Their passage off the passenger ship, out of the Aerodrome, and into Archadia proper had been easier than she had expected. Penelo had been fraught with worry the entire time that somehow they would be discovered and apprehended. It was only the calming grip of Balthier's hand on hers that had steadied her nerves, kept the ever-threatening panic at bay. She wondered if he even realized that he still held her hand in his, decided not to point out that the ruse was no longer necessary.
She glanced back at the Aerodrome as they exited, knowing that the rest of their party was soon to arrive, sparing a thought, a silent plea to whatever gods might be listening, for their safe passage. A mantle of constant worry had settled over her shoulders and would not be lifted, she knew, until they were reunited.
The outskirts of the city were filled with greenery, lush blooms weighing heavily on the trees, the air redolent with their perfume. A light breeze scattered petals; they drifted in the wind like pink snowflakes, littering the path they walked upon, forming a carpet of satin beneath her feet. Dalmasca was mostly deserts sprinkled through with the occasional oasis; she had never seen so many flowers in her life. The profusion of color was both wondrous and jarring to her starved senses.
"It's beautiful here," she murmured acidly, bitterly.
Balthier, who had not thought of Archadia as his home in many years, remained unfazed. "It masks ugliness without end," he replied. "This place has rotted straight through to the core."
The rolling green hills faded away and the narrow streets widened as they entered the capitol city of Archades itself, the simple clothing worn by the residents of the outlying areas paling in comparison to the resplendence of the citydweller's garments. Even Balthier's clothing, which had always appeared to be the height of elegance and refinement to her, seemed somewhat dowdy when put up against the fine silks and satins, embroidered trousers and coats flaunted at every turn.
Her own clothing, the finest by far that she had ever owned, stood out starkly as foreign, the plain garb of the lower classes. She caught the haughty stares of a group of matronly women, covered throat to toes in their heavily decorated finery, staring with disdain at her bare arms, bare midriff, bare back. Her cheeks burned; she felt their piercing stares even they passed the group, lingering on her with such intensity that she itched to turn around and snap at them in anger.
"Don't give them the satisfaction," Balthier muttered, somehow sensing her discomfiture. "You're worth twenty of them." And his hand squeezed hers reassuringly.
That tiny gesture spoke volumes. She treasured it, even as she knew the tentative truce between them could never last. It persisted now only because they were still alone together. The night before had been an anomaly, a few short hours out of time, never to be spoken of in the light of day. Never to be spoken of at all.
The crowd thickened as they approached the heart of the city, they weaved through streams of people, knots of foot traffic obstructing their path. Penelo marveled at the sea of hats set with bobbing feathers, of oversized gowns, of waterfalls of lace and beading stretched across every available section of cloth. She wondered absently how much of this nation's wealth came from the pilfered resources of the nations that Archadia had subjugated. Did these people know what their ruler had done to the rest of Ivalice, how great nations had cowered in fear, had been forced to bend knee to almighty Archadia? And if they did know, did they even care?
Balthier pulled her into a cafe, directing her to wait at one of the tables while he placed an order at the counter. He returned a few moments later with what would pass for breakfast - cups of tea, scones sprinkled with cinnamon and almonds, clotted cream, an assortment of jams. They were wedged into a secluded corner of the terrace with a good view of the streets, no neighboring tables near enough to hear anything spoken between them, provided they modulated their voices.
He indicated a building on the opposite side of the street with a subtle jerk of his head. Penelo looked up - and up - and up. The building towered overhead, spires disappearing into the lowhanging fluffy white clouds overhead.
"Draklor Laboratories," he murmured. "We shall wait here for the others to arrive. Best not to be seen lingering outside."
A frisson of fear slid up her spine. An hour's wait, she supposed. An hour before they knew whether or not their secret entry into the city had been a rousing success or an abject failure. She tipped a bit of sugar and cream into her tea, stirred, sipped. Even the heat of the tea could not melt the core of ice that had settled in her stomach.
"They will be fine," he said, sensing the source of her concern. "We had no trouble entering the city, and I am certainly notorious enough to merit a reward for my capture. I did commandeer the Strahl, after all.
The tiny teacup clattered as she set it down. "You stole it? From the Empire?"
He arched a brow. "What part of sky pirate have you thus far not understood? How would you propose I go about sky pirating without a ship of my own?"
"I didn't really consider...I suppose you stole it when you...left Archades, then?"
"Mmm. I had had the initial testing of her, when she was created. But mass production was deemed too expensive, and they were going to destroy her. Such a beautiful prototype - I could hardly let her go to scrap. It seeming fitting, I suppose, to make my escape with her, and I had grown rather attached. She has served me well over the years. I hold out hope that she may yet be repaired." A vaguely wistful tone in his voice, as if he were reminiscing about a dear friend. And perhaps he was, in a sense.
He nudged the remnants of his breakfast across the table. "Eat. You cannot keep nibbling at your meals; you'll soon waste away."
"I'm really not very hungry." A vast understatement; her stomach pitched and rolled. She wondered how Balthier could maintain his unaffected mien, knowing full well that today they would confront his father. Was he dreading what was to come, of once more having to witness his father's madness, or was he relishing the thought of his revenge?
He had caught sight of someone on the walk outside of the cafe, caught their attention with a subtle gesture, and she craned her neck around him to see. Basch and Fran, walking along the street towards them, looking hale and whole.
Penelo, caught between a sigh of heartfelt relief and a shout of exultant joy, performed neither, intensely aware that any further attention they drew could prove to be catastrophic. Instead she waited silently as Basch and Fran approached, ordered their own meals, and drew chairs up to the table at which Balthier and Penelo were waiting.
"Any trouble?" Balthier asked.
"None," Basch responded.
"An uneventful flight," Fran added, and Penelo thought she heard something faintly disdainful in Fran's voice, as if the Viera had grown used to a life of excitement and disliked the very thought of leisure travel on principle.
"If all goes well, Lady Ashe will arrive shortly with Vaan. I thank you for the map; it was of much assistance," Basch said to Balthier.
"Yes, well, Archadia has changed but little since I was last within its borders," Balthier slung an arm over the back of his chair, affecting a casual pose. "I wouldn't get too accustomed to thanking me if I were you, though. I have goals of my own. For the moment, they align with your own purpose. You'd be a fool to expect the status quo to hold." A warning, however vague, that they could soon find themselves at cross purposes.
Fran stirred her own tea silently, and Penelo wondered how much she knew, if Balthier had confided his past to her. But Fran's face revealed nothing, as usual.
Penelo had thought that perhaps Fran's presence might draw them more unwanted attention, but it seemed that Viera were no strangers to Archades. Indeed, Fran had drawn less notice than she had. But sheltered in the far corner of the terrace as they were, they seemed to be more or less invisible.
She tensed almost imperceptively as a cadre of Imperial soldiers rounded the corner, walking in perfectly uniform strides, heavily armored. They did not appear to be searching for anyone in particular, were merely making their rounds, but Penelo felt her nails dig tiny crescents into her palms.
"You'll give us away," Balthier said in a faintly chiding tone after the group of soldiers had passed. "Behave as if you belong and they will not question you."
Fran had glanced up sharply at Balthier, wondering at his warning to Penelo. She had not noticed the girl's sudden rigidity; that Balthier had noticed was...odd. It bespoke something more than mere camaraderie. She wondered what had passed between them on their trip, suddenly certain that it could not have been described as uneventful. Ashe had flung the two of them together apurpose, that much she was sure of - had the dispossessed princess, too, sensed the tension roiling beneath the surface?
But she wisely said nothing - such things were hardly table conversation, and Balthier would not thank her for drawing attention to his private affairs. Instead she calmly sipped her tea, keeping her thoughts to herself.
Penelo watched the streets further clog with people as the crisp early morning faded into the sultry heat of full daylight. The throngs of people made it difficult to see any further than a few feet, and she searched the crowd desperately, hoping, praying that she would soon see the familiar faces of Vaan and Ashe.
Balthier, in an effort to alleviate her worry, had ordered again at the counter, and two plates of pastries had been set at two additional places at their table. He had hoped that his surety of their imminent arrival would calm her somewhat, but still her eyes swept the streets desperately.
At last she breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief, sinking back into her chair, the stiffness of her spine melting away. She lifted her hand to beckon to someone, and Ashe and Vaan strolled onto the terrace, looking none the worse for their trip. They dropped into the empty chairs, Vaan tearing into his breakfast with all enthusiasm, Ashe neatly preparing her tea and daintily picking apart her scones to slather them with cream and jam.
"Now that we have all arrived," Balthier said, "we ought to discuss our plan of attack for Draklor Laboratories."
"What is the business you claimed we would have there, Balthier?" Ashe asked. "You had best enlighten us, for I am not in the habit of blindly following in the footsteps of pirates. I would know where they lead."
"So distrustful," Balthier admonished, all benign mockery. "As it happens, Draklor is the source of manufacted nethicite. Should you wish to reclaim your birthright - the Dusk Shard, isn't it? - I am afraid we shall have to prise it from the control of the Empire. Unless I miss my mark, and I assure you that I do not, it will be in the possession of Dr. Cid, proprietor and head researcher of Draklor."
"So you propose we attempt to take a heavily guarded facility alone, on what we must trust not to be a fool's errand?" Basch's voice was even and low, but scathing suspicion seeped into his tone, enough that even Penelo's back straightened to offended rigidity. Balthier remained unruffled, or at least he appeared so - she could never be certain with him, he wore his mask of nonchalance so well.
"Not precisely alone," Balthier corrected. "Reddas will accompany us; he is likely waiting even now. He will have cleared us a path, we need only follow it and join him. He will be a worthy ally."
"Reddas," Ashe said incredulously. "You would have us trust a Judge Magister? Trust the man who destroyed Nabradia, killed my husband, and stole my crown?"
"Former Judge Magister, please," Balthier responded lightly, and Penelo thought she might have heard just a trace of bitterness in his words, the shame of his own past coloring them. "Reddas broke with the Empire long ago, after he witnessed the destruction that nethicite wrought. He claims no allegiance with the Empire and has been working against them for some time."
"It is as Balthier says," Fran broke in. "Reddas has set himself up in Balfonheim, as a patron of pirates and enemies of the Empire. He will not work against us. He has agreed to aid us at the request of Marquis Ondore. And of Balthier, in respect of their long-standing acquaintance."
"How did you come by such knowledge of Draklor?" Basch asked Balthier, suspicion out in full force.
Balthier was silent a moment. He had anticipated such questions, of course, knew that his directives would lead to precisely this interrogation. He had not wished to reveal his reasons for this particular errand, but they were no doubt bound to discover them anyway.
Finally he said, "Dr. Cid is my father. I have seen first hand what devastation his obsession with nethicite has wrought. It has long been my intention to depose him." He caught up a flaky scone in his hand. "The fact of the matter is this: if we bring to ruin the means of production for manufacted nethicite," - he crushed the scone in his fist - "the Empire will crumble." He opened his clenched fist, showering the crumbs of the mangled scone across the table.
Ashe considered his speech. "You would truly see your own father brought so low?"
Balthier sneered, leaned forward, hissed his response. "I would have him crawl on his belly like the snake that he is. I would ruin him as he has ruined me."
Draklor Laboratory appeared nearly deserted. If Ashe and Basch had had any lingering doubts as to the truth of Balthier's claims, they were laid to rest almost immediately. Behind a desk in the lobby, two felled guards were sprawled upon the floor beneath a massive painting depicting Dr. Cid in his younger years.
Ashe's eyes darted between Balthier and the portrait, unabashedly surprised.
"I'm told the likeness is uncanny." Balthier's apathetic statement drew no comment. And it was the truth; there were just enough differences in their faces for proof positive that they were not one and the same, but there was clearly no denying that Balthier was the son of Cidolfus. They had the same strong jawline, the same wickedly arching brows, the same intense green eyes - although Dr. Cid's were accented by oval spectacles. Penelo did her own level best not to gawk - even though she had known well beforehand, it was still somewhat a shock to see it so glaringly displayed before her.
"Let's be off," Balthier said. "It seems that Reddas has left us a trail to follow." He nodded towards a long hallway, where two more guards were slumped, unconscious.
They followed the trail of downed guards like they were bread crumbs, finally coming upon Reddas outside a set of massive double doors. Reddas had heard the sounds of their approach and reacted on instinct, slashing out at them. Swords connected, clashed, as Basch blocked the blow.
"My apologies," Reddas said, withdrawing his blade. "I thought you were another group of henchman come to strike me down. You're later than I had expected."
"Cid?" Balthier asked.
Reddas shook his head, mystified, and gestured to the doors. "Within, speaking to himself. I'd heard rumors, of course, of his madness. I had not expected..." he hesitated. "It is not as bad as people are saying. It is far worse."
A sharp nod from Balthier, grim acknowledgement. "As I expected. He can only have grown worse over time. It is past time to end this. It should have been done long ago."
Reddas crossed an arm over his chest, bowing in salute to Ashe. "My lady, I have done you a terrible disservice. My sword is yours, however long you have need of it."
Ashe's jaw clenched in barely restrained fury. She itched to strike out at the man who had been so instrumental in her kingdom's defeat, but instead she said, "Your actions have devastated my kingdom. You shall make amends here and now."
Reddas had not expected forgiveness and was unshaken by the vitriol in her furious voice. "For what I have wrought, I can never make amends. I can, however, lend my assistance in the reclamation of your crown."
"In all haste, then," Basch said. Together they pushed open the massive doors, invading the inner sanctum of the man they had come to slay.
Dr. Cid stood, arms clasped behind his back, at the large picture window looking down at the sprawling city below. He did not face them as they entered, but he spoke to Balthier.
"Ahh, the prodigal son returns at last. Have you come to kill me, then? He told me you would. Oh, yes."
To the average observer, Balthier's face would have appeared perfectly expressionless. Only Penelo noticed minute narrowing of his eyes, the tightening of his jaw.
"I'll not be drawn into your madness, old man," Balthier said, his voice projecting only indifference, as if he would not give Cid the satisfaction of his hatred.
Cid turned to face them, and Penelo was once again taken aback - it was like seeing Balthier years into the future. The silvered hair, the still-handsome face. Still just as elegant, proud, arrogant. Still wearing that maddening smirk, the intensity of those green eyes undimmed. But the features of the father were harsher, crueler. Where Balthier was fire and recklessness, the father was ice and ruthless inhumanity. His very coldness, soullessness sent a shiver of fear down Penelo's spine.
"And you've brought the princess," Cid said. "The last remaining soul for whom this nethicite resonates." He held out the glowing stone clutched in his fist. "Do you, too, long for the power contained in this shard, princess? It is your birthright, after all."
The taunt forced Ashe forward a step; Reddas stayed her with his hand at her elbow.
"No. He means to use you," he said to her. "Do not permit him to goad you into it."
"He is mad," she hissed back. "He cannot be allowed to retain possession of the Dusk Shard. He must be stopped!"
"I stand as your sword and shield," Reddas replied. "You will stay out of this fray." He shoved her back towards Fran and Penelo and charged Cid, sword swinging down upon him. The blow connected instead with a protective aura surrounding Cid, the recoil instant and brutal, launching Reddas halfway across the room where he crashed upon the floor in a heap.
Penelo gasped; the force field that had sent Reddas flying dissolved into mist, which solidified behind Cid as a ghostly, looming figure.
Cid merely looked up at it, readjusting his sleeves. "My thanks, Venat."
Balthier felt his heart lurch in his chest, a sick feeling roiling in his stomach. "All this time, you've been taking your orders from that thing?"
Cid glanced at his son. "Venat has done more for the Empire, for me, than any of my execrable, useless sons have ever managed." He stalked across the room, protected by the glow of Venat's shield, stopping briefly before Balthier, staring at his son with something akin to disgust, as if he found the man his son had become abhorrent. "Even now you continue to disappoint, Ffamran. I had expected more of you, better of you."
Balthier tensed, his hand jerking to the gun holstered on his hip, but Basch stayed him. "No. We cannot defeat him here. Not when he is protected."
"He is a waste of humanity," Balthier snarled furiously, and his voice dripped with all of his unvented rage, unsatisfied revenge. Cid resumed his casual stride toward the door, unconcerned with his son's judgment.
"My work in Archadia has been completed," he said. "Venat tells me there is more nethicite, more power than can be dreamed of for the taking in Giruvegan. Ashelia Dalmasca, I shall be waiting for you there. Prove to me your worth, prove to me your lust for the nethicite, and join me."
Balthier watched his father disappear, watched his chance at revenge dwindle to nothing before his eyes. Anger and despair settled about his shoulders like a cloak. The anger he would harness, channel into action, but the despair seeped into him, chilling him to the bone.
A light touch on his arm. "Where do we go from here?"
Penelo stood beside him, lending comfort in her soft voice, her ready concern in itself a balm to his battered soul. He had been so sure, so ready to end his long years of torment, to free himself from the chains of his past. Now they clung ever tighter, and he struggled under their stranglehold.
But he was being observed, the rest of them wondering what his reaction would be, how he would handle this newest revelation. He straightened his shoulders, reined in the rage that dictated his actions, faced them.
"Where else? To Giruvegan."
"That thing...Venat, he called it...what was it?"
Balthier pressed his fingers to his eyes, scowling at the question. Despite his professed desire for solitude - he had shut himself up in a room by himself for the entirety of the trip back to Balfonheim, the length of their journey cut in half by the much faster speed of Reddas' own airship - he had been unable to shake Penelo, who had stuck to his side like a burr immediately as they'd disembarked. Since then, he had taken up an unused bedroom in Reddas' massive seaside home, pilfered a bottle of whiskey, and slouched into an armchair before the roaring fire. The other members of their party had wisely left him to brood, but Penelo had been unwilling to do so. Even now she knelt beside his chair.
Anyone else he might've spoken to sharply, might've dismissed out of hand. But not Penelo. She was different. She thought she was helping, in her own way, to coax him out of his dark mood. And he could not snap at her, could not repay her unflagging care with scorn.
"One of the Occuria," he said finally. "One of the Old Gods, legendary weavers of Ivalice's destiny."
Her brows drew together. "Then...he isn't mad, is he?"
"No." Rage boiled over, scorching in its intensity. "He's never been mad. He's always known exactly what he was doing." The pain, the anger, burned him like fire. "He sacrificed Sarema of his own accord." He exploded into motion, a quick jerk of his arm and the glass that had been in his hand exploded into the fireplace, splintering into shards.
"Balthier." She placed her hand upon his arm, a gesture intended to calm, but he jerked away.
"How can you even bear to touch me?" he snarled. "You have seen what he is. His blood flows in my veins; I am tainted."
Slowly, deliberately, she laid her hands on either side of his face. "You are not your father," she said. "You are not responsible for his actions."
He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. He had longed for those words, but he would not - could not - believe them. "Blood will out, dear girl."
"Oh?" She stood, clasping her hands before her. "You must believe Basch to be cut of the same cloth as his brother, then. When do you expect him to betray us? He has already been branded a king-killer, after all."
He scowled. "It's hardly the same thing."
"It's exactly the same thing." She carefully pried the bottle of whiskey from his hand. He relinquished it without a fight; in his current state she would win regardless. "Place the blame where it lies - with your father. Why do you have to keep punishing yourself?"
"Because I could have saved her!" he shouted. She flinched at his tone, and guilt clawed at him. He dragged his hands through his hair, sighing. "I could have saved her. Instead, I left her with him. I am as responsible as he."
"What could you have done, a boy of sixteen," she chided gently. "When he was serving such gods?"
"Something. Anything. Anything but what I did...leaving her to such a cruel fate, fleeing like a coward afterwards. I swore I would protect her, and I failed." He cradled his head in his hands, and felt her hands in his hair, stroking it soothingly.
"Then we will avenge her," she said. "We've all suffered, but none of us need to suffer alone anymore. We're going to see this through to the bitter end."
He lifted his head. "And are you prepared to fight against the gods?"
She shrugged, uncaring. "I've lost so much already; what more have I got to lose?"
"Your life, you foolish child."
A wry smile. "It hasn't been worth so very much anyway."
He thought for a moment what the world would be like were the bright spark of her life extinguished. It would lose all color for him. He might as well languish in the darkness forever.
"Don't value yourself so cheaply," he muttered.
"I could say the same for you," she quipped back, coaxing a reluctant grin from him.
Somehow she had, with her incessant nagging concern, drawn him from the black cloud of despair that had enveloped him. He could never quite be sure how she managed to do it, but she drove away the guilt and pain, surrounded him instead with her empathy, pricked his temper enough to force him into action rather than allowing him to wallow.
He sighed. "What have I done to deserve you, brought down upon my head like a plague?" But the words lacked heat, and she smiled, satisfied that he would rise again despite the harsh blow he had taken.
"We're leaving for Giruvegan in the morning," she said. "Reddas said the Strahl has been repaired. I thought you might like to know."
She turned as if to leave, hesitated, then turned back to face him. And before he could wonder at her intent, she bent down and pressed a cool, chaste kiss to his lips. In the dim firelight he could see her face only in shadows, wished he could read her expression.
"You are nothing like your father," she said fiercely. "I would never have let you touch me if you were."
She made to leave, but he grabbed her wrist, and said, simply, "Stay."