13. Istra (II)

Before Nina left for the council meeting, Inigo bid her wait while he went upstairs again. She heard the click as he opened one of the doors next to the bedroom. He came back down holding a long bundle of fabric. Standing in front of her, he unwrapped it to reveal the scabbard of the Falchion.

Nina's breath caught in her throat.

"I am absolutely not telling you to use this," said Inigo, "but symbols matter. Lucina doesn't often have it on her, but some of the council will recognize it all the same."

He held the sheathed sword out to her. Nina reached out, and Inigo placed the scabbard in her hands. It was heavier than any of her own weapons. Father had never let her hold his version of the blade.

"Is this really the sort of symbol you want to send?" she asked.

"It's a symbol I want you to send, Nina," said Inigo. "I'm not afraid of anybody on the council, exactly, but there are a few of them who might like to – verbally strongarm you, I suppose I should say." He stepped back. "This is in case anybody tries to intimidate you. It marks where you come from. But don't make reference to it unless you have to."

Nina drew the sword to her chest. "I understand," she said, holding it tight. "I'll keep it on me."

She buckled the belt around her hips, then went to go get Lehran from the hitching post.

The meeting was to take place in the city hall. Nina had noticed it in passing as she flew over Istra: a large, brown stone building with a lookout tower at each corner, sitting right on the broad paved road that sliced Istra in two. Inigo had given her directions from the house.

Nina rode Lehran through the streets again. It was dark, but there were enough lanterns shining from shops and houses to light her way. Lehran moved with more energy in the cooler air, shaking out his wings every so often to relieve the stiffness from waiting outside the house. His hoofbeats became muffled as they turned down a wide unpaved road that smelled of butcheries, then sounded again as they emerged onto the main street.

Nina almost did not recognize the city hall as she passed it, for its shape was harder to discern from the ground. On a sidewards glance she saw the old metal seal above the arched doorway – grimy but still glinting in the moonlight, as there was hardly enough rain in this part of Plegia to corrode it. She backed up Lehran a few paces to the door.

There were no hitching posts nearby. She led Lehran to the side of the city hall, winding around one of the guard towers, to where there was a small alley. She looked up. The tower seemed empty.

"Lehran," she said sternly, "you are to stay in this alley. And if somebody tries to cause trouble, you fly back to Lucina's house, where we were before." Lehran made a snort. Nina always had the impression that he understood her; but even if he didn't, she did not truly fear anybody stealing her huge stallion pegasus. At worst, if there was trouble, he was trained to fly and circle the area; then all Nina would have to do was find a safe area where she could sound her signal whistle to call him back.

She returned to the big arched doorway and set one hand on the sword at her side before pushing open the doors.

Upon entering the deserted vestibule, she realized that Inigo had not told her wherein the building the meeting was to take place. The entryway was lit with a pair of standing lamps. There was a hallway leading back from each end of the wall facing her. Another seal, sculpted from sandstone, stood between the entrances. It matched the one above the hall, bearing a number of shapes that resembled eyes.

Nina approached the right hallway, but gazing down it, all she could see was darkness. The left hallway was the same. Intimidated, she took another look around the central room. Now she noticed another small hallway that had been on her left when she first came in. There was a lit sconce about halfway down. At the end of the hallway was a door. As she approached it, Nina could distinctly her a low, unintelligible voice from the other side.

She took a deep breath and tried the doorknob. As she opened the door, she was greeted with a small murmur of voices; but as she stepped into the room, they quickly stopped.

Fifteen or so adults were gathered in a room that looked like a large study, or perhaps a small lecture hall. Some of them sat casually on long stone benches in the middle of the room. Others stood against the walls, alone or in pairs, though none stood near another door that sat in the wall to the left. One older woman stood behind a table that was positioned as a sort of lectern. They wore the clothing of the well-off, cloaks or light garments with soft drapes and a few bright colors. And as soon as one man on the benches noticed his companion's silence and turned to see what she was looking at, every single one of them had their eyes on Nina.

"She walks," said a man in a hushed tone.

"Lucy!" exclaimed the man who had been the last to notice her as he scrambled to his feet. "You're..." Upon getting a better look at her, he trailed off. Face half-panicked, he glanced behind him, towards the woman who stood behind the table.

The older woman at the table crossed her arms. "Who are you?"

"Not Lucy?" came a quiet voice from the back.

"But her spitting image," said somebody else in response.

Nina did her best to block out other whispers. "I am Nina of the house of Ylisse," she said, addressing the woman at the table. "I have come to meet with you on behalf of my sister."

"Did Inigo send you?" asked the man who had stood to address her. He was still standing, not noticing that his nicely-trimmed tunic was bunched up at the back.

"Yes," said Nina.

The woman at the table tapped her lip with her nails. She was somewhat more than middle-aged, with short streaks of gray down the sides of her wavy hair, and wore a dress of dull purple. "Well. This is a bit unfortunate, since he is the one we expected to speak with tonight."

What was stopping them from speaking to her? "Which one of you is Darin?" asked Nina.

There were a few glances, mostly towards the woman behind the table. "Darin isn't here," said the woman. "He tried to call off this meeting on account of Lucy's illness. However..."

A man leaning near another door in the wall, dressed in a traveling cloak, spoke over her. "Darin has been preaching his own opinions, claiming to stand for some caucus that doesn't exist."

"Darin speaks for himself," said the woman behind the table firmly. "But likewise, we speak for ourselves."

"I see," said Nina. "And who are you to decide that Darin only speaks for himself?"

The woman straightened her posture, but did not move from behind the table. "I am Kiet. I am the head of the council."

Kiet's eyes pierced her from across the room. Nina nodded in acknowledgment. Inigo hadn't told her anything about where the head of the council stood on Lucina.

"So, Nina of Ylisse," said Kiet. "What exactly did you come to tell us today?"

Nina couldn't start. She looked down at her feet. She knew she shouldn't be doing so, but it was hard to look elsewhere. There were idle sounds – somebody shifting their weight, a cough – from the many people now waiting for her to speak.

She raised her head. "I came to this meeting to stand in for my sister and her husband. She is ill, and he is caring for her. Since I am here in Istra, it is the least I can do, especially considering that Darin is not here to vouch for her either."

There was silence.

"I see," said Kiet, "Well, Nina of Ylisse, what is your view on the situation?"

Nina took a deep breath and met Kiet's eyes. "I know about the vote. I know that some of the council was not able to be present for it, so we have questions about its validity." She spoke precisely, or so she hoped, echoing the patterns of Ylisse's court as best as she could.

"Right." Kiet tapped her nail on the desk in front of her. "About that. There's no reason to believe it was invalid. The 'some of the council' who was absent was Darin, and the decision to remove Lucy from her command passed by more than one." She crossed her arms, staring Nina down. "I don't want to hear what you've been coached. Tell me, young woman: as a relative of Lucy's from outside of Istra, what do you think about the situation?"

"I have not been coached," Nina insisted. She realized that her hands had become fists at her side, and she forced herself to relax. Here it was – a chance to make a stand for Lucina. She wouldn't fumble; she would speak with honesty. "I think that you should reconsider taking Lucy away from the militia. For starters, her skill speaks for itself. But beyond that, what makes you think she has designs on winning more power in the city, or anything like that? Hasn't Inigo gone so far to give up his seat on this council to settle your fears?" She let her eyes sweep over the others in the room. "As I came into the city, I spoke with a man who fought under her. He didn't think she should be removed from her command. Have you thought about asking the people under her what they might want?"

Kiet was nodding along to her words. "That is a fair point, and I understand how it looks, even to those within Istra. However...we, the council, cannot be beholden to the opinions of the militia. It's not that we're ignoring them, but that those who specialize in defending Istra in battle do not necessarily know what is best for it beyond that."

So, in other words, they didn't care. "It sounds like..." Nina steeled herself. "It sounds like you used her when the city was in danger, and now you wish to get rid of her."

A woman on the benches – elderly, with her hair tied back in a bun – raised her hand and stood. "If you'll excuse me," she said, "we don't care what Lucy's 'designs,' as you put it, may or may not be. We would like to know, what do you think it looks like for this city to have to rely upon a foreigner – an Ylissean, no less – for its self-defense?"

"What do I...think it looks like?" Nina leveled her gaze with the woman. "I think it looks like Ylisse is doing our part to help this country, as we should."

"Ah." The woman closed her eyes and shook her head. "There it is."

The man who had stood when she first came in the room, the one with the tunic, spoke up again. "Did it occur to you that perhaps this country – this city specifically – does not want that type of help? No matter what your intentions are, we've lost far too many lives at the end of Ylissean blades."

There were nods across the room, and somebody called out, "Right!"

"I didn't –" Nina stammered. She changed tack. "Lucy was living here when Istra nearly fell back under the influence of the Grimleal. What was she supposed to do, other than stand up and help?"

"We have never had a problem with Lucy being part of the militia," said Kiet. "What we want to prevent are those calls that started after she drove away the Grimleal that the leader of the militia be a political position in itself, or that she run for council in addition to that husband of hers."

"So what if she ran?" said Nina. "People liked Lucy, you didn't – this really is all just politics, isn't it?"

"She is from the nation that tried to conquer us," said the elderly woman. "How do we know she's to be trusted?"

"Our mother is Plegian."

"'Your mother is Plegian.' You and her both say that as though it means something," Kiet spat, her voice suddenly bitter. "It doesn't change where you were during Gangrel's War, or the Fell Dragon's War. Are you nobility of Plegia or of Ylisse?"

"Both," said Nina. "Technically, both –"

"Is that so?" asked the man in the tunic. "What house does your mother hail from?"

Nina could not answer. Her mother had only made occasional references to what she knew about her troubled upbringing, and Nina did not have a name. She gripped the handle of the Falchion, useless here, and stared down at her feet in humiliation.

"It doesn't matter what house my mother is from," she managed. "I am – we are daughters of the Exalt of Ylisse. We are here because we would like there to be friendship between Plegia and our country. I don't know what other shows you would like, or how else we are supposed to show our genuine good will."

"Wait," said somebody from the back of the room, and Nina looked up hopefully. "Did you just say daughters of the Exalt?"

"Yes, daughters," said the woman with the bun. "Was that not what this whole affair is about –?"

"We didn't – I didn't know she was a direct relation," said somebody else. "Does that mean –"

"Mordecai was right. He told us to be wary months ago –"

"– does that mean Lucy is the heir?"

The man with the tunic, still standing, stared at Nina, his hand clapped over his mouth. There was a beat of silence. Then, with that last idea brought into the open, the whole room erupted into argument.

Nina edged back towards the door. Some of the council members were still looking at her, but the rest were all speaking in anxious voices, arguing between each other whether or not they should have known this information beforehand, or whether it made much difference to the situation in the first place. "No, that's not what I meant," Nina tried over the din. "Lucy isn't the heir –"

A low voice came directly from Nina's right. "Invader," said a man gruffly. "You are no better than the Exalt before last –"

And she felt, she was sure, that he had drawn a blade on her. Here, away from both her homeland and the knights, she at last had to fight for her life. Panic coursed through her as she pulled the Falchion from its scabbard and spun to meet her attacker.

But as the Falchion sliced through the air in front of the man, sweeping aside his cloak, Nina saw that he was empty handed, and did not so much as wield a dagger. Though the man's eyes held a trace of contempt, he largely looked terrified, and the weight of what she had nearly done hit her.

"Silence!" called Kiet. "What on earth is going on back there?"

Slowly, deliberately, Nina lowered her sword. "I do not want to start a fight," she said to the man beside her. "But do not approach me as though you mean to attack. Please."

The man blinked at her, then turned to Kiet. "Did you see what just happened?" he yelled. "She pulled a blade on me!"

There was a small murmur of voices at that; but Kiet's voice cut through again. "I would have done the same, if you'd come up to me from behind like that. What were you thinking?"

The other voices stopped. Kiet came around from the table and started towards the back of the room. "Your cloak is not so much as cut. Step aside and let me talk to her." The man slunk back towards one of the walls. "Now, young woman –"

"I know." Nina sheathed the Falchion. "I am deeply sorry. However, given the circumstances, I truly feared for my life."

Kiet came to a stop in front of her. "I suppose I do not blame you. What was it you were trying to say before this mess?"

"I was only trying to say," said Nina, "that Lucy is not the heir." She straightened her spine. "I am. As a matter of fact, although I call her 'sister', Lucy is not in the succession at all."

Kiet seemed to look at her with new, wary eyes. "I see."

"Please don't look at me like that," said Nina hastily. "I'm not here to make anybody hate me, and I'm not here to make anybody fear me. I just...won't abide those who try to dissuade me from getting involved in matters which do concern my country, as much as I won't have people who simply kneel at my feet."

Kiet was silent for a slow minute. "You've really come here all on your own, have you?"

"I have," said Nina.

"Nina of Ylisse." Kiet crossed her arms. "I can offer you one thing. You are right that Lucy is a skilled leader, and we as a city owe her a great deal, loathe as some of us here are to admit it. I believe we can spend more time discussing what place she may have in the militia, and come up with some other edict to make the division of power between the council and the militia more clear." She looked over her shoulder to the council behind her. "This is acceptable, correct?"

There were a few shrugs and one soft aye; nobody directly spoke against her.

"Good." Kiet turned back to Nina. "Note that this is not a promise, or an assurance of anything. If we find a place for her, it may not be as the leader, exactly."

"I understand and accept that. As much as it may be hard to believe, I am not begging you to reinstate her – only for you to give her a fair thought."

"We will keep the rest of the militia in mind, and do that much," said Kiet, extending her hand. "Fair?"

"Fair." Nina took Kiet's hand and shook. "I appreciate also that you know who I am, yet will not make empty promises to me."

Kiet actually smiled at that. "If there comes a day," she started, "that you are ever in this city during the time of a regular court session, would you like to attend? As an observer."

Nina frowned at her. "Why do you offer this to me?"

"Because as much as I may want Plegia to find its own footing, I truly do want to avoid ill will between the two of us. No country exists in a vacuum, after all." Kiet drew her arms to her chest again. "Plegia should not be beholden to Ylisse, and Ylisse should not resent whatever it does or does not do for Plegia. And I have a feeling your side will not leave us alone without having some idea what we're trying to do over here."

"If you invite me to council meetings, I will hardly be leaving you alone."

"That's why you would be here as an observer. And perhaps one of us can witness Ylissean councils someday as well."

"If you follow through, I might see what I can do."

The other door at the far end of the room rattled. Kiet, with a sense of being deeply startled, turned to it as the metal beam drawn across it started to clink against the fastener. "What on earth –?"

Nina listened for the weight of whatever was throwing itself against the door. "Does that door lead outside, to the side of this building?"

Kiet nodded. There was now a sense of unease among the room; several people had ducked down to quickly grab their belongings.

"I'm sorry," said Nina, with a hasty bow. "It's probably my pegasus. I should go calm him." She straightened and addressed the rest of the room. "I will not trouble you for any longer. However, I bid you reconsider the opinion of the militia members in this whole affair. They are the ones who fought for you, after all."

"And we are grateful for that," admitted a man on the benches who had not spoken directly to Nina before. Like most of those in the room, he was older; his graying hair still had tinges of lilac, the same shade as Esther's.

"I know," said Nina. "Thank you."

There was another rattle against the door. Kiet, arms crossed again, tilted her head at Nina. With a final nod, Nina turned back to the door she had come through and took her leave.

Nina wound through the city hall and burst outside into the warm night air. As soon as she did this, she heard hoofbeats, and Lehran trotted towards her from the alley around the corner of the building.

"Oh, Lehran," she sighed. "You were worried for me, weren't you?" He came to her, eyes glinting in the low light. She embraced him about the neck and buried her face in his mane. "I told you to stay where you were."

She held Lehran, breathing in the earthy scent of him, and tried to still her mind now that she was alone again outside the hall. But her mind gave her no such relief. There was a sour taste at the back of her throat.

Nina thought back to how she had drawn the Falchion. Kiet had observed that the man's cloak hadn't even been damaged by Nina's attempt at self-defense. Yet the cloak had definitely made contact with the blade – Nina had seen as much.

It shouldn't have been unscathed. If the Falchion had been wielded truly – Nina had seen Father use his, rarely – then even the slightest force should have been enough to tear through the fabric. Yet it had been as dull to her in that instant as any scrap-metal training sword.

It was not that she wanted to tear the man's cloak, much less hurt him, for she knew that drawing a blade in haste had been a folly in itself. But if there came a time when she needed to wield a sword righteously, she had always expected that the Falchion would bless her hands.

Perhaps – perhaps it had been a fluke. It was difficult to get a clean strike on a piece of fluttering fabric, after all. Nina stepped back from Lehran, whose head followed her curiously. There was a wooden fence with a gate in it blocking off the alley on the other side of the city hall. Nina drew the Falchion once more and, holding it by both hands, raised it above her head. If this works, I'll go right back inside and give them twice the fence's entire value in order to repair it.

She brought down the blade. It hit the top beam of the gate and bounced up, sending the vibration through Nina's arms, an impact as sure as when she hit a practice dummy dead center. She stepped back with the recoil and caught her balance. Then she rushed forward and inspected the top of the gate, running her hands over the wood that she could barely see. There was a small cut running vertically in the top beam, shallow enough that she could run her fingernail across the bottom. Nina shook the gate. No sections or shavings fell loose; it rattled like the door on the side of the city hall had.

She stared down at the blade that had forsaken her.

Somewhere down the street, a door slammed open. There was a peal of laughter, the slosh of wastewater being thrown out; then the door closed.

Eventually Nina recovered her senses and replaced the Falchion in its sheath. She made her way back to Lehran. Her pegasus stood graciously still as she wrapped her arms around his neck again, not sobbing, but close to it.