2. CONFRONT

Ariego was sitting alone in his office in Rojahisari, the fortress guarding the borders of Andorra and Catalya, his fatherland. His face rested on his palm; his eyes on the chart of West Orladia and Galtean peninsula. He never expected it to end in such indifferent way. Larsa had returned Archades. How colorless it would be to hear him hanged for treason, the young commander was imagining.

But delight was that Razzia would soon return to him. His beloved Razzia. Too fair to wither in the incapable emperor's arm. Ariego moved a red checker piece, representing his troops, towards Rabanastre then played with it, enjoying the real and material feeling of gripping and controlling something. He could dispatch the troops whenever he willed; he could lay his life at her single word. However, Razzia and her Lord Father appeared to have another plan.

Ariego should have foreseen it when she informed him about her engagement. She, too wise to be lost in the wicked emperor's words, had accepted his proposal with purpose.

What surprise do you hold for me this time?

Razzia always loved her secrets. He stared again at the red and black checker pieces scattering on the map.

"Hm... Kaire, may you know their intention?" he asked no one.

A voice, wrapped in many layers of voices, answered him, "That is... best to see for yourself."

"Yea. Merely curious."

"Oh, I forgot," he added, "you Ocurria never curious be. You read it all from the history weaves."

The dark shadow behind Ariego blurred, gleamed in golden Mist, and a figure showed itself. A small black face on a long neck with a pair of slate-gray scale wings sprouted out of his broad shoulder. This was Kaire. His glowed eyes secretly shifted his view to Ariego. He was never good at clandestine behaviors, but the man paid him no heed. Kaire was wondering why he could hardly get his attention or surprise expect for the first time they met.

Occuria, the Undying, had heard and seen more than any creatures existing in Ivalice. Still there was one thing they oft read wrong. The heart, he believed, with love and hate and complicated emotions stowed and hid in its deep corners. And Razzia's heart was a splendor to read.

...he's to state his mind in a secret conference in the morrow... in Beneath Amisnestié theatre.

It was their only chance to change his mind.

To Penelo's own surprise, Razzia pled for her help right after the breakfast.

"I cannot dress as such to see the chancellor," she said with her hand on her chest, "it fit my station not."

It was nice and comfortable clothes. Razzia loved them more than what she was about to be wearing. But if she was to emerge as a Lady of Margrace... well Larsa's betrothed should not dress in man's clothes, should she? In short, it was not good for her appearance and negotiation.

"Sure, just take what you need from my closet," Penelo agreed immediately.

"Oh," Razzia did not mean offense, but the dancer's wardrobe was not appropriate either, "I brought me a gown when I came to Rabanastre."

It was well concealed in her room in Nico's house. She did not want to disrupt him, considering his relationship with Revenas. But this could be easily fixed. Razzia took a watch from her pocket. It was carved with the famous Archadian sky warship, the Eden. One hour later, Nico would leave for the theater, and she had a spare key.

"There're some tiny details that need your help," she explained.

Penelo nodded, staring at her with burning eyes. "Just tell me what you need!" her friend said eagerly, almost shouted, leaning forwards her.

Razzia jumped back. "Fine," she gasped. What an unexpected zeal.

Although the Lady disliked it, still she needed someone to dress her and her hair also and if possible a little cosmetics. Her face was pale. He might think that they were under a chill wind.

But first, they proceeded as planned and retrieved her gown first. It was an easy task. Soon Razzia took Penelo into the house, breezed into her room, heaved her suitcase from under the bed, opened it and gladly check her gown. It was wrapped in paper and tied with dark ribbon, still untouched and intact. Razzia briefly looked into the content. It consisted a black dress, a striped overgown, a lace-collared shirt, a mantilla veil and a pearl necklace and a sterling peineta comb and hairpins in a satin pouch. Except for an annoying farthingale and a pair of chunky shoes and a few pieces of optional rings and bracelets that were left behind, all was just what she would dress to present in court or the Verano Palace. The Lady nodded in satisfaction.

The next thing was to put them on. It would be better if she could have one or two hands more to dress her. Thus Penelo suggested that they went to the theater. Miss Asma possessed a private dressing room there, and she could ask Shaya to lend them a hand.

"That's excellent idea," Razzia agreed.

"So let's go," declared the dancer. With profound excitement, she grabbed Razzia's wrist in one hand and held her precious cosmetics box, which she kept for special occasions and performances, in the other. Off they ran to the theatre of friendship.

Razzia could not understand Penelo's effusiveness and enthusiasm as she begged for her mentor's approval to use her dressing room and pled for her fellow dancer to help. At their hesitated nods, her friend beamed jollily like a child. However, Razzia quickly threw this aside, moved on, and opened the bag and pulled her gowns out.

"Wow, wow," Penelo and Shaya gasped at each revelation of taffeta, figured silk and delicate lace.

Starting with the shirt, it was simplest part, just button it high up her neck and it had done. The pointed needlelace was pleasing to the eyes, but not to the neck; if only it did not tickle her neck so itchily.

Next was the grenada flowers silk-figured gown. It was fastened with ribbon in the front, but the waist was tighten with lace from behind, not to mention the golden-embroidery cuffs needed to be tied up so that it fitted her wrists. So fortunate that she forsook the farthingale, or else they had had a step in between.

The last piece of gown was the taffeta overgown which as its name indicating was put on over all. Razzia asked Shaya moved to her hair while Penelo was fastening the microscopic buttons, one by one on the behind of the wide, slitted sleeves, carefully not to wrinkle the lacy cuffs.

"Oh," the Lady cried, "I should have had my head shaved and brought a wig along with me."

"Why? Your hair is so beautiful," Shaya exclaimed.

"Well, but 'tis so troubling."

It used to be much longer, nearly to her knee. But Razzia decided that it needed a trim before setting forth for Rabanastre. How regretted she was for having showed mercy to her hair. Now, having been gelled, it was just long enough to be plaited and fixed in place with difficulty.

Ting-ting. The pocket watch on the table rang like a struck glass bell. Razzia quickly clicked it open.

"Sacred Sangrada! 'Tis time," she exclaimed. She headed up and looked her half-finished coiffure. It is said that every negotiation started with a proper appearance, and this was especially right for women. "Penelo-san, please go and stop him. You know where they're to hold the meeting, don't you?"

"Yes, but what should I—"

"Aught. You just hold him back a short while. I shall come at once."

While the dancer was puzzled, unable to decide what to do, the Lady urged: "Go!"

And hastily, Penelo followed her words, rushing out the room to the wide halls. Turned left, then right, then left again, running with an empty head. Soon she found herself blended into the darkness of Beneath the Theatre. It should be near where the satire was held. Look at the left of the stage, there's should be a narrow alley, she recalled Razzia's instruction.

She was lucky. A small gatherings of five men was walking at where was once the auditorium. The boy they met last night was among them, Lord Revenas must be with them.

"You're to join with Master Folge, m'lord?" said bangaa dressed in soldier armor; his arms swung back and forth as if he tried to grab the air. Penelo was getting nervous just by looking at him.

The white-haired, who was supposed to be the Lord, halted to hear what he had to say. Hair of wandering clouds, skin of burnt sand. With precise movement, his eyes gradually unveiled the sky of a clearest day. His face was pleasing to look as a typical beautiful day of Galtean peninsula.

"And?" Lige asked on behalf of his Master.

"Vurmas is a mouthpiece, but Captain... and if he chooses to trust the Emperor..."

"I see why his belief moved you," he replied in a rich, sonorous, resonant voice, "but trust could be tricked to misplace, and he's a cunning king. Nine years ago, right after his mother passed away, the senate took the child under their wing. Yet raising a wolf in a pack of sheep won't make him a lamp, and you saw the reward of their deeds."

The bangaa said no more word. Having finished with him, the former Chancellor moved on alone.

Gosh, I can't let him go, Penelo told to herself. In the desperation, she winged out of the hiding place. "No, it's not true. He's a kind-hearted, devoted man. All he did is for the peace of Ivalice," she shouted.

"Well, how do you know?" the bangaa captain asked after a brief moment of astonishment.

"I, well, I just know it." It was not a convincing answer, but her seem-naive, sincere face, her Dalmascan appearance (in fact she was a Dalmascan by born) and traditional dancer attire did a good effect on the soldiers.

"I recognized you," said Reve gently.

"Eh?" Penelo cried with big eyes. She was so sure that it was their first met. Her eyes secretly drifted down to his abs. He was wearing a slit-sleeved, wide-collared vest that showed his abs nicely.

"You were with him in the skycity three years ago."

"Y-Yeah." She was. That was how she met Larsa, but Penelo could not forget having met such a special (and handsome) man.

"Then allow me to ask how 'acquainted' you're to him," he said politely, looking straight at Penelo with a deep gaze that rendered her speechless.

"W-Well, I..."

"Have you fornicated with him?"

"What? I don't..." she flushed. Her eyes lowered and shifted back and forth. The surrounding men's gaze was raking her, she could tell it. Her throat felt choked, her eyes wet.

"Appear that you don't understand him as you believe," he mocked her with a calm, emotionless voice.

"Now, she's uninvolved," said a familiar voice from her behind. It was Basch.

"She led herself to the slaughterhouse by her own," Reve replied, and he was not in the mood to laugh with his detractors. Then he signaled the soldiers to retire. They were left for a private talk. "I've disposed of belief that you'd come."

"I'm sorry. Your bid for my return I cannot heed, but I came with a proposal of my own."

"Then now's my turn to decline," Revenas replied, turning to leave without having bothered to hear what Basch had to say.

"My Lord, you do discern Archadia is our best ally," Basch said after him, "and Lord Larsa is a man worth of our trust."

"Crown do stray, Basch," Revenas shook his head. His heart was so distant from his old friend's. He had been wasting many of his breaths lately. Let us have a last friendly deed. "He ordered you to stay. A granted escape."

"I won't leave him. I swore to protect his Excellency."

"Still walk the knightly path despite the title of kingslayer that it rewarded," he said, looking straight at Basch; his arms crossed, wondering how many oaths were weighing on his friend's shoulder.

"So are you, my lord, I believe. You hope for a better future of Dalmasca. And Lord Larsa is our only hope."

Revenas glanced at Lige, who was looking at Penelo with compassion. "Gone," he replied. Obviously, he felt necessary to maintain a friendly relationship, but not too 'close', with the Empire, and Larsa was a good ally. Unfortunately, his sudden leave exposed the crumbling ground beneath his throne.

"My apology for the contumelious words," he turned to Penelo, offering her a handkerchief, which she reluctantly received. When the dancer appeared out of nowhere, Reve was so sure that she was both a propagandist and his lover. But it was not. "I was trying to discredit you. A friendly word, 'tis unwise to meddle with political toys," he explained, advised and walked away. The page bowed slightly and followed him.

Basch was searching for strong words that guaranteed his Lord's safety, but no. He knew there was naught. Lord Larsa had to fight and chose thus, by his own, and there was naught he could do. The 'Judge' stunned, standing still. Penelo was waving her head in wordless melodies. They had to watch him leaving in powerlessness.

"Then mayhap a word from me can show you new hope," said a high, confident voice from their behind.

"Razzia-sama," Penelo cried in delight. She had come in time.

Reve glanced at his page. Resting his forehead on his index finger, now he realized how Miss Dancer knew his whereabout. What a day, and he had one more conference to attend. "I believed my page delivered you my humble reply to you, Lady Margrace," he said after giving her a slight Dalmascan bow.

With grace, the Lady lifted her long skirt gently and curtsied. The flower figures on her skirt gleamed and faded as she changed her gesture. Her lips slowly curved into a smile while she was praying in her head that the cosmetic would do well in hiding her pale face. "I believe 'tis best for us both that you'd hear my offer before all," she said leisurely, deliberately covering her gasps.

"What is it the Lady of Victorious might want of me?" he asked in deep voice.

"Let me tell you what you might want of me first," she replied in soft whispers, "a word, a promise of reinstating your station of Chancellor."

"Unfortunately, your words convince Dalmascan Court of nothing."

"But they convince our Lord Chancellor otherwise."

With straight gaze into his eyes, she added, "Larsa will not fall. And what you do shall put Dalmasca on frontline of war."

"Quoth she who played the Emperor of Tortoise."

"Also quoth she, the Procurator of Faith and Peace and his Imperial Excellency's betrothed."

"A last word of curiosity if I may," he said politely again. Razzia gave a nod of approval. "Such a wise lady as you're, that he saw you as one piece in his game, you must have acknowledged. Wherefore?"

"Such a wise man as you're, that your due gratitude she ne'er grant, you, too, must have acknowledged. 'Tis wherefore."

Revenas nodded and smiled. It was a gentle, light curve like a faint ray of light after rain. "Then you have my words," he said at last.

"And you have mine," she nodded in reply.

They exchanged a last bow and he walked on. Lige had to resist his desire to admire Razzia in a lady dress to follow him. The Lady secretly gave him an informal wave. And they had it.

"Phew," Razzia sighed in relief, scratching under her chin where the ruffled collar tickled whenever she bowed or nodded.

"Splendid, my lady," Basch said. He was impressed; Penelo, too, was cheering in a soundless little dance. "How did you get her Majesty's agreement in his reinstating?"

"Actually," she tilted her upper body side and side like a snake slithering, "'tis your job."

"Be troubled not, even if you cannot, Larsa will complete the exercise," she grinned and added in their shock. "What you should concern yourself now is his safety."

"Forgive me, your Grace," he bowed lowly, "for putting your intent in shadow of doubt."

"No, Gabranth, my doubt in him, you were right to suspect. But, I pray no ill-wish befell Larsa. I wager his fortunes on your capable eyes and hands."

"Then it's not my right to fail you."

He bowed, she bowed in reply, and Basch left. O Sangrada, Razzia told to herself, what a lengthy exchange of pleasantries. I'm behaving more and more like the Pleasantoise.

She shook her head. What she should concern herself now was taking this grandiloquent gown as soon as it required. The only good thing of the ground-length skirt was that she did not have to change shoes, thus they made their way back the dressing room with alacrity.

Razzia could not hide her please, sliding over the wooden floor of the dark hall. She took off the lacy veil from her head, revealing the glittering, silver comb fixed on upper her braid bun. The elaborate golden embroidery on the veil gleamed in dancing waves. She controlled it with great comfort as if it was an extension of her own arm.

"Oh," she stopped, noticing Penelo was gazing her, "Interested?"

"Yeah," the dancer replied awkwardly, "what graceful movements!" She, too, used veil in her dance, but it was so different. Her veil was just a mere prop to create a mysterious atmosphere for the real performance—belly dance.

"They teach it in Sangrada Luz. You may come if interested."

"Sangrada Luz?" Penelo repeated.

"It's a discreet temple close to Ambervale. I thought you and Mr. Vaan did make quite fame in Orladia."

Ambervale was the capital of Rozzaria, vast empire spanning the continent of Orladia, and Sangrada Luz was the most famous temple of Sangrada, though Razzia must admit that the teaching of Sangrada was not near popular as it once was a thousand years ago.

"Now you recall me we never visit Amvervale," replied Penelo, her gaze rolled up.

"Why? You toured around Orladia but never visit the Gold City."

Why? Penelo did not know. She just followed Vaan, and Vaan just chose not to come to Ambervale.

"Penelo-san," she hesitated, "you enjoyed the adventures with him?"

"Of course, I did," the dancer replied in high voice. It was always fun to travel around. Penelo had discovered many great places and learnt a lot on her way. "Only sometimes, y'know, Vaan was carried away and got himself into trouble."

Razzia nodded. She crossed her fingers, then pulled them free then crossed them again.

They walked in silence for a while before Penelo started to speak out. "Um... Razzia-sama," she said; Razzia jumped up a little. "I need to apologize. I doubted your feelings for Larsa-sama."

"That... you were right to doubt," the Lady replied with a gentle smile, "an odd request I have to ask you, if I may."

"Sure," Penelo agreed right away.

Razzia bit her lower lips. Her fingers crossed in a strong grip. She turned to look Penelo in her eyes, and slowly said: "Pray leave Dalmasca."

Vaan returned late today. He would come back sooner if it was possible as it was just another day at Migelo's shop. The old bangaa was walking back home with him. Penelo did not drop by the shop today. She was busy with her dance practice (she had been absent too much after all).

"I'm home," the sky pirate announced his return out loud.

"Migelo, Vaan," Penelo cried, "right timing!"

He felt right away there was something wrong. He looked around the front room. Still the same wooden floor and white-washed walls.

"Hey, Penelo, is it good now?" asked Kytes walking out of his room with a bag that almost as tall as himself and his wooden staffs tucked under his arm.

"No, Kytes," Penelo shook her head, "Galbana II has limited capacity. She can't hold all." Adding Kytes was already her limit, but Penelo will have to see it.

"Wait, what's with our airship?" grunted Vaan.

But before he got the answer, the door behind him opened and Razzia walked in confidently swaying a paper in front of her face. Her head was gelled and combed backwards in perfect round. She reminded him of Larsa badly except for the ponytail and the absence of the fringe.

"How's it?" asked Penelo standing up in anticipation of her.

"Ne'er fail you," the Lady replied and handed Penelo the paper in manner of a blesser, "you may leave whenever you deem fit."

"Perfect!" Penelo cried after reading their writ of transit, which, obviously, signed thank to Basch. "Now, Vaan, come here," she turned to Vaan, "check your luggage."

She packed the least that he would need: his Tulwar, little clothes to change and last but not least the gift gauntlets, but it was always good to let Vaan check again. While he was still staggered, she explained: "We leave tonight."

And Penelo meant it in every way. She had resigned from the theatre.

"For what?" he asked while Migelo was blinking at Penelo.

"For adventures, of course," Penelo said in a high-pitched voice. Vaan was looking into what considered to be his belongings coarsely.

"Kytes and Filo will go with us," she added and to Migelo apologized, "I'm sorry, Migelo. I'll write you as soon as I have change."

"Be troubled not. I'll take care for Migelo-san," Razzia said. Or he would take care for her.

"Thank you, Razzia-sama."

"'Tis what I should do," she replied. "We'll inform you once the circumstance improved."

"We gotta go. Filo must be waiting for us at the Aerodome," said Kytes.

Then they exchanged goodbyes. Migelo hugged Penelo before she grabbed his luggage and hers and made for the door with Kytes followed behind, gazing back the study with lament for books and tomes that he had to leave behind.

"Wait a second," Vaan said out loud. "I don't say I leave!"

The boy whirled around to look at him with wide eyes; the bangaa and the Lady, too, shifted their gaze to him. Penelo slowly turned back. She believed that Vaan would be happy to hear this, but it seemed not so. She stared at him with big and round eyes, dyed with dark, shiny honey-color. They were like begging for a reason.

"Why?" Kytes asked for her.

Archades — the Imperial city of Archadian Empire

The Imperial Palace

Judge Zargabaath was walking through the halls, ever-timid, not too dark nor too bright. The Emperor had just returned last night and today he had summoned him.

"What might his Excellency need of me?" he asked the fellow Judge, who was leading him into the office. No reply. "Do you know, Judge Hausen? Hausen?"

The Judge startled. Even the elder Judge himself was surprised, too, at both his deprival of concentration and sudden presence. It was typical for Gabranth to be his Excellency's escort and protector. Zargabaath thought of the rumor. If someone might know the truth beside Gabranth and his Excellency, it must be himself. He was in command of Alexander during the Sky Battle. Yet he felt being in total darkness. The Emperor was cautious.

"His Excellency will speak for himself," Hausen answered, eased him into the chamber. It was hard to perceive his expression or emotion through the Judge steel helmet, which covered the entire face. Zargabaath gave him a dry nod before putting his helmet with two long backwards horns on. The door closed behind him and he entered the Emperor's office.

The chamber was lit a little by the transparent glass walls. It was moody cloudy outside. The elder Judge followed the crimson carpet into center of the chamber. In front of him was a wide table and an empty seat. His child-emperor was standing behind the throne, admired the vermillion banner with black symbol of house Solidor hanged in middle of the glass wall. He looked even smaller against the tall back of the seat.

"Judge Zargabaath," Larsa smiled as he noticed the big figure of the Judge.

"You call me, my Lord," he bowed.

"Be easy," the young Emperor said, lifted up his long Emperor's robe with difficulty and seated himself on the throne, "I'd like to have an intimate conversation with you."

He rested his chin on the palm and added: "You must have heard what being said about Gabranth. Your judgment about that I want to hear."

"That, I believe, you must have your own judgment," he replied evasively.

"Indeed," he smiled, standing up and walking round the back of the throne, "but I do appreciate yours."

With his back turned to the Judge, Larsa walked along the edge of the wall. From here, the high city of Archades could be seen. Aircabs and small airships were winged back and forth the busy sky like any other days. "I'm also intrigued at what you had to tell our honorable Counsellor."

Zargabaath secretly gulped under his helmet. A sharp sting pierced his bone. This feeling... it was just what he sensed from the previous Emperor.

Quickly, he turned to the Judge. His deep blue gaze shot through eye cover of the helmet. "Let us be frank. Are you with me?"

The Judge found his lips was trembling. Larsa Solidor, his ending was decided. Lord Secretary of North Valendia, the eldest son of Lord Attacenn, schemed with Lord Deciputh. Yet why was he experiencing what he was feeling now?

The door suddenly slammed open. Heavy boots tramped on the carpet. He was a tall man in black armor with golden border and the helmet with signature halo decor.

"Lo, Larsa," he cheered and waved his hand at the Emperor, and he stopped as if to remember something, then added: "…your Excellency."

Larsa jumped back with shock, unable to believe how he could enter the Emperor's office without his permission. His back met the wall, his hand groped on soft fabric of the vermillion banner. "Why are you here? I'm talking to Judge Zargabaath," he found his voice at last and frowned at the uninvited presence.

"Judge Magister Alessain," he grunted word by word.

His gaze was sucked into two black holes of the eyes. Contrast to the lustrous halo, the face was covered by a deadly, skull-like mask, and hung on his belt were two eastern blades, long and sharp.