"What's on your mind?" Zeke whispered.
Mòrag hummed in response. Normally, she always managed to come up with an adequate response to anything, even in tense diplomatic situations. But now, with every nerve, every ounce of blood in her body still coursing with the remnants of that fiery, slowly fading tingle—no, luxurious energy was the better phrase—she couldn't seem to assemble a coherent sentence.
It was almost embarrassing being so new at this. She knew how the biology of it worked, of course, but past experiences had left her apprehensive, unsure what to expect from what Zeke so non-eloquently called a "mutual thing." She certainly hadn't expected to feel this... relaxed afterwards. But Zeke had been so patient and gentle, easing her into each new touch in such a way that the ensuing waves of pleasure felt completely natural. Instinct had taken over far faster than she ever could have imagined. And now she was blissfully, utterly limp. Yet, there was a nagging doubt at the back of her mind that she was still inadequate, almost childish in their intimacy, leaving him dissatisfied. She considered asking if he'd enjoyed it, too.
But was it even appropriate for one to ask such a thing after sex? She didn't know. No, surely it was silly to ask; this wasn't a sparring match to be critiqued and verbally rehearsed. And she knew the answer, anyway; he was smiling contentedly—his face practically glowed—from where he'd collapsed beside her. His thumb gently stroked the leg she still had loosely hooked around him.
"Just basking in the afterglow, eh?" he teased.
Of all the things to say—quoting a part of a phrase she'd frequently directed at an overly-exuberant Rex after an intense monster fight. But it was so like Zeke, too. And the characteristic dorkiness of his question made her less self-conscious about her own ineptitude to, well, pillowtalk.
"I-I never thought I'd be able to enjoy this. But that was...um, that was wonderful. Thank you for being so patient with me. And so gentle. Sorry it took so long," she finally answered.
He gave a relaxed sigh. "It wasn't actually all that long, you know. Not in the grand scheme of things. And that was totally worth the wait."
"Really?"
He nodded, dispelling the last bits of self-doubt she had. The thought of mutual satisfaction drew her back towards him like a magnet, and she rolled over until she was practically on top of him.
"Someone's a cuddlebug."
"Call me that in public and I'll whip you." Her voice was muffled against his neck.
"I don't think I'd mind that, actually."
His little quips were equal parts infuriating and enticing. How, exactly, did he keep finding ways to stir up carnal urges she didn't even know she possessed? And what was the point? They were both spent for the moment. And there was still work to do yet today; if they lingered too long, someone might come looking for them. The thought that Brighid or Pandoria—the former more likely than the latter—might barge in and find them entangled like this made her toes curl in embarrassment.
The thought was not embarrassing enough to draw her off him, though. The sheer novelty of her bare skin against his overpowered it. And anyway, Brighid could probably tell precisely where she was through their resonance; surely (hopefully) the Blade would put two and two together. She could be a cuddlebug a little longer.
"I-is this real? I'm not dreaming, am I?" she whispered.
"If it is a dream, it's a damn good one. But don't worry. It's real. I'm yours."
"Mine...I think I like the sound of that."
They both fell silent for a while, soaking in that newfound contentment. Zeke aimlessly ran his fingers through her hair; even disheveled as it was, falling loose about her shoulders, it was perfect. She was perfect. He lay entranced, hoping he could somehow freeze each detail of these moments into his memory with perfect clarity. How it felt to finally have her trust him completely. The way her back rose and fell in perfect sync with her now-relaxed breathing. A similar rise and fall of her entire form each time he inhaled and exhaled. The softness of her skin, a stark contrast from the hard-earned muscles lining every inch of her frame. How those same muscles had twitched as he kissed them all. The feeling of the scars on her wrists and stomach beneath his lips—and how he wanted both to kiss them out of existence and yet leave them there because somehow, the fact that they existed and she accepted him anyway filled him with a sense of gratitude, pride, and exhilaration all at once. Her fingers entwined with his during a tidal wave of perfect bliss. The way she murmured his name like a prayer.
And overpowering it all, the fact that she was no longer just his wife—she was his lover.
She was looking up at him now, her eyes hardly blinking as her chin nuzzled into his chest. He could almost see the thoughts swirling around in those eyes.
"...You've got your thinking face on, Flames. What is it?"
"I have a thinking face?"
"Yup. You bite the corner of your lip. It's kinda cute. So, what's got you thinking?"
"It's a shame there's so much work to do. Th-this is nice."
"Already hoping for another round, are you? Making up for lost time?" he laughed, propping one arm behind his head. With his free hand he traced the lines of taut muscle in between her shoulder blades. "Or are you worried that Brighid is going to come hunting for you once she realizes you're skipping out on work this afternoon?"
Her lips curled into a little half-smirk. "Well, I certainly don't want to tell my son that I missed a council meeting because my husband and I were in bed together."
"Heh. I can see why that'd be awkward."
"...You know, now that we're really, truly together—in every sense of the word, I suppose—I sort of regret that we never actually got to go on a honeymoon. It would have been nice, I think."
"So let's go on one now."
Now those lips turned into a pout. "This isn't exactly the best time for a vacation."
"And what, you think there will ever be a 'good time' for us to go on one?" Zeke asked. He didn't wait for her to reply (and he didn't need to; he was right). "Look, it's going to take a few weeks for the whole peace agreement to be formalized with Uraya. We don't technically have to be at those proceedings. Niall and his council can handle it. And the Aramach are completely locked down. Honestly, there might not be a better time for us to get away for awhile."
She sat up so she was leaning with her forearms against his chest, eyes meeting his. Maybe it was irresponsible, but such a thing did sound nice. "Where would we even go?"
"Hmm. We both love Fonsett. Rex said it's still intact. Still along the beach, too. And I bet he could get us a place to stay."
"We are not going to Corrine's. I won't have her or her charges listening in on us." Mòrag shuddered at the thought.
"We'd stay someplace private, silly," Zeke chuckled. "Your bedtime voice is for my ears only now."
She thought about it. Since the wedding, there'd barely been a moment's peace. How nice it would be to just press the pause button on that chaos, to pass days doing only as they pleased. She couldn't recall the last time she had lived so. And what better place to get solace than in Fonsett? If they appeared anywhere else, they might find themselves nagged by the press and local busybodies. But in Leftheria, they weren't high-profile royals—simply friends of Rex. Fonsett brought one thing their lives blatantly lacked: simplicity.
"I suppose I could ask for some leave time. But leaving Niall to deal with the peace talks by himself…"
"Between Brighid, Aegaeon, and his council, he'd be fine."
"I just don't know."
"Do you need me to remind you why you want to? Because I'll gladly convince you."
With a single, fluid motion, he rolled them both over so she was on her back again and proceeded to kiss her everywhere—any patch of exposed skin he could reach. The embraces tickled, drawing a laugh from her throat. Architect, now even the playful touches felt good.
"Okay, okay! I'll ask. But I can't promise he'll agree."
"Oh, he will." He kissed her on the mouth, combing fingers through her hair again. Then he rolled off her. "At the very least, we can get something on the calendar for after the peace talks. So go make your request, Special Inquisitor."
"Right now?"
"Duh. I want to make up for lost time!"
"...Patience is not one of your virtues. But fine. I'll indulge you. I need to clean up first, though." She climbed out of bed in a hurry, eager to get into the warmth of the shower now that she was out from under him and the blankets. Zeke watched her like a puppy. A lovesick one. "Join me?"
Maybe it was irresponsible, but the smirk he gave solidified her desire to request some time away.
"Special Inquisitor, there you are!" Niall said brightly. "I was beginning to worry that something was amiss. Please, join us."
Mòrag took her customary seat next to Niall. She'd expected his council meeting to be over by now, but here he was, still in the throes of policy discussions. Maybe she should have waited until the meeting adjourned before tracking him down. Or waited until the morning. Because now she felt the gazes of his entire council, all of them silently questioning why the Inquisitor—the meticulous, ever dedicated right hand to the Emperor—was late, of all things. Could they guess? Was she blushing? Or was Niall about to ask why she was absent?
She hadn't thought this through. Zeke's spontaneous nature was rubbing off on her, it seemed.
"A-apologies, Your Majesty. Nothing is wrong. Please forgive my tardiness."
Mercifully, Niall didn't press the issue. That made her feel a little better. But even as he launched back into his detailed plan for how the Gormotti would be granted their independence over again, she still couldn't help wonder if the counselors had deduced where she actually was. It felt both terrible and wonderful to think that she'd been so self-indulgent in the middle of a workday. But she didn't regret it, either.
She did not contribute much to the discussion; she and Niall had discussed it in detail several days before. And even if a counselor had raised any strenuous objections to the plan, she was too distracted to give the Emperor much assistance. It was all at the front of her mind: how it felt to be with him, the sheer relief that she was able to, the curiosity coiling in her gut at the thought that it could get even better—no, she couldn't think about that now. And yet she couldn't stop it. Architect, she needed time away for no other reason than she needed a chance to wrap her mind around this new aspect of her life.
Finally, the meeting adjourned, and the counselors filed out of the room. Niall stayed put, understanding without being told that she wanted a moment of his time. Aegaeon lurked behind him, hardly visible from the throne's shadow.
"Sister, what is on your mind? You seem distracted."
"I'd like to make a request, if I may," she began, wondering how much of the request she'd have to explain. Would Niall even understand?
"Let's hear it."
"I'd like to request some leave time."
"Oh? For what purpose? Are you still not feeling well?"
"That's not it," she added hurriedly to dispel the sudden concern that washed over Niall's face when he wondered about her health. "I, well, Zeke and I would like to take a trip to Fonsett Village. To spend some time together."
"Ah. To replace the honeymoon that Uraya so rudely prevented," Niall said simply.
"Yes. That. Perhaps it's a bit selfish to ask for such a thing, but—"
"Request granted. You can leave as soon as you wish."
Her jaw dropped and hung open for a few seconds before she collected herself. "W-what? You're agreeing?"
Niall nodded, a small grin easing itself into his face. "This whole affair started the day after your wedding, when by all rights you should have had time to yourselves. I truly hated to drag you back to work so quickly. But you never complained, throwing yourself into the work relentlessly as you always have. That day, I promised you as much leave time as you desired as soon as the conflict was over. And thanks to your peerless bladework, it is over now. So there's no reason I can't uphold that vow."
"But what about the peace talks with Uraya? I should be here to assist you with the proceedings."
"They're occurring on home soil. They'll be perfectly safe. And I can manage the finer details of policy and diplomacy just fine on my own now. I'm not a child anymore, Mòrag."
"That's not what I meant, Your Majesty. It's merely that I want you to consider the full implications of my being gone during such an important conference. Even if I didn't attend the proceedings, plenty of related tasks and paperwork would find its way to the Special Inquisitor's office. And I wouldn't be around to complete them. Are you truly all right with that?"
"Lady Brighid has served alongside you for the entire time you've been in that office," Niall said. "Perhaps it's bold of me to assume, but I do believe she can act in your stead for the entirety of your absence. And knowing her keen attention to detail, she'd do so flawlessly. I'm quite confident she'd be willing to act as your proxy while you're away."
"Yes, but what about the Aramach? They're still a threat, too."
"The siege line holds. After all the losses we incurred with Uraya, I believe it's in our best interests to maintain that strategy. It will take longer to neutralize them than a full-on assault would, but I want to preserve as many lives as I can."
"What if something goes wrong? What if something happens while I'm gone?"
"Then Brighid, Aegaeon, and I will handle it. You're an incredible asset to my reign, but I'm not incompetent without you."
"That's true, but—"
"Do you want to go or not? Because you seem to be looking for reasons for me not to allow you to go."
"...I would love to go. But you know how I hate to abandon my duty."
"You aren't abandoning your duty, Mòrag. You're simply attending to different duties. Duties as a wife, and duties to yourself as a human being. And I can find no selfishness in that. In fact, I'm excited to see you ask for a break for once. So go. Enjoy a vacation. Be gone as long as you wish. You've more than earned it."
"Th-thank you, Your Majesty."
Mòrag never intended to make a big deal about the trip; she would have liked to simply finish up the last of her paperwork and slip away without any sendoff. And in hindsight, perhaps she ought to have been the one to consult with Rex about finding a place to stay near Fonsett; she might have been able to convince the young Aegis Driver to be, well, discreet. But Zeke had insisted on making those arrangements as soon as the Emperor gave them the go-ahead. He seemed even more eager than she to get away, and he'd practically accosted Rex to find accommodations for them. So inevitably Rex told Mythra that their friends would be taking a late honeymoon, who told Nia and Pandoria, and from there, the matter got entirely out of hand. It seemed that the entire palace knew of their looming departure before Mòrag had even had a chance to pack a single bag.
Going forward, I'll handle vacation arrangements, not him, she noted to herself as she lined the bottom of her bag with a few essentials. It felt strange to think that she'd be going several days without donning her uniform. She didn't even own that many casual outfits. If they stayed for more than four days, she'd probably need to do laundry. Brighid had volunteered to partially remedy that situation by going into town to get her a few "cute, comfy, casual outfits" for the trip, but Mòrag turned down the offer.
"I'm not going to change who I am, Brighid. I see little point in buying clothes that I won't use outside of this trip."
Her Blade made an expression that was almost a pout, but not quite. "There's no rule that explicitly says you have to wear your uniform every day, you know. You're turning over a new leaf now, so why not branch out a bit?"
"I'm turning over a new leaf, not an entire tree. Let me make one change at a time, please."
"What if Zeke asked you to wear a skirt? Would you change your style for him?"
He seems to like it best when I'm not wearing much of anything, she thought, but bit the comment back. "That doesn't really matter. He knows the uniform is part of the job."
"But you—"
Whatever Brighid was going to say next, she was interrupted by a loud chorus of boisterous conversation. It drew closer with every second. Both Driver and Blade looked to the open doorway for the source of the noise.
Oh, no. Nia, Pandoria, Poppi, Mythra, and Kora—wait, when had Kora even arrived at Alba Cavanich?—all trailing into her room with giddy mischief written all over their faces. This wasn't going to be good.
"Oi, Mòrag! I hear you and Zeke are going on a baby making trip!" Nia made a little purring noise.
In that moment, Mòrag felt she might vomit from sheer embarrassment. "I-it's a late honeymoon," she replied, her voice high-pitched.
"Then it is a baby making trip."
"I never said that."
"Semantics, really."
Mòrag looked to her Blade, hoping Brighid could read the "rescue me" she shouted with her eyes. But Brighid simply held up her hands as if to say that she'd have to find her own way out of this one.
"Why are you all here?"
Kora skipped forward with a large gift bag in hand and dropped it on the table. "We're helping you pack by adding to your wardrobe! Obviously. And you know, since we were trapped in Uraya for such a long time before your wedding, we were never able to get you a gift or anything. But better late than never, right? Us girls all pitched in and got you these!"
"Go on, Mòrag. Take a peek. We think you'll like 'em," Nia urged, winking.
Mythra scoffed. "More like Zeke will like them."
Kora picked the bag back up again and held it out to its intended recipient. Suddenly feeling apprehensive, Mòrag took it. What was Mythra talking about? The bag was surprisingly light, and no one had really bothered to wrap the contents. The only "gift wrap" included was a single sheet of tissue paper. Underneath it, she could see bold swatches of color and...tangles of lace and satin.
Oh. That was what Mythra meant.
She silently prayed that her cheeks weren't going as red as one of the garments they'd given her. Don't overreact, she told herself. They mean well. And—
"Um, th-thank you. You shouldn't have," she said as sweetly as she could manage.
They really shouldn't have. Or maybe they should have.
Architect, they even dragged Poppi into this. Although with Tora's shopping habits, I suppose it's nothing new to her. Ugh.
"We got them at Peatopaz," Kora said eagerly. Clearly she was enjoying this. "They have a ton of stock there! Like, I had no idea that Mor Ardain of all places had such a good lingerie shop. It took us hours to pick our favorites. But ooh, it was so much fun! Next time, we'll bring you with us. It can be a girl's day out!"
That would not be happening. For a lot of reasons, really. Most important among them that the Special Inquisitor could not be seen frequenting such a place. Marriage or not, she had an image to uphold.
"How do you even know that these will fit?" she asked, trying to sound as appreciative as she could even though she still couldn't quite decide whether to be mortified or grateful.
"They will. Brighid gave us your sizes. No returns or exchanges needed!" It was Pyra this time. But the redheaded Aegis gave a knowing smile instead of a mischievous one.
Mòrag shot Brighid a glare. "You were in on this?"
Brighid merely shrugged, but she could see a twinge of satisfaction lurking in the Blade's gaze. Mòrag might be able to refuse something of this sort from her Blade, but Brighid knew full well that she couldn't turn down a gift from someone else on account of etiquette alone.
Brighid was enjoying this. They were all enjoying this.
"I knew there was no stopping them," Brighid replied simply. "Would you have preferred they ask a shop attendant to guess your sizes?"
"N-no, but—"
Pandoria and Pyra seemed to read the flustered stare the Driver threw at her Blade; they quickly pulled the others towards the door again.
"Anyway, we'll leave you to your packing! Have fun, Mòrag!"
"Oh, she will."
The girls piled out of the room as quickly as they'd come, their chatter as loud as ever. Brighid fought down a laugh as she watched her Driver gingerly pull her gifts from the bag, inspecting each one with an expression void of all her usual grace and dignity. Eventually she settled on one of the pieces—true to herself, it was one of the most conservative sets in the lot, and blue. She frowned.
"Not very practical, is it?"
That drew out Brighid's buried laugh. "It's not meant to be. Look, if the thought truly makes you uncomfortable, you don't have to use them. But Mythra is right; he'd like them."
Mòrag was blushing all over again, clearly grappling with the fact that this was all so new to her. It almost looked as though she was torn between hiding in a corner and indulging in her own curiosity.
"To have special undergarments just for intimacy—it seems impractical at best," she said at last. "Wasteful at worst."
"A little indulgence here and there isn't a bad thing, Mòrag. You're going on a honeymoon. A year ago, we both would have found such an idea entirely unfathomable, but here you are. So enjoy yourself. There's no shame in it."
"The trip's not just for the sex, you know," Mòrag admitted. The words made her flush up to her ears—it must have been the tenth time that day. "Well, it's a big part of it, but it's not the only reason I want to go."
"But if it were the only reason you wanted to go, that would be perfectly legitimate. What else is there, then?"
Mòrag paused, taking a few of the less outrageous pieces and stashing them in her bag. Maybe it wasn't the worst idea the girls had ever had. At least they'd given them to her now and not four months ago. That would have made her melt into a puddle of embarrassment. Today, it was still outside her comfort zone, but they did mean well, in their own overexhuberant way. At least Kora hadn't demanded she try them on. Maybe, if she was feeling particularly brave one evening, she could use one of the classier sets. The others—Architect, some of them were embarrassing to even look at—those could stay here to be used later. Or burned.
"As happy as I am that I was able to sleep with him—no, relieved is the better word. Well, glad fits, too. Regardless, I'm not so foolish as to think that sex alone will suddenly turn our relationship into an idyllic romance," Mòrag continued. "We still have a lot to learn together, about each other. The fact remains that this was an arranged marriage. Yes, we've come a long way in the four months we've been living together, but much of that time has been absolute chaos. We...I haven't been able to give the relationship any attention. Now it's time to do that."
"It's still quite unlike you to simply up and leave at the drop of a hat. Especially with all that's going on."
"Spontaneity in moderation isn't such a bad thing, is it? I believe some time to ourselves will do us good. It will give us a chance to understand each other on a deeper level without the pressures of war and work breathing down our necks. And now that a child between us is a distinct possibility, it's a necessity that we do so." The blush faded from Mòrag's cheeks, replaced by her usual mature, businesslike expression. "...I don't know how quickly we'll conceive, Brighid. I-if it happens, whether that's soon or months from now, I want Zeke and I to be in a good place together. I already brought one child into the world with a complicated family. I don't want that to happen again. Not when I can help it."
"You don't need to put that kind of pressure on yourself, Mòrag. Let your relationship with him happen naturally. Don't treat it like a soldier's duty."
"But it is still my duty. Yes, it's a duty that I'm learning to enjoy, but that doesn't change the fact that Mor Ardain needs my relationship with Zeke to endure... I need it to last."
"You've come such a long way, Mòrag. It does my core good to see healing you like this," Brighid admitted.
Mòrag pulled her attention away from the suitcase and gave her Blade a rare but quick hug. "I never would have made it this far if not for you, Brighid. I owe you a greater debt than could ever be repaid. Thank you."
"It's not a debt, Mòrag. You owe me nothing. I'm just glad the Architect has finally seen fit to give you the peace you so desperately deserve."
"I just hope that nothing happens with the Aramach while we're away. Perhaps I'm just being paranoid after everything that's happened since the wedding, but I can't shake the fear that something will happen."
For a brief, passing moment, Brighid made an odd face. But it vanished with a quick shake of her head. "Relax. It's going to be fine. You're only feeling that way because you're unaccustomed to taking a leave of absence."
"I-I just feel...I don't know. I really want to go, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm being selfish by wanting that."
"You're not, Mòrag. Selfishness is not one of your vices. But if it puts your mind at ease, I will tend to the Emperor like a hawk. And if anything is amiss, I'll send for you immediately. I promise."
"...Thank you. I know he'll be in good hands."
Brighid never thought of herself as an indecisive person. But events of late had thrown her usual resolve into chaos. Each day passed into an existential crisis: to tell or not to tell.
For well over a decade, she'd longed to see this kind of healing in her Driver. And it seemed that as soon as Mòrag made the conscious decision to move on, that healing had come in a rush. There would probably be setbacks along the way, but progress was progress. And Mòrag had made a lot of it. They'd been gone for nearly two weeks already, and since there'd been no communication from either Zeke or Mòrag, it was fair to assume that they were enjoying their time away. No news was good news on that front.
But for Brighid, the more her Driver healed, the more miserable she herself became. Yes, her core thrummed with satisfaction at the thought that Mòrag was finally learning to be happy. Architect knew she deserved it. But the happier she got, the more terrible it seemed to Brighid to tell her the truth about Pachnall.
It was a cruel irony, really.
She should have told her before the duel. No, even earlier, when she'd first confirmed that the monster was still alive. Now it was too late. Mòrag had never been happier; to tell her the truth about her rapist as soon as she got from her honeymoon, of all things—it would be like slapping her Driver in the face. Or lighting her on fire and walking away.
Which left her with only one option: killing Pachnall herself before Mòrag could find out.
On that fact, she was resolved. As for how to manage such a feat, with the Aramach entrenched in a fire-hostile area and locked down by an Ardainian siege—
—Unfortunately, that was where Cor Baragh came in.
With all the business with Uraya, from the arrangements of the single combat duel to the peace talks, the extradited criminal had been mostly ignored, tucked safely away in the palace dungeons. There he would await his eventual trial. But luckily for Brighid, his trial and sentencing would be far enough away that she could get some information about him. And with no Mòrag around to question why she was questioning the prisoner, this was her best opportunity.
"Let me guess: they finally decided to have you come bump me off to spare the Empire the expense of a trial," Cor said bitterly.
"The Jewel of Mor Ardain's flames are too valuable for someone with your slimy skin, Baragh. You're not even worthy of being killed by me."
"You're a fiery one. Almost as fiery as your mistress. What is it you want? Or are you just here to gloat?"
"You were once affiliated with the Aramach, and yet you defected to save your own skin. You slipped out of their fortress in Crá Gleann."
Brighid didn't bother to phrase it as a question or a demand for information. She kept her flames in check, too. Something told her that Cor Baragh was not the kind of man who would be easily broken or intimidated. Her usual approach wouldn't work here. And she was short on time, too. If Mòrag and Zeke got home before she broke him, then Brighid would find herself in the throes of a very complicated conversation. The conversation would have to happen at this point. But if she could locate and kill Pachnall—or at least capture him—that conversation would be much easier.
"Yeah, I was there. What about it?"
"You know Pachnall, then."
"Yes. He's a manipulative bastard."
On that point, Brighid agreed with Baragh; hopefully she could play off that hostility.
"Indeed. Escaping a hideout he built—that had to have been quite the feat. How did you manage it?"
Cor paused. He twiddled his thumbs for a moment. "You want to know how to get in there, don't you? You might as well say so out loud."
"I said nothing of the sort."
"I know you think I'm scum, but you can drop the condescending act. Pachnall and I weren't exactly friends. And I can understand why you of all people would want him dead. I'm no fool. I put the pieces together."
There was no use hiding; if Cor knew enough to try to get Uraya to blackmail her Driver into a risky one-on-one duel, then he probably knew everything. How he learned that information, though...
"What all did he tell you?" Brighid asked. "Who else has he told?"
"He didn't even tell me. Not explicitly. I figured it out on my own."
"How?"
"Some young woman named Caelyn. He tortured her, used her to learn who the kid emperor belonged to. And then with the way he fixates on the Inquisitor—it only makes sense that she's his mother. Putting two and two together, I think I can gather why you'd want him dead."
"...I had a chance to kill him. I should have," Brighid began. Why was she even admitting this to Cor? She'd been so cautious to hide the truth for so long, only to spill her guts to a common criminal? Maybe it was that Cor, a man overflowing with shortcomings and failings, couldn't fault her for her own. But she continued anyway. "He hurt my Driver. He nearly ruined her. And in the one chance I had to make him pay—I did the right thing and let him go to trial. Which ultimately allowed him to escape. I will not let him come back to haunt her, even if I damn my own core to Morytha in the process."
"Which has brought you here. To me."
"His band of Aramach is completely entrenched in Crá Gleann. You're the only one who's gotten in or out without detection."
"Why would the Jewel of Mor Ardain want to avoid detection? Your Driver is the Flamebringer. She felled a Flesh Eater without you. Why bother with subtlety when you can simply raze it all?"
"Crá Gleann is a delicate region."
"But once you're on his airship, it doesn't matter. So why try to avoid detection?"
Brighid frowned. Of course he would ask that.
"Ah, I see what's going on here. You don't intend to take your Driver along. She doesn't know that he's alive, does she?"
"She knows that the leader of the Aramach is a force to be reckoned with. She does not know why."
"So you've come to me. What makes me think I would help you? Sure, I hate Pachnall, but that doesn't mean I didn't have any friends in there. He still has my Blade, too. So if I'm to betray those old mates, you'll have to give me more than a pretty speech. Can you make me some sort of deal? Help me avoid the firing squad?"
"...I'd be hard pressed to convince anyone to reduce the severity of your sentence. Lady Mòrag least of all. I wouldn't be surprised if she wanted to execute you herself," Brighid sighed.
In normal circumstances, a deal for a criminal like Cor in exchange for the leader of a crime syndicate—typically, the Empire might cut a deal for such valuable information. But any such bargain would need approval from the Emperor. Niall might be convinced, but there was no way to keep the young sovereign from telling his Inquisitor about it.
Cor stared at her expectantly.
"If your information pans out, I promise I'll do what I can to improve your sentence," she said at last. "I swear on my core."
"So, you expect me to betray the most dangerous man on Elysium on account of nothing more than an empty promise? Swearing on your core? Surely you have a better appeal than that."
Brighid resisted the urge to smack him with two blazing hands. "I would try to appeal to your humanity, but since you show no remorse, I'm afraid that isn't an option."
Cor spat. "As if a Blade has any right to appeal to humanity. You're not even a human yourself."
That gained him a sharp slap. His cheek gleamed red from both the impact and the fire. Blisters bubbled at the skin where her palm struck hardest.
"I am more human than you can ever possibly hope to be!" she exclaimed, barely reining in her temper. "The joys, the heartbreaks, the bonds, the loss—I have lived it all. I have watched people like you toy with the lives of people like Mòrag and the Emperor. I have seen firsthand the ruin your kind cause. Ten women, Cor. Ten. If you could see the devastation you'd caused those innocent women, if you had wept and cried with them and tried to snatch them from the brink of self-destruction...if you saw what I've seen, you'd do anything to bring the man responsible to justice."
"I'm not going to off myself on account of a little guilt."
"Not even your death could pay adequate recompense for what you did, Baragh. You've acted like a monster. But help me infiltrate Pachnall's hideout, and you can do something good for once. You can prove to yourself that there's some small shred of humanity deep within yourself."
"...Fine. I'll tell you what I know." Cor said at last. "But not because I give a damn about conscience or humanity."
"Why, then?"
"Because I hate Pachnall. And I also hate Mor Ardain, especially you and your precious Inquisitor. If you all want to tear each other apart, I'm not going to stand in the way. It'll be fun to watch."
Not exactly the answer she was hoping for, but it would have to do. "Start talking."
"Are you sure we shouldn't get some dinner first? Your stomach has been growling for nearly an hour now."
"There's just a little bit left in this chapter, right? And it's the last one. Keep going."
Mòrag nodded and took a swig of water before continuing. When Zeke had first asked her to read aloud to him, it had seemed silly. After all, it would have been faster for him to read the book silently on his own. But when he'd sweetly said he enjoyed the story more when it came from her voice, it had been hard to refuse him. And there was something soothing about lying there in the grass with her head in his lap while he reclined against a tree, listening. The waves lapping against the nearby provided the perfect backdrop, too. It almost reminded her of the days she used to read aloud to Niall after a day playing in Lake Yewtle.
The book itself—her childhood favorite recounting of Emperor Hugo's life—had proven to be quite the conversation starter for them from page one. The first chapter sparked a conversation about childhoods in their respective countries, from methods of teaching and discipline to national traditions. Chapter three prompted them to discuss education and combat training. The ninth led to recounting the stories of their first resonances with their Blades (unsurprisingly, Zeke's story was markedly more dramatic). The eleventh chapter brought them to compare and contrast Addam and Hugo, from their favorite foods to fighting styles, and of course, why Tantal idolized the former and Mor Ardain the latter.
Thanks to those discussions, it had taken them more than two weeks to work through the story. But Mòrag didn't mind. Fonsett was hypnotic, and even before they'd reached Elysium, it had soothed her unlike any other locale. Today, with a new sense of security, both from an unsinkable continent and this new, still-budding relationship, she felt more at ease than she'd ever thought possible. Mor Ardain, the duties of the Special Inquisitor, even training for combat—the tides pulled all the worries away. For now, this was all that mattered.
Today's chapter, however, hadn't sparked much discussion—at least, not for the moment. It was far too somber:
Even over the settling rubble, the young emperor could still be heard, gasping for breath. If injustice had a sound, it was those choked exhales—the splutters as the air found no purchase in his punctured lungs.
"Brighid. Aegaeon. Forgive me," Hugo coughed. "For you to fall like this...I'm sorry. You deserve a more glorious end than this."
The Jewels looked at each other, each taking one of their Driver's hands in their own. There was so much that could be said: it was the Aegis's fault, and yet, it wasn't. Mythra had lost herself in a haze of grief and agony, not knowing that her rampage tore apart friend and foe alike. But at the same time, the Aegis knowingly did what was necessary to stop Malos's deadlier rampage. If their places had been exchanged, the Jewels would have done the same.
Mythra was not to blame. Malos was. But by some cruel irony, the only one begging for forgiveness was their own master, a proud king who'd been reduced to collateral damage.
Hugo never even flinched—not even when his petite frame took the full assault of the Tornan Titan's exploding core. Mor Ardain firmly believed that in a moment of crisis, one's true colors would be revealed. And Emperor Hugo's colors were the noblest of them all: the deep crimson of heroism. Throwing himself in front of Prince Addam had been more natural than breathing.
Hugo was dying. They all were.
Normally, that thought would scare a human. It ought to frighten a Blade, too. But for the Emperor and his Jewels, there was no fear. Hugo's heroic actions left his Blades too stunned, too awed to be angry. Too grateful that they had the honor of serving such a gallant Driver. Yes, it had been a short life. But it was a good one. For Blades, it was never in the number of days lived, nor the splendor of the final battle. The best of a life came in the quality of the days lived—and each day with Hugo was an honor.
If only Hugo could see what it meant to them to be his right hand and his left. What it meant them to serve the great Empire.
Aegaeon spoke first. "To fall the same day as Malos...to return to my core as a hero's Blade...I can think of no end more glorious, Your Majesty. I would gladly die a thousand deaths like this at your side."
"You will go down in history as the greatest warrior king the Empire has ever had. Mor Ardain will sing your praises for generations," Brighid added.
Hugo coughed again. His face was even paler now, and his eyelids flickered.
"I always wanted...to put myself on the line. I never needed the Empire to remember me," he gasped. "All I want now...is for my Blades to remember me. To be forgotten by...the ones I loved most—"
That was always the hardest part about dying.
"We won't really forget you," Brighid said reassuringly, even though tears lined the edge of her voice. "I've recorded all these adventures in my journals. I'll read them again, and I'll tell Aegaeon everything we did. You will always have a place in our cores, Your Majesty."
"I wonder...will I be able to see you as part of the great ether stream?" Another cough, weaker this time. "Or will my soul fade within that river of those who've gone before?"
"'A Driver and Blade are one in body and soul,'" Brighid recited. "If your soul joins the great ether stream, so do ours. Our bodies might remain here, but we will always be with you."
"No matter what," Aegaeon added.
Hugo managed a small smile, sighed peacefully, and died a hero.
"It's a bit more melodramatic than I remember it being when I was younger," Mòrag said at last. "But that was one of my favorite stories."
"I can see why," Zeke commented, slipping a hand into hers now that she'd put the book down. "It's gotta be weird to read about Brighid like this."
"The first time I read it, I never expected she'd be bonded with me. But she's so different in this lifetime that it's hard to even consider her the same person."
"...She certainly seems less harsh with Mythra in this go-round."
"Does Tantal have any stories or legends with Pandoria in them? I know she's an heirloom of sorts."
Zeke shook his head. "Nope. Our only real folklore is Addam. Not that that's surprising. Everyone has their own heroes, eh?"
Her free hand found its way to his cheek. He smiled at the touch; her thumb traced one of his dimples. The fear that this was all too good to be true was gradually vanishing, just as the bitter voice was fading into the back of her memory. It surfaced now and then, but Mòrag found it hard to hear it anymore. The good memories they'd built over the last few weeks overpowered it.
Maybe they'd never have a perfect, fairytale relationship like Rex and Pyra and Mythra. They would probably still have their fights, and maybe there would be days when the past refused to be forgotten. But somehow, thanks to Zeke, that past didn't seem quite as scary or shameful anymore.
Everyone had their own heroes indeed.
"I think I might have found mine," she whispered.
His stomach growled again, gurgling beside her ear. Maybe it was time to be getting back to the cabin they'd borrowed, courtesy of Rex and his Blades. Corrine had probably left some food outside for them (Rex's aunt had insisted on dropping off meals each day, despite their protests otherwise). And perhaps it was time to head back home, too.
"How long have we been away, exactly?" she asked at last, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.
"I'm not sure. I think it's getting close to three weeks."
Three. Such a long vacation, but it had gone by so fast. Brighid never sent word, so Niall must have been all right alone during the peace talks. It would be easy to stay another three weeks, reveling in that haze of both passion and relaxation. She wasn't quite sure which she liked more: the sex or the simple pleasure of being on an overindulgently long vacation. But at least only one of those things had to come to an end.
"You miss Niall, don't you?"
Zeke was getting quite adept at reading her facial expressions.
"I've been away from him for far longer than this before."
"I don't mind if you do, you know. He's still your kid. I'm not going to be jealous if you want to be back with him."
"...I've given your offer a lot of thought. If anyone found out about him—would you still be willing to adopt him?"
"I meant every word."
"...If it ever comes to that, then we'll do it. But only if Niall agrees."
"You got it."
Hopefully it never came to that. But if it did...having someone to share the burden wouldn't be so bad.
