The encroaching dusk was a welcome sight; Noin and Elisabetta were exhausted - particularly the former, who rarely had had to do any hard physical work. Even after five days she had failed to become accustomed to it.
"You don't have to worry about me," Noin said quietly, leaning against the stonewall of the guest house she was staying in. "What time should I be up?"
Elisabetta frowned, considering. "Are you going to church?"
Noin flinched internally. She hadn't been to church in four years, since her parents had been alive. Cinq had never quite encouraged a religious lifestyle. "No, I don't think I want to go into town just yet, Eli."
"It's perfectly alright. Sleep in; no one will begrudge it to you," Elisabetta assured her. "Just make sure you don't kill yourself working too hard."
+ + +
Milliardo could have sworn the resentment in the room was tangible. In truth, some of the nearly deposed Federation generals were openly glaring at him and Treize across the large meeting table. Even the other representatives occasionally shot them looks of intense discomfort.
He was beginning to tire of all the arguing going on. Never in Cinq did he have to deal with such prolonged, circular, and stultifying "discussions." He wasn't even able to actively participate - all present, excluding Treize, distrusted and underestimated him; two hours in, Milliardo surrendered and allowed Treize to orchestrate the conference.
A soft creaking attracted his attention to the door as a brown-haired boy poked his head in. The boy motioned for Milliardo to follow him.
"Excuse me," Milliardo said quickly before ducking out of the room. No one heard him.
"My father wants to speak to you," the boy informed him, starting to walk down a hall. Milliardo followed, noticing with mild surprise the color of the boy's eyes. They weren't the light shade of blue as his own, but instead a cobalt more reminiscent of sea depths than the sky. It was frightening, as their uncaring expression eerily mirrored that which Relena often wore.
"Who is your father?" Milliardo queried. "And who are you?"
"Odin Lowe. Both of us." Odin stopped and pointed through an open door to an empty room. "Wait in there."
The fifteen-year-old obeyed, confused and reluctant to follow the directions of a child the age of his baby sister. Awkward moments passed, with Odin swinging his legs as he sat atop a table. Milliardo leaned against a wall and waited.
Within a few minutes a yellow-haired man entered, giving both of the room's occupants an amiable smile. "Hi. Prince Milliardo?" The royalty in question nodded. "Come with me. Odin, you too."
Milliardo groaned inwardly at being ordered around yet again, but did as told. It's not as if I have a choice.
Little Odin had a paranoid look about him as they walked down the hall, but it seemed strangely normal for him. As Odin the elder started talking, Milliardo temporarily ignored him to study them. The child looked nothing like the father. He must take after his mother, Milliardo rationalized.
"So it is evident there are a few problems with Cinq's business plans," he heard the elder Odin say.
"So this is about corporate contracts?"
"Be patient, Prince," Odin said with a genial smirk. "These interest groups want to be involved in this treaty conference, too, not just the national representatives." Milliardo was baffled, but listened. "Some of these groups want the treaty completed quickly, others want it amended, and others want it to fall through."
The prince was only further perplexed. "You aren't telling me anything new. What's the point of this?"
Odin drew a gun and held it levelly with Milliardo's head. "Some of the latter want you and the other groups out of the picture."
"Father!" the younger Odin yelped, "We have ten seconds!"
"Shit," Odin grabbed the startled Milliardo's arm, dragging the much smaller teenager as well as his young son towards the exit. A ricocheting blast knocked all three off their feet as Plexiglas, shattered wood and flying insulation slammed into them.
Milliardo felt a sharp, searing pain in the back of his neck. And that was all.
+ + +
Giacomo closed the door to his two-year-old son's room and sighed. His wife Elisabetta was standing further down the hall, biting her lip as she examined a letter on a table.
"Eli, do you think she knows?" he asked, looking worried. "It's been all over the news…"
"She refused to take the letter, and has been out in the fields all day. She couldn't have." Elisabetta looked upset. "Cousin Luca's stubborn and strong. But this could destroy her."
"Sì, sì." He sighed again. "We should tell her soon, though."
"Tell me what?" a new voice queried, sounding confused. Noin offered a slight smile, having dropped in to say hi. She set down an empty wicker basket and waited.
Giacomo was silent, leaving Elisabetta to explain.
"Luca, I'm sorry," Elisabetta said sadly. "The Austrian conference was bombed today; everyone was killed…."
Noin remained confused, her mind racing to immediate denial. "What Austrian conference? What day is today?"
Elisabetta hugged her cousin tightly. "It's Monday, bella. Prince Peacecraft was killed in the blast."
"That … can't be…" Noin stammered, shocked. "He shouldn't have been-"
"He was. Almost everyone was killed; those who weren't are in the hospital. The Prince was announced among the deceased, I'm so sorry…"
"I left him before he died," she said, pulling sharply away from Elisabetta. "I should have been there, I was supposed to be there…"
"Luca!" Elisabetta cried, as Noin turned and ran out the door.
"Poor child," Giacomo murmured, honestly sorry. "The poor child."