Day 43:

"Do you always bow when you talk to my father on the phone?"

Ignis' face was suddenly a few degrees hotter. "Ah. I… may… Your Highness. Admittedly, I do not speak to His Majesty over the phone regularly."

In truth, he had not noticed bowing at all until Reina had called his attention to it.

"What did he say?" She asked.

"That I should take care of you, Your Highness."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh he did, did he?"

"I rather suspect His Majesty is concerned not for your safety so much as your mental health."

"I see. Anything else?"

"That I should call Noctis back."

"You should."

"Yes, I rather suspect I should have some time ago." Ignis glanced at his phone, still in hand. "Nevertheless, he shall have to make do with a text message."

He had yet to read all of the messages he had received thus far today, but they looked to be more or less the same thing: some variation on asking where he was or to please respond. Ignis did so, sending a brief confirmation that he was with Reina and would call later in the evening.

"And why is that?" Reina asked.

"I have a very important task which takes precedence," Ignis said.

"And what might that be?" Her face remained neutral, as it often did these days unless she was taken off-guard. He was beginning to suspect it was—as so many other behaviors she had adopted—some vestige of her Dream. Either that or it was a lingering defense mechanism. Only a month and a half had passed since her living nightmare. She still would not speak of it.

"Taking care of the king's daughter."

"As you can see, I am well taken care of."

"Quite the contrary, Your Highness. What I see is that you are, sparing my company, left alone with nothing to distract you from growing restlessness."

"Am I restless?"

Admittedly, she did not look it. This was something of a shot in the dark and yet he was beginning to get a handle on this new Reina.

"I suspect so, Your Highness. Impatient to be under way so your mission can be completed."

"Perhaps I am," she admitted, though without any outward shift in her demeanor. "Are you intending to change that?"

"In a manner of speaking." Ignis offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

The neutrality cracked and puzzlement showed through. Nevertheless, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her down the slope away from the lighthouse. The dwelling below—if it could be called that—still looked structurally unsound to Ignis, but if they were to spend the night inside he would have to come to terms with that.

The steps held out when they climbed up. The door opened and did not come off the hinges, and—in spite of an ominous creaking—the second floor seemed to still be holding up by the time they were inside.

Ignis took a quick stock of the kitchen. It had some staples—mostly dry and canned goods that could be stored with little worry of spoiling. No matter. He had passed some farmers selling fresh produce down by the street on his way up.

"What are we doing?" Reina asked.

Ignis held up a finger. "One moment. Please do not go anywhere—Cor will kill me."

One brief trip down to the parking lot and back up had the kitchen rather more well stocked than before. Enough to make suitable meal for four or five other people.

"We are cooking dinner," Ignis said.

"I might have guessed. Very well."

"Ah, but do not think you will get off easy, Your Highness. Crown City style dumplings require the utmost concentration." A taste of home, so to speak. Perhaps it would help.

She merely stood, quite still, and considered him. Her eyes were focused, at least; an improvement from many other times he had spoken with her these past weeks. And she seemed collected, if closed off. He wasn't certain if that was better or worse than the tears.

"Now then. We shall need a bowl. Two, in fact, if you would oblige. And I hope you are prepared to get your hands dirty."

She looked down at her hands, as if considering. "There has been worse on my hands before."

After some rummaging, she collected a pair of bowls and set them out on the counter where he had assembled the ingredients. She was a great help in the kitchen: much more adept than Noctis, and Ignis never needed to repeat instructions more than once, nor clarify or correct any techniques. Nevertheless, her motions were mechanical. If she derived any enjoyment from the process, it did not show. She did as he asked: nothing more or less.

"Your talents have been wasted, Your Highness," Ignis observed. "Had I known you were a natural cook, I would have enlisted your aid much earlier."

"I'm not," she said.

"I beg to differ."

"No, I mean…" She looked up at him. For one instant, something showed through the hollow mask. Then it was gone. Her eyes started through him. When she spoke again, her voice was distant and slow. "You taught me."

"We cooked together?" He shouldn't have asked the question. But it was the first glimpse into the mystery of those ten missing years of her life and it escaped before he could stop himself.

"Yes." Her voice was high and strangled. "After you lost your sight, we…"

She looked up and, for the first time in several minutes, he got the sense that she was looking at him. A tear streaked down her cheek.

"Reina—"

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. Not an apology for her tears or some perceived weakness. For something else altogether. For something she had done to him—or believed she had done to him—in a Dream, which had never come to pass.

She lowered her chin to her chest, rubbing her cheeks dry, though the tears only fell faster. Ignis took a tentative step forward, laying his hand on her shoulder. How could he be a comfort when he knew so little of what troubled her? He could present himself as a friend to her all he liked, but was that truly sufficient? She would let no one past the walls she had erected. In the past weeks there had been moments when he thought she might let him in, but each opening vanished as quickly as it came, without allowing him the opportunity to get one foot in the door.

"I'm fine," she said. She looked up, rubbing her eyes dry. "Fine," she repeated, as if this would make it true.

And the door had closed again.

Ignis let his hand fall from her shoulder. "Why don't you get some rest? I shall finish off dinner and call everyone when it is complete."

She nodded. Whether because she wanted away from him or the memories or something else entirely, he could only guess. She disappeared upstairs, where a few bedrooms lined the upper level.

The remainder of his evening cooking passed quietly and without company. When the pot was boiling and the first batch of dumplings was steaming within, filling the open kitchen with the mild aroma of meat and vegetables, Cor descended.

"Where's Reina?"

"Upstairs," Ignis said. "I endeavored to involve her in the cooking process."

"Worked out well, huh?"

"I fear it may have reminded her of something painful."

"Everything seems to," Cor said.

Ignis nodded mutely, lifted one steamer from the pot and replaced it with the second.

"I'll check in on her," Cor said.

"Thank you," Ignis said. Someone needed to. Perhaps it should not be him so soon after he had upset her.

Cor took only one step before turning back. He crossed his arms over his chest. "It's not your fault."

"It may well be," Ignis said. "I have done untold things inside her Dream."

Cor grunted. "Not you. Just who you would have become if all that happened."

"Do you believe we left her?" Ignis asked. The question had been gnawing at him, growing each time she let slip another piece of the puzzle. "We know the three of us were once her retinue. Yet she expects everyone to dislike her—perhaps fear her. And each time she has one of those moments, she apologizes, yet she seems to fear being without us."

Cor shook his head. "No idea. Not really my forte."

"None of ours," Ignis said.

"More yours than mine," Cor said. "I'm going to check on her."

He went, leaving Ignis to his dumplings and his musings. Later, both of them emerged from the second floor balcony and descended for dinner. Cid was convinced to relinquish his hold on Iris, though she was required to scrub her arms from the elbow down before sitting at the table. Even Ardyn deigned to grace them with his presence. In spite of the varied company, dinner was a sedate affair. Reina's quiet, distant mood affected them all.