Heir to No One

Lucina drowned within the narrow palace halls. She struggled, but invisible hands dragged her down all the more, suffocating her under stone. Her trip to Satar might have offered her distraction, but not in the form she had hoped. And certainly not for long enough.

She paced through the throne room like a caged wyvern. Marcus' farewell words repeated in her head as she did. Tile after tile of marble passed under her boots, and each of them hurled the same accusations at her: a thief, a traitor, a tyrant. Until she escaped the vaulted emptiness of the throne room and widened her cage into the whole of the palace.

Frederick always hurried to escort her, but Lucina waved him away. With a dismayed expression, he retreated into the training yard to chase a handful of squires back into formation.

She passed too many westward windows on her aimless rambles. The diamond-shaped glass pieces trembled in their frames from the cold, a cold that seemed thickest in the west where half a kingdom away hunched Thria in the shadow of the Black Wall. She couldn't make out the town amidst the plain horizon. Only her crowned reflection wavered across the glass.

The face of a thief.

She hurried down stairs and hallways without sense or goal. The rooms seemed to have twisted since her childhood, a sandstone labyrinth to trap her where before she had known every crossroad and every crack in the tiles.

Her flight took her to the treasury; the mountain of gold shocked her. When she picked up a coin, the crossed keys of Altea jutted towards her. A currency that no longer existed. Even under Lucina's rule, the Altean province still carried out their business with coins minted in Pherae, stomped with the imperial eagle. The Altean province…

Lucina stared at the crest Marth had once carried into battle in Naga's name, back when there had been an Altean kingdom. Her thumb brushed over the indentation of the keys. But only her own face reflected on the polished gold.

The face of a traitor.

Lucina dropped the coin as though the gold had caught fire. She rushed up stairs, through corridors she didn't recognize, chased by countless eyes or her own demons, she didn't know anymore. Until a locked door put an end to her mad flight.

For a moment, she didn't understand why the oak wood refused to obey the push of her palm. After slamming herself against the barrier without success, she took a step back to realize her surroundings. Her breath calmed ever so slightly.

She knew this place. More importantly, she knew what hid on the other side of the door.

Lucina followed the scars in the wood with her fingers. How strange to find a locked door in her palace. Before, she had felt no desire to return to this place, but now the locked door gave her a tangible, achievable goal. A comforting fixpoint for her thoughts where otherwise they would spiral above the palace and towards Thria.

Her movements were the epitome of calm when she unsheathed Falchion. And although the sword offered her neither a link to her father nor a whispered word of reassurance from Naga, it did break through the lock without trouble. The metal bolt clattered to the floor, and the door swung inward with a creak of its hinges. Lucina stepped inside.

Faces greeted her from either side of the hallway. Splashes of scarlet on priceless canvasses, a long row of them; the ancestors of Pherae's royal house.

Kings and queens with Roy's red hair looked down at Lucina as she wandered along the line of portraits. The narrow windows on one side, little more than arrow slits, cast strange prison bars over their faces. Those who had ruled in times of peace had wrapped ermine capes around their shoulders, while those who had lived their regency on the battlefield held Durandal in a scarred hand. On all their heads glistered the winged crown.

Lucina had once wandered through a similar place, in the catacombs underneath the Glass Fortress where her ancestors slept to await Naga's eternal paradise. The memory of the stone coffins pulsated, and she pulled her cape tighter around herself.

But the Pheraens burned their dead. They left behind no graves for relatives to return to, and only their paintings remained as their monument.

Lucina neared the end of the gallery. Although she had never met the man himself, she recognized Eliwood from woodcuts and statues. The air of legends surrounded even his oil-painted image, and a light radiated from his figure to the farthest corners of the frame. You could believe he fought with dragons.

This man was said to have ordered the death of Lucina's mother. Yet his features carried a hint of a kind smile, as if Eliwood had resisted the artist's wishes to maintain a serious face when he had modelled for them.

Roy did not smile.

His painting stemmed from a time shortly after his coronation, when the ash on his crown had still been fresh. With a face so young and serious, younger than Lucina was now, he looked at the distance far beyond his canvas confinement. A little lost.

Lucina stepped forward and reached out a hand halfway like he had done countless time when she had scraped her child knees on the cobblestone.

Something crunched under her boots; the shards of a wine glass. Lucina's eyes returned to the painting. Burgundy smudges stained Roy's image where he had smashed the glass against the canvas. It had to have been him. No one else had a reason to venture into the ancestor gallery. And he too had locked the door sometime before Lucina had dueled him in the throne room. To seal away the judging faces of his ancestors? Or rather his own painting?

The wine had seeped into the canvas months ago and distorted the face so young and serious.

The face of a tyrant.

Or so the history books said, the books written in Lucina's and Naga's name, the books they passed around between the Altean pilgrims like sacred scriptures. Never before had Lucina felt so out of place in her own skin, and had there hung a painting of her, she would have followed Roy's example and drowned her image in wine.

But she could not follow the call of her childish temptation. Not yet. Half a kingdom away, Roy and Ike battled over the future of the Pheraen Empire. Maybe their confrontation had crowned a victor already. And she stood here, idly waiting because a vague premonition had foretold her death.

Every soldier and every knight faced the threat of death out there. Lucina herself directed them towards battlefields in Satar and Thria with the same ease as she sacrificed pawns on her chessboard to win the game. Only she was sick of playing the role of the omnipotent strategist who moved the figures. Falchion at her belt might be a symbol, but it was also a sword. And a sword is made to cut.

After one last look at Roy's painting, Lucina left the gallery. This time resolution instead of fear controlled her strides. She would confront Marcus a second time. And through whatever means necessary, she would convince him to commit his soldiers to her. Whether she had to appeal to his knight code, his fear of gods, or his love for the land of Pherae mattered little, she would hesitate no more. And then, with Marcus' soldiers behind her, she would ride to Thria. And no matter what fate Naga had in store for her there, Lucina would face it.

As she should have done from the start.

For her escort, Lucina planned to only take Rath with her; he and Cordelia had returned from Satar this morning, tightlipped but quick to assure that no further trouble brewed in the city. Frederick would have to administer Lycia's palace for an additional two days without Lucina.

But before she reached the shooting range where Rath tended to practice his marksmanship at this time of day, Frederick caught up to her on the wide foyer staircase. His worried expression erased all other thoughts, and Lucina's stomach twisted.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I couldn't find you in the throne room or your chambers, otherwise I would have informed you sooner…"

"Frederick, what happened?"

Frederick straightened before he met Lucina's gaze. "There has been an attack in Satar. Someone laid a fire at Marcus' residence. He is dead."

Lucina stumbled, reached for the banister, but the stone offered no support. No, impossible, she had just devised her plan. She needed Marcus. A moment ago, she had felt so certain, finally a goal had lighted her path, but now the world had flipped once more. Why, Naga? Why did she continue to demand the impossible when the path Lucina took crumbled further and further with each desperate step?

"Do we have confirmation?" Lucina asked. Her voice sounded detached from her body.

"The soldiers retrieved what is left of his body," Frederick said. "It is him."

"And the culprits?"

"We have no intel regarding their identity so far. I apologize. Perhaps a Pheraen fanatic feared Marcus would join your war efforts after your meeting with him."

Lucina shook her head, still out of her mind. "I need absolute certainty. I need… clarity. Find out who is responsible for this. Do it personally. I can't… I can't trust anyone else with this."

"Of course. It will be done."

Frederick's formal bow almost covered up the concerned look he threw Lucina. They had long passed the point where he could hide something from her. His trusted face provided the anchor she so desperately needed, the face of her oldest friend when everywhere else hid enemies behind the sandstone pillars of her palace.

She let him go regardless.

When Lucina marched in the other direction, towards the shooting range, resolution once more fueled her steps. Resolution and fury.

Rath was driving his horse along the length of the shooting range, and arrow after arrow lodged into the straw targets four hundred yards ahead. He had decorated each of them with several feathered shafts already, and although Virion might have one-upped him by hitting the small red circle in the target's center every time, Lucina would have nevertheless stopped to applaud the skill with which Rath controlled horse and bow at the same time.

But not now.

"Was it you?" Lucina hurled at Rath as soon as she stepped through the fence of the shooting range.

Rath forced his horse into a sharp break and turned towards her. "You speak in riddles to me, Lucina."

"Frederick just informed me that Marcus was assassinated in his residence. A fire. I have no reason to believe it was an accident."

"So the eagle knight is dead. Good."

"Was it you?"

Rath gave her no direct answer. Instead, he reached for the string attached to his belt where a series of thin metal plates dangled, a collection of trophies from victorious battles. Other Lorca wore similar strings, so Lucina had never given this cultural oddity more thought than necessary.

Rath freed one of the metal tokens from the string and tossed it towards Lucina. She plucked it out of the air and tensed when she recognized the carvings in the gold. A reeling horse and a stag. Marcus had worn a cape brooch just like this when Lucina had last seen him. Mere days before he had died.

Lucina clutched the brooch and glared at Rath as he dismounted. "It wasn't enough for you to kill him. You had to steal this from him too."

"I wish I had."

"Excuses won't do. I just want to know why you did it. I needed his support, don't you understand?" Lucina's shouts rang through the yard, and a part of her was glad that no soldiers were practicing at the shooting range. The other part no longer cared about anything. "It was a grudge, wasn't it? Some old blood feud you couldn't let go. Just like Navarre. I suppose Marcus killed one of your friends and took his blood oath saber. And you couldn't simply settle this like a man with a trial, could you? You could have talked to me. Instead, you had to ruin everything I planned!"

"Your rage blinds you. It is not your nature to speak so, Lucina."

"Then for the love of Naga, explain yourself!"

"My mother once held that brooch. The only reminder to the man who fathered me."

All anger fled Lucina at once. She looked from Rath to Marcus' crest on the brooch and back. The puzzle pieces all gleamed at her, but part of her played dumb. Too outlandish was the thought. Too cruel.

"You told me your father was a Pheraen knight," Lucina said. "And that you never met him."

"He left the Lorca as he had come: with orders from the eagle king Eliwood. Long before he learned of my existence. What you hold there is all he left for my mother. A payment for her services to him? Or maybe he saw in the brooch a symbol of his affection. It matters not. He defines me no more than a greedy lizard sunbathing on a rock outside the Lorca camp."

Lucina clawed her fingers around the brooch while she studied Rath. And maybe she tricked herself into believing, but Rath shared his father's sharp chin. Their narrow hunter eyes matched one another, even if the colors differed. In Rath, although he had done his utmost to hide it under the sun-tanned skin of a Lorca warrior, Lucina found a hint of Pheraen nobility. The same hint she knew from Marcus.

Marcus, who was now dead.

"Then why?" Lucina asked. "Did you arrange his death to free yourself from his influence?"

Rath held his chin high in typical Lorca fashion. "I took no part in the death of Marcus. I held no desire to meet him, and I will not shed tears over his passing. But I did not raise the bow. Nor did I order someone to do it in my place."

"But I thought…"

"You told me to be contend with his blood oath saber. I have no reason to whet knives behind your back. The Lorca owe you gratitude for defeating the heir to Eliwood. And so do I."

Rath's expression and voice conveyed what Lucina had been missing for so long that she almost didn't recognize its shape: honesty.

Her shoulders slacked. She had been so stupid. Worse, she had lashed out against one of the few people in this world she could still trust and rely upon. The circle of people who met her with true, honest love was so small. And she in her madness had squashed it smaller still.

"I'm sorry, Rath," Lucina said and handed the brooch back to its owner. "I forgot myself. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt."

Rath turned the brooch in his hand for a moment before he threaded the small piece of gold back to its place. "The grandest plain has limits too. It was refreshing to see the heir to Marth lose her temper for once."

Lucina repaid Rath's grin with a small smile. "I hope this won't become the new norm."

"But it will give the swarm out on the streets a reason to circle other places. I would welcome a little desert quiet."

"Me too. But I'm afraid Marcus' death will only stir the masses further. He died as my prisoner, under my protection. Once the news travels, the people of Pherae will consider me all the more incompetent to lead the Empire. And if Roy makes it out of Thria alive…"

"His words will find fruitful soil in the hearts of Pheraens."

Lucina nodded. Her hand wandered towards Falchion, searching the familiar hilt for security. "I have to engage him before that happens," she said. "I cannot wait for Ike to return. If we ride out now, we might have a chance to unite our forces before Roy gains any more supporters."

"Ike deserves more faith from you. He will overcome the heir to Eliwood with either his sword or his loud mouth."

"I can't be certain. And with all that has happened lately, I can't step aside and trust in Naga." Lucina lifted the crown from her head to meet Rath as an equal. What she planned to say was important. "I have wronged you with my baseless accusations, Rath. In all these months since the battle of Lycia, you have supported me, and I wish I had done more to compensate you for this. It is… more than I deserve. Will you still ride with me to Thria?"

Rath smiled and lifted her chin with his forefinger. "You are always so grave. It could make one think the Pheraens have infested your thoughts. Keep your chin high as Lorca do. With or without a crest to my name, I will ride to Thria with you."

Lucina kept her chin high when Rath pulled back. The winged crown felt a little lighter in her hands. "Are you sure you weren't taught the ways of Pheraen chivalry? You are nailing the supportive leader tone."

He laughed. "Maybe one day I will combine your Pheraen chivalry with Altean diplomacy. The result must convince every eagle fanatic to drop their flag and ride with you."

"I can only hope so. But first we have to return Roy to Johtran."

"So it will happen. You have the strength to make it happen."

"Thank you, Rath, I—"

But Lucina had no chance to elaborate on her gratitude. Shouts travelled from the nearby battlements, urgent, alarmed. Had Roy come to knock down her doors and defenses? But then followed the rattle of chains and squealing of hinges to sound that her soldiers opened the great gates of the palace. Yet the concerned yells did not fade.

Lucina's breath escaped her lungs in mist clouds. It was cold.

A moment later, Frederick rushed towards them, and his armored boots crashed onto the cobblestone, too loud. He could not have discovered the identity of Marcus' assassin so quickly, he had hardly had the time to saddle his horse, and then his expression – His expression froze Lucina's core through her heavy cape.

Frederick did not even bother with a formal greeting, almost choked on his words as he came to a hold in front of Lucina and Rath.

"It's Ike. He—"

The crown slipped out of Lucina's numb fingers. She did not wait for Frederick to finish his report before she dashed towards the gate.


Notes: Well, I've already changed most of Rath's character, might as well continue with his parentage. I included a line or two about him being the bastard child of a Pheraen knight way back in Book I, and Marcus ended up as the perfect fit here. And yes, it had to happen eventually, but I missed the Thursday upload for this chapter. In my defense, the train track I was supposed to follow home was on fire, and I got stranded in the middle of nowhere for most of my evening. Anyway, next week, I will hopefully be back on schedule.