In her haste to complete her packing and prepare to leave in time with the rest of the party, Penelo had eschewed her typical plaits and opted for the relative ease and speed of arrangement that only a simple ponytail could provide. Unfortunately, her fine, fair hair, without its customary braids, was...distracting, at least to Balthier. Freed from the weightiness of the plaits, it bounced up into natural waves, floating in an intricate dance as the winds rushing across the plains swept it into motion, only to desert it so that it settled, at last, with mesmerizing swaying, over the bare small of her back.
No longer a prisoner of the heat in her child's garb, Penelo blossomed instead of wilting. Though they were all coated in sweat from the arduous trek towards their next location, only Penelo glowed. No, more than glowed...she sparkled. As if lit from within, she radiated joy and pleasure, her rapt gaze darting about in search of whatever new wonders each new exotic locale might hold, as if afraid that if she so much as blinked, she might miss something. She put him in mind of a caged bird that had slipped its confines, and now beat its wings furiously in haste to at last soar free amidst the endless blue sky. And once again, in the way that only she could, she made Balthier look upon the landscape with new eyes. A previously unencountered creature would amble across the worn path, and he could feel more than hear her delighted gasp and gentle, feathery exhalation, see her slowly-widening blue eyes, soft and bright with discovery.
And he wondered how long it had been since he had been so guileless, so completely devoid of artifice and pretensions, for he could not recall a time he had taken so much pleasure in such ordinary occurrences. But her unguarded reactions polished every landscape to blinding brightness, crumbled his world-weary cynicism into raw wonder.
The air was clean and fresh here, the chatter of birds in the trees an ethereal chorus, the cheerful melodies urging them ever onward. The tall grasses rippled in waves under an onslaught of wind, tender green stalks flecked through with the burnished gold of advancing summer shimmering in the sunlight. Once again he saw the beauty in the wild, untamed land, heard the call of adventure, felt the pull of excitement and promise of glory reeling him in. And he knew - knew - that she felt it as well, that Penelo, too, possessed an adventurer's heart.
The grassy plains sloped gently downward, vast, rolling hills sliding down into the port city of Balfonheim. He could not yet hear the roar of the ocean, but he could smell it in the air, the salty taste of the sea breeze lingering on his tongue, in his throat, with each breath. And he noted, too, that Penelo also relished it, tilting her face to the sun and she took a deep, cleansing breath. Another gust of wind whipped her loose hair into his face, stinging, and the spell was broken.
"Oh! I'm sorry." Her delicate fingers gently tugged away the offending strands, pulling her hair down over her shoulder, smoothing it away from her face. Even, white teeth worried her lower lip, wispy flyaway strands of blonde hair fluttered against her wind-flushed cheeks.
"No harm done," he muttered. But the wind molded the lightweight fabric of her pants to her legs with a carelessly intimate caress, and his gaze lingered for a fraction of a second too long before he managed to jerk it away.
He turned away too quickly, felt a seam in his shirt pull and hold, and recalled that it had been mended since last he had worn it. The practiced stitchery had rendered the garment wearable again, the fabric cleansed of all manner of offensive odors and stains. But it felt different - the linen, usually pressed to stiffness by either starch or the collected salt from the sea breeze, now felt smooth and buttery soft. How had she managed that?
"I suppose I ought to thank you," he said. "For mending and laundering my shirt. I can't imagine how you managed to do it; by all rights it should have dried stiff as a plank of wood."
She ducked her head, embarrassed, giving a half-hearted shrug. "It's best to pound the salt out with a rock. It's the same with sand. I used to help my mother do the washing, when my brothers would come home from the Westersands covered in sand and worse; it's really the only way I know to get it out."
He considered that. "It must've taken quite some time."
Another shrug. "I had it in spades. I don't care for sitting idle."
He had noticed. For weeks she had kept up with their blistering pace across Ivalice during the days, and then spent a significant portion of their nights setting up camp, gathering supplies, cooking dinner, and generally looking after the rest of their party. He wasn't so sure anyone else had truly noticed, for she generally affected the mien of a good servant - always quiet and in the background, anticipating needs and fulfilling them before they were voiced. Her actions gained no acknowledgment because she performed them not out of desire for praise but out of necessity. She received no thanks because the tasks had been performed before anyone had noticed they required attention. The face she presented to everyone else was not who she truly was but who they needed her to be. Her true self was given leave to emerge only when she was alone and there was therefore no need to fulfill anyone else's expectations.
He thought it was possible, likely, even, that he might've been the only one who had gotten a glimpse of the real Penelo - when she'd spoken so longingly of the stars, when he'd observed her without her knowledge at the hot spring, the night he'd stitched her wounds.
"I think perhaps you've not been idle long enough to know whether or not you might enjoy it," he remarked.
"It doesn't matter," she said, shading her eyes against the afternoon sun. "It's a luxury I can't afford, and what good would growing used to it do for me? I can't miss something I've never had." She skirted around a boulder, and he noticed she was favoring her wounded leg. Just a bit, not so much that any of the others would have noticed, but he had been looking for it, waiting for it.
"You might as well start growing accustomed to it," he said, striving to keep his tone light lest he provoke her into another argument. He caught her shoulder and hauled her back, pushing her down to sit upon a long, low outcropping in the boulder and holding her there. "You'll be experiencing it directly. Basch!"
Basch and Ashe were some distance ahead already, but they came loping back, catching up with Vaan and Fran along the way.
"Penelo requires rest. We ought to stop here for the night," Balthier said. "Isn't that so, Penelo?" He fixed her with a stare so intense that she flushed guiltily, silently daring her to dissent.
"Yes, I...I do need to rest. I'm sorry; I was going to ask for a break soon, really." She plucked self-consciously at the soft fabric of her pants, eyes downcast.
"A wise decision," Balthier said approvingly. "We're safe enough here. If we leave at first light, we ought to make Balfonheim by late afternoon tomorrow."
"But it's so close!" Vaan protested. "I can see it from here!"
"Forced perspective," Basch said as he dropped his bag, rooting through it for a flint and steel. "The hills run right down into it, and the angle makes it seem much closer than it truly is. Late afternoon is perhaps too ambitious. At our current pace, it could take a few hours longer."
Beneath his hand, Balthier felt Penelo squirm uncomfortably. Though Basch had not meant the statement as a judgment of any fashion, she could not help but to take it that way. After all, their pace had slowed considerably in deference to Penelo's more limited capabilities.
"Let me at least take care of dinner," she offered, struggling to shrug off Balthier's hand to rise.
"No," Ashe smiled reassuringly. "Fran and I shall take charge of that task. You may, however, tend the fire and brew yourself some tea." She dangled the pouch of herbs before Penelo, who accepted them with a look of distaste.
"I'm really starting to hate this tea," Penelo muttered.
"Nevertheless, you'll drink it," Ashe insisted. "Balthier will see that you do." She waved a hand imperiously, every inch a princess expecting her wishes to be fulfilled, but the mischief in her eyes bespoke some nebulous scheming nonsense that pricked at Balthier's temper. He bared his teeth in an insolent travesty of a smile, a message that she would find him a worthy opponent should her unknown machinations involve him.
"Of course," he agreed, his amiable tone at odds with his mutinous expression. "I should like nothing better."
The stillness of the night was broken by a crinkling of paper, and Balthier looked up from the small, leather-bound book he'd been reading. He could not see clearly across the camp, but somehow he knew who the culprit was, and what she was doing.
"Put it away, Penelo," he said in a low voice. "We've much ground to cover tomorrow. Rest while you are able."
Penelo shifted towards him on her bedroll, patently ignoring his request, struggling to decipher the star chart held in her hands. She alternated between squinting at the markings in the dim firelight and peering up at the sky. "I can't read this," she sighed. "How can anyone make out all these dots and lines?"
Balthier stifled a groan - would the willful child never do as she was instructed? Nonetheless, he resigned himself to indulging her curiosity, as he'd surely find no peace until he did. Snapping the book closed and setting it down beside him, he held out his hand. "Bring it here," he commanded.
She wrestled herself free of the confines of her bedroll, tiptoeing silently across the camp, and dropping down beside him to hand over the chart. She folded her legs beneath her, leaning over so that she could see it more clearly in his hands.
"These lines connect the stars into clusters called constellations." He gestured to the map, pointing out a small group of five stars. "You see, this group here is called Eritenya's Compass. The cluster is evenly spaced, which makes it one of the easiest constellations to locate." He pointed to the east, and Penelo easily located the cluster, twinkling brightly in the velvety blackness of the night sky.
"If you can find Eritenya's Compass, you ought to be able to locate some of the other constellations that surround it," Balthier said. He slid the map over to her, tapping a finger to the chart. "Find this one."
Penelo traced the outline of the constellation on the sheet of paper, then searched the sky. In relation to Eritenya's Compass, it was due west, or at least so claimed the star chart. But she found it easily, and pointed it out to Balthier with a pleased little laugh.
"Good. That one is called The Judgment of Canteras," Balthier said. "Do you see how the stars form a scythe?" He traced them for her, and indeed, they did resemble a scythe sweeping down as if in mid-swing. "It's named for an old legend in which an ancient king, Canteras, was executed by his people for his tyranny. He kept them poor and heavily taxed so he could fund his own indulgences, and thus was denied an honorable death at the point of a sword instead to be executed with the only tool at his people's disposal - a farm worker's scythe. A grisly end to a mockery of a king."
Wide-eyed, Penelo inquired, "Is that true?"
Balthier shrugged. "Who can say? Any evidence of his existence has been lost to time, and we are left with only a cluster of stars in the sky and a legend. But then, all legends contain within them fragments of truth."
Penelo brushed her fingers reverently over the chart, the closest she would likely ever get to reaching the stars. "Will you write the names down for me? I don't want to forget them."
"Better not," he said. "The names are intentionally left blank by chart makers, as each kingdom has its own legends. I know only Archades' names for the stars; you may wish to fill in Dalmasca's yourself, instead."
She shook her head. "I never knew them. Not much use in learning the names when you can't see them beyond the city lights." She tipped her head back, examining the sky with eyes that contained a new and fascinating knowledge. "Thank you for the star chart," she said. "It was kind of you. Assuming we make it through this alive, I'm going to learn everything there is to know about the stars. I'm going to follow them all over Ivalice, to the ends of the earth."
An amused chuckle. "Best to pick just one to start out with, lest you be drawn in too many directions at once."
She smiled, shrugged her understanding. "Fine, then. That one." She pointed to a star at the center of a new constellation on the chart, then searched it out on the western horizon. "That one right there. That's the one I'm going to follow. What's it called?"
He stilled, the lips that had been curled in indulgent amusement just moments ago flattening out into a firm line. "Pick another. That one will not guide you anywhere you wish to go."
She cocked her head to one side, studying him curiously. Something had changed in him in a space of seconds, and she wanted desperately to discover what it was. She shook her head. "No. I've decided already. I just want to know what it's called, Balthier."
"You really ought to just pick a different -"
"Just tell me the name," she said. "I can be awfully tenacious when I want to be. I'll pry it out of you one way or another."
He made an irritated sound in the back of his throat, averting his gaze. "The Pirate Balthier," he said peevishly.
She barely suppressed a giggle, coughing to disguise the laughter that rose in her throat. "You took your name from the stars?"
"Why would you think I appropriated the name? Perhaps I was named for them," he said lightly.
She shook her head. "No, I think not. I can tell when you're lying."
He arched a brow. "I highly doubt that," he drawled in disbelief. "I'm rather an accomplished liar."
An artful shrug. "Be that as it may, growing up in the low places that I have, I've had more experience with liars and unsavory characters than I'd care to admit. There are always those willing to take advantage of a girl on her own. For my own safety, I learned to listen for lies. You may be a good liar, but I'm a better listener, and Balthier is not your given name."
He regarded her shrewdly, as though trying to ascertain the veracity of her speech. His eyes narrowed. "Tomas," he said.
"Lie." She wrinkled her nose as if she could smell it.
"Drasen." Still his eyes observed her steadily.
"Lie." An airy, silvery laugh, her eyes glinting with mirth, reflecting the glimmering stars above them.
"Ffamran."
Her mirth died by degrees, the smile slowly fading as she turned to face him. She settled her chin in her palm, her brow furrowing in confusion...and interest. "Truth," she said softly.
Balthier surged to his feet. "It's nearly Fran's watch," he said in clipped tones dripping with scorn, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, studiously avoiding Penelo's curious gaze. "Wake her in twenty minutes. I'll be gone a while."
"Balthier, what are you afraid of? It's not a crime to tell the truth. It's not a weakness to show your true self."
His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with anger. "I fear nothing," he said brusquely. "I simply don't care to have an irritating little street urchin with no manners or sense of which to speak prying into my life. Don't mistake me for a friend, Penelo. You, all of you, are merely a means to an end. Nothing more."
Penelo sighed as she watched him stalk away into the darkness. Then she turned her eyes to the western sky, raising her hand to trace the outline of Balthier's constellation with her fingers.
"Lie," she sighed wistfully. But the word was swallowed up into the all-encompassing silence.