"We can't," Penelo gasped in horror. "Are you insane?"
Balthier laughed, thoroughly enjoying her pique as he searched through the drawers in the Strahl's kitchen. Her cheeks had flushed with angry color, her arms were crossed over her chest – she looked as though she were seconds away from launching into a lecture.
His fingers closed around the corkscrew; he pulled it from the drawer and held it aloft.
She made a choking sound, uncrossed her arms to thrust out one hand in warning. "Balthier, don't you dare."
He tucked the corkscrew into his pocket lest she make a grab for it, and set to work peeling away the wax that coated the mouth of the wine bottle he held in one hand. "Don't be such a stick in the mud," he said. "It's not as precious as some."
"You said it was worth fifty thousand gil," she cried.
"Yes. And we're going to enjoy it," he said. He risked a calculated distraction while he set the bottle on the counter and reached for the corkscrew once again. "I must apologize – it's not as fine as the one you drank all on your own a few days past."
Her face taking on a decidedly greenish tinge, she said, "How much – no. No, don't tell me."
"Seventy or so," he said anyway. Her fingertips bit into the countertop; she swayed in her seat.
"Oh, gods. Oh, gods – you should have stopped me!" Her voice soared through several octaves, ending on a plaintive wail of distress.
"How should I have done that? I wasn't about at the time." The cork popped free; her eyes narrowed as he reached for a pair of glasses.
"I can't believe you did that," she said. "Fifty thousand – that's a fortune. And it's wasted, now."
"Not wasted." He poured two glasses, sliding one of them over the counter toward her. "Good wine was meant to be enjoyed, not put in a rack and taken out to admire every so often." He collected his own glass and took a drink. It was rich and smooth, with a sweet blackberry finish and just a hint of oak from the barrel it had aged within.
She stared down her own glass as if she could will it back into the bottle.
"You might as well," he coaxed. "The damage is already done."
And though she heaved a great, long suffering sigh, at last she lifted the glass and took a hesitant sip. She scowled at him as she attempted to mask her own enjoyment. "It's good," she said grudgingly.
He hid a smirk behind his glass. "I want you to give me one day," he said.
A frown etched itself between her brows. "I don't understand what you mean."
He braced himself with one hand on the counter beside her. "I mean I want one day where you count the cost of nothing. Where you don't agonize over prices or say you don't need something. I want you tell me if there is something you want."
"But I don't –"
He stared at her, hard, and she lapsed into a wary silence.
At length she tried again. "I really –"
His eyes narrowed, daring her to continue. She swallowed audibly and mumbled, "Okay."
"Good," he said. "Drink your wine; we're going shopping."
She groaned, her shoulders slumping. "But I just went!"
"You didn't purchase anything," he chided. "Not for yourself, anyway."
"Because I didn't want anything!"
He patted her hand in a patently false expression of sympathy. "Today you will. Or at the very least, you will endeavor to try."
"But why?" She clutched her glass like it was a lifeline, the only thing standing between her and venturing out into the world for the sole purpose of spending money. She'd spent so long saving every miserable gil she could lay her hands on that she couldn't imagine spending it with anything but trepidation. She took another drink, caught between resentment that he'd opened wine worth a fortune and pleasure in the privilege of drinking so fine a vintage.
She didn't want to get used to it. It was easier not to – she couldn't miss anything she'd never had.
"You need to learn how to have fun," he said.
"I know how to have fun," she said as she drained the last of her wine. She held out her glass for him to top up, convinced she was going to need the fortification of it in the coming hours.
He chuckled. "No, you know how to work and call it fun," he said. "Today, we are going to have actual fun that involves actual enjoyment. You're not to consider the cost or perform any mental gymnastics in order to convince yourself that you'd be better off going without."
She managed a bleak facsimile of a smile. "Wonderful," she said in a flat tone. "I'm having fun already."
Bhujerba had flourished in the intervening years since last she had visited. If one could call being kidnapped and spirited from her home a visit. She'd seen very little of the city then, having spent most of her time first secreted away in the Lhusu Mines, and then at Marquis Ondore's mansion – but she remembered the vague desolation that had blanketed the city, the pall that had hung over it like a shroud. As Larsa had explained it, Bhujerba had been forced into an alliance with Archadia against Dalmasca, and the citizens of the skycity had been appalled to be pulled into the conflict.
But the shadows of war had lifted years past, and the city has come alive again and was clearly prosperous. Stalls lines the streets from the Aerodrome all the way up to the Marquis' mansion, and vendors called out to passersby, inviting them to examine their wares.
The city was smaller than Archades, the streets narrower and the crowd thinner, but then, Bhujerba wasn't quite the hub of commerce that Archades was. It was off the beaten path, as only a city situated upon a floating archipelago could be.
Balthier had insisted upon stopping at the local bank to replenish his dwindling reserves of cash, and he had known by the look on her face that she wanted to protest the ridiculously large amount he'd withdrawn, but had stifled her objection with a murmured threat of withdrawing more if she said so much as a single word.
Her mouth had snapped shut with an audible click, and he had snickered in satisfaction. And he hadn't had the good grace to look even slightly apologetic about it.
A bell tinkled as it was jostled by an opening door, and a wave of sweetly-scented air rushed over them as it followed a customer out of a nearby shop.
"Ahh," Balthier said. "I think we'll find something in here." He caught the door before it could close and pulled Penelo along with him. The luxuriant scents of various perfumes hung heavily within, sending her head reeling with the fragrances of exotic flowers. Tins of soap and vials of scents lined the walls, along with bottles of shampoos, conditioners, and a whole assortment of toiletries Penelo had never seen before.
She'd never frequented a shop of this nature, preferring instead to source her soaps from general goods shops, where they stocked only plain bars. She considered even those a luxury when compared against the lye soap that her mother had made by hand – but lye soap, while it did the job for which it was intended, carried an acrid, bitter scent that stung her nose, and she had been willing to shell out the extra couple of gil for plain, scentless bars.
She had not been willing to spend her hard-won money on a tiny, plum-colored cake of soap, the cost of which would have kept her in unscented bars for four years. She gave it a hesitant sniff nonetheless and crinkled her nose at the cloying scent of violets. Too sweet and floral; it wouldn't suit her. And it was too expensive by half, anyway.
Balthier appeared beside her, basket in hand, ostensibly to hold their purchases. "Anything?"
She shook her head, setting down a bottle that reeked of gardenias. "I think Fran's got half of these already anyway." Wisteria, freesia, plumeria, and primrose all went the way of the gardenia and violet – back on the shelf.
"Hm." He paced down the row, examining the bottles and bars for himself. She watched him consider several prospects, rejecting each of them in turn. But at last he selected a vivid yellow bar, sniffed it, and paused to beckon her over.
He handed the bar over to her. The others had fairly bowled her over with their overpowering fragrances before she'd even gotten them near her nose, but this one was different – the clean, tart scent of citrus tickled her nose and made her mouth water, and the tang was balanced by the light sweetness of honey and vanilla.
It smelled like summer and sunlight. It smelled bright.
He didn't even have to ask whether or not she'd liked it; he simply collected an assortment of products in the scent and dumped them into the basket. Acting on force of habit, she picked up a bottle to flip it upside down and check the price scrawled on the bottom of the bottle.
He caught her hand before she could. "We had a deal," he said.
"I was just curious," she said defensively.
His mouth flattened into a grim line. He released her hand to flick another bottle into the basket.
She frowned. "I don't know what you expect me to do with all of those," she said. "I really don't need –"
He arched a brow, reached out, and swept three more bottles into the basket. His palm lingered upon the table, fingertips tapping on the surface, waiting for her to make another unwise comment. She had little doubt that if she did, he would sweep the whole lot of it up, just to make a point.
She shut up.
"All right, then," he said. "Let's be off." He turned to head for the counter to pay.
She waited at a safe distance, and at last muttered something petulant under her breath.
He didn't even bother to turn his head as he said, "Penelo, I swear I will buy out the entirety of this shop." Passing the basket over to the clerk, he dug for his pocketbook.
"I didn't say anything!" she protested. Watching the clerk tally up the total was torturous; her stomach twisted into knots. And somehow she suspected that he hadn't actually been joking when he'd threatened to buy out the shop. "I'm just going to wait outside," she said. "I can't watch this – I really can't." She lit out of the shop as if her feet had caught fire, and the bell above the door jangled.
Balthier shook his head in rueful consternation. "My apologies," he said to the clerk. "She's got an aversion to spending my money."
The clerk gave a hearty peal of laughter. "Other men might count their blessings, sir."
"Yes, they might." Balthier collected the bags that the clerk passed over the counter. "But I'm not among them."
"This?" Balthier held up a shimmering scarf in a vibrant orange hue; it was embroidered with rich gold thread and heavily weighted with gems at the edges, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.
She wrinkled her nose. "It's the middle of summer," she said. "What would I do with it? And…it's a bit ostentatious, don't you think?"
"I've seen worse," he said, but he replaced the scarf nonetheless, and Penelo sighed in abject relief. Already he'd purchased so many things that she didn't know how they would possibly fit aboard the Strahl. She had learned quickly to avert her gaze before she examined any one thing for too long, as he'd developed the worrying habit of purchasing things simply because she'd looked at them long enough for him to have noticed.
"You've yet to pick out anything yourself," he chided. "I'm spending a fortune on guesses."
She turned up her nose. "That's hardly my fault," she said. "I told you, I –"
He snatched the scarf off the rack once again and waved it before her face. "Shall I purchase it after all?"
She frowned. "I really don't want it," she said.
"So far you've wanted nothing; you were supposed to be making an effort." He replaced the scarf once again, shifting the bags to one arm and sliding the other around her waist. "I assure you, I've got a sizeable fortune and nothing better to spend it on. You won't come close to beggaring me." His forehead touched hers and he murmured, "How is it you can ask for me to keep on a legion of servants, and yet you cannot decide on a single purchase for yourself?"
She shifted uncomfortably within the circle of his arm. "Because it was their livelihood – it was important."
"You're important," he said. "It's not a crime to want things."
Her brow furrowed; she chewed at her lower lip in mute contemplation. "It's also not your responsibility to buy them for me."
Her wariness was a warning; he took a moment to consider his possible responses. "Perhaps not," he said at last. "But someone ought to spoil you, if only a little. At the moment, that honor falls to me – at least until we find a suitably lucrative target. I've not forgotten that I promised you the haul of a lifetime in Rozarria, only to have it fall far short of expectations. Perhaps I feel a bit guilty."
She let out a breath. "That's hardly your fault," she said. "There are things more precious than gil. I think I'd rather free a trapped spirit than liberate a fortune."
Of course she would – because that was simply the person she was. She hadn't been lured into their alliance five years ago with the promise of treasure; she had come out of love and loyalty. "Be that as it may," he said. "I gave you my word, and I owe you that which I promised. So be a dear and do keep your complaints to a minimum."
A flutter of reluctant laughter escaped her, and she wriggled to free herself from his arm. A brisk wind sailed down the street, whipping her hair into his face. "Now, Balthier," she said, and he braced himself for another protest.
It did not come. Her brows drew together; she tilted her head to the side, listening intently. In the distance, carried on the breath of the wind, came the faint sound of chimes.
She moved like a puppet on strings, all jerky hesitation as if compelled by an unseen master, her face carefully blank. All thoughts of argument abruptly forgotten, she turned away, skirting the scant passersby and wending through the thin crowd in search of the sound. He followed on her heels, baffled by the sudden change but determined to follow where she lead nonetheless.
The sound grew louder, cresting in rolling waves of sweet musical notes carried by the ebb and flow of the wind. At last she paused before a cart set up near an alley, and her destination became clear – from the top of the cart hung an assortment of wind chimes.
He paused beside her; she had closed her eyes, listening to the chimes, her face drawn in pensive consideration. Her fingers were linked before her, and he thought he saw her lower lip tremble just a bit. Just enough to make him suspect that he was witnessing a memory.
At last her eyes opened, a sheepish smile chasing across her face as she realized that he had been observing her silently for some time. "I found something I want," she said.
He chuckled. "Of everything you might've picked, you've decided upon wind chimes?" A quick glance at the tag revealed the price. "Oh, come now – I've purchased pints of ale that cost more. Couldn't you have picked something a bit more dear?"
"They're dear to me," she said, reaching out to tap one. The wooden tubes and thin metal bars clicked against one another, creating round, hollow tones interspersed with merry ringing. She smiled, warm and sweet and a bit sad.
He didn't even have to reach for his pocketbook; the chimes wanted only a handful of change. He passed it over to the vendor, who tucked it into his purse and picked a string of chimes off the cart. Penelo collected them, holding them in one hand to keep the cords from tangling. She carried it by its hanger like a precious treasure, safeguarding it against the passing people, carefully cradling the chimes in the palm of her free hand.
"Where will you hang them?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said, and laughed. "I don't know, but it doesn't matter."
"They'll need wind," he said. "But we can't exactly hang them from one of the Strahl's wings."
The corner of her mouth hitched in a wry grin. "They don't need wind," she said. "Gods know there wasn't any in Rabanastre, not with forty foot walls surrounding the city. But my mother had a set of chimes anyway, and they hung right in front of our door." Her voice grew wistful, caught in the misty flow of distant memories. "Whenever she arrived home, she'd give them a tap and the notes would come sailing in the door with her. That's how I remember her most: surrounded by the music of wind chimes, even in a city with no wind to speak of."
The fragile smile trembled on her lips and at last crumbled. She ducked her head and sniffled, and he knew that she was fighting back tears. "I found something I wanted after all," she said in a ragged whisper. "Do you think we could call it a day?"
He couldn't recall seeing her cry. Even when she had spoken of Raen, of the humiliation she'd suffered at his hands, she hadn't shed a tear. But any moment now she was going to start – because of a simple set of wind chimes – and he was going to be wrecked.
He slipped his free arm around her waist, gathering her close to his side. "Of course," he said.
And she notched her head against his shoulder in a spontaneous display of affection, and murmured, "Thank you."
She had hung the chimes up near the window in his bedroom, and the Strahl's gentle rocking coaxed forth lullaby-soft music to which she half-listened, drowsing with her head pillowed on his chest. Somehow she had staved off her tears, but she hadn't said a single word since they'd boarded the ship.
He suspected she was biding her time, refortifying the defenses that had crumbled, attempting to pack away again all of the memories that she'd compartmentalized in her childhood. She had been an orphan for some years before they had met; he had known that much. But she hadn't spoken of her family five years ago, and had offered only the tiniest glimpses of her past before the war since.
He hadn't had the happiest of childhoods, but he thought perhaps that she had – until Archadia's invasion had sent her life spiraling into complete upheaval. How could she have survived it, except by separating herself from the past and living only in the present?
He brushed his fingertips across the sleek softness of her bare shoulder, trailing them down her arm, which was draped across his abdomen, linking his fingers with hers. "How old were you, when your parents passed?" he asked.
She gave a half-shrug. "Thirteen, nearly fourteen. It was the week before my birthday."
There was no inflection; she might as well have been reciting a weather forecast, or events that had happened to someone else to whom she had no relation.
"It must have been difficult for you," he said.
"I try not to think about it," she said. "Some things hurt too much." She turned her head, burying her face against his chest, and her words were muffled. "Anyway, there were a lot of orphans. Lots of them were younger even than me, and we were all scared. I didn't have the luxury of grieving; there's no sense in it when you have to worry about finding a place to sleep, or wonder when your next meal will come. If it will come."
He winced, his heart wrenching at the words. For all that he too had been uprooted in his childhood, he had never worried about basic necessities. Love had been in short supply, but he had never wanted for food or shelter.
"They wouldn't have wanted me to mourn," she said with no small amount of conviction. "They would have thought it was a waste of time and energy, and they wouldn't have wanted me to cry either. They would have wanted me to keep only the good memories, and there were so many." She let out a shuddery sigh, and her fingers clutched at his. "The bitter ones have mostly faded with time, but the good ones are left."
"I'm glad," he said, aware of the raspy tenor of his voice.
"I didn't cry," she said. "But if I had, it wouldn't have been because I was sad." Her fingers flexed in his. "It was just…for a moment, I could close my eyes and see her. Like she'd just stepped out for a moment, and then there were the chimes, letting me know she'd come back home."
"I think they would have been proud of you," he said.
She half-turned, and she managed a cheeky smile. "I know they would have been," she said. "They fought for the Resistance, you know. Mama, Papa, and my brothers – all of them. I was too young to join, but they all fought for Dalmasca, for Ashe. I was so happy to follow in their footsteps, to help see their cause through to the end. It was a vicarious victory for them, and closure for me, I think. I couldn't bring them back, but I could honor their dreams for Dalmasca's future."
He had never been so noble. They had gone in exact opposite directions; he had shucked off expectations like a soiled set of clothes, spending years in the pursuit of fame and fortune, and she had spent hers carefully tending the dreams of her departed family. But she made him better – as if a bit of her nobility had rubbed off on him just through association.
She made him question things he had never questioned before, made him consider other people. She was the conscience he had never had much of a use for, nattering in his ear about protecting the livelihoods of servants who depended upon him, about lending assistance to those in untenable situations – a boy with too few coins for even so much as an apple, a long-dead queen trapped in her hidden tomb, the wife of her former lover. Her experiences hadn't hardened her the way his had hardened him; she had persisted in the face of them, guarding her heart perhaps a bit too closely, but invariably showing every kindness to those who had known too little.
Because she had once been one of them. And he thought that she must have seen a bit of herself in each of them, had been eager to render the aid that she had been denied, whereas he…he had never even bothered to look.
She would probably keep challenging him, teaching him, changing him in subtle ways. And he would let her do it – just for the sake of the glimmer in her eyes when he acquiesced to her requests, as if he'd grown a little in her eyes, as if he'd made her proud.
She was everything that had been lacking in his life: love, loyalty, honor, integrity, generosity. And perhaps he possessed a few flaws from which she could stand to benefit. She needed to learn the merits of occasional self-indulgence, a bit of well-deserved hedonism.
"You've been quiet," she said. "What are you thinking?"
Damnation – he couldn't tell her. And so he grappled desperately for something, and at last latched onto a stray thought that had been lingering at the back of his mind for some time: "Asraen was right about me, you know. Everything is contrived."
She made an inquisitive little sound, tilting her head to look up at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I wasn't raised in a noble household. I spoke the street cant with the most appalling accent you can imagine. I did ape my betters; when I was sent away to school, I studied the other lads. The way they spoke, the way they walked, their expressions – I stole it all, a thief even in my youth. None of it is real; I merely adopted it." He watched her face for any change, any hint of the distaste that had been a staple of his youth.
There was just the faint lift of an eyebrow. "And?" she prodded.
"That's it. That's all." He squeezed her fingers. "Most Archadians would've been horrified. The separation of the classes is extreme, and those who would reach beyond their station are not well received."
She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not Archadian," she said. "Besides, if they're anything like Raen, you're worth a dozen of them."
And in that moment, he would have given her anything she wished for.
But he had been a pirate for too many years not to want everything in return.