, but it certainly attracted attention. Servants stopped to bow as they passed and then stood in the middle of the hall, staring after. The Crownsguards who were usually part of the decor turned their heads to follow Reina and Regis' progress.
He reminded himself that it wasn't so odd for them to be intrigued. It had been nearly a year since last Reina had accompanied him anywhere.
The reaction inside the throne room was less reserved. Though their fealty and respect was due first to Regis—and Reina secondly—heads came together amongst the crowded courtiers and whispers rose in their wake. The councillors did not exchange more than glances among themselves, but Hamon wore a discomforting expression on his face. Regis steeled himself for whatever trouble he would bring.
A seat was brought for Reina, placed beside his throne, and they both took their places in silence. Reina's arrival only added to the electric energy already swelling in the throne room. Anticipation for the Kingsglaive's return—and specifically for Prince Ravus' return—was tangible. All down the hall people stood, fidgeting with their clothes and glancing from the throne to the door and back again. When the door cracked open to admit a runner and a brief but hushed conversation ensued at the door, silence fell across court and council alike.
"The Kingsglaive has entered the South Gate, and are en route to the Citadel, Your Majesty."
From there, they had little to do, save wait. Reina sat as still as a statue in her chair; her back was perfectly straight, her chin lifted just so, and her hands lay across the arms of her chair without clutching or grasping. If he hadn't known the excitement that hid beneath her pristine exterior, he might have thought she was merely politely interested in the proceedings.
From the gate, it still took nearly an hour for the Kingsglaive to reach the Citadel and for Captain Ulric and Prince Ravus to arrive outside the throne room. They entered upon announcement and were greeted by warm applause from the assembled courtiers. The sound even managed to drown out the pounding of rain and rolling of thunder from outside. For a time.
The heroes of Lucis indeed. Protectors of the outlands, killers of daemons, and bearers, no doubt, of bad news.
The only change in Reina's countenance, as Ulric and Ravus came to stand at the base of the stairs, was a tiny smile that had settled across her lips. She looked older than she had any right to look. And he had only himself to blame for that.
As she had sat so patiently and properly throughout, he now motioned to her, giving a small nod when her eyes fixed on him instead of Ravus. A chance to prove herself, as she had pleaded.
Her smile deepened, but there was no childish grin, even though the expression betrayed something of her youth. She rose to her feet, first offering a curtsey and a "Thank you, Sire," to him, before turning to their audience.
"Captain Ulric. Prince Ravus. The crown welcomes you home. Insomnia welcomes you home." She gestured out over the assembled crowd, which, as if on cue, broke into applause once more. For one who was often so soft spoken, her voice carried extraordinarily well in the throne room. In spite of that, she waited for the cheering to fade before she continued. "You have endured long and weary nights beyond the Wall. Go now and rest. Words can be exchanged at a later time, when you have both recovered your strength."
Both Ulric and Ravus bowed, though Captain Ulric glanced toward Regis when he straightened. It was an unorthodox dismissal. And not one Regis had given her permission to speak. But he shifted his stoic mask firmly into place. Let none say that the princess had spoken out of turn or without the king's approval. For that, more than anything, would harm their position. As for his own disapproval, Reina would face that alone, once they were out of the public eye.
In the council gallery, Aldebrand leaned closer to his neighbor as if he would say something, then stopped. Felice shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Hamon leaned forward and studied first Reina, then Regis, as if he would see through their very skulls.
Regis gave but one motion: a minuscule nod to Ulric in indication that he should accept the dismissal as given.
"You are too gracious, Your Highness, Your Majesty." Ravus bowed once more. "I take my leave with gratitude."
He turned on his heel and strode out the way he had come. Ulric did much the same, offering a second bow with his thanks and turning to leave. Court was adjourned and the council convened quietly in the secondary chamber behind the throne. By the time Regis joined them with Reina on his arm, they were already standing in clusters, exchanging whispering conversation.
"Your Majesty." Hamon broke the scattered talk by calling attention to him. "Might I ask why we have not followed protocol and held a debriefing?"
A few opportunities presented themselves. Regis' first impulse was to step in front of Reina and invent a reason for her actions, taking the blame as his own and drawing all attention to himself. It might spare her any scrutiny from the council. But it might also leave her with the impression that she could act poorly and Regis would always be present to take responsibility. And what had he brought her here for, if not to prove she could take responsibility? Nevertheless, he could not afford to appear split from her in this.
"Reina?" Regis turned to her. "Will you explain to Master Hamon why we have chosen to delay the debriefing?"
It was cruel, he knew, but she would face the consequences for her own actions. She had not, strictly speaking, disobeyed him—she had spoken precisely when he said she might. But she had overstepped her bounds. Now she must struggle to right them.
He had expected her to drop her gaze and curl into herself. Instead she stood, precisely as stoic as she had sat, and met Hamon's gaze with a level one of her own.
"Master Hamon, public display is a powerful tool." She spoke in clear, calm tones. "And panic is our enemy. As my father often says, it is better to lose time and set your people at ease than to rush and cause them to fear. By sending Captain Ulric and Prince Ravus to rest, we have publicly expressed that the throne is at ease with the situation and there is no need to panic. We may lose some time, before the debriefing, but that time is well paid for the ease in our people's hearts."
Of everything Regis had ever fought against reacting to throughout his life, this was the most difficult. He tightened his jaw to keep his mouth from falling open. He tried to make his face appear as if this was all familiar to him. Thankfully, his councillors were staring at Reina with the same sort of stunned revelation.
"I see," Hamon said, though his eyes alone flicked toward Regis. "I bow to the crown's superior expertise."
He did, did he?
Regis caught Clarus' eye and attempted to convey that Hamon was to be watched closely for his next trick—wherever it might rear its ugly head. Clarus, however, was still looking between Regis and Reina, as if struggling to wrap his mind around what had occurred. They would have to speak privately.
As no debriefing was to occur for a time, the council adjourned—at least in part—and Regis took his leave along with Reina and Clarus. None of them spoke as they made their way through the halls to Regis' office. Even once they were within, with the doors closed behind them, Regis struggled to find words to speak.
The silence stretched to an uncomfortable length. Reina stood—now visibly nervous in the privacy of his office—waiting for judgement to be passed on her. Clarus watched them both closely, but ventured no words of his own.
Ultimately it was Reina who snapped the silence with her concerns. "I'm sorry, Father. Did I speak out of turn?"
"You did." He saw no point in denying it. "And yet I am still struggling to comprehend precisely how it played out. Sitting in court, I was fully prepared to rescind all opportunities for involvement in the kingdom and forbid your attendance until after your eighteenth birthday, so incensed was I at your presumptuous choice. I thought, rather, to cast you into the fire—so to speak—when Hamon asked why it had been done. And against all my expectations you had a reason—not simply a reason, but an entirely valid reason, which I had failed to consider, myself. By your speaking out of turn, you have somehow put us in a more favorable position than we were to begin with. Not only has it—as you have said—put hearts and minds at ease within the court, but you have displayed a strength in the royal family to the council, which they have thus far not even begun to suspect we have. Indeed, that I had not begun to suspect we had, and am even now doubting. Was this mere happenstance? Did you act impulsively and retroactively justify your choices in a way that happened to sound convincing? Or was everything premeditated?"
"I didn't plan to say it before you asked me to welcome them," she admitted, "Because I didn't know that I would be allowed to speak at all. But when I did, it felt right—because of all the things I said later, and because of everything you've told me before. Was it wrong?"
"No," Regis admitted. "No, the choice was not wrong. But I hesitate to condone your actions even so. You did act without my approval."
Was he to place more weight on her disobedience—even if not outright—or on her quick thinking and political intuition? One was to be punished and the other to be rewarded. He had no notion of which choice to make.
"I will need to consider. We will speak of this later," he said. "Until then, you are free to go."
She took her dismissal, curtseying first to him and then to Clarus before seeing herself out of the office.
Once the door was closed behind them, Regis turned to Clarus. "I know less of what to do with her with each passing day, it seems."
"And she's only twelve," Clarus said. "Just think how eventful having teenagers will be."
"She is only eleven," Regis corrected.
"Is their birthday not next week?"
It was. And yet, Regis was clinging to that number as if it would somehow make both twins less adult. If anything, today had proven it would not work.
"Well. As we have some hours yet before the debriefing, thanks to Reina, I might as well make use of them." Regis turned to follow Reina out the door.
"If you have no objections, I will make my way to Crownsguard headquarters and begin shifting my schedule up. Doubtless we shall need this time later."
"Doubtless," Regis said.
They parted ways and Regis, with Avun trailing a few steps behind him, began to make his way toward the lifts that would take him to the upper levels. Something would have to be decided regarding Reina. But he was loath to make that decision without time to think.
Before he could resolve to do more than withdraw to seek that time, the tones of a familiar voice drifted down the hall and around the corner from him.
"…impressed by your display in court today," Hamon was saying, when Regis was near enough to make out words.
"Thank you, Master Hamon." Reina's voice was polite but guarded.
Had he truly sought her and cornered her on her own, while no one was near to shield her? That snake. Regis increased his pace, making for the corner at the fastest walk he could manage while Avun struggled to keep pace.
"I had a question, if you have a moment to indulge me." Whether she indicated she did or not, Hamon pressed on. "When do you suppose this storm may come to an end?"
The floor seemed to drop from beneath Regis' feet. He was of half a mind to shout down the hall and make his presence known to prevent her from saying another word. As it were, his heart was thundering so loudly in his ears that he nearly missed Reina's reply.
"Father warned me not to Dream at your whim."
He reached the corner and stepped around. Not ten feet away, Reina stood with her hands clasped before her, looking all the smaller for Hamon towering over her.
"And with good reason, it would seem," Regis said.
Both spun about to look at him, Reina with relief on her features, Hamon with shock—though only briefly before it faded to cool neutrality.
"Master Hamon, I believe I have made my wishes clear. No one is to discuss the matter of Reina's magic, least of all with her. That you knowingly tread behind my back is alarming. That you would do so to accost an eleven year old girl is disgusting. You know I cannot allow this to stand."
Reina backed away one step from Hamon, then another until she had crept around to stand beside Regis. He laid his hand on her shoulder, shifting so she was half hidden from view.
"I act only for the good of Lucis, Your Majesty. You must see that," Hamon said.
"I cannot decide if it would be better or worse if you truly believed that. Leave us. I will deal with you later."
Hamon bowed and turned to walk away. Regis' harsh dismissal would have had anyone else fleeing for their lives, yet he put no hurry in his step. It took an uncomfortably long time before he had rounded the corner and disappeared from view.
Regis turned immediately to Reina. "Are you alright, my dear?"
"Mhm." She nodded, though one hand clung to the back of his coat, as she had done when she was small and following him uncertainly through the halls. She released it suddenly and folded her hands in front of her.
"I apologize. I ought to have anticipated he would do something foolish. It should not be the case that you can no longer walk unguarded through your own halls, but it may well be fact."
"I'm alright," she reiterated.
"I know. And I trust you not to give in to his questioning. Nevertheless…" He let the statement hang without conclusion. Nevertheless. Something would need to be done. On more than one front, it seemed. But these were not concerns for Reina. He fixed a smile on his face for her. "I shall simply walk you back upstairs."
They walked in silence for a time, accompanied only by the sound of their own footsteps and those of Avun, one pace behind.
As they neared the elevator, Reina broke the silence. "Are you going to send Master Hamon away, Father?"
"As of yet, I am uncertain what I shall do about him," Regis admitted.
"I don't think you should remove him from office."
She rarely, if ever, offered up her own opinion on what occurred in the kingdom. Then again, she had lately been kept well away from it. And it was a day for firsts.
"And why is that?" He asked.
"I don't know. I just have a feeling. He's going to do something important. Someday."
It was not, however, so unusual for her to offer up cryptic and nonspecific hints of the future.
"I see," Regis said. "I shall take your warning well into consideration."
And he could do little more than that, without further information.
They had reached the elevator and rode it to the upper levels, where a small crowd awaited them: the tutor for the twins' morning lessons had already begun with Noctis, who exuded disinterest. Crea stood to one side of the lounge, in discussion with a servant. All talk flagged to a halt as Regis stepped out of the elevator with Reina. Noctis and his tutor both scrambled to their feet to bow—though Noctis did so only after being prompted by the tutor.
"As you were," Regis said, ushering Reina forward to join them. "Crea, a moment of your time."
She excused herself from her conversation and hurried to join him in the library, where they could speak quietly on matters related to the twins. Or, more specifically, to Reina.
"Something tells me court didn't go well," Crea said, shutting the door behind them.
"Suffice it to say that court was… complicated." Regis seated himself at the chess table and motioned for her to join him. Once they were both seated he explained, as concisely as possible, what had occurred during Reina's first visit to court in nearly a year. When he had finished, they both sat in silence for a time; while he studied Crea, she absentmindedly tapped the white queen against her chin and stared out the balcony door over his shoulder.
"I think you should give her more responsibility," Crea said at last.
"More responsibility?"
"Yes. She clearly craves it and that, in part, is an indication that she is ready for it. I don't suggest that you hand over to her anything incredibly important, but there must be a part to play for a young and growing princess that will teach her respect for the power her position wields without giving her overmuch of it."
It had been many years since he had been forced to give thought to the position any of his family held within the Citadel. Not since he had married Aulea. And even then, she had been confident and capable of carving her own place and taking her own responsibilities as suited her best. As for his children, he had spent the past twelve years—or very nearly—doing his best to keep them out of Citadel politics.
"I bow to your expertise," Regis said, "Though I admit to being somewhat at a loss for how to give her such responsibility. Any tasks or positions I can think of are ill suited for an eleven year old girl."
"We'll think of something," Crea said. "I'll ask Alnet."
That their etiquette instructor might be more well-versed in the goings-on of the Citadel than the king, at first glance, seemed ridiculous. The more Regis considered, however, the more sense it made. He paid attention to a great many things in Lucis, but the court was not often one of them.
"Please do," Regis said. "And keep me updated."
He rose from his seat and Crea did the same. That was one matter, at least, addressed. After a fashion.
He took his leave from Crea and his family and returned to his office, where he summoned Clarus once more to him. Doubtless he had a hundred matters to contend with during this awkwardly unplanned slice of time—thanks to Reina—but they could wait.
"Have you decided what shall be done with the princess?" Clarus asked when he entered.
"In a way, but that is not why I have called you. We have a more substantial problem on our hands."
In short order he relayed all that had occurred with Hamon after they had parted ways. A short tale, but a foreboding one. When he finished, Clarus wore an expression as darkly clouded as the sky outside.
"This is not the first time he has approached her," Clarus said.
"No. Though the last time Crea was present."
"Crea is hardly a shield. Regardless, this is a problem we must solve by removing the source. What are we to do with Hamon?"
Regis shook his head. "In other circumstances, I would suggest we remove him from office and have him closely watched—I trust him not at all with the information he holds of the inner-workings of Lucis. But Reina's council gives me pause."
Clarus gave a wry smile. "Most kings don't take council from their eleven-year-old daughters."
"And yet, her premonitions have never led me wrong. I would be a fool to do otherwise. Most kings do not have eleven-year-old daughters blessed with foresight."
Or cursed with it.
Clarus conceded the point. "What are we to do, then?"
"For now, very little, though I hate to not rise against his challenge. We will forbid him from speaking with Reina—privately or otherwise—and observe."
"That will do little. He has already been forbidden from discussing her magic."
"And yet, what more can I do? She believes he has some part yet to play in this tale, and I dare not defy that."
"Let us make it clear to him that he is watched, at least. I will put a blatant Crownsguard tail upon him. In addition, we will apply more covert measures, which he will—with any luck—not suspect."
"Very well. I leave his surveillance in your hands," Regis said.
When at last the council reconvened to hear reports from Captain Ulric and Prince Ravus, several hours had gone by. To Reina's credit, at least, both arrived looking rested for the hours reprieve she had granted them. The council, however, hummed with a nervous energy.
Captain Ulric's report contained little by way of new information. The lines had been repaired, the hunters had been trained as well as was possible in such a short time, and no civilian casualties had occurred while the Glaive stood guard. The Kingsglaive would be ready and willing to deploy again at first notice.
It was Ravus' report that they awaited with interest. When he stepped forward, the room held its breath.
"The official numbers you may be aware of," he began without further introduction. "However, I suspect that no one inside Insomnia truly understands the extent of the trouble beyond the Wall. There are people in every outpost who show signs of Starscourge corruption. Some of them are simply ignorant of its cause, believing themselves sick but not seriously so. Others are willfully in denial. They will not step into the quarantine zones without coercion, for they believe it to be little more than a death sentence. Your people place no faith in doctors, and with good reason. No one can cure this ill, save for my mother."
"Is there nothing you can do for them, Prince Ravus?" Felice asked.
"All I could offer them was hope. And my most sincere promises that I would try to bring help to them." His eyes fixed on Regis. "And so I stand before you today, to beg that you will rescue my mother and sister. Not only for my sake and their own, but for the sake of your people. This plague will continue to spread through the Outlands. Some will be spared, doubtless, but even if you strike now and lock away every Lucian who shows signs of corruption, you cannot stop the death. Tens of thousands are infected. Thousands have died already and thousands more will before the end. Unless you bring The Oracle here."
A stunned silence met his words. They had been prepared for dark news and dire warnings, for the fact that the Starscourge was more widespread than their numbers suggested. But none of them had been prepared for this earnest plea. Strike at Tenebrae. Rescue The Oracle. For the sake of all Lucis.
"Prince Ravus, I fear you speak in impossibilities," Aldebrand said. "We do not have the strength to fight Niflheim for control of Tenebrae."
"You need not take control. You only need to take my mother and sister away, and we could aid you in that. They can pass to me crucial information about the imperial force in Fenestala, and you could enter the fight knowing precisely what to expect." A boyish exuberance had come over him. While he spoke grimly of the Starscourge, it was just possible to believe he was a man grown. But at the thought of rescuing his mother and sister, that stoicism fled him, leaving behind a boy who was only freshly eighteen.
His youth discredited him.
"The situation is more complicated than you imagine, Prince Ravus," Clarus said. "Do not make the mistake of supposing we have not discussed such matters in the past. Tenebrae has ever been our ally, and we chafe to see her under imperial control. But our choices are limited."
He glanced toward Regis, perhaps hoping for some sign, but Regis had none to give. At his lack of reaction, Clarus pressed on.
"Nevertheless, your offer of information could be useful. On your advice we will reconsider the subject, though we make no promises as to the conclusion."
The light of excitement faded from Ravus' eyes. He bowed low. "I ask no more than that, Master Clarus."