The worst of her anger had fled upon escaping the palace, stripped away by the cool breeze that blew across the courtyard, scenting the air with jasmine.
"An admirable lift," Fran said, pausing at Penelo's side. "You've improved a great deal."
Penelo pursed her lips in disappointment. "Not so admirable, then, if it was noticed," she said on a gusty sigh.
"I noticed," Fran said. "He did not."
Yulia scurried out the massive doors of the palace, a bit out of breath by having tried her level best to keep up with both Fran's long-legged stride and Penelo's furious, blistering pace, hindered by the heavy skirts of her gown.
"I beg your pardon," she said breathlessly, "I should have said, except that we were too busy storming out – which was quite fun, by the way – but I don't have any money."
"Neither do I, but don't worry about it." Penelo slipped her hand into her pocket and fished out a leather pocketbook, clearly made for a man. "This shopping trip will be courtesy of Balthier." She flashed Fran an impish grin. "Think he'll be mad?"
"Do you know," Fran said thoughtfully, "I rather think he will be proud."
"That cheeky little –" Balthier patted at his pockets in patent disbelief. "She stole my damned pocketbook!" He sank back into the chair that Yulia had recently vacated, stunned. "And here I was, wondering exactly how she planned to shop with no money to speak of."
Vaan guffawed. "I can't believe it – she picked your pocket and you didn't even notice."
He hadn't. "She's good," he said. "She's really good." And he couldn't suppress the stupid grin that spread across his face. He had thought, he had truly thought for a moment there that he had unwittingly ruined everything. But…she had taken his money. She, who had resisted his financial support at every turn, had helped herself to his pocketbook.
It might have been just a bit of petty revenge, but she would never have done anything that she suspected might be held over her head in the future. No; she might be irritated, even furious – but she would forgive him. Provided he demonstrated that he had repented of his sins, of course.
Larsa cleared his throat. "May I summon a maid to clear away the broken china, or shall I wait until after the brawl? If you might see your way to steering clear of the table, there – it's an antique; it's seen my family through seven generations."
"There's not going to be a brawl," Balthier said. "Is there, Vaan?"
Vaan folded his arms over his chest with a huff, hedging, "Had to turn my weapons over when I came in," he said. "I'm not fool enough to fight without them."
"I thought as much," Balthier said. "You might as well have a seat; we've got to come to some sort of accord, or Penelo will most likely bash both of our heads in."
"Penelo?" Vaan echoed. "Nah – she doesn't have it in her."
"I beg to differ," Larsa said. "Just yesterday, she quite gleefully broke a man's nose. Not that it wasn't entirely merited, but…" He shrugged.
"As I said before," Balthier said to Vaan. "She is not the same girl you knew. We can't keep vying for her attention as if we are squabbling over ownership of a toy. She doesn't deserve that sort of treatment."
Vaan dropped onto the sofa, his mouth compressed into a thin line. "You really do…care about her, don't you?" he asked.
"I do." Balthier braced his forearms on his knees. "I swear to you, she was with me of her own free will. It was at her request that she stayed aboard the Strahl, at her request that I did not inform you that she had been recovered."
Vaan blew out a breath. "She said, but…I didn't believe her."
"She said?" Balthier's brows drew together. "When did she say?"
"She called a few days ago, wanted to talk to Fran." Vaan raked his fingers through his hair. "That's how we ended up here – I heard the Aerodrome announcements over the line, and so I knew you were in Archades. Hightailed it here as fast as I could, considering I had no idea whether you were coming or going."
The night they'd arrived – the night he'd returned to find her slumped over the kitchen bar, having downed an entire bottle of wine. Which she had thereafter been reluctant to discuss.
"What did she and Fran speak of?" he asked.
"Dunno," Vaan said. "She said it was private – and then Fran tossed me in my room and wedged a chair under the doorknob."
"Damn," Balthier muttered. "She never told me." Which boded ill; whatever she and Fran had discussed had not been something she was prepared to share with him…and Fran might've told her any number of things that could have made her skittish.
Her anxious face as she had knotted her fingers and asked in a halting voice, Isn't that a little…strange? Fran had told her something, without a doubt – something that had provoked a crisis of uncertainty.
"How do you suggest we settle this?" Vaan asked.
Balthier sighed. "Not us," he said. "Penelo. It's her choice. We shall simply have to abide by it."
"Oh. Oh, no, I couldn't," Yulia said, shaking her head firmly. "I've never worn trousers in my life. It isn't done." But she stared at the trousers almost covetously, her words more lip-service to propriety than genuine refusal.
Fran and Penelo exchanged glances. "Why not?" Penelo asked, baffled. "They're comfortable – far more comfortable than gowns."
"My father would have fits!" Yulia's hands fisted in the folds of her gown as if to prevent herself from reaching for the set of trousers that Penelo held aloft. "I'm shaming him enough with my divorce; those would be adding insult to injury."
Her father would be shamed by his daughter's divorce from an abusive, pathetic excuse for a man? Penelo bit her tongue in a valiant effort to swallow down the cutting response she might've given, and instead asked, "Did you tell him what sort of man Raen is? Did he ever try to help you?"
Yulia choked on a bitter laugh. "You must understand – I'm the eldest of six girls. Six. It's the work of my father's life trying to get all of us off of his hands." She splayed out her hands entreatingly. "His advice was that a wife ought to be lead by her husband, and it's not her place to question him."
"Even if he is leading the both of them into certain ruin?" Penelo scoffed. "I think you ought to lead yourself. What good has letting a man rule over you ever done for you?"
For a moment Yulia considered that in perfect silence, her lips pursed as though she'd bitten into something sour. And then she erupted into a flurry of motion. "Give me those," she said at last, practically snatching the trousers from Penelo's hands as she rushed past her into a dressing room.
Penelo flashed a triumphant grin at Fran and called out to Yulia, "You'll need a blouse – what size should I fetch for you?"
"I haven't the faintest – I've never worn one," Yulia responded. There was the distinctive rustle of heavy fabric as she shed the dress, coupled with an awkward banging as she tugged off her shoes and attempted to wrestle on the trousers.
Penelo scoured the racks of clothes, sorting through tops until she found a lovely lavender blouse that promised to pair nicely with the cream-colored trousers. She checked the size, figured it would be close enough, and tossed it over the dressing room door. Yulia squawked as it hit her. More rustling; the voluminous skirt of the discarded dress slipped out from the crack beneath the door.
"Are these supposed to be this tight?" Yulia asked doubtfully.
"The blouse or the pants?" Penelo called back.
"The trousers."
"Yes," Penelo and Fran said in unison.
"They're indecent." Her voice was imbued with scandalized delight.
"Good. Let's have a look, then." Since Yulia had not complained of the fit of the blouse, Penelo busied herself with collecting an assortment of similar blouses in the same size, draping them over her arm as she moved amongst the racks. Balthier's pocketbook was going to feel the sting from this excursion.
The dressing room door creaked open, and Yulia poked her head out with a grimace. Her amber hair was mussed from having pulled the blouse on over her head. "I feel rather naked," she said, her cheeks burning. She crept into the room hesitantly, as if she feared she might be shooed right back into the dressing room.
The clothes fit her well, despite the fact that she wore them uncomfortably. She walked with a lady's mincing steps, the sort that were designed to make a gown float across the ground – and that wouldn't do for the purpose of these clothes.
"But for the lack of confidence, you look nearly piratical," Fran said.
A silly smile spread across Yulia's face; she clasped her hands before her in glee. "Do you really think so? That sounds wonderful. Is it terribly exciting? Pirating, I mean."
"Often." Penelo dumped the blouses she'd acquired onto the counter and set about collecting sets of trousers in every color and style she could find. "It's not all drama and romance, though. It's dangerous and you do run the risk of getting intimately acquainted with the inside of a prison cell – or the business end of a pistol."
Yulia laughed. "I might as well have been imprisoned for years already. Do you know, I'm twenty-seven next week, and I've never set foot out of Archadia? I think I'd like to go exploring."
A nebulous idea began to form in Penelo's mind; she piled the trousers on top of the blouses and waved a hand at a chair, indicating that Yulia should sit. "What sorts of skills do you have?" she asked. "I assume you've had some sort of formal schooling."
"Oh, of course. All girls of good families go to finishing school in Archadia. I'm trained in all manner of things – singing, dancing, water colors, embroidery, deportment, and managing a household," Yulia said, folding her hands in her lap.
Fran disguised a snicker with a cough, casting an amused glance at Penelo. Perhaps they were all worthwhile endeavors for young ladies, but few of them would be of any use for a sky pirate.
Yulia cleared her throat. "I am also able to speak four languages passably, and was at the top of my class in marksmanship."
Better. Penelo glanced at Fran. "You think we could get Vaan to take her on?"
"Vaan!" Yulia gasped. "Oh, no – no, no, no. That uncouth, obnoxious, ill-mannered –"
Fran held up a hand to stop the steady stream of invectives. "It has got to be Vaan," she said. "Balthier is spoken for, and he's far too enamored with Penelo to even consider taking on a protégé."
The blandly delivered words galvanized Penelo – her spine snapped straight and a hot flush swept into her face. "He's not enamored with me," she snapped. "That's…that's ridiculous."
Yulia canted her head to the side, staring at Penelo in bewilderment. "Of course he is," she said. "I noticed it straight off. How could you not know?"
"I did tell you," Fran said. "I thought you had understood."
Maybe Fran had told her, in her cryptic, roundabout sort of way – but Penelo had taken it to mean something different, with lesser implications. Perhaps she simply hadn't wanted to hear it. Perhaps she hadn't been prepared to hear it. And when she had worked up the nerve to pose the leading question to Balthier, he had – well, he hadn't precisely denied it, but he certainly hadn't confirmed it either.
"I only hope that someday I will find someone who looks at me the way he looks at you," Yulia said on a sigh.
"How can you say that?" Penelo asked, shocked. "Aren't you the least bit reluctant, after Raen?"
Yulia wrinkled her nose. "It was an arranged marriage," she said. "But…even if I had loved him, I would like to think that I'm not the sort of person who would let the possibility of pain prevent me from moving on to better and brighter things."
Even Yulia was braver than she; Penelo felt a twinge of shame. "I wish I had a fraction of your courage," she muttered.
"You must be joking. I'm terrified out of my wits." Yulia gave a nervous trill of laughter. "I'm surely about to be disowned, and most everyone I know will turn their backs on me. But even an uncertain future holds more promise than being stuck here as Asraen's wife, and so I will gladly take my chances." She reached out to pat Penelo's knee. "You ought to take yours."
How could she? How could she possibly? There was no certainty in it; only crushing doubt and fear. She didn't know how to see what Fran and Yulia had claimed to see in Balthier.
She said, "I think you're mistaken – he's just been kind, that's all. He's just letting me travel along out of courtesy, while I sort out what I want to do."
Fran made an inelegant sound, half amusement, half mockery. "And sharing a bed is simple courtesy, then?"
Yulia tittered behind her hands, her eyes alight with shock and interest, searching Penelo's red face for proof of Fran's accusation. "Oh, my," she said. "Well, I suppose it was only to be expected."
Mortified, Penelo hunched her shoulders. "It doesn't mean anything," she muttered sulkily.
"Even if not to you, it surely means a great deal to him," Fran countered. "I have already meddled more than was wise, and yet I find I cannot keep my silence, so I will tell you this: he searched for you."
Penelo's brows drew together, perplexed. "Yes, of course – he found me, after all."
"You mistake my meaning," Fran said. "He knew the very week you turned up missing; he poured a fortune into the coffers of myriad private investigators in the hopes that one of them would locate you. For three years now, the first thing to come out of his mouth each morning has been 'Any news?'" Fran cast her an indulgent glance. "Before your disappearance, he made discreet inquiries to see how you fared. And when those reports ceased to come, when the news came that you had gone missing – well, I have never seen a man brought so low."
Penelo's heart thudded in her chest so furiously she could hear the rush of blood in her ears. Her knees wobbled; she took a careful seat on the upholstered bench opposite Yulia's chair. "He never said," she whispered. "Shouldn't he have said something?"
"No – and he will not. How could he, to a woman in your position?" Fran took a seat on the unoccupied part of the bench, turning towards Penelo. "If you wish to catch a butterfly, you cannot reach out and snatch at it, lest you damage its fragile wings. Instead, you collect the finest flowers you can manage, and you stand very still, and you hope that it will come to you."
Penelo gasped as a rush of dizziness assailed her, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and she struggled to get in a full breath. Could it really all have been that simple? Had he really been bowing to her wishes in an effort to…to catch her?
She thought of how easily he had acquiesced to her request for his assistance in evading Vaan, how he had upped the ante by enlisting Fran to keep Vaan otherwise occupied. How he had roped her into acting as his partner in Fran's absence, framing it as an opportunity to claw her way out of her dire financial straits. Not out of pity, then, had he fed her and clothed her and ferried her around the world. He had been currying favor, tempting her with the very thing she had wanted most – freedom.
He'd taken her adventuring in Rozarria and halfway across Ivalice again simply to let her play in the snow. He'd let her fly his beloved airship, and though he'd gone white in the face at her reckless piloting, he'd not said a single word in admonishment. He'd delivered her faithless former lover into her hands, helping to orchestrate Raen's downfall.
I chose you.
Those three words, the ones that she had suspected were carefully chosen to twist the truth had been – just not in the way she had thought. He had been quite careful with it, obscuring the truth just enough to bend it without breaking, so that it couldn't quite be called a lie even if it couldn't quite be called the truth, either. But what else could he have done? She had pressed and pressed, and he had given her the safest answer he could manage, one that might confuse her but was unlikely to send her fleeing.
He had been goaded into conflict with Vaan this morning, and she had resented the fact that he had spoken for her – but perhaps it hadn't been strictly for her. Perhaps he had been speaking for himself as well. He didn'twant her to go. Quite possibly he had not seen their temporary partnership as quite so temporary as she had.
Yulia was sniffling. She dabbed at her cheeks with a handkerchief that had been tucked into the bodice of her blouse. "I'm not crying," she said defensively. "That would be ridiculous. But…but it really is quite lovely."
Penelo managed a half-hearted laugh. "You're a hopeless romantic," she accused.
Yulia tipped her nose in the air. "That's as may be," she said, "but you are a fool if you let love slip through your fingers."
"I don't know that I'd call it love," Penelo said. At least – not yet. She slanted a glare at Fran. "And I'm not a damned butterfly."
Fran gave her an oblique smile in return. "Perhaps not any longer," she said. "But the question remains: will you allow yourself to be caught?"
Three hours later, having divested Balthier's pocketbook of the majority of its gil and gained armloads of bags for their troubles, they arrived back at the palace to be shown back into the sitting room, where Larsa, Balthier, and Vaan yet remained. The shattered teacup and the tea service had been removed instead to be replaced by a decanter of amber-colored liquor from which the men seemed to be imbibing rather freely.
Larsa choked on his liquor as Yulia sauntered in behind Fran and Penelo. He coughed to clear his throat and then at last managed to rasp, "Good gods, Yulia – what in the world are you wearing?"
Out of habit, Yulia attempted a curtsey, made awkward by the fact that she had no skirts to grasp. She recovered well enough, saying brightly, "I thank you for your efforts on my behalf, Your Majesty. I shall be very pleased to acquire my divorce. But you needn't worry about housing me – I've decided to become a sky pirate."
"Ha!" Vaan snorted. "You? You're useless. Worse than useless – you're a lady."
"I'm not hearing this." Larsa rubbed at his temples and stared down at his glass of liquor as if it had betrayed him. "Empire's going all to hell on my watch."
Penelo offloaded her bags near Yulia's feet and dropped into a chair with a sigh, reaching for an empty glass to pour herself a drink.
Balthier cleared his throat. "It appears your shopping trip was a grand success," he said dryly.
"Oh, yes," she said, fishing his pocketbook out of her pocket and tossing it back to him. "Yulia needed some clothing more suitable to pirating than gowns. You were very generous."
He weighed his pocketbook in his hand, counted it considerably lighter. "Yes," he said. "I can see that I was." Though she raised a brow as if expecting further comment, he declined to give one, instead shoving his pocketbook back where it belonged and diverting his attention to Vaan and Yulia, who bickered amongst themselves like children.
In an effort to quell the argument, Larsa cleared his throat and said, "Yulia, may I offer you a drink?"
She broke off mid-diatribe, her voice switching effortlessly from furious stridence to gentle and sweet. "No, thank you," she said. "I don't drink spirits; it's not –"
"Ha!" Vaan said again. "Can't even drink good whiskey." He folded his arms, leaning back in his chair, all smug superiority.
"I can ring for tea," Larsa suggested.
With a snarl of rage, Yulia collected a glass and poured a healthy measure from the decanter, and slammed the container back down upon the table with enough force to rattle the glasses littering its surface. She threw back the whiskey with great determination – and choked as the liquor burned down her throat. Her eyes watered; she collapsed into the nearest chair, swallowed with no small amount of effort, and wheezed, pressing one hand to her chest in distress.
Vaan roared with laughter.
"That's foul," Yulia managed at last, her voice a throaty rasp.
"It's some of the finest there is," Vaan said. "You're just too prissy to appreciate it."
"I am not prissy!"
"Yulia," Penelo said, as kindly as she could, "you're a little prissy."
With a heartfelt sigh, Yulia surrendered her glass and folded her hands in her lap. "I am trying very hard not to be," she said.
"It is a valiant effort," Fran said. "Determination will carry you twice as far again as nature. It's half the measure of a good pirate at least."
Yulia glowed beneath the praise, her cheeks flushing with pleasure.
"I don't approve of this," Larsa said. "What shall I tell your father? He is certain to ask; these sorts of things never remain secret for very long."
Yulia considered that for a moment. "Tell him…tell him I am done with living my life for his convenience. For anyone's convenience." She looked to Fran for approval, and a smile blossomed across her face at the swift nod she received. "Tell him I would rather exile myself from polite society than suffer another day beneath the burden of being wife and daughter."
"I still do not approve," Larsa said severely.
"With all due respect, Your Majesty," Yulia sweetly replied, "I've quite made up my mind."
There was a firm set to Larsa's jaw that suggested that he was gearing up to convince her otherwise, but Balthier cleared his throat and gave a subtle shake of his head, concerned that such an action might rile the women enough to lead to another round of storming off in a snit.
Though he looked as if it pained him to do so, Larsa swallowed down his arguments and ceded the turn of the conversation to Balthier.
"As you may have noticed," Balthier said to Penelo, "In your absence, we have elected not to kill one another after all."
She was still irritated; there was a pinched look to her lips, as if she were biting the inside of her cheek to hold back a sharp retort. But the heat of anger that had burned behind her eyes had gone – it didn't mean she wouldn't make him squirm like a worm on a hook, but he suspected she had every intention of forgiving him his lapse.
Once he had groveled sufficiently, of course.
And yet, she said nothing. Presumably she waited for him to redeem himself – or give her rope enough to hang him with.
Fair enough. He forged ahead. "Although we both maintain that we had only your best interests at heart, we were perhaps a touch over-zealous in our methods."
"Perhaps a touch?" she echoed incredulously. Fran reached over and placed one hand on her shoulder, a move which baffled Balthier but caused Penelo to subside into a sulky silence, folding her arms across her chest. "Go on," she muttered at last.
"We came to the conclusion that it wasn't our decision to make," he said. "We've agreed to abide by your decision, whatever that may be."
"Hmm." Her lips twitched, just a hint of satisfaction there at the corners. Her eyes flitted first to Yulia, then past her to where Vaan sat, stewing in annoyed silence, on the sofa. "Is that true, Vaan?" she asked.
He made a rough sound in his throat. "Yeah," he said. "But I still think –"
"I didn't ask," she said right over him. And then she rose from her chair, linking her hands behind her back. "Whatever I decide," she stressed. "That's what you agreed to, right?" And when she received their murmurs of assent, she said, "Good. I'm going to stay aboard the Strahl – for a while, at least. Vaan, I want you to take Yulia on the Galbana and teach her to be a proper pirate."
Vaan leapt to his feet. "I didn't agree to that," he snapped.
"Whatever I decided," she parroted back at him. "That's what you said, and I'm going to hold you to it." She was grinning, now, thoroughly enjoying Vaan's displeasure.
Balthier suppressed his own amusement, lest it provoke Vaan into another confrontation. Instead he took his feet, and said, "Vaan. We had a gentleman's agreement."
Vaan jabbed a finger at Yulia, who huffed, offended. "She wasn't part of it!"
"She is now," Penelo said. She skirted the low table, approaching Vaan and snagging his arm to drag him off to a corner of the room. She lowered her voice to a whisper, and said in a cajoling tone, "We were useless, once, too, but we had help when we needed it. Now Yulia needs it – and you'll need a new partner eventually."
His face twisted in petulant disapproval. "But what about you?"
She gave a slow shake of her head. "Please understand," she said. "I want to go."
Vaan scowled. "With him?" he whispered. "Oh, come on –"
"Vaan, please."
A growl scraped out of his throat. "Fine. I'll stay out of it. But I'm only going to give her a month," he said reluctantly. "One month," he stressed louder, glowering at Yulia. "If you can't keep up, you're out on your ass. So get your things, because we're leaving."
With a cry of elation, Yulia leapt out of her chair, snatching at the bags gathered around her feet.
Larsa heaved a sigh. "As it seems I cannot dissuade you from this, I will arrange for transport back to the Aerodrome," he said to Yulia. "The less you are seen around the city dressed like a pirate, the fewer explanations I will be called upon to make. It'll be the work of a moment." He rose to his feet, shaking his head in consternation as he left the room.
Penelo crossed the room to Fran. "The Strahl is your home, too," she said softly. "You can come back with us."
"Not just yet, I think," Fran said. "Time for a hume is a luxury, but I have more than enough to spare. I believe I shall spend a portion of it in keeping Vaan to his word and ensuring he does not impart to Yulia his own bad habits."
Penelo started as Balthier caught her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. She glanced up at his face; he was trying very hard to camouflage his delight as repentance and would have been doing a halfway decent job of it, had he managed to keep the exultant gleam out of his eyes.
He bent to murmur at her ear, "Are you satisfied enough to have run through the contents of my pocketbook, or do you intend to make me suffer yet further?" His voice was warm and teasing, with a hint of a smile in it.
It took a valiant effort to swallow down her own smile, but somehow she managed it, tipping her nose in the air with a sniff. "I haven't decided yet," she said primly.
"Ah," he said. "I don't suppose you could be persuaded to decide aboard the Strahl? I find myself eager to leave, lest I inadvertently provoke your ire again." He made a muted sound of amusement. "And there is the matter of Vaan, still; he is not inordinately fond of me at the moment – I would suggest a hasty departure, ere he decides to forego our temporary truce."
Penelo's gaze jerked to Vaan, who stood near the door, face drawn into a scowl. Though she had wanted to wait for Larsa's return, Penelo recognized the good sense in Balthier's suggestion. Vaan might've acquiesced to her request, but that didn't mean he wouldn't take a swing at Balthier anyway.
And then Balthier would be obliged to wipe the floor with him, and she would be angry all over again.
She curled her fingers around Balthier's. "Tell Larsa I'll write," she said to Vaan, making for the door.
Vaan put his arm up to block her way before she could pass the threshold. "I'll call from time to time, just to be safe," he said. "And you'd damn well better answer once in a while."