Author's Note: Sorry to inform you all, but this is the last update for the next week or so. During Spring Break I'm going to be on a remote island where the height of electricity is basically a table lamp. Ah, the joys of camp. Sorry about this, but it will resume normally the Wednsday after next! Thank you, and Happy White Day!
"Suspicious Spouse"
Weeks passed in Rinae's palace with little change – save for the sanctioned solitude the two sky pirates now found themselves in. It had been nearly a fortnight since Drenne's last encounter with Balthier, and she wondered how he was faring. She, herself, could say little to say of her condition. She had been fed well and provided with clothes, though she ate only when she needed to and changed only when her current garb was sullied and reeked with sweat – something she did solely to anger Rinae.
She harbored a deep concern in the pit of her stomach, which had been proved right the other night when Rinae had summoned her to dinner to make an announcement. She, of course, had eaten nothing. When he had finished dining and wiped his lips, he gave her an unnerving look and told her the news she had been dreading: for the past few weeks he had been preparing a wedding ceremony. She could hardly fathom when he planned to hold it, but noting the number of people bustling through the halls the past few days, she had to assume soon.
It was thus that Drenne reached the end of her rope. When the seamstress came into her room that afternoon to take her measurements, Drenne frightened her off by waving a chair around haphazardly. When the woman left, Drenne was pleased – in her hand, she held the bobby pins meant to keep her hair up. Instead, she intended to use them to pick the locks of her chamber.
Having done so, Drenne presently snuck down the halls with practiced stealth. They were devoid of guards for the past few nights, she knew, for they were all being briefed (at every waking hour, it seemed) on security preparations for the ceremony. Ducking behind pillars and into alcoves, she furtively made her way to the west wing. Stealing a cautious glance around, she made quick work of the thirteen locks barring the entrance to Balthier's chamber.
Sidling in and quietly shutting the door behind her, Drenne peered into the darkness. Stumbling to the nightstand, she took a match from the drawer and lit the lamp, illuminating the larger portion of the room. She saw Balthier lying flat in his bed, eyes closed and sickly pale.
"Balthier?" she asked, nudging him awake.
His lids drifted open lethargically, lips splitting into a slight grin at the sight of her. The firelight flickered across his face, illuminating his rather enunciated cheekbones. "Well, if it isn't the bride herself."
"You know?" she asked, and then reprimanded herself. Instead, she replaced the question with another. "You look ghastly. What have they been feeding you?"
Heaving himself up, he leaned back against the headboard. "Little to nothing."
Again, Drenne scolded herself. "I should have brought you something. Damn me!"
Balthier shook his head. "You couldn't have known." He changed the subject, his eyes weary. "So, you're to become Lady Dimarcus, I hear."
Drenne's features contorted into disgust. "Not if I've a say in the matter. I'll sooner die than become the wife of that misogynistic pig."
"With all due respect," Balthier reasoned, "I'd rather he die than you."
She grinned. "Oh, so you do like me?"
He shrugged. "Only a little."
"So," she wondered, "the question now is how I go about dispatching of Lord Dimarcus."
At that, Balthier grinned. "As it happens, the days leading up to your ceremony must be quite arduous, as the guards in the last week have been lax and loose-lipped."
"Oh?" she asked, interest perking.
He nodded. "They've been hovering outside my door, speaking of some fabled dagger the good lord has stowed away in the treasury."
Drenne smiled. "Is that so?"
"Quite," he affirmed, mirroring her contentment. "They've also said that of all the many renovations he's made to the palace since receiving his title, he hasn't made any to the lower levels." He waved a hand airily. "You know, those unimportant things like dungeons, storage rooms, treasuries."
"Now, that's a shame," she mused. "A rusty lock can undo an entire empire."
"Quite a shame indeed." He frowned suddenly. "However, I'm also to understand that he's withdrawn the dagger recently, apparently for some sort of presentation."
Drenne's face fell, but her resolve was steady. "No matter. I'd be no manner of sky pirate if I couldn't find it wherever it had gone."
"Quite true," he said, again dipping his head in affirmation.
She looked him over again. His roguish eyes belied his condition: his face was thin, his lips dry and cracked, and his hands were very near trembling. She leaned forward, placing a light kiss on his unresponsive lips. "When we get out of here…"
He shook his head. "Think only of the present. Leave the future for when it comes."
She nodded and was about to say more when firelight flooded the room. Head whipping around, she saw none other than Rinae standing in the glow of the open door, sheathed dagger in hand and beaming victoriously. "Ah, how did I know you'd be in here?"
Drenne glowered and stood. "My guess would be luck, since you've no manner of intelligence."
Rinae chuckled and gave a curt nod, issuing four guards into the room. Two took hold of Drenne while another pair seized Balthier, and led them from the chamber.
"Twenty gil says that this is the presentation," Balthier grumbled, nearly stumbling but managing to regain his traditional gait. Meanwhile, Drenne's only hope was that Rinae would be short-winded for once so she could thieve some food from the palace kitchens.
