The king's study doors were six inches thick and hung on custom strap hinges. The thickness had first been proposed to stymie eavesdropping, but it was also an effective means of moderating princes and princesses with no skill for subtlety. And so, despite Amelia's forceful push to shove the doors open, they edged apart.
"Da-Father! Something terrible has happened!"
Phil looked up from over his discourses with his advisors, barrel-shaped men in long white robes and ghutrahs. They all huddled over a mighty bull oak desk the size of a beastman's altar. He gave the men a look that left no doubt about how he ranked critical national security issues against the fears of his youngest daughter. The men departed in silence.
"Amelia! What is it?"
"The delegation was attacked before they made it to Yalain!" she cried, with every ounce of consternation that the messengers had painstakingly tried to prevent. "According to the foreign minister, lots of monsters struck their boat and they hurt Zelgadis-san! They say he's fine now and no one else was injured, but something is wrong, I'm sure of it!"
What that was, she couldn't say. The vague yelling dreams were back, along with an inexplicable fear when she went outside and saw the red skies at dawn. And Zelgadis-san hadn't sent a single word in more than two months. He always wrote, even just to let her know he was too busy to write (he once spent an entire letter debating whether this was a tautology; one full page later, no closer to an answer, he'd stopped). Yes, something was wrong.
"Hmmm…" Phil listened respectfully, his huge hands folded. "So what will you do, Crown Princess of Seyruun?"
What?! If she had had an answer for that she wouldn't have rushed into his study full of the same desperate energy she once used to bound into his arms."I don't know," Amelia faltered. The thorny conflict in her heart was hard to convey. It was a new mix of emotions, and it embarrassed her. "I approved the mission, so I have to help! But I don't know that I…if I…"
Phil frowned, nonplussed by this uncharacteristic doubt. He slapped the top of his desk twice.
When Amelia had first started her hero training, Phil had made her practice on desks, dining room tables, and university graduates wearing their mortar board caps. He would order her to strike heroic poses and deliver speeches from these peculiar positions, at times lobbing grapes at her to test her concentration. It was also an effective way to clear the mind. Struggling to stay upright had a funny way of putting one's problems into focus.
Amelia jumped up, one foot on his desk and the other on the back of an empty chair. "I've got to go to Yalain! I supported the delegation, so I'm responsible for its success! I have to protect them at all costs!" Just as she felt new courage with her heroic pose, that same flash of uncertainty made her back foot wobble.
"But…" Amelia's voice went soft as she tried to steady her balance. "I was so sure about Gracia, too. What if I'm wrong now? What if I can't get to Yalain in time, or if…" She swallowed hard. "What if something worse happens?"
"Such defeatist talk!" Her father swatted the chair away and Amelia hopped over to the desk, catching herself right in time. She sat down and scooted across the desk so that her legs hung over the side.
"I'm worried about failing," she confessed, not knowing it was true until she said it aloud. "I'm afraid I might fail Seyruun, and the delegation. I don't…feel as sure anymore. About anything."
"Amelia," Phil chided, with the same loving reproach he'd used when she'd tried to recruit an army of feral cats to patrol the palace, "does a broken heart stop beating? Is the sun any less the sun when it's behind clouds?"
She could just hear Lina-san and Zelgadis-san rolling their eyes. "No, but…"
"That's right, no 'but's at all!" he agreed. "You know that real love and justice are actions, not mere words! Love and justice won't prevail unless you fight for them!"
What did that mean? Amelia had never doubted that Gracia would come home and be part of the family again, but that hadn't happened. If Gracia didn't want to come home, how was that love prevailing? She can't do good things for Seyruun, or for your family, Gourry-san had said. And I think she knows that. Well, Lina-san and Gourry-san were proof that a family wasn't always a bunch of people living in a house. So maybe they were still family, even if they were distant and broken.
Phil hoisted himself onto the desk, which creaked under his weight but did not give; ten men could not have budged it. "Made in Seyruun" was not just a statement, but a threat.
He stood up and Amelia rose beside him. He held as much of his giant hand as could fit on Amelia's shoulder. "Our love for Gracia could part the seas, isn't that right?" Phil said with pride.
"Yes," Amelia said, feeling a prick behind her eyes as she realized the only love they could share with Gracia was their own.
"And does summer always follow spring?" he continued.
"Yes…"
"Do you get up every time you fall down?"
Amelia remembered how long it took her to stand up again that afternoon in her room, when she'd held Gracia's note and wept until her voice gave out. But she stood up again, eventually. "Yes," she said, and it invigorated her. "Yes!"
He went on, louder and bolder. "Is Lady Lina scared of indigestion?"
"Never!" Outside the study a few vexed librarians grumbled about a transfer to Solaria.
"Would I ever discourage you from following your destiny?"
"No!"
Now it was Phil's turn to pose, striking a classic wrestler's flex bent down with both fists clenched in front of his chest. His muscles rippled and bulged. "So what does a hero of justice do when someone threatens their country?"
"A hero saves the day!" cried Amelia, eyes starry with new inspiration. They hadn't been sure when they ran into battle against Copy Rezo or Seigram, either. Maybe she would get it wrong. Maybe she would fail. But she couldn't hope for a just outcome if she didn't do everything in her power to make it happen. She could stand up again.
"And if a crown princess's loyal knight is in danger, then—"
The truth had never been more clear. "—I've got to go rescue him!"
xOxOxO
Zelgadis thrived amidst unhappiness. It wasn't that he enjoyed suffering (no matter what Lina insisted), he just preferred not having to pretend he was content like everyone else. The gestures that marked him as a man unsettled were normal in a land full of yearning and misery. He felt at ease exploring Yalain's manifold misfortunes and the people struggling for something better.
By contrast, being with Lina and Gourry was less comfortable than ever. They teased and bickered while they finished each other's sentences. Sometimes they skipped talking altogether, switching between actual conversation and meaningful looks. Zelgadis couldn't tell whether his friends' rapport was new or if it was just now bothering him, but he didn't like interpreting conversations through glances.
"Bet it's a bomb," said Lina, after one of these wordless exchanges.
"Yeah?" Gourry asked. "Why's that?"
"They really hate magic, right? And the group from Seyruun is here. Wouldn't surprise me if those wackos were planning to blow this place to high heaven."
"Those wackos" had summoned them and the other erstwhile bar brawlers to Yalain's holy ice temple, where they had received a mysterious mission: infiltrate a demonstration involving the grief machine, and take out as many soldiers or guards as they could. There were no details about who the rebels were or what they intended to do, which left Lina and Gourry to guess, but it paid well.
"Let's hope it's nothing like that," Gourry said. "There are so many people here."
They were halfway across the crater lake, on a rocky isle with just enough room for a sprawling temple and not much else. Its soaring spires and maze of platforms gave it a sense of life slowly unfolding, like a crystal urchin being born from the glaciers.
The demonstration, whatever it was, had attracted a cross-section of Yalain. Around the temple, crowds gathered in clusters of protesters and curious onlookers, including a coterie of fish-people sliding on the ice. Vendors chasing the masses set up with cups of soup and hot chocolate. The atmosphere stretched to contain so much festivity, anticipation, and anger that something threatened to break out at any minute; it was just as likely to be a fistfight as a parade.
Zelgadis stood apart from Lina and Gourry as they changed into their disguises. He held the satchel containing Pokota, as well as other odds and ends that might distract from Pokota's strangeness, including the book he'd been reading that now bored him. Ever since they'd reached Yalain he had found it repetitive and indulgent, and he didn't understand why he had pored over it before.
"You sure you don't want to join us, Zel?" Lina asked.
"I'm not taking off this mask until we're out of Yalain," said Zelgadis, who was still touchy about the whole 'hedgehog monster' bit.
"Suit yourself," she said, tying Gourry's hair into a braid. One of the other rebels had noted Gourry bore a strong resemblance to the local warrior goddess and suggested dressing him up like a priestess. Of course Lina had been excited by the idea, and Gourry hadn't fought it. By now he knew better than to resist the universe's irrepressible inclination to put him in a dress. "But we're not gonna give you a cut of our earnings."
"Don't forget we're here to make sure Seyruun's people stay safe."
"Yeah, yeah. The best defense is a good offense, right?"
Zelgadis would not contest the fundamental Lina Inverse urge to squeeze every last profit from a situation. No doubt she thought she could throw a couple punches and walk away with extra pay for the same work. Worse yet, she was probably right. Given enough time everything seemed to turn in her favor.
He left them to look for the bold-faced rebel leader who had first sought them out at the bar. The young man's passion was so recognizable Zelgadis had felt an instant kinship: In a better world, this was who he might have become instead of a chimera. He found him alone, leaning against a statue of the goddess, which truth be told did have a rather Gourry-esque blankness to her face. The man's red armband was conspicuously absent.
It was a perfect opportunity for an impressive opening line, but Zelgadis didn't have one. "There's no plan to attack the delegation, is there?" he asked.
The young man looked up and furrowed his brow. "And you are?" It was a request for an affiliation, not a name.
"Uninvolved," Zelgadis replied. "Your conflict doesn't concern me. But if you were serious about attacking the people from Seyruun, it wouldn't be public knowledge."
"Who said anything about attacking? I'm sure we're not responsible for any rumors spread by a slimy bastard who would double-cross his way out of the womb...but if that leads to attention focused elsewhere, that's good, right?" He regarded Zelgadis with grudging respect. "Well, if you're not going to participate, I ask that you not interfere. The Majority won't hesitate to put down anyone in our way."
"Duly noted." In Zelgadis's experience, the danger of any given group was inversely proportional to the pomposity of its name. Serious revolutionaries didn't waste time making themselves sound exciting. Groups like The Vanguards or The Order of the Undying Shadows could be dismissed without a second thought. But a name as boring as The Majority made him wary.
With nothing more to be said, Zelgadis took off to explore the perimeter around the temple before venturing inside. He eyed the fish-people, the angry throngs, the families just trying to enjoy a nice day on the icy lake. Bet it's a bomb, Lina had said. Like Gourry, Zelgadis hoped she was wrong.
"Psst! Hey!" came a noisy scrabbling at his back.
It was the first time Pokota had said anything to him in days, and Zelgadis had been enjoying the quiet. "What?" he hissed.
"How did you know they're not gonna attack the delegation?"
"You don't become a successful rebel faction by bragging about your plans," Zelgadis explained. "These people are serious." He was tempted to say good. For such a ragtag outfit, this Majority knew how to restrict plans to trusted insiders, spread disinformation, and recruit new levels of supporters. Regardless of whether they actually represented any majority, they were talented and capable. Shame about the violent demagogue part.
"What are you, some kinda guerilla tactics guy?"
"Towards the end, the things Rezo ordered us to do…" Zelgadis trailed off. Clouds dulled the sharpest parts of his memories, but he could still recall doors bursting inwards as families clutched their terrified children. For thousands of people Rezo's legacy was the sound of iron alarm bells ringing across the countryside as fields went up in flames. But for the first time, Zelgadis was able to just see those wretched memories rather than feel them, like illustrations in a book, someone else's trauma. The distance felt liberating.
"You don't do things like that if you believe the laws and the authorities are legitimate," he continued, hoping the pause had said enough. "And if you're going to be good at it, you have to stay quiet and out of the way."
For a while Pokota said nothing, and Zelgadis wondered whether he was impressed. "So what do we do now?"
Zelgadis looked up at the west side of the temple, away from the churning crowds and fish-people. The temple spires were carved from base to tip with figures depicting legends and victories, the story of Yalain and the goddess that blessed the people of the frozen lake. It was an extraordinary feat of craftsmanship and devotion. "I think it's time to check out that machine."
This proved easier said than done. While getting into the temple with its wide open entrances was no issue, it was impossible to get closer to anything worth seeing. Even the least motivated guards had been suspicious of a masked man with a foreign accent holding a sack. Just as it looked like they'd need to try scaling the outer walls, Pokota had suggested he bluff his way in with a few confident lines about needing to repair the joints on the rotating shafts. It had worked, to Zelgadis's eternal chagrin.
As they walked by his sack shifted around in a way that somehow felt cocky. "Everybody expects engineers to look weird," Pokota crowed. "You can get anywhere talking about gimbals and pressure altimeters…unless you don't understand them, that is."
"Shut up while we're inside," he muttered. "What if we get caught? Do I tell people you're a puppet?"
"Good point. Nobody would ever believe you could be entertaining on purpose."
It was easier to escape notice in the shadowy cloister corridors, but there were still too many people for Zelgadis's liking. He went up the first staircase he could find and came out at an upper aisle, where he could see the nave below. He first noticed the partial shape of a monster crab suspended between two silver prongs, its lower half encased in two rectangular blocks. Long cables and tubes crisscrossed all sides of the base and around the crab like spreading veins. The crab's giant major claw pointed straight down towards the steps, and a milky white stone rested in its minor pincers.
Around the contraption he recognized a priestess who was much too tall and a guard who was much too short; the delegation from Seyruun, at a respectful distance; the old statesman Ortolan; the relics-dealer, Kaunan; and a man in a bright red velvet cape that Zelgadis guessed was the duke. He sensed another unmistakable tension in the air, this time it was a deep distaste constrained by etiquette. How insufferable. There was something to be said for settling differences with a duel.
Pokota peered out of the satchel, holding its flap over his head. "Is that the machine?" he whispered. "I don't get it. Where's the power source? Where's the linkage? How's it work?"
"Shh." Between everyone's stiff postures and the temple's checkered stone floor, Zelgadis felt certain that Amelia would know what to do next. He knelt down and tried to listen. Ortolan was showing off the machine to his uneasy audience.
"I'm proud to unveil what we call the Hildegard, named for the ancient white mage. Our researchers developed it based on a theory from…"
Ortolan turned to Kaunan, who didn't appear to want the recognition. "I trade with a priest sometimes," the other man said, cradling a large lump in his coat. "Said it was lost magic."
"It incorporates the power of bass crabs, renowned around the world for their healing abilities," Ortolan continued. When the long pause indicated that said renown had not reached landlocked Seyruun, he elaborated. "Bass crabs have been used for centuries to extract toxins. They've saved generations of ailing sailors and fishermen. With this magic-powered machine and more like it, we can ease suffering and bring happiness all across Yalain."
"And you think this merits violating our traditions against magic?" asked the duke, with skepticism that could choke a whale.
"Oh, but Your Grace! This can't cause harm, like black or shamanistic magic. This is all from a much older, much more ancient tradition from our own land! Our honorable guests from prosperous Seyruun no doubt have similar traditions."
The honorable guests from prosperous Seyruun didn't get a chance to answer. A sudden clangor of steel and stampeding wet feet did not break the tension so much as juggle it. "There they are!" a throaty voice cried over the hubbub. "We must have justice!"
Ortolan didn't miss a beat (was he expecting this?). "Stop them!" he said, pointing towards something Zelgadis couldn't see. "Guards! Protect the duke and seize these villains at once!"
Zelgadis caught shreds of light flashing across blades, spied their cutting edges pointing towards the delegation, and decided he was done hiding. He leapt, barreling over the balcony with one leg bent and the other extended to land with a confident one-two step. He'd always had a flair for dramatic entrances, but it felt less satisfying now for some reason.
That irritation aside, Zelgadis unsheathed his sword in a short arc that sang its sharpness as he prepared to enter the budding fray. What he was not prepared for was the particular faction that had broken in. The hands clutching them were slender, rubbery, and glistening, and they belonged to a determined troop of electric blue fish-people.
"We demand an audience with the duke!" warbled the scaly ringleader, taller and deeper blue than his compatriots. "For more than a year, the bass crabs have been raiding our territory and stealing our holiest treasures! We demand restitution of our stolen property!"
There was another bewildered pause as everyone turned to grapple with this latest development. The guards held their long muskets with uncertainty, staring with mouths agape in their own fishlike fashion. Even the duke had stopped in the midst of fleeing to safety.
Zelgadis held his sword at the ready for a fray that had failed to materialize. "Uh," he said. He glanced over at Lina, who held both hands to her temples as she so often did when things took a turn for the stupid. He knew it was only a matter of time before those hands would be lobbing Fireballs.
"A rebel leader!" thundered Ortolan, training his cane on him and speaking with such conviction that it almost wasn't ridiculous. "Stop him!"
Zelgadis had lost track of all the players in this bizarre farce, which he knew meant the worst was yet to come. Just as everyone's heads had snapped towards him, they all snapped back in the other direction at the sound of escaping air, a whistling hiss that presaged something terrible. Bet it's a bomb…
Dozens of cables intertwined around the crab-machine were slashed apart and now thrashed about, spewing cold mist. The handsome young leader of the Majority stood beside it with a dagger held high overhead. "Refuse abominations in sacred spaces!" he crowed. "We'll never accept heresy in our land. Magic belongs to the gods alone!"
The chaos that waited around them, as full of electric potential as the humid air before a summer storm, coalesced at last and broke loose in every direction. Soldiers, priestesses, insurgents, and fish-people alike traded wild blows in the holy sanctuary.
Zelgadis cast a hurried Windy Shield ahead of the group from Seyruun, which had no idea how to handle a spontaneous fracas. "More shields, now!" he shouted to their guard forces. "And get them out of here!"
"Psst, hey! Can I come out?" asked Pokota, none too keen to end up on the wrong end of another crossbow bolt.
"Well…" Zelgadis watched Lina use a petrified fish-person as a shield and concluded even Pokota's unnerving presence wouldn't make things any dumber. "Just don't get us killed."
"You can't tell me what to do." Pokota wiggled out of the satchel and jumped free, to loud gasps of shock. "Yeah, feast your eyes on that, losers. You're about to get roasted by a rabbit! Fireball!"
Stained glass shattered and candelabras toppled in a spreading frenzy. Rebels with knives hacked at the machine, while others attempted to wrest them to the ground. In between fending off guards Zelgadis tried to identify who held the real power at the moment. It couldn't be the duke, who had disappeared, or the relic-dealer sprinting away. He suspected it was the old man Ortolan, issuing orders from behind a small squad of armed men in black caps.
A beautiful priestess swept by in a hail of musket fire. "Hey, Lina. You okay?"
In lieu of response she let off a volley of Flare Arrows, and Zelgadis could hear her delighted chortle. "Oh, I'm great."
"Sorcerers! Monsters!" someone shrieked. There were more stunned gasps.
Lina and Gourry kept at their fighting, separately but together, protecting each other's backs from afar. Gourry sometimes parried incoming fire or attacks that might have gotten in Lina's way, while Lina was polite enough to yell "watch out!" whenever she accidentally catapulted someone in his direction. When Gourry caught someone in his wide, flowing skirts, he and Lina traded a congratulatory thumbs-up.
"Say, Lina. I bet you saw…"
"Yeah."
"Think you can get it, or want me to?"
Use your words, Zelgadis wanted to scream.
Lina's eyes flicked upwards to the machine, still mobbed by rebels and fighters that threatened to tip it over. Its cables leaked mist into the air. Zelgadis followed her glance to the round white gem resting in the crab's minor claw. "I'm good," she said. "But cover me, willya?"
"Uh-huh."
She took a running leap at a would-be combatant and jumped off his shoulderpads, crunching the man to the ground as she sailed in midair. Gourry followed after her, fierce and fabulous and at ease in tall purple heels. As they took to their joint combat, the people of Seyruun rushed past him in a mad, screaming dash.
"Run!"
"Get out of here! Go, go!"
"Everyone get the hell out!"
The desperation in their voices was real, but Zelgadis had a tendency to run towards problems (and certain doom). He raced in the opposite direction to the door where the people of Seyruun had tried to escape.
He ran down a few steps into a small passageway full of dusty statuettes and altar cloths. In the corner he spotted a cloth parcel wedged far out of reach, tucked under a thick piece of pearlescent glass. A gray candle lit with a hungry flame poked out of the fabric. Puzzled, Zelgadis leaned closer, and saw that it wasn't a candle at all, but a long trail of ash left behind the flame as it burned down. The flame hovered inches over the parcel, and any second now it would—
Zelgadis sighed. At least Lina wasn't around to brag about being right.
xOxOxO
So many open trunks and maids fetching winter mittens left no doubt to what was happening, but Sylphiel asked anyway.
"You're leaving?"
"I'm going," Amelia corrected, as if these were distinct concepts. She stared at a world map in the center of the room while the staff bustled and moved trunks around her. "The delegation is in danger and I've got to be there!"
Filia watched the servants pack a precious diamond tiara next to The Hero's Guide to Punching. "But I thought the letter said everyone was fine."
"They're in danger," Amelia repeated. "And something is wrong."
Her pronouncement left no room for debate. Seyruun's parliament had posed no objections; it was, after all, the same country that endorsed both its princesses traveling around the world for years at a time. And fellow white mages Filia and Sylphiel understood the burden of a bad omen better than anyone. Still, they seemed worried, and Amelia wished they weren't. After so many years her friends should know that sometimes you absolutely must travel thousands of miles across the sea and charge headlong into certain peril.
"Do you need any help looking after things here?" Sylphiel asked, folding her hands beneath her chin.
"Thank you, Sylphiel-san, but it should be fine." Amelia thought of the lonely past few months and frowned. "All I've done is sign paperwork and sit in meetings…and ignore the marriage register," she grumbled.
She should have known not to even whisper the word "marriage" in the presence of Sylphiel, who was made up of thirty percent romantic notions by weight; and Filia, who was fascinated by the idea of relationships with men that might be pleasant. In one instant, Amelia was looking at the world map, and then she was caught between the arms of her much taller friends looming over her like love-starved poltergeists.
"What do you mean, marriage?!"
"You're getting married and you haven't told us?!"
"I-it's not like that," Amelia said, edging away. "Daddy and Parliament pre-approve men they like and put them on a register. So those are all the men I can choose from."
The marriage register was another way Seyruun tried to thwart its constant internecine conflict. Instead of identifying one candidate and waiting for the approval process—during which there could be all manner of dirty tricks, scandals, or attempted assassinations—they vetted many prospective candidates and began negotiations afterwards so marriages could occur quickly and with minimal fuss. Amelia had always ignored the register, but now that she was crown princess it had taken on a new importance in the eyes of the court.
"But…you don't know who they are?" Filia asked.
"I still have years before I have to decide." Amelia's curiosity was no match for her stubbornness. She had always known that it would be this way, crown princess or not, but she refused to believe anyone else had the ability to make a match she would like. I'm the only one who knows my heart! "It's just a list of princes and nobles and knights that other people chose for me. It's not romantic at all! I don't know who's on it and I don't want to know!"
Amelia turned away with a pointed huff and caught the eyes of Maris, her closest friend in the household. They exchanged looks of recognition, vulnerability, and surprise, and Maris left the room, cheeks red. The other servants followed her in guilty silence. Filia, Sylphiel, and Amelia were alone among towers of trunks.
"The household knows," Amelia explained. "They've had a copy for a year now."
Like most matters of national security, the marriage register was a secret limited to those who needed to know—and those people's maids, washerwomen, and barbers. The best spies knew that an average shoe shiner in a royal household had as much information as the minister of defense. The household knew who was on the register, and Amelia knew they knew. She didn't know whether they already knew she knew they knew, but they knew now. Knowing things was a very complicated topic.
"They've never said a word, but I've heard the gossip. They have a whole betting pool with astrology and odds." As Amelia said it, she realized Zelgadis had been right: the household really wasn't her family. They might care for her, but they still saw her future, her happiness, as a game.
Filia looked shocked. Sylphiel looked in dire need of a device that wouldn't be invented for at least two hundred more years.
"Amelia-san, I'll come to Yalain with you!" said Sylphiel, grabbing her wrist with newfound determination. This was the quiet, unwavering Sylphiel that few people saw, the Sylphiel that Lina claimed had once cast a flawless Dragon Slave. "It's a land of white magic, isn't it? I'm sure I can be useful. Besides, like you said, if the others are in danger, we have to help them!"
"Right!"
They nodded, full of pride and resolve and sisterly affection.
"Well, I'm coming too!" Filia said, not about to be left out of the moment. "Didn't you say something about ancient dragon magic and shrines out there? I've got to come along because I know you're going to need me. You always do!" She gave the last three words a hooked bite that took Sylphiel by surprise. "Oh, did she not tell you, Sylphiel-san? About the terrible way they all neglected me when I could have been the most helpful?"
Amelia waved her hands, in no mood to relitigate this particular grudge. How could anyone have a lifespan over thousands of years and still be so petty? "Filia-san, please, it was a mistake!"
But Filia was already face-to-face with Sylphiel to share her tragedy. "They had an entire long adventure with a fancy enchanted vase, and they never even thought to ask me!"
"We're all very sorry, but Vezendi was so far away—"
" 'Maces and Vases'!" Filia said shrilly. "It's on the sign!"