12.
The interior of the Ardainian palace was enormous and imposing, walls of smooth black stone gleaming with polish, inlaid with borders of gold, ceilings stretching up so far that they almost stretched out of sight. The serious silence in here was very different from the chaotic cacophony outside, almost oppressive, the complete silence giving the entire palace a sense of seriousness. Outside was where the people were preached to, where they were sold the vision of power, but here is where the actual levers were pulled that might decide the lives of thousands of people.
Their sound of their boots echoed loudly as they walked through the interior, clicking across the smooth stone floor. There were very few people in here – a few soldiers, posted at doorways. Rex was a bit surprised that even here, they had weapons at their side.
"So," he said, breaking the silence as he glanced up at Morag. "Your brother lives in the Palace?"
"Well, of course," Morag replied, staring straight ahead as she walked. "Where else would the Emperor live?"
"Oh, yeah. I guess." Rex nodded sagely, then paused. "Wait. Your brother is the Emperor himself?"
"Did I not mention that?" Morag said, absent-mindedly, as Brighid smirked at her side.
"No!"
"Wait, hold on a minute," Nia interrupted. "Does that mean you're...royalty?"
"Well. Technically. I haven't thought of myself as that way in a long time." Morag closed her eyes, memories of her youth flashing through her head, the training in the ways of nobles she had received. Ardainian nobility was a strange breed, compared to nobility in other countries. Combat training was common, and courtly manners were eschewed in favor of learning tactics, strategy, and political rhetoric. They were taught not to avoid the common folk, but rather to engage with them – a proper Ardainian noble was to have the ability to give rousing, inspiring speeches to huge crowds. Morag had excelled at the combat training and strategy, but the rhetoric – she had never caught on properly. It was seen as less vital for the Ardainian royal family to be skilled at rhetoric – it was a more vital skill for the Senators and the influential families they were usually elected from – but still, it had rankled her, growing up, to be caught in debates with her peers that had danced around her with fiery speech. She had been frustrated with the classes, eminently practical, disdaining speech for action, finding the talk a bunch of frivolous nonsense – but as she grew older, watched the crowds hypnotized by the speech of the Senators, who used their influence to steer the ship of state...she had grown more envious of them. A good speech was power, just the same as an army was, if not more so.
She led them into a grand, glass elevator, inlaid again with gold. As it rose, it opened up onto a spanning, gorgeous view of the city below them, stretching off far into the distance.
Nia found her thoughts turning to places they didn't normally go to. She had lived in Gormott, her father part of the nobility, so politics were naturally something she had been exposed to, but she had never been that interested in them. In Gormott, the nobility were often fairly isolated from the rest of society, and all their words seemed so petty – their opinions had no impact on what happened, under the Ardainian government, and most of how power changed hands among the nobility was based off of who had slighted whom, who had praised whom, all things that Nia had found endlessly boring.
But throughout her history lessons, she had learned to read between the lines. Through people referencing old families that no longer existed, through talk with the townsfolk, she had learned that what was left of the Gormotti nobility was a shadow of its former self. The Ardainians, when they had invaded – before her lifetime – had crushed any sign of rebellion, going so far as to exterminate entire rebel tribes. Many Gormotti nobility had been swept up in the purges, entire families erased from history, disappeared into the fires of civil war. And it had been bloody, and ruthless. The war had ended when Mor Ardain had made it clear they were more than willing to keep killing anyone who resisted their rule until there was nobody left, if necessary.
And looking out at the wealth of Mor Ardain – the endless industry, the grand buildings, the Palace larger than an entire Gormotti town – what had it all been for? Why had the Gormotti had to suffer so much, when Mor Ardain was clearly already so much better off than Gormott had been? She knew that the justification was that Mor Ardain desperately needed the agricultural capacity of Gormott. But with all this wealth, why had they not simply...paid for some food imports? Had it really justified so much death, so much suffering?
The elevator came to a smooth, almost imperceptible stop at the highest level of the palace. Rex's eyes widened as they stepped off into a hallway, decorated with countless paintings – all former Emperors of Mor Ardain, stern gazes looking down at them as they walked along. That wasn't what impressed him, though. At the end of the hallway were a pair of glass doors opening out onto the rooftop of the palace, and through the glass, Rex could see the impressive sight of Ardainian airships, huge mechanical devices, belching smoke, roaring propellers, taking off and docking at the rooftop airdock. "Amazing," he murmured to himself.
"Hmm. Ardainians have some of best tech in world," Tora said, at his side, also appreciating the airships. "Nothing compared to Tora's family, of course. But still, very impressive."
The hallway stretched on and on. Morag had walked down this hallway hundreds of times, but this time she found herself examining the portraits of the Emperors more closely than she normally would. In some of them, Aegaeon, or Brighid, or both, were painted alongside the Emperor. There were dozens of them.
And thinking back, she realized, for the first time, that there had been barely any that had not presided over some war, some conquest, begun by Mor Ardain. Hugo had been one of the few, she thought, as she passed by his painting, and that was because he had died so young. Although her brother was around his age, and he was already presiding over a war begun by Mor Ardain. She found herself wondering how many of those Emperors had been pressured into the wars, rather than starting them. Or how many had simply, over the course of their rule, become so accustomed to war that starting one had seemed like a good idea. She wondered if that was what would happen to her brother. If the sweet young boy she knew now would be hardened by age, becoming one of the stern, hard men decorating these walls, eyes lined with dark bags, eyes having seen too much death to care anymore.
Finally, the hallway led to a pair of ornate doors, decorated with gold leaf, that was the entrance to the imperial suites and the throne room. Before she even opened them, Morag could hear voices on the other side. Her brother's, and someone else, talking loudly.
She threw the doors open, and Rex whistled at the sight. The throne room of Mor Ardain was not composed of somber black stone, like so much of the city. It breathed life and grandiosity, white stone and gold, everything seeming to glow with a rich inner light. The ceiling opened up to a grand glass dome, through which the head of Mor Ardain's Titan was visible, pocked, scarred and torn, an honestly ugly sight in the beauty of the throne room.
The Emperor sat at a table in the throne room, across from a woman with wild, sea-green hair, which she had attempted to tame by tying into a ponytail. She whipped her head around to stare at them with flashing blue eyes, the color of a stormcloud. Nia's eyes widened to see her pointed ears, and the scales lining the sides of her face. She was Urayan, or at least part Urayan. She was athletic, striking in a way, beautiful and intense, dressed in a long black overcoat, a military cap on the table next to her. She rose, and she was very tall, towering over Morag, nearly as tall as Malos.
Morag recognized her. Senator Sylvaneus Aquilia Borallis. Known to her friends as Sylvie. She had been in Morag's class when she had attended military academy. But whereas Morag had gone on to serve in the field, Sylvie had followed her family's plan for her, and gone into politics, rising quickly through the ranks, until she had become one of the youngest ever to achieve the rank of Senator. And even there, she had distinguished herself. Apparently particularly well. It wasn't just any Senator that had the authority to argue with the Emperor himself in his own throne room. She was also one of the most ardent, enthusiastic members of the Brionac political party.
"Well, look who it is," she snapped, crossing her arms as she approached Morag and the party. "Special Inquisitor Morag. I had heard you were coming home. Though your brother still steadfastly refuses to tell me what it was your mission was." She cast her eye over the rest of the party, her gaze lingering in particular on Poppi, raising an eyebrow. "And who are these lot that you're just traipsing into the throne room with?"
Morag, however, was ignoring her. She looked past her to her brother, who was smiling, beaming wanly at her, happiness at seeing her written all over his face. But he was pale, and his eyes were sunk into dark circles on his face, and he seemed thinner than usual, the Emperor's intricate garb hanging loosely on him. Morag found her heart twisting in a way it never usually did. Her brother...he needed rest, the poor sweet boy, she could tell just by looking at him. Her eyes flicked back to Sylvie. "I could ask you the same thing, Senator," she said coolly. "Certainly the Emperor has better things to be doing than to be discussing policy details in his throne room?"
"We wouldn't have anything to discuss if your brother would just launch the damn invasion of Uraya and get it over with," Sylvie snapped, sighing with frustration as she looked back at the Emperor.
Rex, Tora, and Nia glanced at each other, feeling uncomfortable. Whoever this woman was, she was powerful. It wasn't anyone who could talk so dismissively and with such criticism in the face of the Ardainian Emperor himself. "I don't get it," Rex said, suddenly, feeling a little apprehensive as everyone in the room turned to stare at him. "Uh. Aren't you Urayan yourself? Why are you so keen on Mor Ardain invading Uraya?"
Sylvie's chest swelled with pride, and she gave him a wicked smile. "Oh, my family may be Urayan, boy. But we've served the Empire for generations, now. Mor Ardain will let anyone who can serve the Empire climb to the highest heights. Part of what makes us great. Didn't you know?" She turned back to Morag, giving her a quizzical look. "Just who are these people, Morag?"
"Ah," Niall said, suddenly interrupting. "These must be the informants you recruited in Uraya. Isn't that right, Morag?"
Morag nodded, and rolled with the lie. "Yes. That's right. Informants. Sympathetic to the Ardainian cause. Having vital knowledge of Urayan military movements and tactics."
Sylvie tapped her foot, glaring at her sharply. "Sympathetic to the Ardainian cause. And yet that one," she said, pointing at Rex, "Didn't know the first thing about Mor Ardain." She shook her head. "And that," she continued, now pointing at Poppi, "is an artificial blade. I know for a fact that Uraya doesn't have that tech."
"Poppi is no Urayan invention! Tora himself invented Poppi," Tora replied, bouncing excitedly.
"Is that so, littlepon?" Sylvie turned her intense gaze onto Tora, who quivered a bit beneath that glare. "Curious, that. Very curious."
"Senator Borallis," Niall interrupted, before she could come up with any more questions. "I apologize, but I believe my sister probably has some very important reports to be giving to me that are, unfortunately, highly classified. If you would afford us a little privacy." He gave her a prim smile.
Sylvie turned to gaze at him, and Morag wondered just how bad things had become. For a hardliner like Sylvie to be filled with such bravado, such confidence, such awful energy – to have the confidence to confront the Emperor in his own throne room – and what worried Morag the most was how cheerful she seemed. As if she knew it was merely a matter of time before she got her way. "Of course, your majesty," Sylvie murmured, voice low. She strode to the table, picking up her cap, pulling it down over her wild mop of hair.
As she walked from the throne room, she stopped at Morag's side, pausing, not looking at her. Morag glanced over to her inquisitively.
"We are winning, Morag," Sylvie said quietly, mockery in her voice.
Then she strode from the throne room, slamming the door behind her.
Niall sighed heavily, leaning forward, holding his head in his hands. He quickly lifted it, though, smiling again at Morag. "It's good to see you," he said quietly. "It's been a while. I was getting worried."
Morag wanted to say so much. She wanted to scold him for not taking care of himself, ask him who it was that was causing him to lose sleep, ask him if he was okay. But she couldn't, not in front of guests. It wouldn't be proper to ask the Emperor to admit to weakness in front of strangers. But she found herself worrying about Niall, like she had never before in her life. "It's...good to see you as well," she replied, restraining herself.
Brighid, however, didn't let restraint contain her. "You're not looking well, your majesty," she said, putting a hand to her face. "Are you eating enough? Getting enough sleep?"
"Brighid," Morag muttered, nudging her. She should have known this would happen. Her blade had always had a soft spot for her brother, a mothering instinct for him that she rarely saw anywhere else. She wondered sometimes if it was because at many points in history, Brighid had been bonded to the Emperor.
"I want you to tell the cooks to start serving you more meat," Brighid continued severely, but Morag cut her off.
"Niall. These are...some of my friends. Rex, Nia, Dromarch, Tora, Poppi." She paused, gesturing towards Malos, who was still silent beneath his helmet, his armor covering his core crystal. "And this...is the Aegis."
Niall rose from his chair, and Morag's eagle eyes noted how his legs trembled a bit as he rose. He had always been a bit of a sick child, Morag acting as his protector, and she had really never stopped thinking of herself that way. "Amazing," Niall murmured, walking towards the Aegis, who towered over him, looming. "I...does he talk?"
In a burst of black sparks, Malos' helmet disappeared. "Boo," he said, smirking down at the boy Emperor.
"Hmm. Well, I suppose that answers that." Niall raised an eyebrow at the blade. "And...who is his driver…?"
"That would be me!" Rex said, stepping forward proudly.
Niall walked forward to approach him. It seemed so odd, to Rex, that the Emperor of Mor Ardain, perhaps the most powerful country in the world, might be a boy younger than even he was. "Hmmm," Niall hummed to himself, looking Rex up and down. "I must admit, not what I was expecting."
"Yeah, yeah. Too young, right?"
Niall blinked. "No. Not at all. You look...like a good person. Anyone who awoke the Aegis, I was expecting them to be the sort of person who had a lot of nasty ideas about how to use them." The Emperor smiled sadly to himself. "You meet a lot of people like that, in my line of work. You learn to spot them. It's something in their eyes. Although my sister has been the one traveling with you for months. I suppose I should ask her what her assessment is."
Morag glanced towards Rex, then nodded. "I'll vouch for that. I think Rex is a very good person. A little hardheaded and reckless, maybe."
Nia snorted. "Oh, a little, huh."
Rex blushed, rubbing the back of his head. "Aw. I mean, I'm just an average guy, I think."
"And what is it you plan on using the Aegis for?"
Rex glanced up, looking at the Emperor, who was staring at him intently. "Well. I mean, I'm not really using him for anything, I don't think. We've got a partnership going. We're gonna get to Elysium. We're going to find a land with enough bounty for everyone to live in peace."
Niall was quiet for a long moment. He looked up at Malos, who was busy examining his fingers. "Elysium," he said, as if lost in thought. Finally, he nodded. "Right. Well. I understand you'll be visiting Mor Ardain for a while. I hope you can find the time to talk with me a bit more later. You all are welcome here as my guests, and you're welcome to use the imperial guest suites." He grimaced. Normally those were rooms reserved for diplomats, but visiting dignitaries were scarce in Mor Ardain these days. "We...ought to get you some uniforms, as well. It's better to wear the military dress in Mor Ardain. Everyone does these days...and...well, you draw attention if you aren't wearing it. I'll ask to have some bought up to your rooms." He closed his eyes as he suddenly staggered, catching himself against a nearby chair, a hand going to his head to rub his temples. His legs shook again, and Morag finally couldn't stand it. She rushed to his side, helping him settle into the chair. "I apologize," he said, after a moment, voice unsteady. "I would...like some time with Morag, if that's alright. I promise, we can talk more later." He opened his eyes, summoning the strength to smile at the group. "Please, ask the soldiers outside the door to guide you to the suites. You'll find food and hot baths there."
Malos lingered by her brother's side, as the group slowly made their way out the throne room doors. Her eyes were scanning him. The slight tremor in his arms. The shaking in his legs. His shallow breath, the dark circles beneath his eyes. Brighid stood by her side, but Morag gave her a meaningful look, and her blade read it perfectly. She nodded, and followed the group out the doors, as well.
Once they had closed behind them, with a small click, Niall sighed again.
"Niall, you look...unwell," Morag said, quietly.
"It's this war," Niall muttered, quietly. "Brionac's got almost the entire Senate in the palm of their hand. I can't count on anyone anymore. I have to stay up almost all night just to make sure they don't pass bills to initiate an invasion behind my back. It barely gives me any time for negotiating...but...well. Enough of that. I'm glad you're here. I was worried about you." He chuckled, softly. "Good to see that Brighid is the same as ever, too."
"You should take better care of yourself," Morag replied. "Surely...there must be someone who can help-"
"There's no one left," Niall replied. "I feel like I'm the only person left in government holding back the invasion. I...have to push myself, Morag. It is my duty. I might get tired, but thousands of lives hang in the balance. I've...already failed by being unable to stop the war." Niall shook his head. "I know...it seems silly, but I know, in my gut, that if we invade Uraya, it's going to go horribly wrong. It's going to be bloodier than anyone's predicting. I can't let it happen, I can't fail again. It's my duty. Other people die to serve their country, the least I could do is stay up a little late."
Morag was quiet for a long moment. "And...how does it go? Stopping the war?"
"I've given up on trying to stop it through the Senate. It's a hopeless case. The only hope now is that Uraya comes to the negotiating table with some concessions. And I can't even accept those unless they're pretty hefty concessions, otherwise the Senate will reject their peace offer." Niall held his had in his hands. "I think I might be able to get them to come to the table, but I need more time. Time I don't have. I can't fail them again. I can't keep on failing my people. I can't..."
Surprising herself, Morag leaned in and wrapped her arms around her brother, hugging him. He froze, for a moment, in her arms, surprised by the rare display of affection, and then wrapped his arms around her as well. Morag found herself remembering, as she looked at the wall, what it had been like growing up. Holding her baby brother in her arms for the first time, comforting him when he had come to her with skinned knees, watching over him during his many, frequent childhood sicknesses. She hadn't thought about it for a while – they had seen each other less and less ever since he had assumed the duties of Emperor, and she had been incorporated into Mor Ardain's military leadership – but she remembered how much seeing his smile had cheered her up, when she was younger. How much she had enjoyed watching his innocent exploration of the world as he grew. How innocent he had always seemed to her. How innocent he seemed, still. "I should have been here to help you," she said, quietly.
Niall laughed, breaking off from her embrace, holding her arms. "No, no. Mor Ardain's flamebringer is much more at home on the battlefield. Besides, you had an important mission. You found the Aegis."
Morag cleared her throat, standing again, as Niall rose. She was somewhat embarrassed by her display of affection. "So. What did you think?"
"It seems to me like the Aegis ended up in the best possible place he could be, all things considered," mused Niall, pacing back and forth, a habit Morag recognized as meaning that her brother was deep in thought. "No tipping the scales towards either side of our war. Not in the hands of some lunatic. Just in the hands of a young boy on an idealistic quest for Elyisum." He stopped, staring at his hands. "Although, the way things have been going, I'm starting to think that Elysium is our only hope in the long term myself."
Morag was quiet for a moment, worry once again shooting through her for her younger brother. Niall had always been the practical sort. For him to say something like that...she knew things must be very bad indeed. "While I'm here," she said, finally, "What can I do to help you stop the invasion?"
Niall considered this for a moment. "I'm not sure how the Senate plans on going around me," he replied. "I do still retain final say in all military matters. And they seem to have given up on trying to sneak bills through behind my back. But they definitely do think they can get around me. You saw yourself how...bold...Sylvie has become. They're up to something. What I'd really need is someone to spy and try to pick up through conversation what their plans are, but you...well, you probably wouldn't be too good for that, right? But maybe your friends...I hate to ask it of them, but..."
"I'll definitely talk it over with them," Morag swiftly promised. "I think they'd be glad to help."
Niall smiled at her. "Thank you," he said. Then he sighed, gesturing at his desk, which had a large stack of papers on it. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid I have to go back to reading bills to ensure nothing's snuck by me…."
Morag thought back to the executions she had witnessed walking into the city. She knew, certainly, that her brother wouldn't have approved of those. And he did ultimately have veto power over every law. She wondered whether that might have been some change, snuck in through the bills, that he had missed. Did he even know they were happening? It seemed as if he was so busy that he had been trapped in the palace for the past few months. She ought to bring it up with him. But not now, when he was so exhausted, and so glad to see her. She didn't need to add to his burdens right now. Maybe when she had helped him out a bit, made things a bit less stressful for him.
"Would you like some help?" she asked, considering. "I never did get into lawmaking. But I still remember my lessons on legislature."
"I couldn't ask..."
"I would be glad to." Morag pulled up a chair. "At least I can make it a bit quicker for you. Let's send out for some food, and power through this together."
"I...well. If you insist."
It was only a few hours of reading later that Morag found herself reading alone. Niall had collapsed at his desk, snoring, exhausted, in a deep sleep. Morag smiled at him, and gently plucked him up from his chair, carrying him to his apartment off from the side of the throne room, laying him down in his bed. He snapped awake, despite her caution as she did so. "Oh..." he said, glancing around. "Oh, no, Morag, I...should get back to reading..."
"Don't worry. It's almost done. I can finish up. Just one more bill to read through."
"I…are you certain? Maybe I should-"
"No," Morag said firmly, pushing him back into his bed as he attempted to sit up. "No. It's fine. Yo get your rest."
Niall surrendered, finally, laying back in his bed and closing his eyes. "Thank you, Morag. I'm...happy you're here," he murmured. And moments later, he had crashed completely, falling swiftly into a deep sleep.
Morag turned to go, but lingered at the doorway, looking at the sleeping form of her brother for some time. "Good night, Niall," she whispered, finally.
13.
Rex sighed, folding his arms, sweating against the brutal midday Ardainian sun.
It had been a few days since they had arrived in Mor Ardain. Morag had spoken with them all about how she wanted to help her brother. Rex agreed with her that they ought to stop the invasion, but he wasn't sure how much he could do, really, to help. Morag had said that they should try to gather information, but Rex wasn't sure, personally, how he could help doing that.
He had found himself walking outside the palace often, out into a large courtyard of concrete, ringed by large walls of black stone, not far from the palace itself, where the Ardainian military practiced their movements.
It was hard not to be impressed by the Ardainian military. The Empire had a long military tradition. Whereas Urayan soldiers had a history of mercenary work, and fighting in small bands, the Ardainian military concentrated much more on large, coordinated movements. The average Urayan might be larger and stronger than the average Ardainian, but watching the Ardainian soldiers at work, it was clear they knew how to be part of a much larger, well-oiled war machine. The mass coordination of their movements, as they practiced raids, charges...Urayans might be warriors, but Ardainians were strict professionals.
But still, as much as Rex might have enjoyed watching their training, he had been hoping to get in some training of his own. He had been waking up early the past couple of days, coming out to the courtyard with Malos, hoping to get in a duel, or preferably, practice with his Aegis powers. But no matter how early he woke, someone was always already there. He had begun to wonder if there were soldiers that were practicing in this plaza at all hours of the day, if it would be simply impossible to find some time to himself to practice.
Malos stood by his side, coolly observing the Ardainians at their drills. He was dressed in a sharp, Ardainian officer's uniform, one that had been fit to him by the diplomatic staff at the imperial suites. As was Rex himself – long black trenchcoat, sharp black dress uniform beneath, covering up his core crystal, peaked officer's cap, similar to Morag's. It was part of what made the heat so awful, for Rex. He didn't know how the Ardainians could bear to wear uniforms like this in all this heat. But then again, it seemed like it didn't phase most of them. Perhaps their bodies acclimated to it. And Malos himself didn't seem all that bothered by it, either. But then again, who knew how an Aegis worked. Maybe Malos could stand in an oven and not break a sweat.
"So, what d'you think?" Rex asked his blade, breaking the silence.
Malos looked down at him, raising an eyebrow quizzically. "About what?"
"The soldiers. They seem pretty well-trained, yeah?"
Malos sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "They're…definitely some of the most impressive I've ever seen. I wouldn't put Uraya's odds as very good."
Rex took off his cap, mopping sweat from his brow. "What do you think we should do? Morag told us to try to gather info on what Brionac is planning. Should we...sit in and practice with the soldiers or something? I don't think the common soldier would have any idea what's going on."
"Yeah, me neither," Malos mused. "Maybe the officers, but if they're smart at all they're going to be tight-lipped about it."
"Maybe our best bet is to just use our disguises to try to sneak around and try to see if there's any documentation-"
"HEY! YOU, BRAT!"
Malos and Rex glanced up from their muttered, quiet conversation, to see an Ardainian soldier striding quickly across the concrete toward them, his face flashing anger. "You! Yeah, you! No, stop-stop looking around. Titan's arse. You."
"Me?" Malos said, pointing to himself quizzically.
"No-no, for the love of-the short one. Next to you. YOU."
Rex looked around uncertainly. "Uh...hello. Do I know you?"
"I know YOU, boy. You're the salvager from Goldmouth." The soldier brushed back gray-flecked black hair from his forehead. He was older, stern, looking to be perhaps forty, face tanned as leather from many years in the brutal Ardainian sun, eyes cold blue.
"Look, you're gonna have to be more specific. I knew tons of Ardainians in Goldmouth."
The older man seethed. "Captain Chiragh. Do you remember now…?"
"No."
Malos was growing irritated. "Look, Captain Chirgle, or whatever. We were in the middle of a conversation."
"It's Chiragh," the soldier snapped. "And because of this little brat, I'm not a Captain anymore. I got busted down to private because of him!"
Rex rolled his eyes. "Oh, I remember you now. Look here, you weren't busted down to Private because of me. You and your goons ganged up on me and Bana rightly kicked you out of Goldmouth for it. It's your own damn fault. None of this would have happened if you hadn't decided to harass salvagers while you were there."
"Wow." Malos crossed his arms, looking down at Rex. "You were always getting your ass kicked, even before we met, huh."
"I wouldn't have had to beat you if you had just complied with the search!" Chriagh roared back. "You ruined my life, you little jerk. Do you know how much Private pays compared to Captain? Less than half! I lost more than half my paycheck, because of you!"
"I mean, I don't know what you want me to say. Sorry, I suppose." Then Rex tapped a foot, considering. Normally, he might have let something like this go, but the heat was getting to him, making him angry. "Actually, you know what, I'm not sorry at all. I'm not sorry that you got demoted. You got what you deserved, as far as I'm concerned."
Chiragh twitched, and for a moment looked as if he might leap for Rex's throat. Malos stepped forward, looming over the man, the shadow he cast almost completely enveloping him. "Are you really, really sure that's what you want to do?" Malos said, quietly, so that only Chiragh could hear. "Think very carefully about this."
Chiragh gulped, looking up at the Aegis towering over him. But he steeled himself, and turned his flinty glare back on Rex, who was looking at him with a little smirk. "No, I'm sorry," he said finally. "I should have done the honorable thing, and beat your ass myself, one on one, man to man, rather than having my men gang up on you."
"Oh, you think you could do that, now, old man?" Rex snapped. This damn heat really was getting to him. Everything was getting on his nerves, his anger spilling over when it didn't really matter. "You almost needed a cane just walking over here, you think you can fight me now?"
Malos snickered, as Chiragh's eyes went wide. "I'm not old, I'm thirty six," he snapped irritably. "That's not old!"
"Wow. Do all Ardainians age like bananas? Or is it just you?"
Malos laughed and high-fived Rex. The younger boy stood back, arms folded, smirking up at Chiragh as he seethed. "You little brat. You think you're so good, why don't we fight right here, right now? The soldiers are sparring. I formally invite you to join us for a round against me. Time to get my payback for Goldmouth."
"Oh, you really want to do this?" Rex said, yanking his overcoat off, then his overshirt. "Fine. Let's do it. Let's go."
"You. Uh, you didn't have to take your shirt off."
"I was hot!" Rex yelled. "Let's go!"
Malos reached out, putting an arm on Rex's shoulder, as he went to follow Chiragh over to the sparring soldiers. "Hey, Rex. You want me to-"
"No, no," Rex replied. "I want this to be a nice fair brawl. No Aegis powers, just fists. I can take him."
Malos nodded, understanding, crossing his arms, tracking his driver as he stomped across the courtyard to square up against Chiragh, who was waiting in the middle of a ring of watching soldiers. The fight had just barely begun when Rex, with a wild yell, immediately leapt at Chiragh, swinging wildly. Malos watched with amusement as the soldier stumbled back in surprise. Chiragh was certainly more disciplined, but Rex had the boundless energy of youth, and wasn't exactly an incompetent when it came to fighting himself.
"Enthusiastic little guy, isn't he," a voice mused from beside him. Malos glanced down to his side, his eyes widening in surprise to see Sylvie, the Senator that had been arguing with the Emperor when they first entered the throne room. She was dressed in her officer's uniform as well, looking slightly uncomfortable in the sweltering heat herself, staring out across the courtyard at the fight. Malos wondered how long she had been standing there. He hadn't heard her approach at all. "Gotta say, I admire it, though."
"Yeah, sure. I mean, he can be a little dumb, sometimes, but – oof, that was a good one," Malos said, eyes widening, as one of Rex's fists connected with Chiragh's face.
"So, I suppose you were the one in the throne room all dressed up in fancy black armor when I was there," Sylvie continued. She gave him an intense, appraising look. "You look better in the Ardainian uniform, I think. Gotta say, you're a good-looking one."
"Uh. Thanks." He glanced down at her suspiciously, then shrugged. Well, she was right. He was pretty handsome. He winced as a kick from Chiragh connected to Rex's midriff, knocking the wind out of him.
"So how do you know him?"
"We were...both mercenaries," Malos lied, quickly. "Known him for a while through there. Feel a little protective of the kid, you know."
"Oh, Uraya and her mercenaries," Sylvie mused, watching the fight with interest as Rex tackled Chiragh to the ground and got him in a chokehold. Then a watch on her wrist made a small, shrill ringing sound, and she glanced at it with annoyance. "Damn. Forgot I have a meeting in five minutes." She looked up at Malos. "Alright. I'll make this quick. I think you're a handsome guy, so I want to take you on a date. Tomorrow night, eight o clock. Meet me here and we'll go to a restaurant. One I choose. Sound good?"
"Wait, what?" Malos replied, eyes widening. "I-"
Sylvie clicked her tongue in irritation, brushing some of her sea-green hair out of her eyes. "I don't have time to wait around while you decide. Tell you what. I'll just swing by tomorrow at eight, and if you're here, you're here." She spun on her heels, shouting orders to someone behind her. "Travis! Bring the truck around! We need to be back at the palace in five! Make sure you have my report-"
Meanwhile, Rex had his elbow wrapped around Chiragh's throat, applying pressure. "Come on now," he growled, as the soldier struggled against him. "Tap out. Come on, I got you, just tap out."
Chiragh gave a gurgling growl of frustration, then slapped the ground next to him, swallowing air in a massive gasp. Rex staggered to his feet, holding a hand to his aching ribs. "Alright," he panted. "Good fight. Good fight. We're even now."
"Even," wheezed Chiragh. "You...got me demoted...and now you beat on me, an old man, delinquent youth taking advantage….of my age..."
"Oh come ON!" Rex cried, as Chiragh crawled away, cursing his name. "Come on! We can be friends now, you know, have a punchout, then drink to forget-"
"I'LL NEVER FORGET!" cried Chiragh as he finally struggled to his feet, running away.
Rex shook his head, making his way back to Malos, who stood, staring off into the distance, a bemused expression on his face. "Hey. Hey! Did something happen?" Rex asked, snapping Malos out of his reverie.
"I think," Malos replied, "A golden opportunity to get some information for Morag just dropped into my lap."
14.
Nia sighed as she stared at herself in the mirror.
She was in the imperial suite's common room. The suite was shared – Morag, Brighid, Poppi and herself all had individual bedrooms, though she hadn't seen Morag that much over the past few days. The suites themselves were impressive – fancier, even, than the mansion Nia had lived earlier in her life. Thick carpets that felt like walking on clouds, luxurious beds that you could sink into, and the staff delivered fresh fruit to the common room every morning. Everything was bright and golden, much like the throne room had been. Decadent, is the word that Nia would have used. The bedrooms opened up into a common shared space, with a full body-length mirror in one of the corners that Nia was staring into now. Dromarch was lounging on one of the couches nearby, his purr a deep, comforting rumble.
Morag had asked them to help her find out some information on the Brionac political party, which Nia had gathered were her brother's main political opposition in Mor Ardain. She wasn't sure how she felt about spying on political opponents of the Emperor, but Morag had asked her to trust that this was one of the only ways they might have to delay or even stop the invasion of Uraya. Rex and Malos, she had sent out to talk with the soldiers, and see if they could find any information there. But Nia...she had asked Nia to hobnob and socialize with some of the Senators and political players in the palace itself, knowing that Nia had grown up among nobility.
Nia hadn't been so opposed to the idea. Sure, it had sounded like it would probably be annoying. But she considered Morag a friend, and was glad to swallow her complaints and help her out for a bit. But…
The suite's staff had been asked to bring her a selection of dresses for an upcoming ball at the palace. And they had gone out of their way to give her a great selection. Nia wasn't necessarily opposed to dresses. She did tend to prefer the simpler ones, simpler than the dresses that the imperial staff had given her.
Seeing she was Gormotti, they had come up with a selection of dresses befitting Gormotti nobility. Which tended to be...a bit revealing. And since this was Mor Ardain, they had given her a selection that Nia recognized as commonly being called "Gormotti in the Ardainian style", which were yet more revealing still. Not that they were scandalous. Her favorite from all the dresses, the one she was wearing now, was a dress layered and colored like the fading leaves of autumn, the top of which left her back bare down to her waist. The skirt billowed out at her waist, and was tapered, so that in the middle it came down past her knees, but at the sides it rose to mid-thigh. None of this was really a problem, either. Nia had worn more revealing things before.
What was a problem, though…
Nia sighed again as she looked into the mirror. The plunging neckline of the dress left her shoulders bare, and revealed her core crystal. She winced as she looked at it, blue flecked with red. All the dresses had been like this. There wasn't even a single one with a neckline that hid her core.
It irritated her, to be honest. She'd love to have the ability to dress the way she wanted. And if there was one thing Nia liked about herself, it was the way she looked. It was just another chain from her past, hanging down on her constantly, an endless, forever reminder of the awful things she'd done, how so much of the world wanted her dead, her failures -
She shook her head. It wasn't healthy to think that way, and she had sworn to herself that she was going to stop it. She adjusted the headpiece the dress came with, a small crown of brambles dotted with small red flowers. "What do you think, Dromarch?" she asked, resignedly, twirling around.
Dromarch lifted his head, groggily. "Hmm. A nice dress. Your core, though..."
"Yeah, yeah," she sighed again, turning back to the mirror. Would there ever be a day when that damn crystal wasn't weighing constantly on her mind?
She didn't notice the door to the common area opening from the hallway. Didn't notice anything at all, until she heard Brighid calling out, "Oh, hello, Nia."
Nia gasped, clasping her hands to her core crystal to cover it, and whirled around, eyes wide in panic. Brighid was carrying a bag and plucking a series of blue candles out of it, laying them on the counter. "Don't you knock?!" Nia shouted, still panicked.
Brighid's brow furrowed. "This...is the common area. I shouldn't have to knock. What were you doing in here….? Oh. Now that is an exquisite dress, Nia. Looks good on you." Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Dromarch on the couch, and then flicked back to Nia, puzzled. "What...are you covering up there?"
"Nothing," Nia said, and at the same time, Dromarch leaped down from the couch and said, "A scar."
"That's right, a scar," Nia switched quickly, while Dromarch said "Oh wait, I mean nothing."
Brighid stared at them both, skeptical. "Well," she said finally, continuing to lay candles on the counter, "If it's a scar, and you're worried about it showing in that dress, why don't you show it to me? I'm quite skilled with makeup, it can probably be covered."
"No no, it's not necessary, I'll just ask the staff for a different dress..."
"Oh, but that one really does suit you. Here, I'll go fetch my kit." Brighid strode over to her room.
"Wait!" Nia shouted, panicked, eyes wide.
Brighid froze, then turned around to face her, arms folded. "If you don't want to..." she began.
Nia sighed, then summoned her courage. "Brighid...you told me once that...if I wanted to, I could tell you any secret I wanted. Right?" Her cheeks burned, and she forced herself to make contact with the blade. "Any secret. Any at all. Can I trust you?"
Brighid found worry growing in her heart for the young girl. She had kept a careful eye on her, ever since they had first found her wandering around in a funk back in Garfont. She could tell, from the shadows in Nia's eyes, from the worry that crossed her face, from the sadness that snuck into her expression when she thought no one was looking, that Nia...had things weighing on her mind. She sort of admired the girl, for still managing to be so upbeat so much of the time. But if she needed someone to confide in…. "of course, Nia."
"You can't tell anyone. Anyone at all. Not even Morag, okay?" Nia stomped her foot, leaning forward to glare at Brighid. "Not a soul. Do you promise?"
Brighid raised her right hand. "I solemnly swear, on my name as the jewel of Mor Ardain, not to spread your secrets," she said, utterly serious.
Nia paused, staring at her for a moment, her heart pumping. It was...hard for her to reveal to others her secret. Too many had...repaid that sort of intimacy with betrayal. But Morag and Brighid...they...well, Nia was no fool, she could tell they worried about her, and they cared. And besides, Malos knew already, and he wasn't so much of an asshole that he'd go blabbing about it to everyone, so maybe Brighid could know too, and it would be okay…
With a sigh, Nia lowered her hands. Brighid's eyes widened to see the core crystal embedded in her chest. "You...you're a blade, a..."
"A Flesh Eater," Nia said quietly. She looked away from Brighid, not wanting to stare at her face. "Still gonna keep your promise…?"
"Of...of course I will, Nia," Brighid said quietly, crossing the room to take a closer look at the young blade. "Does….anyone else know?"
"Well. Dromarch, of course." Nia glanced over at her blade, who was pacing across the carpet nervously, tail twitching, staring intently at Brighid, as if he was evaluating whether he could trust her or if he would have to maul her. "And...Malos. That bastard saw right through me, guessed it right away. But that's all."
Brighid was quiet for a moment. Nia, a Flesh Eater. Flesh Eaters...had a bad reputation. At least according to Indol, the way a blade became a Flesh Eater was when they went wild, and literally devoured their driver. And in Mor Ardain, Indol's word on the subject was very much accepted. Brighid had never given it much thought herself. She had...entries in her journal, about Minoth, or Cole, whatever he wanted to call himself, which suggested that Flesh Eaters were not the complete monsters that Indol said they were. She couldn't help but wonder...but Nia was such a sweet girl. She couldn't imagine her turning on her driver and devouring them. And she had trusted her enough to reveal her secret. "Well," Brighid said quietly. "Don't worry. We'll keep it just between us blades, right?"
"You see the problem though, right," Nia said sullenly. "I can't exactly wear this dress. Ach, I'm just going to have to ask for them to bring me a new one." She glanced at herself in the mirror again, smirking. "It's too bad. I really do look good in this."
Brighid considered carefully. "Hm. Not necessarily. Here, put your...ah, what do you call it? Your...yellow suit-"
"My jumpsuit?"
Brighid nodded. "Yes, that. Put that on, and come with me."
"Where…?"
Brighid smiled. "Mor Ardain may be low on food, but we have some of the best shops in the world. We can find something to help you out here, I'm certain."
Once Nia had gotten dressed, the fiery blue blade led her out of the palace, out into the cobblestone streets of Mor Ardain. The heat was utterly oppressive. But Brighid preferred the heat – in fact, was much more comfortable in the scorching, dry environment of Mor Ardain than almost anywhere else.
She led Nia out of the mansions and rich decadence of the nobility district surrounding the palace, down into a commercial district. Nia's eyes widened as the streets gave way from mansions to shops and street fairs. The bounty of Mor Ardain's industrialism was incredible – single shops sold more items than might be available in an entire Gormotti town. She was struck again by the gap in wealth between Mor Ardain and Gormott. True, there were few food shops – and the restaurants she saw offered meager fare. But the other shops – wonders unseen anywhere else in the world. Here, a shop of finely woven glass, each of the quality it would have taken a master glass smith weeks to forge, sold so cheaply that the shopkeep didn't even care when a customer accidentally knocked one to the street, smashing it. And here, an instrument shop – selling all kinds of instruments, not just specializing in a single kind, including humongous pianos that even Gormotti nobility might not be able to afford, the kind that might take a master craftsman years to complete. Shops full of little mechanicle baubles that shot sparks and whirred and beeped, books manufactured by printing press by the thousands, a scavenger's shop lined with hundreds, literally hundreds of scavenger's suits – every street a new cornucopia of wonders.
And the people, the people – so confident, brazen, laughing...so much happier than they seemed in other countries, as if they knew the world belonged to them, as if they knew they were part of a machine that held the world in its grasp. She found herself thinking of the Senator that had been in the Emperor's throne room, Sylvie. She had wondered why an Urayan would give up her home country to become part of the machine that was so intent on grinding it to dust. She had wondered much the same when she had been growing up with her father – why was it that so many Gormotti were so willing to become part of the Ardainian machine, when barely a generation ago, the Ardainians had been drowning their country in blood?
This was why. The wealth, the power, the optimism and the energy – they joined Mor Ardain because it stood atop the world, and because Mor Ardain would have them. And there was something alluring about that. The idea of completely forgetting the past, and joining Mor Ardain in happiness and power. In the streets of Mor Ardain, there were not many reminders of the past. In Torigoth, or other Gormotti cities, you might come across constant reminders of the past – buildings century old, worn with time, businesses owned by families for generations – trees that might still be pockmarked by bullets, bearing the scars of recent wars, and...many things you might buy in Gormott, the shopkeepers would be glad to tell you how they were part of a tradition that went back centuries. There was none of that in Mor Ardain. Buildings were constantly repaired, refurbished, so that they looked brand new. The shopkeeps they talked to, they were always talking about how they were the first in their family to own a business. Nothing you could buy in Mor Ardain came with a story. It was there, spewed forth from one of Mor Ardain's countless factories, and it was no link to the past – it was there for you to have, it was there for you to do what you wished with. There was no sense of guilt if you broke it by accident – it was no part of a larger story, it simply was. And people never talked about past wars, or the past at all, really – Nia heard many conversations about the newest technological advancement, or some new factory opening, or new business acquisitions by one of Mor Ardain's many powerful corporations. And maybe that was dangerous, in a way, to be severed so completely from the past. But in many ways, it was beautiful. From its every pore, Mor Ardain told its citizens: The past did not matter. Victory and progress did. And maybe that was why Mor Ardain seemed to have such a hard problem understanding how the rest of the world viewed it: Once one bloody conquest was done, it was done, it was in the past, and Mor Ardain was on to the next. But Nia could understand, see the allure, the seduction of wanting to forget your past, completely...no matter how awful it was, no matter how much guilt was in it, if you could severe it completely from your mind...
Brighid led the wide-eyed and impressed Nia into a clothing shop, one the size of a warehouse, this one shop containing enough clothes to give probably an entire small town a new outfit. Nia whistled as she passed by huge racks with hundreds of dresses, then suddenly she paused, grabbing at one. "Wait. This is the exact dress they bought me in the suite!"
Brighid looked back, then raised an eyebrow. "Ah. So it is."
"But..." Nia furrowed her brow. "I...I dunno. I guess it just seems a bit odd to me that something they bring you in the palace, you can go out and buy on the street. I mean...yeah, sure, it's...expensive..."
Brighid laughed. "Oh, believe me. We had palace seamstresses with the same complaint. They can't design anything anymore that some factory owner here can't replicate in a couple of days, and manufacture by the thousands. It's created a whole fashion cycle. The designers in the palace create something new, the factory owners see it and mass-produce it, and once it's cheap enough for the commoners to wear it's no longer fashionable. Don't worry, that dress you chose is still considered high fashion."
Brighid began walking slower through the aisles, finally stopping before a table laid out with a series of shawls. She hummed to herself, considering, then plucked up one, in a faded red. "I think this will match with that dress rather well," she said, after examining its quality for a few moments. "Don't you?"
"Ah, a shawl?" Nia crossed her arms, tilting her head to the side. "I mean, I suppose that'll work. But it will make me look a bit like a grandma, don't you think?"
"Oh, not necessarily," Brighid replied idly. "You could put it up in a cross-loop."
"A what?"
Brighid raised one of her eyebrows slightly. "What, you never heard of that?" She glanced around. "Here. Come with me to the dressing rooms."
Brighid led Nia to a closed-off area, where various customers could try on clothes before they purchased them. Quickly checking around to make sure that there were no other customers around, she turned to Nia. "Right. Unzip that jumpsuit, and I'll show you how to make a cross-loop."
Brighid's hands worked in a blur, deftly folding and twisting the shawl as she gave instructions, but Nia could not possibly keep up with her. With a few quick twists and knots, she draped the shawl around Nia's neck, crossing it across her chest, covering her core, and then beneath her arms to tie up around the back of the shawl. The final effect was something that looked a bit like a choker, that crossed in an 'X' across Nia's chest, intersecting directly over her core, hiding it from view. "There you go," Brighid said, satisfied. "I don't think that will make you look like a grandma, will it?"
"Wow, that's pretty good," Nia replied, admiring Brighid's handiwork. "But ah, I'd be worried that if I moved around, the core might slip out or something."
"That's what these are for," Brighid smiled, as she plucked some pins from the wall next to her. With quick hands, she deftly worked the pins into the shawl around around Nia's core crystal, until it was held firmly in place in an immobile, diamond-shaped knot.
"Wow," Nia said, flailing her arms around wildly, nearly hitting Brighid in the face, admiring in the nearby mirror how the shawl was tied so deftly that no matter her movements, her core crystal remained concealed. "Wow, I really have to hand it to you. This is perfect."
"Fashion's all about having a little ingenuity," Brighid smiled. "Now, let's get this paid for."
They left the store after paying, where Brighid was able to get the shawl for a steeply discounted price. She had said she was glad to pay full price, but the shopkeep insisted on giving a discount to one of the heroes of Mor Ardain and her friends. They slowly made their way back to the palace in the dimming light of day, enjoying the cooler night air as dusk overtook the city, appreciating the sights and sounds of the shopping district as it became just a bit less crowded and chaotic. Before heading back to the palace completely, they stopped to buy some juice at a stall to rehydrate, Brighid ordering a slightly alcoholic, mango cocktail, and Nia sipping on some refreshing, sweet watermelon juice. They sat at a nearby picnic table in the middle of the shopping plaza, watching the crowds pass by, enjoying a cool breeze that had begun to blow through the city.
"Hey, Brighid," Nia said, breaking the silence between them. "Look, I just….I wanted to say….thanks. To you and Morag, alright. You've both...ach, I dunno. I dunno how to say it. You're...very kind. And I know I don't deserve it. And..."
Brighid shook her head, firmly. "You need to stop thinking like that. Why wouldn't you deserve it? Did you forget, when my lady was on the verge of death, you were the one who healed her? I don't know what's in your past, Nia. But everything I've seen of you so far has told me you're a very sweet girl."
Nia sipped on her drink, considering. "Well. I dunno about sweet."
"Oh, you think that just because you've got a sharp tongue, I can't tell how sweet you are beneath it?" Brighid smiled primly. "What people say matters less than what they do. And I've seen you care for and worry about and heal the people around you the entire time I've known you. You've got a nurturing heart."
Nia blinked. She had honestly never thought of herself that way.
That's because you know yourself better than these people do, Nia. You know that everything they know about you isn't the full picture. You think this woman knows you, just because she knows you're a Flesh Eater? There are darker secrets, aren't there? If she could see how you really were, deep down…
With some effort, Nia banished the voice from her mind.
"Nia, if I might ask. Why...keep it a secret? From the others? I guess...well, it's mostly the humans who don't know now, right? And Poppi, I suppose." Brighid stirred her drink idly with her straw. "I think Lady Morag would definitely understand. And Rex...I don't think Rex would either. Do you?"
"No," Nia replied quietly. "I...I...just...I dunno. I just haven't told them, okay. I can't give a good reason. It's just...if they know that about me, maybe they'll find out other things about me." Suddenly, the voice swelled in her mind, and Nia put her drink down, rubbing her temples. Visions of Vandham's death danced through her head. Visions of her sister, who she had failed to save. Things she constantly had to convince herself that she didn't need to feel guilty over. And...was that true? Sometimes she didn't know. Was it true that she didn't need to feel guilt over them? Or was that just the comfortable lie she desperately wanted to tell herself? "If you knew me, really knew me, you'd know I'm not the good person you think I am. And...I don't want other people to find that out. Even if it's cruel to them...I just want them to keep on liking me, for a little while longer."
Brighid was quiet for a long moment. "Well. Again, I don't know your past, Nia. But do you really believe you're such an awful person?"
Nia paused, looking away, watching the crowds again. "Not...all the time. No."
"How much of you hating yourself do you suppose just might be entirely in your head?"
None of it.
"I don't know." Nia toyed with her drink for a moment. "But...hey, let's...not talk about it. It doesn't matter. I got a ball to hobnob at, right? I ought to get back to the palace and brush up on all my fancy etiquette."
Note:
This one took some time to write, a lot of the scenes ended up being much longer than I originally planned. In fact, these three scenes, I originally had no plan to make them just a chapter on their own, but they ended up so long…
If I end up missing a week in an update, don't worry. I've been particularly busy lately, I will always try to stick to a weekly schedule, but I might miss one week here or there.
I think this chapter puts me over the edge, I think this is the longest pure-xenoblade 2 fanfic on ao3 now
As always please comment if you can!