"You should slow down, Oruo. I'm sure there's more in the kitchen," Gunther said, trying to balance a plate on his knee while simultaneously sawing at a drippingly juicy chop. Petra, Oruo, and Gunther had all occupied the window alcove nearest the buffet table, waiting for Eld to show. Petra eyed the flurry of movement on the ballroom floor. Her feet itched to dance, but…well, when did the Survey Corps ever get meat? She was trying to finish a dish of pheasant and roast vegetables with as much dignity as possible. There was wild boar back there, too, and venison. Not to mention the desserts, chocolate cream and spun sugar, apple tarts…
At this rate, she'd spend the whole night eating. Not that it would be a terrible fate…
Oruo snorted at Gunther, wearing a disdainful expression; he had a medallion of lamb clamped between his teeth. "Ah uhm da beh ay-ur ih da odd," he said, before tearing a chunk off the bone.
"What?" Gunther said.
"He's the best fighter in the squad," Petra translated. She narrowed her eyes at Oruo. "And you are not. You're just the biggest show off."
"With the most solo kills." Oruo jerked his chin, much like Levi sometimes did. "Tch. Naturally, you brats would try to tear down a man of my stature."
"Brats? Oruo, we're nearly the same age."
"I'm actually older," Gunther said.
"Tch. Older, but not wiser." Oruo belched. Petra and Gunther glanced at each other.
"I think all the meat's going to your head," Petra muttered.
"Hah, you wish you were…going…to my head," Oruo finished, with a confident flourish of his hand. He knocked a flute of sparkling wine off a waiter's tray, earning them all a dark look.
"Where's Eld?" Gunther sighed.
"Why don't you stop acting so self-important?" Petra placed her hands on her hips; Oruo always made her feel like they were children again playing house, with her as the exhausted wife and him as the annoying combination of husband/baby/dog. "Captain Levi doesn't act that way."
Petra's eyes darted around the ballroom once more, for good measure. Her heart sank when she didn't find the captain glowering in a corner or skulking around in search of wine. Every year at the gala, he'd sneer and scowl and drink and never dance. It maybe wasn't a great tradition, but it was one she enjoyed nevertheless. But they'd been at the ball for over half an hour, and he wasn't here.
"I don't imitate the captain." Oruo thumped his chest. "I think the captain imitates me. He's that impressed!"
"Lamb juice is dripping onto your cravat," Gunther deadpanned. Oruo's shriek was unexpectedly high and shrill. As he busied himself with cleaning up, Petra finally caught sight of Eld through the crowd. She waved, and he raised his hand in reply. Petra grinned when she saw the blonde woman hooked onto Eld's arm.
"Sorry we're late. Katrina's coach was delayed." Eld smiled at them all, and clasped hands with Gunther. Katrina, golden-haired and green-eyed, bent down to hug Petra hello. "I just wish she could stay in the barracks," Eld grumbled, snaking his arm around his fiancée's waist. "I don't get to see her enough." He stood fully behind the girl, both his hands on her stomach. Eld nuzzled back the curtain of hair and murmured the last sentence in Katrina's ear. She giggled.
"Would you behave when we're in public?" she said gleefully.
Petra felt a twinge of jealousy mixed in with deep happiness for her friend. What would it be like to love someone that loved you back, and to be so…openly affectionate? Petra didn't mean to slide into melancholy, but her eyes drifted to the floor. The captain would never feel as she did, and even if by some wild chance he could…in such a case, they'd have to choose between being comrades and lovers.
Petra blinked. Not that there's any chance of you being lovers. Petra! Honestly.
She was knocked out of her thoughts—literally—when Oruo stumbled into her. Petra cursed, flailed her arms, and steadied herself against the wall. "Oruo, if you tore this dress, you're dead," she snapped. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing! Just showing Eld and Katrina my spin for the final dance. Isn't that your favorite, Petra?" He lifted an eyebrow. "The Marian Waltz?"
Oh no. The Marian Waltz was the absolute highlight of the midwinter gala. Named for one of the three goddesses, it was a beautiful combination of classical waltz with more, well, intimate steps. The man lifted the woman, spun her in a circle; the woman hooked her arm around the man's neck and drew their faces close. It was the most romantic tradition of all. Petra had danced it with Gunther last year, both of them grinning throughout at the silliness. Every year, Petra strained to see if the captain would dance. Every year, he did not.
But if Oruo were practicing…then…
"What do you say?" Oruo's eyes were half-lidded. He leaned in. Petra didn't know whether to say nothing, laugh, or push him over and run for it. "This year, how about you and m—"
And then, somehow, Oruo bit his tongue. Hard.
"How? You weren't even on a horse. You weren't moving!" Eld sounded exasperated. Gunther offered a napkin, which Oruo held to his lips while whimpering. "Is that blood?"
"Maybe your tongue's too big for your mouth," Gunther observed.
"We should get some ice." Eld paused. "Eventually."
Katrina grabbed Petra's hand. "Come on. Don't look back. Hurry."
Stifling giggles, the two women pushed through the buffet crowd and made it to the edge of the floor. There, finally, they collapsed against each other in laughter. Petra's stomach hurt; her eyes blurred with tears.
"Th-that was mean of us." She wiped her cheeks. Katrina shook her head, hair tumbling around her shoulders.
"I couldn't watch something that tragic happen to you. You need a different partner for the Marian."
"I'm sure I'll find someone." Petra sighed, looked around. Lord Morgenstern's ballroom was a sight to behold. The walls were all mirrored, reflecting the colorful panoply of dancers. Almost everyone was dressed in some shade of crimson or forest green, with a splash of gold and silver sprinkled throughout the crowd. Katrina stood out in a rose-colored dress, but she was the type to automatically draw every admiring eye. Several chandeliers cast buttery light from the domed ceiling. On a raised platform musicians played, guiding the dancers in a spirited folk number. Large fir trees bright with glass bulbs and candles stood sentry in every corner, and fragrant garlands of winter flowers hung from the ceiling. It smelled like a forest in here, and Petra thought of the forests beyond the wall. Forests filled with titans, danger…freedom. The scent of pine stirred in her feelings of the most exquisite joy and terror.
Katrina squeezed her elbow. "I have to get back to Eld. Don't worry; I'll give Oruo a couple glasses of wine. He'll be asleep in no time."
Yes, that would be classic Oruo. "Thank you." Petra winked, and went back to studying the room. Many young men were lined up on the opposite side, and she bounced on her toes. Petra loved to dance, and never had any real opportunity. She needed to savor every chance she got; after all, this could be her final gala. As a Survey Corps member, you never knew which expedition would be your last. The thought used to fill her with panic. Now, it barely registered.
Should I really feel that way when I'm only twenty-one? Petra shivered. Sometimes she wondered if they were all freaks in the Survey Corps, really. The idea of that made her feel very lonely.
Adrift in a sea of strangers, Petra looked up and caught someone's eye from across the room. He was a tall, young man. Quite handsome, with reddish-brown hair and broad shoulders. There was no mistake; he was staring intently at Petra. As their gazes met, he nodded. He smiled. He…
"Hello, Levi Squad person!" Petra jumped in surprise as a tall, gangly woman in a dark blue gown nearly collapsed in front of her. Hange Zoë towered over Petra, arms akimbo, a giant grin on her face. She adjusted the goggles over her nose. Apparently, she never took them off. Maybe not even for sleep. "Er, Petra. Petra! How are you?"
"Ah, I'm fine, Squad Leader." Petra let Hange shake her hand. The older woman nearly took Petra's arm off in her enthusiasm.
"Sorry! Part of an experiment." Hange tilted her head to the side, swinging her unkempt ponytail of brown hair. The warm scent of wine clung to her. "This year, I thought I'd ascertain how many alcoholic beverages I need to consume before unlocking maximum social dexterity. I believe I may have achieved the desired result already!"
"That's wonderful." Petra smiled. "How many drinks?"
Hange held up four fingers. "Three!"
Moblit skidded to a halt beside them, puffing his cheeks out. Sweat glistened on his forehead; his collar had been loosened. "Squad Leader. You must drink coffee!"
"Next up: to achieve successful seduction." Hange clapped Petra on the shoulder. "Wish me luck, Oruo!"
"I'm Petra."
"Yes!" Hange barreled off, making a beeline for a man and woman a few feet away. The man was tall and looked bewildered; the woman, blonde and even more bewildered. Moblit whimpered, gazing at Petra with lost, puppy dog eyes.
"She still won't put her underwear on!" he moaned, and scampered after his boss.
"Okay," Petra said to no one, and shook her head. She glanced back to that handsome young man, only to find he'd disappeared. She sighed, ignoring the slight freefall of her stomach. The captain still was not here, and Hange had chased her most viable dance partner away. She'd looked forward to this gala for months, and now—
"May I join you?" a low voice asked. Petra turned and gazed up into the eyes (a startling green) of the man from across the room. Her heart sped up. There was no denying how attractive he was. His square jaw was clean-shaven, his nose a distinguished aquiline. The cut of his gray silk suit was expensive; Nifa could probably tell her exactly how much it cost. Petra's toes curled in her shoes. She felt her face heat.
"Ah. Yes," she said at last, grateful she hadn't stammered.
"Would you like a drink?" His voice was musical, she thought. Not as musical as the captain's, but…
Stop thinking about him. Petra forced herself not to scan the ranks for Levi yet again. Instead, she focused on this new, extremely handsome, very nameless person.
"Yes. Thank you," she said. With a mere nod, the man summoned a waiter. He plucked two flutes of sparkling wine, gave one to Petra, and clinked glasses with her. Petra took a deep swallow, the alcohol warming her gut and buzzing in her veins. Her heart fluttered once more.
"I don't know you. If you're not from around here, you must be a soldier." He gave a shining smile, white with teeth. "Garrison?"
"Survey Corps."
His eyebrows lifted. "Dangerous work. I'm impressed."
He hadn't said 'too dangerous for a cute little thing like you', a line Petra had heard before. She perked up.
"And what do you do?" she asked softly. Taking another sip for courage, she guessed. "Are you…a lord?"
He grinned wider. "Kind of a lord. Karl Morgenstern, at your service." He bowed at the waist, and kissed Petra's hand with a quick brush of lips. A respectful gesture, but romantic as well. Petra felt her blush deepen.
"Morgenstern? So this is—"
"My family house. My father's." He drank. "It's a shame you didn't go into the Military Police; we might have seen one another around."
"I could have joined the MPs." Why not brag a little? She'd graduated at the top of her training class, after all. "But I wanted to see what was beyond the walls."
"And do you regret such a daring choice?" Karl asked. He seemed genuinely interested. His eyes scanned her body, and Petra could feel his approval. His notice of her in that dress. It was the look she would have dreamed of, done anything for, from…
She swallowed, and put the captain aside. He wasn't here. He didn't care.
"I…I try never to regret anything." She raised her eyes to his. "The only thing you can do…is to make the best choice you can, and live with the consequences."
Karl was still, and Petra wondered if that answer had been too serious. But then he tilted his head back, and laughed.
"Now I have to claim the most interesting woman at this party for a dance." He took Petra's empty glass, handed it off to a passing waiter. Then, he extended his large hand for hers. "May I have the honor, Miss?"
She hadn't given him her name. She swallowed, glanced to her left to find Oruo with his arms crossed, glowering at her. Beside him, Eld and Katrina beamed, and nodded vigorously. Yes. Do it.
This young lord-to-be wanted to dance with her. He thought she was interesting. And she knew, without looking, that the captain would still be absent. Sighing, Petra placed her hand into Karl Morgenstern's.
"Petra Ral." She smiled. "It would be an honor to dance with you."
Erwin Smith was surrounded by money. He did not see lords and ladies in fashionable attire when he gazed around the ballroom. He saw great, fat sacks of coin. He'd just finished having a chat with Lady Schellhardt, an especially overdressed, gaudy sack herself. He had given this lady the perfect impression that he'd been at all interested in her, her husband, their five wolfhounds, their two ginger cats, and a new solarium they were building on their lush, extensive grounds. Once a year, Erwin smartened himself up and courted these disgusting bags of cash, hating himself with a smile on his face.
The Survey Corps needed extra donations from interested backers, or they would never have the necessary equipment. Erwin had whispered that to himself in the mirror tonight while buttoning his shirt and cufflinks. Perpetually underfunded, the Corps had to beg in order to stay afloat. The fact that they had to constantly scramble for new soldiers—their fatality rates were better than they had been in the past, but still too high—did not help matters.
"Did you squeeze any juice from that overripe piece of fruit?" Dot Pixis appeared at Erwin's elbow. The man was old, wrinkled and bald, yet had the most amazing, youthful blue eyes. Some said Pixis was eccentric; occasionally, Erwin thought he might be the last sane man on earth. They had their backs to the room, so no one could even read their lips. Erwin fought against a chuckle.
"Lady Schellhardt is always generous," he said evenly. He sipped his whiskey; it was, of course, excellent. "She says she must be, on account of my mother."
Pixis tsked. "Ah, well-born mothers are excellent things to have. Or, sometimes, to lose."
The corner of Erwin's mouth twitched. "I had to hear once again how she'd "married down" with my father. But at least it was a love match, the lady added."
Erwin hated being in Wall Sina. Hated it with every pulse of blood in his body. After his father's death he'd been raised by his aunt and uncle in Mitras, instructed in the rigors of being a gentleman. He had become adept at concealing his thoughts from a young age, hiding his beliefs, his hopes, his passions and his terrors. Sometimes, he wondered if he was even real. If he even knew what he wanted.
No. He wanted one thing, one clear thing. An answer to the mysteries of their world.
No small request, that.
"Looks like your Survey Corps girls are turning the younger gentlemen's heads," Pixis noted, giving a wry laugh. He pulled out a silver flask and took a pull. There was no explaining to the Garrison Commander that he could have all the expensive liquor he wanted tonight. He stuck to his bathtub gin.
Erwin gazed at the dance floor. Indeed, he saw Nanaba taking some Lord's clumsy son for a waltz. Nifa had scored a handsome blond fellow. Hange…well, Hange appeared to be dancing with two people, a man and woman. He shook his head in bemusement. There was even Levi's girl, the little redhead.
Erwin's eyebrows lifted. She'd taken their host's son's attention. Impressive. Instantly, his mind whirred with how to turn that to the Corps's advantage. Nothing despicable, of course. But…he had to consider these things.
Erwin felt less guilty about sending his men to die in a titan's jaws than he did using them as bait for the idle rich. At least out in the forest, they knew who the monsters were.
He smiled to think how irate Levi would be to discover Erwin embroiling young Ral in his schemes. Erwin, why do you bow to these pigs? Let them wallow in their own rich person shit. That's all they're good for.
The captain was the bluntest, least charming man Erwin had ever known.
The best man.
"Well, here comes Dok." Pixis stoppered his flask. "I'm off to drink alone, and then try to tempt some pretty young thing onto my knee. With my luck, I'll bag her grandmother." Pixis clapped Erwin on the shoulder.
"Try not to drink all of it," Erwin said lightly. Pixis whinnied a laugh as he strolled away, and Erwin gave the first genuine smile of the night. "Nile. Always a pleasure."
"Erwin." The two men clasped hands in greeting. "It's been too long. If you'd ever get out of titan country for a few days and come to the interior—"
"Well, I'm here now." Erwin tried not to feel saddened whenever he saw Nile. Sometimes he succeeded. They'd been two young men, still just boys, when they'd dreamed of a world beyond the wall. But plans had changed. Nile's dreams had changed.
The Military Police, of all things. Erwin had noticed those men and women tonight, how they hovered around the wealthy guests, not their fellow soldiers in the Garrison or Survey Corps. Sometimes, uncharitably, Erwin thought of the MPs as the controllers for the rich. Attack dogs in service of the elite.
But Nile hadn't become an MP for power. He'd done it for a much more ridiculous, delightful reason.
"Tell me," Erwin said, "how's—"
The question lodged itself in his throat as a tall, blonde woman in an elegant blue gown sidled up. She bowed her head, and extended her hand.
"Hello, Commander Smith." She gave the impression of a smile.
"Hello, Marie." He took her hand, kissed it. The blood rushed in his ears, and he wondered if he was imagining things or if he really smelled rosemary on her, the herbs from the garden in her apartment window, the slant of afternoon light on her wooden kitchen table. Canvases stretched across easels. Rumpled sheets. He straightened at once, and gazed at her left earlobe. That made it easier to concentrate. "It's been too long."
"Yes." She turned to Nile—to her husband. He, lucky fool, looked at the woman in blissful adoration. "Darling, can we get something to eat? I'm starving."
"Of course. Erwin." Nile nodded. "Talk later?"
"Until then." Erwin did not look at Marie as he bowed one last time. He closed his eyes as he felt the air move in her passage, as he believed he could smell that rosemary in her hair even though it was a delusion. Had to be.
He started at the slim press of paper in his hand, but did not give her away. Erwin curled his fist, and waited until Nile and his wife were gone before he opened the note.
One hour. The library.
Please.
Erwin hissed in a breath as he crumpled the paper and shoved it into his pocket.
"Commander Smith?" someone said behind him. Erwin turned to find a storklike servant in black livery worrying his thin hands. Erwin frowned; this man looked pale as the underside of a mushroom.
"Yes?"
"Lord Siegfried requests your urgent appearance." The man worried his hands harder. "I can't stress how important it is, sir."
"What's wrong?" Erwin wasn't overly concerned. Likely some of his soldiers had grown rowdy and urinated in a priceless vase. That had happened before. Twice.
But Erwin froze at the man's next words.
"It's Captain Levi, sir."
"Viktor and I often spent time in the underground," Siegfried said, pacing over to the window and peering behind the curtain. Maybe he was checking to see if it was snowing. Maybe he was doing anything he could not to look at Levi's damn face.
Meet your father. The words were still bowling around his skull. Like this was natural. He supposed it was natural to have a father, and to meet him at some point.
"As I was saying, Viktor has always had…appetites. He was always a man of action. I'm more of an observer myself." Siegfried petted the book he was holding like a beloved dog. Levi's eyes tracked to the thing. "He frequented the underground brothels, but then he discovered Olympia." Siegfried nodded. "I must say, Captain, the resemblance between your mother and yourself is astounding."
His mother, laughing while she hung out the laundry. Hiding tears from him. Lying in bed, all her breath gone, still as wood, cold as clay.
"How?" Levi croaked. Good, he was regaining some of his damn mind. "How do you know I'm…his?"
"Viktor spent…a great deal of time with Olympia in the winter and spring of 815. Thirty-four years ago. And as you've said, Captain, you were born—"
Levi snorted. "Look, not to be indelicate, but my mother was popular." He gritted his teeth. Popular to normal people meant men fawning over Kuchel, taking her to tea, kissing her glove. Popular to Levi meant shrieking bedsprings and communicable diseases. "Before she had me, I'm sure she was doing even better business. So no matter how many times your brother over here shot his load, we can't know for a fact he was the one who knocked her up. After all, there's no family resemblance between us. I look like my mother, after all."
Levi wasn't used to talking this much. His breathing felt weird.
"An astute observation, Captain. However, I did not fully clarify the transactional nature of their relationship." Siegfried cleared his throat, tugged his collar with a long, pale finger. "My brother was so taken with young Olympia that he removed her from the brothel. From the end of January until the beginning of April of that year, she resided here. With us. She was given her own room, and kept on hand for my brother's…personal entertainment."
Levi could not feel his toes or his hands any longer. No. No. He was no scientist like Hange, but he knew how basic biology worked. His mother had gotten pregnant with him sometime in March, and if she'd spent the entire month here, with only one customer…
Shouldn't this make me happy? After all, when he'd been living on the streets of the underground with a thousand other scummy urchins, hadn't they all had half-hearted fantasies of their parents being rich, powerful nobility? Someone who could, with a snap of their fingers, elevate their kids to the topside, to fine meals and soft beds? How many kids had dreamed of something like this? And for Levi, it was looking like a possible reality.
And to have a father…any father…was more than he could've ever hoped. But…
Kept on hand for my brother's personal entertainment. His mother, so young, thinking she'd escaped that underground hell. Living here with a window and sunshine, sucking a rich older man's dick, so fucking grateful to have been saved. And then when the bubble went off the wine, the guy had her carted back to the underground, tossed into the refuse heap with the rest of the disposables. Hatred, pure and undiluted, coursed through Levi's veins and pumped in his heart. He clenched his fists.
"So what? When he found out she was pregnant, he threw her away?"
"I assure you, if Viktor had guessed Olympia was carrying his child—"
"What? He'd have married her? Made me his heir? How fucking stupid do you think I am?" Levi knew his voice was getting loud. Siegfried winced. But he didn't care. "I'd have been a scrape job. They would've cut me out, then gotten rid of her. Don't pretend otherwise."
Siegfried was silent for a long moment. "This isn't how I wanted our first meeting to proceed," he said softly.
"And her name was Kuchel, all right? Not Olympia. Kuchel." He didn't know why that detail mattered so much to him, but he'd put his fist through the wall if he had to listen to this thin, gray man say Olympia one more time. "Besides, how do I even know this is true?" His thoughts stopped colliding with one another; he was able to think. "Yeah. All I've got to go on is the fact that you knew my mother's fake name and her profession. People know who I am. Finding out that information'd be tough, but not impossible. This is a trick." Relief flooded his body. "Some play you're making I can't even understand. I should punt your balls into your throat for that, but Erwin'd get pissy. Whatever you want, you're not getting it." Levi turned for the door. "Be fucking grateful I'm letting you off this easy."
"Captain, there's something you should see before you leave." Siegfried sounded like he was trying to soothe a kid throwing a tantrum. Levi gritted his teeth. "Your feelings are entirely right. This situation is absurd. Only an imbecile would make such a claim without proof. But." He sighed. "I have proof, Captain."
Almost against his will, Levi turned to find Siegfried behind him, the book open and in his hands. Levi looked down at the page…and his mouth fell open.
"Oh," he whispered. Without thinking, he took the book and cradled it. There she was. There she was.
Someone had sketched a perfect likeness of his mother. Her raven hair fell before her eyes. A smile shaped her mouth. One hand rested on her collarbone. At the lower right hand corner of the page, someone had written Olympia, Mar. 16 815
"She was an exquisite woman," Siegfried said.
"Where'd you get this?"
"My brother was a prolific sketch artist and diarist. There are shelves of his writings and drawings in the library below; a whole life encompassed in work." Siegfried tsked. "To think he's now an invalid. There's a dark poetry to it, I suppose. Such a mind reduced to nothing."
His mother. Levi had not seen her in thirty years. But he knew that this was her, captured perfectly. He walked away from Siegfried towards the bed, still looking at that portrait. Levi didn't know how to feel. He didn't know what to do.
He, who always knew exactly what needed to be done. He glanced quietly at the old man in the bed. Father. The idea of it…
Half-dreaming, Levi turned the page. Perhaps there'd be more…
"Ah, Captain. Wait. I should—"
Levi froze, because his mother was on the next page.
He didn't stop to take in every detail, but what he saw seared itself into his brain.
Kuchel, blindfolded. A gag in her mouth. Her spine contorted, her bare breasts pushed forward. Rope tied around her body, holding her arms out on either side.
On animal impulse, he flipped the page and found Kuchel still naked, sprawled out on her back, a man's head nestled between her spread thighs.
Levi dropped the book to the carpet. Siegfried collected it with a soft sound of apology.
"As I've said, my brother had…appetites. He sometimes had his servants pleasure her, though they were not permitted to finish inside—"
"Shut the fuck up." Levi clutched the side of the bed to help him stand, and gazed down at Lord Morgenstern once again. This time, the man's eyelids flickered. He snorted, then appeared to snap to consciousness. He turned rheumy eyes to Levi, and focused intently. The light of wonder sparked in his expression.
"O-Olym-ya," he slurred. A clawed, arthritic hand trembled as it reached for Levi. "Oh. Ohlympa."
No. No. No.
"Captain. Please remember that, as a member of our family, you stand to gain a great deal. Would it be possible to make peace with the manner of your conception?" Siegfried spoke softly, like he was cutting out the corners on a sharp deal.
Levi snatched the book from his hands. For a second, he thought dispassionately about using the thing to beat the old man in the bed to death. Instead, Levi calmly walked to the window, thrust the curtains aside, opened the glass, and tossed the book to the snowy yard below. Siegfried said nothing. Finished, Levi faced him.
"Stay the fuck away from me, or I swear to the walls or the goddesses or whatever the shit you believe in that I'll tear his head off and toss it out after the book." He said it as cool as if he'd asked for the time. "Think I'm lying? Find out."
With that, Levi strode out of the room and took the stairs to the first floor. Music bled through the walls. The murmur of the ballroom crowd remained a constant background noise. Levi stopped at the bottom step, and for one instant clung to the banister.
"Please," he whispered to whoever would listen. His face crumpled in pain. "Please, no."