(Publishing one chapter a week until the end of Part 5)

Chapter 122: Wounds of the Heart

Malak of Galthena felt so terribly alone.

He did not let this loneliness show on his face, as the ship's humming engines propelled them across the rolling seas. Instead, he patrolled the Syldra, taking stock. Four strong cannons to either side, two in the front. Alicia and Lavian paced the deck now and again, trying to find the best place to help when the battle came. Mustadio labored on the engines down below, coaxing every ounce of power he could from them. Beowulf stood in the crow's nest, his eyes scanning the horizon. Everyone, doing their part for the battle ahead.

Malak fingered the hilts of his swords, though he never quite drew them. Besides the other members of Ramza's odd band, Faris' crew bustled about the ship, keeping everything in trim, working order. Still, he kept up his patrol. He was a soldier, and a commander, and he had to know where everything was, just in case-

You're no one's commander anymore.

The skies were grey, leaking wan and listless sunlight down around him, and somehow that grim light seemed to curdle inside him, too. His heart seemed to strain in his chest, like a runner flagging at the end of a long race. Every heartbeat felt like terrible effort.

Finally, he found himself by the prow of the ship. The front-facing cannons were below him, concealed within the Syldra's fierce eyes. The sea ahead of them was empty, save for the faintest specks of islands on the horizon. Somewhere out there was an enemy, stronger than they were by every conceivable measure: a Cardinal of the Glabados Church and a Dragoner besides, sailing on what might well be the strongest warship in Ivalice, in command of a band of well-trained and fiercely loyal soldiers. Malak only wished it was the scale of their enemy that made him feel this empty, this hopeless.

"You alright?"

Malak looked over his shoulder as Alicia joined him, her silver scepter propped upon one shoulder so that her chestnut-brown hair brushed against the green gem at its tip.

"As I can be, with battle ahead," Malak answered.

"You sure?" She gave him an appraising look. "You don't look it."

Malak grimaced. "I..."

He didn't know how to explain his feelings. Every moment since the explosion in Riovanes had been so deeply strange: the adrenaline of his charge alongside Ramza, the shock of the Grand Duke's true nature, the hollowness of the bullet wound, the hell that lay beyond, and the hope of his dead friends lifting him back to the life. The world as he'd understood it had shattered to pieces: he had not finished rebuilding it yet.

Alicia watched him for a little while longer, as thoughts churned in Malak's head. Then: "My family didn't want to be a Lioness."

Malak blinked. "Oh?"

Alicia shook her head. "You know the Branfords?"

"I..." Malak frowned: there was some report he'd read at Barinten's behest, who knew how long ago. "Minor nobility in Lesalia?"

"Very minor," Alicia said. "Third son of the first daughter of...who cares. Rich, though. Own..." She trailed off, frowning, and started ticking off the fingers of her right hand. "What, a machinery shop in Goug, part of a mine of in Goland, stake-holders in a merchant caravan..." She ran out of fingers, and sighed. "Never could keep track of it all. Mom would be pissed."

Malak was losing patience. He didn't want to hear about Alicia's family, especially not right now.

"Had some magical talent," Alicia continued, not noticing Malak's frustration. "Good enough to get me into the Magic Academy in Gariland, especially with the equipment my parents could afford. It was a back-up plan, I think: if they couldn't find a good marriage for me, I could earn some status as a mage somewhere."

"But I didn't want to be part of the Branford family plan. I wanted...more." She looked past Malak, to the horizon. "I wanted to use my talents to do work worth doing. I wanted to do something...something that mattered."

In spite of his frustration, Malak was interested. He remembered that feeling: that his gifts might serve some higher purpose. That the good that had been given to him by Barinten might be spread to all Ivalice, through his efforts.

And who knows what he would have done, if you'd succeeded?

A pang of guilt against his heavy heart. Malak closed his eyes.

"My parents didn't mind when I signed on with the Royal Guard," Alicia continued. "But when I took a position with Ovelia's Lionesses?" She laughed. "They were furious. There was no future there. Barely any supplies, much less pay. Bodyguard to a princess the queen hated...it wasn't just my future I was risking. It was theirs."

"But it mattered. It was work worth doing. Protecting someone who needed protecting. And besides..." There was deep warmth in her voice. "That's where Lav wanted to go."

He opened his eyes again. Alicia was still looking at the horizon. The warmth in her voice glowed in her eyes. The warmth of love.

But the warmth faded, and her eyes drifted back to him. "We fought, so hard, to keep Ovelia safe. And in the end? We walked her right into a trap."

They locked eyes for a moment. Malak didn't know what to say.

"You're young, Malak," Alicia said, after the silence had stretched a little. "But you were a soldier, with a cause you believed in. And then..." She sighed again. "I can't pretend to know what you went through. But you're not alone. And besides..." She looked back over her shoulder, as though the Royal Retreat was still in view. "Sometimes, you can find the thing you lost again."

Malak felt tears stinging in his eyes.

"It's not..." He heard the trembling in his voice, and stopped. He swallowed down the tears. He couldn't let himself cry. "I...trust Rafa." A little less shaking in his voice. Good. "I'm...I'm afraid for her, but she's...she's so damn strong. Stronger than me." How had she endured, with everything Barinten had done to her? Saint Above, but he'd failed her for so long. Just like he'd failed the others.

"But at...at Riovanes, I...I left my friends, and..." The shaking in his voice was worse now. His eyes felt so terribly hot. "And they died." He took a deep breath, trying to master himself. He remembered what they'd told him, as they'd lifted him out along the waves of sky-blue light. But he hadn't quite believed them then. He didn't quite believe them now. "Some things you lose, and...and you never get them back."

He closed his eyes again, taking deep, shaking breaths. He couldn't let himself cry. He was not a leader anymore, but he still had to be strong. There was still work to do.

"They were your comrades?"

Malak's eyes snapped open. Faris had joined them, though he wasn't sure when. She had her telescope pressed to her eye, and wasn't looking at either of them.

"They..." Malak trailed off. "Yes, and...and no." He looked out at the sea, but his eyes were filled with Berkeley, and Clarice, and Clara. "We were trained together. Raised together. They were my friends. But...but I was their captain."

Faris nodded. "Then I am afraid you are wrong, Alicia Branford."

Alicia bristled. "What do you-"

"You have lost comrades, no?" Faris asked.

Alicia closed her eyes and nodded. "Two young Lionesses."

"But you were not their commander."

"I...no."

Faris nodded again. "Some day, when you are sharing drinks with Dame Oaks, ask her about them." She signaled absently with one hand: the helmsman turned the ship obediently to her command. As the ship began to turn, she lowered the telescope. Her face was uncharacteristically solemn. "You will find she bears a different burden. It is true of all commanders. They trusted us with their lives. Even if you spend those lives wisely, it is a heavy thing to bear. Far worse, if you think you spent them poorly." She looked at Malak. "You think you are spending poorly now?"

Malak shook his head. "It's only my life on the line."

"Your sister's life, too."

Malak looked at Faris, and felt the tears in his eyes again. "She...she's been through so much, because I didn't listen, because-"

"You were a commander," Faris said, walking towards him. "It is your burden to bear, and I cannot relieve you of it." Her voice softened. "But make sure you are blaming yourself for the right things."

"What do you-?" Malak started, and Faris caught him and hugged him, and it was so long since anyone but his sister had hugged him that Malak felt clumsy and strange, and held himself as stiffly as a corpse.

"If an unexpected storm were to blow upon us, right now," Faris said quietly. "The mistakes I made in the face of that storm would be my fault. But the storm itself would not be my fault, as the situation you faced would not be yours." She tightened her embrace for a moment. "If you say you made mistakes, I believe you. But I will also remind you that you were born into an unexpected storm, and did the best you could to sail through it."

She let him go. Malak did not trust himself too look at her.

"No sign of our enemy yet," Faris said. "You look tired, Malak. Our guest cabin is empty, if you would like to rest."

Malak nodded. He did not remember walking towards the cabin. He did not remember walking belowdecks. He marched to the cabin as though in a trance, and flopped into a hammock-

And began to sob.

How long since he'd cried like this? With Izlude, but those had not been his tears, they had been Izlude's echoing through him. How long since he had cried for his own sake? He had learned he could not cry in the orphanage, for fear the bullies would come calling: then, as a trainee in Barinten's Khamja, he had never wanted to cry, to prove he was worth the Grand Duke's attention; then, as Captain of the Hand, he felt determined he should never cry, so he could be an example to his fellow soldiers.

And all in service to a monster. The monster who had hurt his sister, and gotten the people he loved most in the world killed.

Faris was right: he had not chosen to be an orphan, anymore then he had chosen Barinten's service. But in that service, he had done such horrible things. He had tortured men and women, Izlude not least among them: he had killed enemy soldiers, convinced of his righteousness: he had let his sister suffer, believing the lies of her tormentor. He had guilt aplenty to dwell on.

And now, he was sailing into another fight, and his sister was far away. What if failed her, as he'd failed her so many times before? As he'd failed Berkeley, and Clara, and Clarice?

There was a knock upon his door. Malak silenced his sobs at once, but did not speak. The door was locked: hopefully the interloper would go away. Malak felt himself strained to breaking.

But there was another knock, and then Lavian's voice: "Malak?"

Malak almost stayed silent. He did not want to be seen like this, and he did not want to see anyone else. He felt himself cracking, falling to pieces.

But what if it was important? He was still a soldier. He still had a job to do.

"Hold on." He frantically wiped the tears from his eyes, and moved to the door, sliding the lock out of place. "What is it?"

Lavian stood on the other side, leaning heavily on her staff. She was smiling with terrible kindness. "You alright?"

"I'm fine."

Lavian nodded. "Alright." She turned to go.

"Wha-" Malak began, blinking in disbelief.

Lavian glanced back over one shoulder. "You tell me you're fine, I'll believe you."

"I..." He should let her go. He didn't want to burden her. He didn't want to burden anyone. He didn't want to keep letting people down.

"I don't remember the last time I was this scared," Malak whispered.

Lavian turned back around to face him. "Since the orphanage, right?"

Malak blinked. "Oh, that's...that's right. You grew up in one, too."

Lavian nodded again. "We all find our ways to cope. Different ways of being tough." She paused. "It's kinda funny, we both ended up soldiers. Kinda funny we both ended up here." She gave a thoughtful glance to the staff in her hand. "We're luckier than some. Our talents gave us something worth investing in. But that also meant a lot of people wanted to use us."

Malak shook his head. "I...I wanted to be used," he whispered. "Wanted to be worth what...what the Grand Duke..."

Lavian smiled sadly. "Gonna give you some advice as a Healer," she said. "And gonna give you some advice as a soldier." She waved her staff. "There's all kinds of wounds. Wounds of the body, sure...but wounds of the mind, too. And wounds of the soul. Everyone's got those heart wounds from when they were kids, but people like me, and you, and your sister...I think our wounds run a little deeper." She prodded his chest gently with the tip of her staff. There was a a shimmer of golden magic there, and a little warmth soaking into his skin: he felt the terrible pounding of his heart ease a little. "Unless there was no other choice, you wouldn't push someone with a wound in their leg to run, because you want them to heal. Wounds of the heart are the same way."

Malak laughed shakily. "Don't have much choice right now, do we?"

"We don't," Lavian said. "Which is why I wanted to give you some advice as a soldier, too." She looked up at the low ceiling. "When the trap got sprung on us at Lionel, I got captured quick. Al had a chance to get away. She didn't take it. Tried to free me instead. And...and while we were waiting in our cells for them to...to execute us..."

There was a hitch in her voice. She drew a shaky breath, and pressed. "I blamed myself. But Al...Al reminded me she chose this. Chose the Lionesses. Chose me." She looked back down at Malak. "You trust your sister, right?"

"More than anyone," Malak answered.

"So trust her." She gave him another prod with the tip of her staff, and a little more warmth flowed into his chest, and soothed his aching heart. Whether it was her words, or her magic, he wasn't sure.

"We haven't known each other long, Malak," Lavian said. "But you're our comrade now. If you need anything from us..."

She smiled, and headed back down the hallway. Malak stood in the doorway, raising one half-hearted hand to the place her staff had touched him.

He could not take much comfort in any of their words. The wounds he bore were meaningless besides his sister's. The mistakes he had made were far worse than a captain's desperate efforts to steer through a storm. He had led his friends to their death in the service of a monster. He had tortured a good man, whose sister he now fought alongside. He had made so many mistakes in his young life.

The weight of all his failures came hammering home again. Malak closed the door, and let himself weep once more. He did not try to muffle his sobs: he did not try to restrain his tears. He let himself feel every inch of his guilt, his grief, and his self-loathing. He had so many failures to his name.

But in spite of all his self-recrimination, he could not deny Lavian's last words. Rafa wanted to fight. She wanted her strength to be in service to a higher cause, the same way Alicia Branford did. And Ramza's cause—the cause of fighting predators like Cardinal Bremondt, as he had fought Grand Duke Barinten—was undeniably worthy.

Malak never wanted to be a commander again. It had cost him, and the people he loved, too much. But he was still a soldier, and a damn good one. He still had talents that could be used to win a fight. And he wanted to fight for the same cause as his sister. He wanted to weed this world of monsters like Barinten. He wanted to avenge their victims...and he wanted to make sure that no one else would have to suffer, as his sister had suffered. As his friends had suffered.

As he had suffered. His suffering was less than those he loved: the wounds in his heart were shallower. But they were still wounds, in need of healing. Lavian had been right about that, too.

How long he lay in the dark cabin, he wasn't sure. He may have slept, and dreamed of times long gone: he may simply have remembered his friends, moments of idle play in Riovanes, snatches of joy in the midst of misery. One way or another, he rested, for the first time in a long time.

And when there was a frantic knocking at his door, he sprang to his feet, ready to fight. He pushed the door open, found Lavian standing on the other side, a fierce expression on her face.

"It's time," she said.

Malak nodded, and followed her down the hall, and back up to the deck. The wan grey light had washed away: now it was golden sunlight, bright and gleaming.

He had made mistakes before. He would again. He still had healing to do. But he would fight once more, for a cause he hoped was worthy. And even if he was not at his sister's side, neither of them was fighting alone.