Chapter Eighteen
"Hmmm...I like this one…"
"Hn? Ah, I do too," Hilda responded, grabbing an end of the taffeta fabric hanging from the black mage's lap as he stroked the material lovingly.
It was a frivolous piece, to be sure, yet she could not deny it's beauty nor it's exquisite quality. She knew not when she would ever have need to wear it, as the design and cut was suited for functions involving dancing, conversations over bubbling refreshments, and light-hearted exchanges among acquaintances. To wear it here in such a quiet, lonesome, empty tomb would be comparable to donning a costume.
"Is this what you would call...pretty?" Hugo looked up to her, blinking.
She couldn't help but smile, wondering if he was even aware that he was still petting the dress across his legs as the two of them sat upon the floor of her new rooms, Linden pulling out clothing from all the trunks that had been sitting in a corner, ignored, until she had been ready to open them once more.
"You say you like it but why is that?" Hilda broached softly, her tone warm as she reached for another dress, separating gowns between practicality and unsuitable for her current circumstances.
"..."
Hugo's eyes fizzled slightly as they seemed to focus on the piece, as if the fabric itself would reveal its secrets to his mind's eye.
"It shines...and it's...soft," he replied with a nod,"And the colors...I didn't know a person could wear the colors of the sky."
She admired his description, so childlike and earnest. She liked the way that he put forth his best, in a way that he could understand and be understood.
And he was right. The gown was a delicious confection of taffeta dyed lovingly in indigo that bled into violet, like a flirtatious butterfly, with blackened hems and stitching. And even though she had yet to try it on, she could estimate that the cut from head to toe was designed to show her to best advantage.
"Then yes, that would mean it is pretty," she soothed, his admiration suddenly warming her to the theme of wearing the piece, despite it's impracticality.
"You did not come here with so many," Linden murmured, well into the third trunk, gloves deep into chemesis' that she could see were not made of linen, yet some thin, sheer material that scoffed at the idea of concealing any bit of flesh. She imagined for a moment an invisible blush beneath his large hat if he understood what it was that he was now rifling through. But then again, knowing their underdeveloped emotions as she now did, he probably would not understand nor care in regards to her explanation.
"There's perhaps...five times as much now," Linden marveled quietly, his estimation on the mark,"Has something changed...for you to need so many?"
They could unknowingly be so vague in the manner in which they voiced their curiosities. Having become familiar with it, she no longer needed to think in order to interpret.
"Yes, something has. These trunks are referred to as a trousseau," she muttered a little sarcastically, tossing another gown into the "unrealistic" pile.
"You could wear a new dress for each meal of the day for a month and would still not have worn them all. Trousseau's are…heavy," Linden mumbled, seeming unsure of the word he had supplied to describe the feeling.
"I think the predicament we have found ourselves in is due to the 'heaviness' of a master's courting," Hilda almost snorted, her arms lifting up a daring negligee the likes of which she had never seen within the rooms of any modiste in Lindblum. No doubt, these were Treno affairs.
They didn't ask for further explanation, whether they were disinterested in the matter or they knew it would be beyond their comprehension, she was unsure. There had been definitive evolution in the way they spoke and expressed themselves in the time they had begun to communicate with her yet it seemed too little too late.
Hugo and Linden were the only ones left.
Hugo's head suddenly lifted away from his appraisal of the frock to attention, as if he had heard her innermost thoughts.
"Then the heaviness...is good," he mused, grasping the gown in a gloved hand and stretching forth his arm to pass it over to the woman,"it means he'll keep you...you won't be alone when we're gone."
She knew his intention wasn't to turn the blood coursing through her veins to ice in dread. But she felt it painfully so. Between the fear of isolation and abandonment to the creeping grief of losing her only companions that she had managed to draw closer to herself these past months, her insides hardened.
"Can he not prolong your longevity?" she queried softly, her voice containing a break in it she was sure they did not detect.
They both glanced at her before looking to one another, unsure of her meaning due to her wordage. She didn't have to look upon them to recognize their confusion.
"Can Kuja not prevent you from expiring?"
There was silence and even the ruffling of fabric had ceased.
And when she did glance at the two, they seemed to be lost in thought upon the matter much like herself.
"Perhaps?" Linden offered, his brother nodding in turn, unsure, "but whatever for, Mistress?"
She would have asked them if the thought of them perishing would make them sad. But when they had looked upon their brother's disintegrating one by one, there hadn't seemed to be much of anything in the way of emotions.
Hilda wondered if they had not been locked away in such a remote place, if they had been exposed to an open society, would they have developed much more quickly than they had with only her?
Her mood had darkened and she chided herself for it, deciding that there was no need to dwell upon the very thoughts that revisited her alone in her bed at night. Her companions had been quite upbeat but moments before and she wished to enliven them back to their former spirits.
"Hugo, I think you have brilliant taste. I will wear the taffeta," she declared exuberantly, taking the garment and walking toward her dressing screen. They did not have the sense of propriety to leave the room, knowing she was disrobing merely feet away from them, yet having no desire to take notice of it. And them, being as they were, bothered her none as well.
When she reappeared, feeling quite silly and overdressed, her cheeks couldn't help but warm as Hugo made a soft sound of appraisal and with Linden nodding in turn.
What an odd group the three of them had become.
Kuja eyed the strange little monuments that greeted his feet.
The wind beat harsh against his person within the cavernous dock, thrashing his hair around wildly. He could smell the precipitation in the air, signaling that rain was coming.
Littered about within the caverns was a makeshift graveyard made up of stakes piled with his creations' various clothing and hats.
This was no doubt the workings of the woman secreted below his feet.
Such care for things of such insignificance. Would she have labored the same for the dead that had recently perished within her own city?
He looked around, counting the stakes as his eyes roved over them, estimating how many in turn might still remain. The numbers within Lindblum were staggering compared to the little cemetery before him. So much so that one could drown within them so deep as to never be able to claw themselves out.
Not wanting to think further on the matter, he made for the sigil, pondering as to how he might procure more black mages to replace the ones that had and would soon expire. It was easy enough in the beginning, as he had merely taken the first batch under his service yet now that the factory was under complete Alexandrian administration, he had no viable excuse as to why he had need of the Queen's weapons. He had funds aplenty yet rewriting schematics and designs as well as having new machinery built to produce was more time and trouble than he had the willingness for.
Upon entering the complex, his ears detected the eerie stillness that reflected a lack of souls. It made him reminisce for a moment on when he had first entered the forgotten stronghold; young, dirty, and utterly alone.
His feet propelled him forward to his intended destination, not a creature in sight to detain him momentarily to brief him of any occurrences during his leave. The almost clumsy shuffle of feet and the sounds that accompanied their various chores was absent. The feeling it evoked could not prevent him from revisiting his earlier thoughts. In the stillness and emptiness that permeated the landscape around him, he could not help but to lend thought that it was he that would destroy everything Hilda had known and built.
The knowledge was unwelcoming and heavy. As someone whose life and sense of self rided completely on his current course of action, he did not want to be tormented by his successes, but rather, celebrate them in all that they entailed for him.
And yet the feeling remained. The silver-haired man felt...desperate. He needed to see her, to soothe himself with the sight of her. And with each step, his fervor grew, the need to monopolize her strengthening.
Did she like the gowns? She could have more, a maisonettes' worth more if she desired them. His little politician was unaware of her circumstances but in the span of mere weeks, she would be surrounded by a throng of individuals vying for her favor in all manner of things. Her responsibilities would be vast, yet she had already proven herself capable. Anything that she could think to long for, he would ensure they were laid before her feet.
Calming his prior anxieties with future promises, he even felt invigorated once the door to her rooms came in sight. Slightly ajar, the noise secreted within grew in volume the closer he got. And just as his hand had reached for the latch, he paused briefly at the sound of choking gasps that were elicited from the room.
He shoved the door almost hard enough to send it slamming into the wall before growing still, the scene before him so very odd that he could not help but to question his faculties altogether.
The hacking wheeze continued for a time before everything had settled.
"This is a-awful!," one of the black mages exclaimed, shoving a glass of wine away from himself across the little table within the room, his voice sounding slightly horrified.
"I...I don't think I'd like to try it," said the other one, pushing softly at his own drink, albeit not as aggressively.
"Just because Hugo didn't care for it doesn't mean you will not," Hilda encouraged mirthfully, a mischievous grin hinted at the corner of a smile she was having difficulty in containing, seated among the two servants, embellished boldly in a riot of violet and profound blue with a deep cut decolletage, like a Treno noblewoman.
Something about the scene left him a little gobsmacked, the woman before him suddenly seeming like a girlish debutante rather than the cool, mature lady he was acquainted with. She was clearly immersed within a puckish game for her entertainment, his own person somehow having gone unnoticed. So he merely watched as she continued to converse with the puppets, encouraging the second to have a go at the red drink within his designated glass all the while assuming an assured expression on her small face.
The gold, rose, and cream colored fabrics he always found her enshrouded within suited her. They elevated her small frame to project her regal persona while emphasizing the gilded glow of her golden hair. However he could not help but marvel that the gown she now wore made her eyes ignite like a blue flame, mischievous and clever, as if the spark had been lit within. The cut and design were made for nightly divertissements within an intimate parlour rather than stately affairs and his eyes could not help but appreciate.
He took advantage of having gone unseen by envisioning the pair of them in another setting altogether. In a rare streak of whimsy, he wondered at the possibility of her on his arm within his auctioning house, conspiring together while enjoying all the pleasures of the city of perpetual night. She would have no need of him to gain access to the other three Chess Mansions as her tongue and judgement alone would assure her ease of entry. And he loved that about her. As enthralled as King already seemed to be by rumors, Kuja had little doubt that the real thing would exceed the nobles expectations a hundred fold.
It had pained him to reveal to his allay a weakness of his. Furthermore, to ask for assistance in protecting it had grated internally in ways that made his skin crawl. Revealing to his 'friend' as to whom it was that had managed to turn his head was too much to disclose. Unquestionably, King would never out the secret to a single soul, yet the mage couldn't bear to part with the name as something most possessive within him refused to share it. As if wanting any and every insignificant detail about her to remain his alone.
He found this newfound aspect of himself alarming.
Disturbing.
This need to keep someone entirely to himself. To bind her to him and engross himself within her in such a manner that little else mattered.
Was this a Terran attribute? Or perhaps indicative to genomes, as the species itself was rather new and untested in regards to self-awareness? Was it a fracture of his particular soul that was drawing these voracious needs from him?
The man shook his head in a gesture to clear his thoughts, regaining control while reigning in his instinctual desires. He had still gone ignored and thought it was most likely due to his quiet ability to spy rather than the other individuals' lack of awareness. It was probably best to be direct about his arrival.
"You can douse them in liquor and they would still retain their faculties," Kuja spoke, having already anticipated the surprised set of stares that had turned in his direction, "They are designed as such. They cannot be influenced by spirits nor drugs."
"Perhaps not," Hilda retorted with a spiteful click of her tongue, regaining her composure in record time," Yet a fairy cake will do just the trick. Seems your design is lacking."
He could not help the grin that broke across his face, so much so that his canines were undoubtedly showing.
"Oh?" He titled his head, acknowledging her point respectfully, amusement and mirth alight within him.
"It seems you approve of my gifts," he added mischievously, openly thrilled at the embarrassed blush that suffused her complexion, as intended.
"As my favored attire was in ill-repair, I had no choice but to make do, I suppose," she flippantly quipped, not bothering to look at him but to her side, at one of the walls of her new rooms.
She had not heard him draw near, the other two occupants of the room forgotten for a moment. Hilda jumped at the hand that entangled itself within her own, causing her head to turn at the man next to her on bended knee, whose height gave him the advantage of allowing the elbow at his other arm to rest on the table before her, his chin resting on his fist.
"Perhaps the offerings were for my own benefit. I cannot help but to believe I am the only man that has ever seen you dressed thusly." His eyes roved over her pointedly, making her swallow in anxiousness.
Hilda's body seemed unmoveable beneath his cyanic leer, his observation carnivorous in nature.
A clumsy voice interrupted the silent study, reminding her to breath.
"M-Mistress, is it time that we go?" one of the mages broached carefully, their attention back and forth between the silver-haired man that seemed enthralled with the woman seated above him, the hint of freckles across the man's nose catching in the wavering light.
"Yes," Kuja dictated, his focus remaining steadfast on the woman before him, his lips upturned conspiratorially.
"No Hugo, please stay," she managed to utter, a frantic hint of panic laced within her words. Her own ears could detect it and she detested herself for it. Despite having the physical high ground at the moment, she couldn't help but feel as an insect ensnared within a predators trap. The servants wouldn't make a single move against their master but she could not help but desire some sort of solace that their presence brought her in her current circumstance.
"You've named them?" Kuja queried, his expression switching over entirely to blatant curiosity, in the span of a sparrow's breath.
The mage looked to the one called Hugo and before regarding the second, internally surmising that the two within the room were the only dolls to remain within the palace.
"And what are you called?" he asked the second, in a rare show of acknowledgement, nodding to the puppet as his fist uncurled and slid to his cheek to allow it to rest there as he considered his creation with newfound interest.
"Linden, after Mistresses' city," the thing supplied softly, prodding at one of the buttons of his humble coat.
Was that...pride Kuja had heard in his voice?
The genome turned to the noblewoman for confirmation and she merely turned her head up once more, shrugging her shoulders," What better honor could there be in a name?", she questioned waspishly.
It wasn't an argument. Hilda had said it so firmly and decidedly that to her, it was nothing but the truth.
Kuja didn't like it. This sense of pride in her state that had extended to and marked itself within his walls.
But nevermind it.
He would not lend his ire to it.
It was merely temporary.
In days, the doll would be dead and in weeks, Hilda would find herself mistress of an empire that extended beyond merely one world.
"You can go," Kuja ordered, returning his focus to the very nervous woman at hand. His eyes locked onto hers and he could feel her heartbeat quickening within her wrist as his thumb ran the course of her veins within it.
They silently did as they were bid, scraping their chairs back loudly before making their exit with a damning click of the door that only added to Hilda's apprehension yet seemed to ease a predatory grin across her companions mouth.
He finally stood then, his grasp upon her hand entreating her to do so as well. The hushed rustling of stiff fabric and the crackling fire were the only sound within the room before a piercing thunderclap from above sent her shooting from her seat and crashing against him. Unprepared, he too teetered with the motion, catching and righting her before they came careening onto the floor.
She attempted to straighten herself from her undignified position, his hands sliding away from her shoulders as she raised a hand to the ledge of a chair and leaned slightly, calming herself. Hilda craned her neck around to look at the man behind her who stood waiting, clearly amused and curious as to her stare.
The difference in height between Cid and herself had always been extraordinary and yet alongside Kuja, it was even more so. His stature seemed borderline unnatural.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked softly, his hands slipping behind his back, his full sleeves billowing out from his elbows.
"Are you merely here to check on me again?" she lied, never sure on how to handle him.
It was what she did for a living. She handled people. From her state offices, to the banquets of dignitaries within her halls, to the people among her employ.
But not him.
Never him.
"No," he said somewhat cheerfully, stepping closer, both of them acknowledging silently that with the furniture behind her, it would be nothing to pin her against it," I will be here a handful of days, so you need not fear."
Hilda didn't approve of his jest and he wanted to all but laugh at the look of derision on her face for it.
"So you've come here to torment me then, have you?" she ruefully remarked, turning course to make her escape.
She had calculated that it most likely would not have worked and she had been right. He caught her arm and wrapped his fingers around it like a vice, silkily yet firm in intent.
"I have. In the most delicious of ways."
His grin was telling, leaving no meaning hidden.
It was wickedly lascivious.
He pulled her closer to him, her head inches away from the plating at his chest. Her neck ached to peer up at him.
His head tilted to the side, causing his hair to slide against his neck and toward his back as he gazed down at her. His eyes narrowed yet his smile remained.
"I'm in need of a thorough wash after the long flight here, so I'll be entreating upon my hostess to draw me up a bath."
His voice was almost sing-song in it's delight. Her eyes, however, were no more larger than saucers at the notion.
"You can't be serious..."
"Oh? Would you like to wager all your dresses on it, Madam?"
He had allowed her the courtesy to change out of the frivolous frock before leaving to his own rooms. Due to the hour, she saw little need for propriety and dawned her nightclothes, tying a slip of a velvet robe over the affair. Her feet were bare as she made her way to the lord's sanctum, knowing there was no need to knock, as she was expected.
She had only been within these rooms once and it had terrified her. She would be remiss to say that it didn't still, albeit for an entirely different reason. Hilda found that the man was not waiting for her in the foreroom, meaning he was somewhere beyond, further in. This only added to her agitation.
She advanced, exploring the offshoots of rooms before finding the bathing chamber, a largish room that was enshrouded in shadows, the hint of a bathing tub catching the light from another room. Hilda set about to alight the sconces about the walls, tiny spells trickling from her lips, sparks dancing from ember to ember to reach even the candlesticks set upon tables.
The small woman turned to assess the room, noting that where shades of lavender predominated the whole of the abode, this room was primarily set in silver. There were potted fronded plants tucked between every table and fixture per the norm of the palace and in the middle of the room was a tub large enough to seat three men in repose.
The fixture seemed...excessive. And out of place. All the pieces set within the fortress resided within the same aesthetic. This, however, looked as if it had been brought it.
She heard movement from beyond, the slight sound making her pulse quicken. Admonishing herself for acting like a frightening child, she set her fingers to work. Reaching deep within the tub, she cast Water, her fingers splayed out as the frigid liquid trickled from her fingertips. When the first droplets reached the base of the fixture, the rest of the spell fell like a deluge, filling the thing in a mere minute. Flicking moisture from her hand, she bent at the knees, placing both her palms on the side of the tub, igniting heat within with Fire. With months of practice, she knew when to recede the flames, the steam permeating the air indicative to the heat within.
Grateful that she was still alone, she argued that her job was done and turned to make her escape. Yet she should have known better, she admonished. When did anything in this dreadful place ever turn in her favor?
He stood in the doorway unabashedly naked, his tail no longer concealed.
She didn't think she had ever seen him look more thrilled.
A/N: The next chapter is NSFW so it will not be posted here, only on A03.