Chapter Twenty-Three: Epiphany
"My, my, you certainly travel light," Signora notes with a languid yawn as she leans back in her seat to study him. "Or did you already have your things sent up to the Grand Goth Hotel?"
"What did you say to her?" Tartaglia asks distractedly, watching the Gunnhildr's enter the Cathedral through the carriage window.
"If you ask me, I'd say you're focused on the wrong sister," the Fair Lady evades with a shrug. "With his gnosis gone, it's only a matter of time before Celestia anoints a new anemo archon to replace Barbatos. As annoying as she is, I'd say the acting Grand Master would be right at the top of the list."
"Aren't you forgetting the current Grand Master?" Childe asks arching an eyebrow as he leans back to study her.
"You think he wields an anemo vision?" She asks with a condescending smirk.
"What vision does he have?" the Eleventh Harbinger asks blinking slowly.
"Gathering intelligence on a future opponent?" the Eighth Harbinger, queries watching him closely.
"And what if I am?" Tartaglia shrugs. "The man intrigues me. From everything I've heard, he'd be a most worthy opponent."
"Hmph!" Signora scoffs. "Typical. Well, if you must know, he was blessed with a cryo vision by her majesty herself. However, for reasons unknown, he rarely acknowledges it, let alone uses it. Perhaps he suspects the true purpose of visions, or would he have preferred the favor of his witless archon instead? No, no. The thought alone is far too preposterous to entertain. It must be the former."
"What did you say to Barbara, Signora?" Tartaglia repeats calmly watching her attentively.
"I see you've replaced one obsession with another," the Fair Lady notes, crossing her arms with an irritated scowl. "Honestly, I don't understand what you even see in that weakling."
"Answer my question and I'll answer yours," he presses.
"I conveyed her Majesty's displeasure at her attempts to woo one of her favorite harbingers."
"Is that all?" the Eleventh Harbinger asks skeptically.
"Yes."
"Great. I was trying to recruit her," He sighs throwing his hands into the air as he leans back in his seat. "Thanks to you I'll be lucky if she ever gives me that time of day again."
"Good. You must be grasping at straws if you thought that dunce would be anything other than a nuisance. If you're actually serious about regaining her Majesty's favor, then I suggest you turn your attention to her older sister instead."
Tartaglia's eyebrow shoots up in a skeptical arch at this as he studies his colleague carefully. Bringing up the acting Grand Master twice in ten minutes could only mean one thing. The Tsaritsa had taken a particular interest in the Gunnhildr clan heiress.
"What does her Majesty want with the Dandelion Knight?" He asks guardedly.
Before she can reply, the carriage comes to a stop and the doors swing open to reveal the entrance to the Grand Goth Hotel. They both alight and march past the guard standing at the front door with barely a word of acknowledgment. In the lobby, they find the entire Snezhnayan delegation and hotel staff lined up at the foot of the grand staircase to greet them. Signora struts past without so much as a hum of approval, leaving Tartaglia to say a few words of thanks before dismissing the staff.
When he finds her in her suite on the second floor, she is carefully filling two glasses with dandelion wine. She wordlessly extends the first glass to him as he approaches before lifting the second to her lips.
"What does her Majesty want—?" he begins, pausing to accept his glass.
"I've discussed our bargain with her majesty at length," the Fair Lady informs him distractedly as she inspects the contents of her glass. "And she's decided that I am to relieve you of command."
"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks narrowing his eyes now.
"Tell me who the traitor is, and I'll take over your—"
"No," he states cutting her off with a clipped tone.
"If you're worried about me stealing your glory—"
"I don't care about that," he declares crossing his arms for emphasis.
"Then what is it?" She presses, somewhat impatiently.
"I don't trust you," he replies.
Signora watches him quietly for a moment before bursting into laughter.
"You're not still upset about my deal with the Geo archon, are you?" She taunts.
"I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't," Childe admits with a shrug. "But that is not the only reason. The lives of everyone I care about are riding on this. I can't rely on someone else to do the dirty work. It's just not my style."
"I don't care," the Eighth Harbinger scoffs as she digs out a piece of paper which she pushes towards him. "Write down the traitor's name and I'll take it from there."
Tartaglia lifts the paper and rips it in two, letting the pieces glide to the floor between them as he prepares to leave.
"Take off your clothes," she instructs coolly.
The Eleventh Harbinger freezes in his steps and turns to face her, blue eyes studying hers with a mix of annoyance and confusion.
"What?"
"Take off your clothes," she repeats taking care to enunciate every word as a smug smile curls the corner of her painted lips, her violet eyes daring him to defy her.
He shoots her a baleful glare which only seems to excite her as she turns to lead the way to her bedroom. At first, he considers walking away and it takes every ounce of his willpower to remain rooted where she had left him. When she does not return to fetch him, he inhales sharply and turns to follow her into her bedroom.
She is perched at the edge of the large four-poster bed, long legs crossed elegantly, her violet eyes watching him over the rim of her glass as she finishes the last of her wine. Unable to meet her condescending gaze, he turns instead to shut the door.
"Leave it," she commands rising to relieve him of his own glass.
"I don't want—" She reaches him and places a finger delicately against his lips abruptly cutting him off.
"I don't care what you want," she informs him sweetly. "Take off your clothes and get on the bed or our little deal is off."
"Is that why you're doing this?" He seethes seeing red. "I said I would help you catch the traitor—"
"And now I want their name, or our deal is off," she replies not missing a beat.
"Figures," he scoffs shaking his head with an incredulous sigh. "I should have known that you couldn't keep your own promise."
"Oh?" Signora hums arching an eyebrow now. "As memory serves you reneged on our little bargain when you plowed that little trollop at the Liuli Pavilion."
"I didn't renege on anything," he protests, crossing his arms with a withering scowl.
"You promised to behave and in exchange, I would give you information," the Fair Lady reminds him.
"Now that's funny because all you've done ever since is to feed me shit and give me the runaround," Childe barks back.
"Give me the traitor's name or I'll—"
"Huff and puff?" Tartaglia sneers as he turns to walk away. "Do your worst. I don't care. I'll find my own way to set things straight with her majesty."
Shoving his hands into his pocket, the Elevenths Harbinger storms out of Signora's bedroom, red cape billowing menacingly behind him. The third floor is mercifully empty as he exits her suite, and he quickly makes his way to his own suite at the other end of the hotel. Locking the door behind him, he peels off his clothes and ambles towards the bathroom for a quick bath.
He sighs gratefully as he soaks his weary frame into the gurgling bathtub, lathering his skin and hair generously as he replays the evening's events. While part of him wished he had kept his cool long enough to discover the Tsaritsa's plans for Barbara and her sister, he knew that it did not matter. Knowing that they were in danger was enough to spur him into action.
Between Signora breathing down his neck and Pulcinella's spies lurking in the shadows, he did not know how much longer he could hold out. While he had already pledged his allegiance to the Fifth Harbinger, the traitor was understandably keeping him at arm's length, careful never to divulge much of any of his plans.
In the weeks since his mission to Fontaine, Childe had only discerned that Pulcinella and his associates planned to make a move at his wedding to Signora next month.
But how? He muses with a frustrated sigh for the umpteenth time that day. As if that wasn't enough, I now have to protect Barbara and her sister from Pulcinella and Signora. I have to get back to Snezhnaya. I need to explain things to her Majesty in person. But I can't leave Barbara here.
He doses off without realizing and wakes to the sound of the morning maid announcing her presence from the front door. Changing quickly, he emerges from the bathroom and greets her before hurrying out into the hallway. Down the stairs he goes and out through the front door, humming a distracted greeting at his subordinates as he hurries past.
As he is about to step outside, he remembers the glider he had borrowed from Barbara several weeks ago and doubles back to get it. When he emerges, the sound of raucous cheering and applause coming from the cathedral plaza greet him. He quickly scales the wall leading towards the plaza and mingles with the crowd, peering over the sea of chattering faces at the group of nuns flanking the acting Grand Master atop her makeshift podium.
His scowl deepens when he does not recognize Barbara amongst them, and he makes a mental note insult Signora the next time he sees her. When the Dandelion Knight concludes her remarks, the crowd disperses as the majority make a beeline for the taverns, intent on sampling the limited celebratory drinks from the competing establishments.
Pushing against the crowd, Tartaglia joins a group of local youth at the foot of the anemo archon's statue arguing furiously some asinine topic he did not care to entertain. From there he is able to watch and count the sisters as they walk around conversing with the locals and answering their questions with eerily similar smiles.
"I can't believe Sister Barbara skipped the opening ceremony," one of the youths remarks with a disappointed sigh. "I honestly bet good money that she was going to debut a new song."
"I'll say," his friend agrees. "If I catch that mouth-breather Albert I'll beat the stuffing out of him."
"Relax, guys," a freckled youth assures them with a nonchalant shrug. "The festival's just started. There's still time for Sister Barbara's surprise performance. Everyone knows how she loves to surprise her fans."
"Yeah, you're right. I suppose it wouldn't have been much of a surprise if she had performed at the opening ceremony. Besides, the closing ceremony is always way more fun."
As the youths begin to move away, Childe decides to approach a group of women gossiping giddily as they watch their children running around the plaza with a kite.
"Hey, Mr…uh…Mr.!" When he turns around, he finds the young adventurer he had bumped into the night before and allows an easy smile to spread across his features.
"Bennett! How are you doing, buddy?" He greets reaching to ruffle the boy's hair before catching himself.
"Oh, er. I'm doing well," Bennett replies awkwardly as he notices the Harbinger hastily retracting his hand. "Did you want to look at my goggles or something?"
"Yeah," Childe lies, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Where'd you get 'em?"
"They used to belong to one of my dads," he explains. "He actually bought them from a store in Fontaine. Apparently, they've got blimps, hot air balloons, and all sorts of airships just floating around over there. One day I'm definitely going to visit—you know, to see for myself."
"Is it at the top of your list?" Tartaglia asks, genuinely intrigued. With Barbara nowhere in sight, it was comforting to have a familiar face to talk to. "Fontaine, I mean." He clarifies.
"Actually, Natlan's actually at the top of my list," the adventurer confesses balling his gloved hands excitedly. "You know where the pyro archon lives."
"Huh? You want to visit the pyro archon?" the Eleventh Harbinger repeats arching an eyebrow.
"Of course!" The youth replies turning to point at the leather bag dangling from his hip. Tartaglia's eyes widen as he observes the red pyro vision sewn unto the bag and he shifts to study the boy closer now. "I-I've been meaning to thank them…you know…for not giving up on me and granting me a vision. I still mess up a lot, but it sure makes things a lot easier than they used to be before. Which reminds me, I actually wanted to thank you for saving my life yesterday. I don't know what happened—I minute I was leading your horse away and the next thing I knew something hard hit me and I started feeling sleepy."
"That's alright," Childe replies with a kind smile. "Please, don't mention it. I'm just glad the acting Grand Master was able to patch you up."
"Oh men, the acting Grand Master is so cool!" Bennett declares with an awed sigh. "She's always so brave, and strong, and competent. I've watched her spar with Captain Kaeya a couple of times and she's a lot stronger than she looks. Men. No wonder Barbara looks up to her so much."
"You know Barbara?" Childe blurts before catching himself.
"Of course," the adventurer says with a wistful sigh. "Everyone loves Mondstadt's shining idol! She used to treat my injuries when I first joined the Adventurer's Guild and I learned everything I know about first aid from her. She's so kind, and patient, and caring, and lovely, and beautiful—I—I m-mean h-have you heard her sing? Her voice…is so…is so—"
"Pure," the harbinger supplies quietly, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly.
"Yeah!" Bennett exclaims snapping his fingers excitedly. "Have you met her too?"
"She saved my life a few weeks ago," Childe replies a sad smile tugging the corners of his lips.
"Oh wow, what happened?"
"I ate something poisonous," the harbinger shrugs. "Even though she knew who I was…what I'd done…she…she took care of me. Made sure I was okay. Always checks up on me and just really wants to be there for me."
"I know," Bennett sighs flushing visibly now. "She's just amazing inside and out. I've decided to write a poem for her—n-not anything r-romantic just something to th-thank her. You know? For everything. Wanna write one too?"
"Nah," Tartaglia replies shaking his head. "I'm a lot better with actions than words. I don't like leaving anything open to interpretation."
"Oh," the adventurer notes with a shrug. "Ok then. Say have you decided what you're going to do first yet? I'm still free if you need a guide to show you around."
"Thanks, Bennett but I think I'll just walk around and take everything in on my own for a while. What about you? What are you up to?"
"Well, there're a couple of games I really want to try my hands on but everything's a lot more fun with friends so I'll be heading off to meet up with my friend at Wolvendom. However, you're always welcome to join us if you ever change your mind. W-we could always use new members on Benny's Adventure Team."
"Benny's Adventure Team?" Childe repeats through a poorly concealed chuckle. "How many members do you have right now?"
"Er…one. Not including myself of course."
"What do you mean you only have one?"
"Well, Lumine sorta agreed to join a few weeks ago but I can't tell if she was actually interested or was just trying to be nice," he replies with an awkward chuckle. "A-any way she's been coming with me on my daily expeditions, so I guess she doesn't mind my bad luck as much."
"Wait…what do you mean she doesn't mind your bad luck?"
"Er, you know—oh that's right you don't. I have r-really bad luck. When I say really, I mean really, really bad luck. Like think of the worst thing that can happen at any one time and when I'm around, it's almost guaranteed to happen. I've even lost count of how many times I've been poisoned and struck by lightning. It's even happened once on a sunny day. The other adventurers in the guild kinda got tired of having to deal with it and just stopped joining me on expeditions and commissions."
"That doesn't even begin to make any sense," Childe huffs, thoroughly scandalized. "How can they blame you for something that isn't even your fault?"
"Well, it is pretty bad. Lumine and Paimon have experienced it first-hand whenever they join me on an adventure," the youth informs him quietly before abruptly perking up. "Which is why I'd love to visit Natlan and meet the pyro archon. Maybe she knows something about my curse or whatever this thing is."
"Well then, sign me up for a spot on Benny's Adventure Team, then."
At first, Bennett merely blinks up at him as tears of joy shine within his vibrant green eyes.
"Y-y-you w-want t-to be on my team?" He repeats thunderstruck.
"Of course. If you're ok with it."
"Er, yeah," Bennett chuckles reaching a gloved hand to wipe the tears of joy away. "Oh wow! That is so awesome! Oh, men, I've gotta tell Raz—"
Just then he is distracted by the gentle strumming of a lyre. They turn in unison to find a growing crowd forming around a slender youth dressed in green with aqua green eyes and dark pigtails. The bard is singing a gentle song which the Eleventh Harbinger tunes out as he studies the crowd.
Suddenly he is twelve again, dressed in his school uniform while running through the crowded marketplace of his hometown, struggling valiantly to keep up with his older brothers as they make their way towards the market square where a traveling troupe is performing a jaunty tune to drum up business for a struggling tavern. Although he could not remember the band's catchy tune and clever lyrics, he is struck by the crowd's awe and excitement as they clap and hum along to the green-clad bard's blissful song.
As the bard concludes his song, applause erupts amidst calls and requests from the audience to sing their favorite tunes. But the bard declines and begins to address them instead. Thoroughly intrigued, Bennett hastily bids the harbinger goodbye as he moves to join the crowd hanging on to the bard's every word.
While he couldn't be sure of Bennett's age, he is struck by how much the adventurer reminds him of the parts of himself he had lost to the abyss when he had dared to tread where no mortal was ever welcomed. Long before he troubled himself with schemes, plots, coups, and assassinations, he had been a youth once yearning for adventure and recognition. Intent on blazing his name in the annals of history. While his ambition had survived his time in the abyss, his naivete had not.
In times like these, he misses it greatly. Perhaps it is because back then he too believed in the archons omnipotent and infallible. Pure. Just. Capable of righting all wrongs and vanquishing all ills. But his journey within the abyss had shown him the dark side of ambition and taught him the true extent of the archons' might. While his teacher had never confirmed exactly what offense had doom Khaenri'ah, the devastation alone had been enough to shatter his own view of the archons themselves. For how could he praise and extol the archons when they viewed mortals merely as a tool of so little consequence.
Shaking his head, he turns away and quietly walks out of the plaza, allowing his long legs to carry him aimlessly through the city. He browses the shops briefly to pass the time, buying a few gifts for his family which he has delivered to Liyue Harbor for shipping. After a quick meal back at the hotel, he resumes his wandering until his feet inevitably return him to the anemo archon's statue at the center of the cathedral plaza.
As he is studying the archon's stone visage, he imagines Barbara kneeling meekly at its feet, her dainty hands clasped in silent prayer.
I wonder how often she prays for me. He muses, angling his head ever so slightly.
From the corner of his eye, he spies a petite maiden sprinting past and turns in time to observe the Deaconess' bouncing pigtails. Thoroughly perplexed, he watches her carefully climb the wall before descending onto the street leading towards the Grand Goth hotel below. Chuckling lightly, he moves to observe her below before gliding down to meet her.
"My answer…is no." She informs him after an uncomfortable silence.
His gaze falls to her lips and he feels his heart fall when he notes the beginnings of a scowl marring her features. Between her expression and tone, it is clear that the very sight of him upsets her.
Eager to diffuse the tension between them, Tartaglia pulls out her white glider which he hands awkwardly to her.
"Oh, that reminds me. I kept meaning to send this back to you but kept forgetting."
"I said no, Ajax," Barbara repeats softly. "I won't become a harbinger. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You belong in the forest, Kroshka. I'm glad you won't melt away after all."
He manages to flash her an assuring smile as he watches her, thoroughly aware of the stalker watching him from the shadows once more. The Deaconess blinks blankly up at him, somewhat taken aback by his reaction to her decision. Had she expected him to refuse? To fight back? To protest and argue against her decision?
"So-so wha-what now?" She asks shuffling her feet awkwardly between them.
"What else, Kroshka? We part ways of course," he chuckles dryly.
"Will I ever see you again?" Her voice is maddeningly hopeful.
"Only if you want to, Kroshka." he offers cryptically studying her now.
"I want—" she blurts before catching herself and shaking her head. "No, it's better this way."
"What did she tell you, Kroshka?" He wonders. "Signora. What did she tell you about me?"
Barbara reaches forward to accept her glider, inadvertently brushing her fingers against his. He notices this and strokes his fingers along her skin. She jumps back as if she had been burned prompting him to mumble an awkward apology as he stoops to retrieve her fallen glider.
"She hired me to perform," she replies at length, not daring to face him. "A-at y-your wedding."
The Eleventh Harbinger freezes as the Deaconess shifts to study his reaction, blue eyes searching his hopefully. As if begging him to put her suspicions to bed.
"Did you decline?" When she shakes her head he feels something harden within himself and stiffens visibly. "Why not?"
"B-be-because I-I c-c-can't," she stutters. At this his steps forward and grabs her firmly by the shoulders, shaking her gently, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"You have to decline," he states, pausing to lick his lip. "I'm working hard on returning to Snezhnaya to speak with the Tsaritsa about—"
"She knows about what h-h-app-ppened between u-us," she replies suddenly on the verge of tears now.
"Kroshka, please don't cry," he coos pulling her into his arms.
But she presses an arm into his chest, keeping him away as she shakes her head firmly.
"It's better this way," she states, sniffling slightly. "Y-you're a h-harbinger. You can't afford any distractions."
"You're not a distraction, Kroshka," he informs her quietly.
"I don't care," she mumbles rubbing her arm dejectedly as tears stream down her cheeks. "Just please…leave me alone."
"I will Kroshka just please listen to me," he pleads. "You cannot come to Snezhnaya. That is the Tsaritsa's stomping ground. She's trying to use you to get to me. She wants you where she can reach you."
"Ajax, she's going to tell everyone about t-tha-that n-night," she stutters, flushing darkly as she squeezes her eyes shut, seemingly intent on blocking out the memory of their time together. "My f-family, my si-sister. T-the church. I can't…I'm sorry I just can't risk it."
He opens his mouth to protest further but catches himself when he notices how tightly she is hugging herself now. Something about her stance reminds him of a cornered rabbit and he feels something shatter within at the realization that he had caused her that much pain. As much as he hates to admit it, even he knows that she is too far gone to recognize reason from madness. In her current state of mind, no apology or explanation would reach her. No reason would suffice. It was clear that it was taking every ounce of willpower within her to keep her rooted to the spot.
The shame and guilt of surrendering her maidenhood to one who would never truly be hers threatened to reduce her to a dithering blubbering mess at any moment.
Apologizing profusely, he finally releases her shoulders allowing her to walk away. In those final moments, as he watches her ascend the stairs leading back to the cathedral, he silently wonders if she would have walked away from the boy who had never fallen to the abyss.