Day 46:
Everything was new and strange. Glossy. She had been to Hammerhead in the light since waking, but still the memories of a darkened outpost, run-down and abandoned by all but the daemonhunters had been too sharp to shake.
They all climbed out of the car—some complaining more than others about the cramped space—and Reina paused to look east, past the chain link fence and into the desert, where once she had lain in the dirt all night beside a little pile of stones. The stones weren't there anymore. They never had been.
"Took you kids long enough," Cid's voice broke through her thoughts, jarring Reina from her reverie. "Ain't got all day to fix this thing."
"Watch who you're calling 'kid', old man," Cor said. "I'm twice their age."
"And half of mine, boy! Now get yer little legs moving, we got work to do!"
"How lovely to see how your friends treat you, Lion," Ardyn said.
"You've already seen it," Cor said. "You do it every day."
His comment gave Ardyn pause and, while the rest of them continued forward, he stopped and watched them enter the garage.
The large door was open and all the numerous racks of tools and auto parts had been pushed out to the perimeter of the room, but no cars occupied the open space. Instead, there was a boat-like device in the center of the space, akin to the ferryboat that sailed between Galdin Quay and Altissia. It was, however, many times smaller. The bottom was roughly flat, but it did have oars. Or were those wings? Either way they were too small to support the ship—for an airship it must have been. A dozen people might have stood aboard—provided they stood very close together. A post, as if for a sail, rose out of the center of the ship and the steering wheel was reminiscent of an old-fashioned helm.
It was also exceptionally dusty. Paint had flaked away from the hull in multiple places, leaving the metal beneath to rust, unprotected. A large tarp was thrown on the ground behind it, littered with holes and caked with dust.
Cindy was already there. She offered them a smile and a wave before returning to her rummage through a waist-high toolbox. The rest of them gathered around the dejected contraption.
"So. How does it fly?" Iris asked the question they were all thinking.
"Same way Cor's head works," Cid said. "Lots of hot air."
Cor crossed his arms. Iris clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing at him. Ardyn joined them at last, coming to stand behind Reina. She didn't block his view.
"This here balloon fills up and lifts the whole thing into the air." Cid nudged the tarp with his foot.
The hole-filled tarp, it seemed, was actually a deflated balloon. It looked unlikely to hold any air anytime soon. Reina began a slow circle around the whole thing; it was a mess in more ways than one, but Cid had a way of turning messes into functional machines. They didn't always look nice when he was through with them, but they worked. Usually.
"Cindy and I can get the motor and radiator running again. But they ain't gonna do you any good with a balloon full of holes. Needs to be replaced, but Reggie said you're all in a hurry. So maybe you'd rather patch it up and hope you're better with a needle than this boy is with a wrench." Cid pointed to Ignis. Iris laughed. Ignis straightened his glasses, reddening around the ears. "Otherwise you ain't gonna make it real far. Or you'll make it just far enough to dump everyone into the ocean."
"You want us to sew those holes up?" Cor kicked the balloon and a cloud of dust went up. "Some of them are big enough to walk through."
"Then you'd better stop yapping and start working. Here—" He tapped the garage workbench beside a notebook, which was so tattered that it now looked like a collection of papers loose within their binding. "—are the plans. You need a reference, you go to that. Can't have you yattering away in my ear all day while I'm trying to work."
And with little more ceremony than that, he walked away, leaving them to sort out the issue of the balloon on their own. All eyes turned toward Reina. Her mind leapt toward automatic rebellion—she wasn't in charge and she never meant to be—but she caught the impulse and set it aside. This was not that life. This was real. This was awake. And she never needed to be queen.
When her response was not immediately forthcoming, Ignis prompted her. "It should be noted that I am more accomplished with a needle than a wrench. Being the prince's personal nanny through perpetual adolescence requires a well-rounded education."
"You going to patch that whole thing up yourself?" Cor asked.
"Hey! I can sew!" Iris said. "Sort of."
Reina stood with Cor on this matter; she knew as much of sewing as Noctis did. It was not exactly a task she had taken up during any of her past lives.
"Well, it's all sorted then." Ardyn rubbed his hands together. "Toasty and Killer do all the hard work while I have a bite to eat."
He turned on his heel and began to walk away. Iris' hand shot out and caught his sleeve. "Not so fast, Healer, if you want a piece of the pie you have to knead the dough."
"What did you call me?" He asked her, eyes narrowing.
"If I'm a killer, you're a healer. Anyway, from Rei's story it's fitting, right?" Iris said.
"As is yours." Ardyn raised an eyebrow at her.
Ignis cleared his throat. "Pie crust does not require kneading. Nevertheless, I support the sentiment. If Ardyn is to be a part of this retinue, he must join in our tasks."
"And whyever would you believe I wished to be a part of your little retinue?"
"You said it first." Iris shrugged one shoulder.
"And Lion promptly refuted it."
"Enough." Reina stepped into the middle of them. "Ardyn, I think you should help. And I think you're part of this whether you like it or not now."
Ardyn crossed his arms, but made no objection.
"Know anything about sewing?" Iris elbowed him in the side.
"I once sewed a man up from clavicle to hip."
She gaped at him. "Well… that's…" She swallowed hard, looking green. "Nice."
"I'm afraid you're the expert, Ignis," Reina said, steering the conversation back around. "Take a look and we'll have your opinion on whether to patch or recreate."
"Hardly an expert opinion," he said, but he did step forward and begin taking stock of what they had to work with.
With some aid, he laid the balloon out as flat as he could make it—dust rose in clouds whenever he moved it—and measured out each tear and hole. He never could have done it without his sight. Or he might have, eventually, but the time it took would have been ten times longer.
She needed to tell him.
But of all her friends, of every person she struggled to recall the events of her Dream to, she dreaded speaking to him most of all. Cor and Iris had walked away from Reina; she had done that herself, for better or for worse. She had lied and misled them and forced them to believe that breaking their vows to her was the only good option available to them. But Ignis she had not lied to. Ignis she had told the truth to—and the truth was what had broken his heart.
"I believe we might make due with a severe patching," Ignis said. "Though we will need more canvas."
"If it exempts me from sewing, I'll find some," Cor said.
"Some sealant as well," Ignis said. "I note there is some flaking, plasticky residue on the inside of the balloon."
After some quick notes—some taken from Ignis' measurements and others from Cid's plans—Cor was off, eager to escape from the place where needles were being threaded. Reina remained and, after some loud complaints, so did Ardyn. They joined Ignis and Iris seated in a lopsided rectangle around the balloon as they marked off sections to patch or replace entirely, and seams to be re-sewn.
By the time Cor returned with the supplies, they had the balloon hosed down and marked up, partially dismantled to create a pattern for the new canvas. And they were all thoroughly covered in thick grey dust.
"I brought lunch," Cor said. "Doubt you want to eat with those hands, though."
Lunch was a welcome reprieve, and might have been a comfortable one, if not for the gnawing guilt growing in Reina's stomach. She needed to tell him. If he wanted to turn away, he should know before he followed her to hell. But it wasn't the sort of subject one brought up over sandwiches.
She slipped away while the others were still finishing their meals. A month along and she was still getting used to eating regularly. She did feel hungry sometimes. But not always as hungry as she should have been.
There was one place in Hammerhead that always drew her, whenever her path led her here. She rounded the perimeter fence and stepped out into the rocky sand. She should have been able to see the memorial from Hammerhead, but it wasn't there to see. Even so, her feet took her right up to it. There were stones strewn about, but in a natural fashion. Perhaps some of them were the same rocks that would have made up the memorial—in fact, after ten years of staring at them, she recognized a few—but now they never would.
She sat in the dirt, picked up a handful of it, and let it sift through her fingers. She heard footsteps crunching in the sand behind her and turned to see Ignis.
"Did Cor send you after me?" She asked.
"He insinuated that you should not be left unsupervised," Ignis said.
He stood behind her, silent as she ran her fingers through the dirt and traced meaningless patterns.
"Seeking solitude?" He asked at length.
"No," she said. "I used to come out here for company. Even after I carried Father with me in the ring, I never stopped visiting the memorial I built for him."
Though usually it was in the dark with no lights to speak of, while no one else would see her approach.
"So habit brings you here," he said.
"I suppose so." She dropped a handful of dirt, stared at the heap for a moment—mind screaming—and finally looked up at him again. "I left you."
"What?"
"You loved me. You always have, I know, and we were almost happy together once. But I… I left you. I chose Ardyn instead. And you told me you didn't blame me. That I had to choose him, in order to protect Lucis, but it wasn't just that. And I don't want you to believe a lie in this life. I didn't choose him selflessly, as a sacrifice. I chose him because I loved him. I loved you, too, but not the same. You tried so hard, but you couldn't understand what I felt."
She fought with herself to keep her eyes on Ignis. His eyes widened briefly as a multitude of emotions worked across his features. Confusion. Joy. Sadness. Regret.
"I'm sorry," she said, aware of how woefully insufficient the words were. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to break your heart. But you wanted to live with me and Ardyn wanted to die with me. I never wanted to live in the first place."
Ignis stared at his shoes so that she could only see his eyes because she was sitting on the ground. His hands hung loose at his sides.
"You loved me?" He asked, after a too-long silence.
"Yes."
"And I could not meet your needs?"
She gritted her teeth. How many times had Ardyn whispered that in her ears before she had admitted what they had both known was true.
"No," she whispered. "I'm sorry."
"Then you have nothing to apologize for." Ignis looked up. Rather than sorrow, he wore determination on his face. "It was my failing, Your Highness. Or else it was no failing at all, and who I had become was doomed to conflict with who you had become."
"It was," she murmured. "I wanted us to work, but we couldn't. Not after everything."
"And now?" He asked.
"Now?" Her eyes widened. Surely, after she had just told him she had chosen Ardyn over him, he wasn't asking—
"This is a new life for you, and many more things have changed. Nothing remains as it was in your Dream, save this:" He dropped to his knees in the dirt before her, cupping her face in his hands. "I still love you, Reina. I don't expect that will change."
For the first time since she had woken—for the first time in five years—he kissed her. His lips were dusty and so were hers, but it didn't matter.
Too soon, he broke away.
"I apologize." He turned away. "You have too many matters on your mind already and I regret putting another before you. I only meant to say that if you did wish to try again…"
"Ignis, wait—" She leaned forward to catch his arm, one hand and both knees in the dirt. When he turned and met her gaze, all words deserted her.
"I need no answer," he said at length. "I will be at your side until you send me away, regardless. If you love Ardyn still, I will accept that."
Did she love Ardyn? Yes. A part of her always would. She couldn't forget those long years when he was her only companion on Eos. The only one who made her smile. The only one who would never tell her what she wanted was wrong, because he wanted the same thing.
But that didn't mean she didn't love Ignis. Sweet, loyal, constant Ignis. She had never stopped loving him; she had only cut out her heart and thrown it away.
"I do love you, Ignis," she said. "And I always did. But I hardly even know who I am anymore, and love isn't enough to build a life on."
"Neither would I expect you to offer me commitment when we've only just met again." He took her hand in his and squeezed. "Nor while we're preparing to kill a god. It is enough for me to know you love me. More than enough. If, some distant day, you decide you wish for more, perhaps we can start again. From the very beginning. For now, learn who you are. And I will as well."