Nilbasse lies ahead; she can tell by the increase in dirt coating the walls of the alleys. The Archadian elite even have clean alleys, and Nilbasse is home to those who seek to one day live in places with clean alleys. There are more people around now – more to blend in with, but more that might recognize her. Luckily, the bitter cold of the Archadian winter keeps most eyes to the ground as her face chaps from the winds and her teeth chatter – she's never been very well-accustomed to colder climes.
She has more problems now – the path from the palace has led her down and down on a straightforward path, but Nilbasse and the other mercantile districts are full of dead-end streets with any charlatan worth his salt willing to misdirect those who don't belong. Ashe had Basch to keep her safe the last time she wandered the less reputable streets of the Archadian capital. She is not used to being entirely alone, and although she is quite skilled with a blade, she knows hand to hand combat isn't her strongest suit. Hopefully, the winter chill will keep the cutpurses and scoundrels away.
Ashe must keep her wits about her if she is to make it to Old Archades where her face is less likely to be known. She keeps the coat tightly fastened around her, and her shoes – her too-fancy shoes – click as they make contact with the cobblestones. Why hadn't she thought to switch her shoes? She makes a mental note to purchase some sturdy boots along with some protectives and food in the slums. The chill whips through her hood to rest on her neck where her hair only barely brushes the nape now.
There is the clanking of metal several paces away, and she knows that her escape must have become known at last. The soldiers who usually patrol the streets of Nilbasse are now racing, and she tries to remain inconspicuous. They probably think her some fool and expect to see a woman in a jeweled gown – hopefully her disguise will help to avoid their questioning. Two soldiers come charging down the back alley then, but the only person they accost is a woman a few years older than her who made the mistake of wearing a rather fancy gown out in the cold that day. Ashe presses on as the woman denies that she is Queen Ashelia, and she wonders if Basch would know where she would go.
The guards who usually remain at attention between Archades proper and the slums are nowhere in sight when she emerges from the alleys, and she slips down the stairs with ease. The Archadian military is often less disciplined when crossing that threshold, and she knows that the denizens of the area are more likely to strike up conversations and distract the soldiers in hopes of gaining admission to the city beyond. Ashe passes dozens of people shivering in the streets and even though Larsa has championed the rights of his poorer citizens these past two years, there are still many who starve and lack homes.
The winter in Archades greatly shortens the daylight hours, and already Ashe can see the skies turning a deeper bluish gray signaling both the coming night and a probable blizzard. Luckily, she will spend the next few days in Sochen where the snow will not reach. There is a shop at the end of the current row, and she enters as casually as she might. She will not sell all of her jewels in one shop – it would be far too suspicious, and it is unlikely that she would be able to get all of the gil they are worth. She will save much of it for when she obtains lodgings in Balfonheim and any other places she must travel to if she cannot find Balthier or Fran there.
A grizzled old man sits behind the counter snoozing, a cracked pair of spectacles drooped low on his reddened nose. Some exotic Dalmascan bird squawks in a cage as a bell signals her entrance, and the man sighs noisily at her intrusion. Ashe approaches the counter and sets down a palm full of pearls and jewels, their shining appearance a stark contrast to the darkened and dirtied fingers of her hand. The man says nothing, merely lifting a few of them to view through his glasses. He probably imagines her some thief, and since most of the people in Old Archades must do what they can to scrape by, he does not seem to judge her.
"Gil or trade, darling?" he asks calmly, the harsher sounds of the Archadian commoner emerging from his lips. She misses the refinement of Balthier's speech as the man peers at her over the top of his spectacles.
"Trade, if I may?" she replies in the same Bhujerban tones she employed earlier in the afternoon. "I need rations for a week, a weapon for protection…" Ashe glances behind the old man to spy a few racks of clothing, although they appear to be no more than dressed up rags. "…and a pair of boots for traveling."
Her request does not startle or concern the man, and he nods. The man scoops the pile of jewels from the wooden countertop into his palm, and he wanders back into the other room, depositing them in a metal safe. "Come 'round, now, sweet…find your boots."
Ashe does as she is told and sees about a dozen pairs of black or brown laced boots. She kneels down and examines a few pairs, checking the soles and the condition of the inner linings. Finally, she settles on a pair that looks a bit snug, but she'll have time to complain about blisters later. She carries them back around to the counter, and the man gestures for her to sit and change them for her fancier shoes.
He departs again, hopefully to retrieve some food for her, and she slips off the dressy flats and begins to lace up the dirty, worn boots. They are tight, but they've been broken in for some time and shouldn't cause too much trouble. The man returns with a few small loaves of bread, some dried meats and cheese, and she tries to mask her disgust as the man's dirtied hands shove the rations into a pack for her. Her jewels must have covered the cost of a pack as well, and she is grateful to have gotten so far at all.
"A few canteens for water?" she asks quietly, and the man nods in understanding. She is surprised by the man's lack of concern – Old Archades is full of information seekers, and she is sure that if Balthier's acquaintance Jules walked in the door right now that she would be in a great deal of trouble. Perhaps the man will let the jewels speak for themselves and will keep his silence until the highest bidder, the Archadian Emperor himself, comes offering a reward for word of the runaway Queen. She can hear sloshing as the man returns with a few canteens, and she wonders if the water is drinkable. Larsa has built safer wells, but there is still no knowing for sure that the water isn't disease-laden. She decides to dump the contents the moment she reaches the cave palace and can refill from the natural streams within.
The man adds the canteens to the pack and shoves it across the counter. He finally meets her eyes and raises an eyebrow. "And you need a weapon, beautiful?"
She ignores the term of endearment and nods. "A sword if you have it, the best quality. I would examine what you have myself." Ashe became a decent judge of swords with both Vossler's and Basch's assistance in years past, and she'll not be fooled in this exchange. The proprietor guides her to a locked chest in the corner of the shop near the bird's cage and unlocks it for her inspection. Her eyes flicker over a few useless iron swords, praying that something stronger will present itself. A tarnished but otherwise sturdy looking mythril blade catches her eye, and she points. "That one, if you don't mind?"
He hands her the weapon and rustles around in the chest for a suitable scabbard. The blade doesn't fit exactly, but it will suffice. He finds a leather belt for her to wear with it, and she is grateful for the success she has found in this shop. Shouldering the pack, she offers quiet words of thanks and moves to the exit.
"Love?"
She pauses, closing her eyes and begging that she hasn't been discovered. She has gotten so far so quickly and if she doesn't leave now, there will be no escaping the capital at all.
The man chuckles low, a deep rumbling sound that does little to ease her. "Did you need your other shoes?"
Ashe shakes her head and departs the shop quickly, nearly slamming the door behind her in her haste to depart. Although everything went smoothly in the shop, it is now nearly dark in the slums, and she must reach the caves before the streets become even more dangerous. She walks quickly, trying her best to ignore the groans of starving people out in the cold. There is nothing she can do for them. Just like there is nothing she can do for the hundreds who died in the rioting in her own capital. She shoves that dark thought away and continues through the slums.
A Bangaa harasses her, making some raunchy comment on one street while a grumpy old woman chastises her for walking the streets with a visible weapon when there are children around. She ignores them both and makes way to the cave entrance, remembering the quickest route as best she can. Her time in this place was short two years ago, and she'd spent most of it in contemplation. Her thoughts had been only of the Draklor Laboratory, and Balthier's words of warning on the Phon Coast.
He'd warned her not to give her heart to a stone, and she had listened. She hadn't been the one to destroy the cryst – Reddas had sacrificed himself to shatter it. But she had ignored the great temptation the Occuria had offered her, keeping Balthier's words at the forefront of her mind. After encountering the sky pirate's father, it had been easy to see how such power could be a corrupting force – whether from the Occuria or one of their fallen ones like Venat. Yet what had it accomplished? Here she is in the slums once more, brought as low as humanly possible.
Ashe grips the straps of the pack, and her muscles have already grown sore from the weight. It has been some time since she has borne such a burden upon her back – both physical and mental. Once she is out of the slums, she will be harder to find. At least she hopes so. The caves are hard to navigate, but Balthier had led them through with little trouble two years prior, and Ashe has a keen memory for twists and turns after so many months in Lowtown and Garamsythe with the Resistance. The Archadian squads sent after her will have a bit more trouble unless Basch himself leads them – but she imagines that the Judge Magister's hands will be full enough scouring Archades for her as well as the tricky politicking he and Larsa will undertake with her own ministers once word reaches Rabanastre about her flight. She hates the burdens she's placed upon them, but she will have time to apologize later.
The cave entrance lies at the end of one barely paved street, and she sees that no one dares to go near it. The fiends inside are infamous, and Balthier had casually mentioned how Archadian parents often told their children that the monsters within would eat them alive and spit their bones out into the streets of Nilbasse. She smiles at this morbid recollection, wishing that she had the sky pirate beside her now to relate more Archadian bedtime stories like it. Ashe pats her chest through the coat, feeling the vial where it remains nestled securely within her thin shift.
She is just about to the cave when she feels a tug on her coat. Her hand is on her scabbard immediately, but when she turns around, it is only a small boy. He wears no more than rags, his hair mussed and his face genuinely dirty – not filthy from sticking hands in a bag of soil. It seems he is too cold to speak and can only stare up at her with a wild desperation in his eyes. She shouldn't stop, shouldn't let there be another witness to her flight to actually see her enter the cave palace. For all she knows, Jules himself could have heard about her escape and might have sent this boy to find her.
But seeing his hands chapped from the cold held out, begging for something, anything, and knowing that he will probably die of starvation or exposure, Ashe cannot be heartless. In the poorer parts of Rabanastre, they take care of one another – in Archades, one fends for himself. She reaches into the pocket of her coat and removes a small handful of jewels, hoping that nobody else is around to see her. This is probably enough to buy her food and lodgings for an entire week in Balfonheim. In Old Archades, the boy will be fed for months. She places them into his hands and covers them with her own, folding his chubby little fingers around them to conceal what she has given him.
"You did not see me," she tells him in the Bhujerban voice she has been using all day. "Can you do that for me, little one?"
His eyes are still wide, and he offers no reaction. She moves her hands away and grips the straps of her pack once more. Ashe turns her back on him and descends into the cave.
-----
She should have probably asked the old man at the shop for a blanket. Instead, Ashe lies curled up in one of the not as damp corners of the chamber and holds the wool coat tightly around her. If she'd built a fire, she'd attract fiends, or worse, an Archadian soldier looking to gain a promotion for finding the renegade Queen. Sleep has been difficult to come by, but she's managed to make progress, and she's done her best to run from most of the creatures in the caves. She is dreadfully out of practice, and her sword arm already aches from the combat she's endured. Ashe has decided to flee and save her strength for the less forgiving and more hazardous open fields of Tchita and Cerobi.
Tomorrow, if she makes good time in the wet caves, she will make it to the Uplands. With winter arriving north in Archades, the Uplands will surely be near flooded with rain or in the higher parts, snowfall. The boots have served her well, and save for a rather irritating blister that threatens to pop on her heel, she hasn't had many injuries. She'd been backed up against a wall and earned a rather sickening gash on her forearm, even through the coat, but the words of some simplistic curative spells have not been forgotten in two years – it just takes a few minutes longer to recall the exact words, and she simply endures the pain.
She has no idea what is happening in the world outside of the cave. Perhaps she will emerge into the Uplands only to see an Archadian firing squad awaiting her, or less dramatic, a small airship waiting to whisk her off to Rabanastre to be officially ousted and tried for war crimes she doesn't recall committing. Ashe pulls up the hood of the coat and squeezes her eyes shut. She is used to the chatter of subjects or ministers, and she has grown a bit restless with only herself for company. The Occuria's voices have not come to her, nor has she awoken in a place different from where she turned in for the night. Perhaps this is the next stage of their punishment for her – to suffer in silence, an outcast who will be hunted like a dog across the plains of the Archadian heartland.
Ashe exhales sadly and reaches inside her coat for the vial. Having sold her clothes, this is the only thing on her person that represents her former life. She supposes it is too soon to really call it her former life, but Ashe has tried to be a bit more realistic in recent months. How could she possibly regain her throne after all of this ends? She will be fortunate if they don't behead her in her own capital or in Larsa's – after all, she assaulted a Judge Magister, posed as palace staff, and eluded capture, and all of this after spitting in the Emperor's face. By all rights, she ought to face trial in Archades as well.
She holds the vial tightly and isn't surprised to feel wetness against her cheeks. She's wanted to sob but can't afford to make the noise. Instead, she grips what used to be Paramina snow and thinks of the future – of finding some way to overthrow those Undying for good. Having only planned her way to Balfonheim, Ashe isn't entirely sure how to accomplish such an insane task. She hopes that Balthier will have some insight, or perhaps Fran. Ashe can feel in her bones that her path is leading her back to the misted Feywood and to Giruvegan beyond. She must confront Gerun and the others, but from there, her mind is a blank. She hasn't the slightest idea how to defeat them.
But that is worrisome talk for another night. For now, she must simply survive – must avoid the Archadians who will be patrolling the open fields. She remembers the scouting Tonberry ships that flew over Phon Coast when they had reached it two years before, the intense fear of being scanned by their circuitry and pounced upon out in the open. There is no doubt that there will be ships looking for her. She could hole up in the caves for another week and let them think her dead or long gone, but she does not have enough food – or enough strength – to endure such a thing.
She imagines Balthier and Fran laying on the cave floor around her as they had before. She can almost see Penelo sitting before a fire braiding her hair to keep it from her face when battling. Ashe can imagine Vaan sharing stories of his brother with Basch, and Basch recounting tales of the young man's bravery in return. She can imagine Fran's ears twitching with every noise that none of them could possibly hear, and she can see Balthier. He is clearest of all, and she supposes it is a combination of the vial and of her drowsiness that keeps bringing him to the front of her mind.
Ashe remembers a night in a chamber not so very different from this one, the day before they entered Archades for the first time – and the first time that Balthier had returned in earnest since he'd run away. She recalls how his usual smirking face had been more subdued and withdrawn, his jesting eyes darkened in the shadows from the fire light. She'd watched him stare for several minutes at the fire, and she imagined that he was contemplating seeing his father again. That night as she watched him from her bed roll, she'd considered falling for him. A man who would return to a place he vowed never to go again in order to help her – how many others could brag of friends such as that?
She shakes her head, trying to rid her mind of the memory. She is tired, her mind is playing fanciful tricks and making more of things in the past than it ought to, and it is just a blasted vial of water. Ashe values his friendship too much, and Balthier has a reputation. She'd rather relish the respect and friendship he has for her before throwing it away for girlish fancy. Now she needs him more than ever, and the last thing she needs is some foolish infatuation – he may even refuse to help her. His friendship might not go so far as to harbor a known fugitive responsible for the deaths of her own citizens.
Her eyelids are heavy, and her mind is refusing to drift away from the thought of her few remaining allies. Ashe places the vial back inside her shift and sleeps.
-----
No Archadian soldiers were waiting at the cave opening, and she wonders if Basch has been merciful. Perhaps he believes her now and thinks she is working to rid herself of the demons plaguing her. It matters little what he thinks so long as he doesn't find her. She hopes that he has recovered from the injury she dealt him and lets the knowledge that the man has suffered far worse at the hands of stronger people keep her going.
The Uplands are colder than the city had been, and she is angry with herself for not considering it. The rains she had expected have not come, but snows have. Her hands are dry and cracked as she uses one to keep her coat together and lets the other rest on the scabbard. Most of the feral animals of Tchita must be hiding to avoid the cold. There have only been a few vicious snakes in her path thus far, and most ignored her. There are dirt paths that would ease her travel across the wide plains, remnants of old roads in days long gone. She cannot take them, instead making slow but steady progress by walking in the taller, frosted grasses and in the shadows created by overhanging cliffs.
Few souls make the journey to Balfonheim on foot these days when airship transport is so cheap, but she sees a few shivering hunters along the way preoccupied with some pesky mark or other. Their presence, though several hundred paces away, is still a comfort. They will draw the more belligerent beasts away from her and at the same time, just knowing that there are other people around soothes her. Though she does not wish to be found, her loneliness increases. The cave palace was like walking through a tomb, and she at least feels alive out in the biting winds with hardened dirt beneath her feet.
Her cheeks sting and her lips ache. She will have to rest soon for the night since the skies grow dark so quickly. Even without a map, her mind remembers where she is and how far she still has to go. There is an old stone temple or structure on the hill ahead, and there she will rest for the night. The last time she'd been to the Uplands, it had been the height of summer – she cannot sleep under the stars this time. Her legs are sore as she makes her way up the steep hill, the grass wet from the snow making it more treacherous.
She is nearly out of breath when she makes it to the old building. There is a decent sized rock blocking her entrance, and she spends several minutes shoving it aside so she can slip past and inside. Luckily, the walls are still sturdy and keep the winds out, and she will not freeze if she moves the rock back. Setting down her pack, she pushes the rock back to block the entrance and by the time this is accomplished, she is ready to pass out. But she needs to eat before she can seek sleep. She makes a tiny fire with some grasses she had pulled from the plains for kindling and warms her hands. The tiny structure warms up quickly, and she can finally shed the heavy coat for the first time since departing Archades. She laughs at her appearance – at the thin cotton shift stuffed hastily in the men's filthy trousers and the clunky brown boots.
Ashe has almost completed her supper when the rock begins to move once more. She stands immediately, unsheathing her sword as a young man enters. He is dirty and shivering, but she keeps the sword trained. His hair is a dirty blond, and he reminds her so much of how Vaan looked when she first met him. "Find your own lodgings!" she shouts in warning, but his eyes are so pitiful that she sighs. "What do you want?"
His voice is Archadian, possibly by way of the small rural villages that dot the plains. "Food? I'll take whatever you don't want, mind." He holds his hands out and allows her to approach him. She keeps her sword in hand as she pats down his threadbare shirt and baggy trousers and is happy to find no weapon on him. "I'm on the run, you see. Nothing but the shirt on my back, mum."
She raises an eyebrow at that term of address, and she releases him. Ashe sits down unsteadily and knows she will be sleeping lightly tonight. The light of the fire must have been a beacon – or perhaps he'd trailed her all the way from the city? "What makes you think I will share?"
He shrugs. "You don't have to, I suppose. Maybe I could just rest here?" Ashe smirks and tosses him a chunk of bread, and he blushes. It cannot be an act, for the blush reaches all the way to the tips of his ears. "Thank you, mum."
She sees so much of Vaan in his dirty face as he munches on the bread like he hasn't eaten for several days. "What is your name?" she asks.
The boy speaks in between bites. "Well, I plan to change it when I get to Balfonheim, so I'd rather not say."
"Balfonheim?" she inquires shakily. She can't afford to have this little street rat trailing her all the way.
He nods. "I want to be a sky pirate," he mutters. "I haven't actually figured out a name yet." Was this how it was for Balthier when he ran from home all those years ago? Only clad in the clothes he left Archades in, shivering and filthy? Ashe finds it hard to even imagine Balthier with a speck of dirt on him. "I was thinking Loras the sky pirate had a good sound to it, but I don't know if it's been taken already."
"Surely there isn't a register of names in Balfonheim?" she responds in amusement, chastising herself for speaking so freely and joyfully already with this stranger who could probably be a spy or streetear. He shrugs again and continues eating. "Loras then. I'm Amalia." It is almost too easy to slip back into the alias she'd used for so many months, and she hopes that her Bhujerban accent will not slip.
Loras finishes the food and stays at one end of the room, probably as a show of good faith. His shivering has already slowed with the warmth of the fire, and some color is returning to his face. He tells her that until a week ago, he was an apprentice vendor of falsified licenses in Trant, learning how to swindle impatient Archadian gentry. Ashe used to loathe thievery in all its forms until she became friends with several members of that infamous profession herself – now she decides that she is no better than Loras.
"What is it you're running from, Amalia?" he asks then, and she pauses in confusion.
"Running?"
"Well, why else would you be on foot here?"
She thinks carefully. Is he trying to find out her true identity – or is he just genuinely curious and as desirous of companionship as she? Ashe takes one last sip of her water and puts the canteen into her pack. "Can I be perfectly honest with you Loras? Will you swear not to tell?" His eyes widen at the thought of some secret, and he nods eagerly. She leans forward a bit, looking through the small flames to his round face. "I'm petrified of airships. I am too scared of heights."
At that, Loras doubles over laughing. "But you live in Bhujerba!"
She realizes this just as soon as she's said it, and she laughs to throw the suspicion away from her. "Formerly of Bhujerba," Ashe notes as calmly as she can. "As you can see, I make the ground under my feet home now."
He smiles and shakes his head, and she hopes her lies have worked. She does not know this boy from anyone else, so she cannot know for sure. Ashe hopes that he will fall asleep soon so she can depart before he rises. She will make her way as best she can in the dark – she cannot afford to let him find her. But knowing how loud the rock scraped against the floor, she knows it will wake him. How can she avoid him?
Loras curls up in the corner, resting his head on his outstretched arm. "Do you know any sky pirates, Amalia?"
The question amuses her, and she does her best to lie down on her coat to feign slumber. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."
"Is that where you're going? To see them?"
"No." She still doesn't trust him – he could be an agent of Archades who will report back that she is seeking out either Balthier or Vaan's assistance. "I haven't seen them in some time."
His voice is sad. "Oh, that's too bad…I don't have any place to stay when I get to Balfonheim." He is laying on the guilt pretty quickly, but she cannot tell him the city of pirates is her destination. She will not give him the impression that he can camp out on the floor of her lodgings when she arrives.
"I am sure you will find your way. There is always work in that city for those who seek it," she replies, and it is one of the only honest things she has told the young man thus far. Ashe isn't certain if Balthier went to Balfonheim first when he left Archades, and neither he nor Fran have ever been keen to explain how they met or how their pirating partnership grew to such notoriety. She has always just assumed a shorter, skinnier Balthier appeared in Balfonheim one day, pierced his ears, and let his arrogance raise him through the ranks. Ashe wonders how many boys like Balthier have fled Archades to seek their fame, or infamy, in the port town.
She watches the boy close his eyes and keeps watching until she hears his breathing become even. With all her suspicions, she hadn't even taken the time to notice the necklace the boy is wearing. The chain is simple silver, but there is a pendant at the end with some rounded charm. It is probably the only thing connecting him to his home, as the vial of water is the only thing connecting her to Fran and Balthier. Perhaps they are not so different. The rock is far too heavy to move without waking him, and she sighs. Once she reaches Cerobi, she will point Loras toward Balfonheim and will take the long way around to avoid him – he hasn't done anything terribly suspicious yet. Her own exhaustion helps to ease her into a much needed slumber.