The barred door had prevented any of the maids from creeping in to stoke a fire that might chase away the chill of the morning air. That was the thing about palaces; they were so drafty, the marble and stone holding in the cold. And yet, even without the heat of the fire, Penelo was not particularly cold. Probably because Balthier's chest was pressed against her back, the heat of his body like a furnace, suffusing her with his warmth. One of his arms was thrust beneath the pillows under her head, the other draped over her waist, keeping her held securely in the curve of his body. Her head was tucked beneath his chin, one of his legs caught between hers, entangled.
She didn't want to wake, because that would mean a return to reality she did not want to face. A reality she hadn't the courage to confront. And she was afraid he could wear her down. That he would wear her down. That all of her convictions not to be such a weak-willed, simpering, idiotic sort of female would just collapse beneath the heat of his ardor...just as she had the night before. Stupid of her, really, but somehow she could not muster any regret. She supposed she had been waiting for it since his reappearance, had known that she would inevitably end up back in bed with him. Perhaps she had even wanted it - one last night, one last perfect memory to cherish in the lonely years ahead.
Beneath the pillow, his arm flexed. He stretched like a cat, all sinuous motion and rippling muscle, coming to wakefulness slowly. A purr of contentment rumbled in his chest; he swept her hair aside to nuzzle her throat. He pressed a kiss to the delicate skin behind her ear and murmured, "Darling girl, how I have missed you."
As she had missed him. Oh, how she had missed him - for all the good it would do her. No, she would not dwell. She shoved the thought to the back of her mind, eased away from him, clutching the sheet tightly to her.
He sensed her unease, was wise enough not to protest the distance she put between them. "Surely you must believe me now. There has been no one else."
And she...did. Memories intruded unbidden, warm hands on her face, her back, her hips, burning eyes on hers, holding her gaze as he whispered things like no one else and beyond compare to her. And other things that heated her cheeks in the cold light of day; how would she ever be able to look him in the eyes after that?
"Yes," she said finally, and his lips curved into a warm smile. "But you have to leave," she pressed on.
"Now, why would I want to do that?" Those devilish fingers had breached the neutral space between them, brushed her bare arm, smoothed up over her shoulder. She slapped ineffectually at his hand.
"I want to visit my estate," she said. "And Ashe will never let me go without some assurance that you will not abduct me along the way. So I want your promise that you will not."
He considered that a moment, propped himself up on his elbow, resting his chin in his hand. "And you would believe me, were I to make such a promise?" he asked.
Probably she shouldn't, but she would. She must - she could not bear to be confined to the palace any longer. "Yes," she said. And she hoped he would not make her regret it.
And he smiled like he'd won something. "Darling girl, I do believe you may be beginning to trust me."
She wasn't. Surely she wasn't? She was not such a fool as that...she hoped. And so she said nothing, but that knowing look in his eyes unnerved her.
"Very well," he said, dropping a kiss onto her shoulder. "I give you my promise. No abductions."
She let out a sigh of relief and climbed out of bed, taking the sheet with her, hearing with reluctant amusement Balthier's sigh of disappointment.
"I'm going to speak with Ashe," she said. "You should probably stay hidden here until I've gone."
"Probably for the best," he agreed. "I'd ask if I may call upon you, but I'm certain I would not like the answer, so I shall not."
"Call upon me?" she inquired.
"Ask." He folded his arms behind his head, grinned at her.
She rolled her eyes in exasperation, grabbed up an outfit from her wardrobe, stalked to the bathroom where she intended to change, and snapped the door shut behind her.
Ashe surveyed Penelo calmly over the rim of the porcelain tea cup. "I received word this morning that the Strahl has departed from Rabanastre," she said, watching for a reaction.
But Penelo's face was utterly placid, drawn in smooth, even lines, perfectly neutral. "Oh?" Just a touch of polite interest; Penelo truly had the makings of a diplomat. "I should like to visit my estate, then, if it's not objectionable to you."
Ashe hid a smile. "I'm not certain that's wise just yet. It could be a ploy to defray suspicion."
"It's not," Penelo protested immediately. "He promised -" Her face flooded with color upon realizing what she had revealed; she closed her mouth and subsided into tense silence.
"A simple lesson," Ashe said lightly. "Never let yourself be manipulated into divulging more than you wish. You'll find that silence is often your most powerful asset." She served up a flaky scone on a small plate and offered it to Penelo. "So, I presume that he has successfully breached palace security, then?"
Useless, now, to pretend that he had not. Penelo gave a short nod.
"Well, seeing as there have been no attempts at abduction - as far as I am aware - I suppose it might be safe enough to travel. I shall, of course, escort you, just in case." Ashe thought a moment. "What did he promise you, then?"
Penelo mumbled, "No further abduction attempts."
"And you believe him?" Ashe inquired.
"I...yes." Penelo's brows drew together as she refilled their cups. "I think I do." A flutter of self-deprecating laughter. "Is that utterly foolish, do you think?"
"Time will tell, dear." Ashe accepted the fresh tea Penelo offered. "Time will tell."
The flight from Rabanastre to Penelo's estate in the Esterlands - once called the Estersands, but renamed as the area had slowly revitalized from its previous harsh and primitive climes - was mercifully brief, a touch shorter than two hours. Sheltered in the lee of a mountain range on the border, it had been an oasis in the otherwise arid region even before the climate had shifted into temperance. Far from the royal city, it was a haven of peaceful hills and valleys, orchards and vineyards, tall green grasses that had ripened to wheat as autumn advanced. Wind rippled through the stalks, lending the appearance of rolling golden waves. The land stretched out into the distance, tenant farms and homesteads dotting the hills that spread down and away from the stately manor house.
Penelo loved it on sight - no walls, no fences, nothing but open air and sky and steady ground beneath her feet. A place she could breathe - truly breathe - at last.
"There were many to choose from," Ashe said from behind her. "Really, you've no idea - so many abandoned estates. But this one, I thought, would be perfect for you."
"It is," Penelo breathed reverently. "It is perfect." A home. A place to return to; a place that no one could take from her. A slice of land she could walk, explore, and shape.
Droves of servants carried luggage from the airship towards the manor house - apparently queens required a veritable mountain of things when they traveled. Penelo had packed relatively little, but now she regretted it.
"Ashe," she said. "I don't believe I will be returning with you to Rabanastre when you go. Now that I'm here, I think I would like to stay."
"I had expected as much," Ashe replied dryly. "I imagine you'll be rather busy in the coming days. I should like to stay a while, of course, to see you settled. But you needn't dance attendance on me; I can manage on my own."
The doors of the manor house burst open, and a dark-haired young man scurried down the steps towards the airship, a stack of papers clenched in his hand.
"That would be your steward, I imagine," Ashe said. "You'll have much to discuss."
"Yes, I suppose we will." Penelo took a deep breath of the clean, pure air and smiled.
True to her word, Ashe had stayed out of Penelo's affairs, allowing Penelo the freedom to make her own discoveries. Days passed in drawn-out discussions over the merits of growing apples over peaches, what grains were to be planted in the next seasons, what livestock would best suit the fields.
In the mornings, Penelo had made it her habit to rise early and take stock of her estate, brisk walks through the orchards and through the village. Midday was reserved for lengthy conversations with her steward - an able young man who had seen through her requests in her absence - over what improvements might be planned and which tenants had need of assistance. Evenings were spent talking over her various decisions with Ashe for additional advice or otherwise in reflective silence, mulling over her progress since her arrival.
And she had made progress; her steward was capable, he provided sound advice and deferred to her wishes. He had displayed no small measure of relief at her eagerness to involve herself, pleased that she took so much interest in her holdings with the intention of improving not just herself but all those dependent upon her. Together they had gone visiting tenants and had made a long list of notes as to what might be done to relieve the burdens of the common people. The tenants, in response, had been overwhelmingly delighted with their new mistress, not in spite of her common roots, but because of them. She listened to their concerns and addressed them as equals; she would not be one of the lofty ones that came down from her secluded home only to secure the rents, but instead took interest in their lives, spoke with them, laughed with them, cuddled their babies and played exuberantly with their older children.
She dressed simply, she spoke plainly, and she made generous offers of aid to those in need. And her steward dutifully made his marks, tallied up expenditures, and delivered on the promised goods. Penelo thought they worked rather well together - she had learned him well enough through letters and conversation that she could trust him to carry out her wishes in her absence. And she did expect to go traveling soon - as much as she loved this land, so too did she love the sky. As soon as she might acquire her own airship, she intended to further her travels.
Nearly two weeks had elapsed, and Ashe was preparing to leave soon for Rabanastre. And though she would miss Ashe's sound advice, she would not miss the guards clomping around her home in their heavy armor. Though she had been relieved of her own personal escorts, she found just the clinking of their armor enough to set her teeth on edge. That alone would be reason enough to spend much of her time out of doors, had she not already been so inclined.
And she was; with no guards at her heels she was free to wend her way through the orchard in solitude as she did now, unbothered by constant chatter behind her, servants milling about, or polite inquiries as to where she'd care to take tea to scatter her thoughts. Instead she weaved among the trees, picked a worthy-looking specimen, and hauled herself into its low-slung branches, hanging her legs over the bough. The harvest was only just beginning, most of the trees still laden with fruit. Hanging above her head an apple hovered dangling from a branch; she grabbed it up and twisted it at the stem and it fell into her hand, ripe and firm.
With no one to rebuke her manners - or lack thereof - she shined the fruit on the silk of her top, and bit into it; its crisp flavor burst upon her tongue, tart and sweet. She chewed thoughtfully; a few rows over the orchard ended, trees giving way to pastures fit for grazing livestock, but as yet there were none. She considered the empty fields - she knew what sorts of prices fruits and vegetables might fetch at market, what should be planted and when, but she knew nothing about animals, about what it required to raise them or which would be the most useful to her estate, to the tenants that worked it.
"Sheep, I think."
She jerked, choked on a bit of apple, would have pitched backward off the branch were it not for a warm hand at her back steadying her. Incredulously, she looked over her shoulder.
"You've developed a nasty habit of sneaking up on me," she said sulkily, even as Balthier grinned at her.
"You've developed a nasty habit of letting down your guard," he countered. He nodded his head to indicate the pastures she'd been considering. "Sheep for those. Easy to raise, and you can get a good price for the wool as well as the mutton."
"Sheep," she repeated inanely. Shaking off the shock, she asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Calling upon you." He ducked beneath the branch beneath her, laid one palm upon her knee, snatched the apple from her hand and bit into it.
"You said you wouldn't."
"I said I wouldn't ask," he corrected. "Don't tell me you are displeased to see me; I shall be crushed."
"Usually," she said, "when one calls upon someone, one leaves their card with the butler and waits for admittance. I do remember that from all of those lady lessons Ashe pressed upon me."
"As her majesty is still in residence, I declined to take my chances." He held the apple away when she grabbed for it. "You can hardly blame me. And after all, I did keep my promise, did I not?"
"Much to my surprise," she muttered, making another unsuccessful grab for the apple. "Oh, come now. There's an orchard full of apples; must you steal mine?"
"I am a thief, darling girl. Fruit is so much the sweeter when it belongs to someone else." That disarming grin; she didn't know what he wanted from her. So he had kept his promise and left her to enjoy her new found freedom; that didn't explain why he had come now. Or...how he had come. How had he found her? Rather than bicker with him over the loss of her apple, she reached up and snagged a new one - only his hand cupped her waist, ostensibly to steady her, but the light pressure of his fingers was too teasing, too provocative. And something flared in his eyes, a hot, slow burn that made her shiver under its onslaught.
Instead she directed her attention to examining the fresh fruit. "How did you know to come here? Ashe said there were many estates left vacant, and I don't recall telling you which one Ashe had given to me."
"Ahh, but you did helpfully leave a handful of correspondence in your bedside drawer back in the palace."
"You read my letters?" Outrage, hot and immediate. She resisted the impulse to lob her apple at his thick head.
"Do recall my vocation, darling girl; I'd hardly be proficient at it were I to allow such ready information to slip away from me." He snickered at the baleful glance she slanted him. He rested his arms on either side of her legs, leaned in. "Have you missed me?"
"No!" she huffed indignantly.
"Shall I go, then?" A hint of amusement lingered in the corners of his mouth, as though he knew she spoke only in a fit of pique.
Her eyes slid away; she folded her arms over her chest and sniffed disdainfully. "I don't care."
"Pity," he drew away, the heat of his body fading beneath the chill of the air. "I'd brought you a gift, but I suppose it shall have to wait until you are of a more amiable temperament."
As he shoved away from the tree and turned to leave, she followed, gracefully alighting on the ground. Mingled suspicion and interest colored her tone as she inquired, "What sort of a gift?"
"So sorry," he called over his shoulder, his long-legged strides quickly putting distance between them. "They're for the girl who might've missed me while we were separated." But he smiled as he heard her quickening footsteps behind him, the grass rustling beneath her feet as she dashed towards him. "When she comes round, then -"
But the words were knocked away, and so was he as she tackled him, sending them both flying off their feet and tumbling across the grass, coming at last to rest at the base of a tree. She puffed her hair out of her face, pushing herself into a seated position in the grass beside him.
"I might have missed you," she said. "Just a little bit."
"Oh?" he wheezed, struggling to regain his breath as she'd knocked it clear from his lungs.
She demonstrated, holding her thumb and forefinger a quarter inch apart. "Perhaps this much," she said, with an impish grin.
"Cheeky wench." He closed his eyes for a moment, choked back helpless laughter. Then he forced himself upright, cupped his hand around the back of her neck and hauled her close for a kiss.
But she was not so easily pacified. "You really shouldn't have read my letters," she insisted. "I've grown accustomed to privacy, and I'll have you respect it in the future."
"How else was I to discover where you were? Should I have gone and had a chat with her majesty, then? I can well imagine how that might've gone over," he chided. But she fixed him with that resolute look, and she had spoken of the future, as though they might possibly have one, and so he heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes and said, "Very well, then, I shall not pry into your possessions unless it is a matter of utmost importance."
And she bestowed upon him a lovely smile and a sweet kiss and he realized she trusted him to keep his word. But calling attention to it might make her withdraw; better to let her realize it on her own and make of it what she would. Instead he helped her to her feet and watched as she brushed grass and dirt from her rumpled clothing. Her knees had borne the brunt of the impact; the silk pants she wore would likely forever afterwards bear the grass stains.
"Now." She planted her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side, and he was momentarily transfixed by the silky blond hair that spilled over her shoulder. "I was under the impression that you had brought something for me?" She took his arm and began leading him toward the manor.
He covered his mouth with his hand, smothering a chuckle. "Oh, all right, then. I suppose you've earned it. You've a conservatory in that manor house of yours, haven't you?"
"Yes, but it's empty at the moment. It had orange trees at one point, or so I'm told. But they died with no one to care for them, so they had to be removed." She cast him a curious look, then shrugged. "I haven't gotten around to replacing them yet."
"I think I can rectify that, as it happens," he said. Before long they reached the edge of the orchard, the perfectly maintained lawn before them stretching up to the front steps of the manor. "Send a few servants out, if you would, darling, and I'll meet you there shortly." And he gave her a small push, watching as she dutifully sauntered off into the grand house.
The gardeners were the first to arrive; five men armed to the teeth with shovels and trowels invaded the conservatory as though they were headed to war, striding resolutely over the barren rows and attacking the dirt determinedly, tilling it into soft earth and neatly dug holes.
Then the servants began to pour in, carrying with them young trees whose roots had been wrapped protectively in burlap, which they handed over one at a time to the gardeners, who carefully unwrapped them, set them in the freshly-dug earth, and packed it loosely over the roots. And they kept coming - a steady stream of servants who stayed only long enough to pass over a tree and then immediately leave again to retrieve another one.
Before long, the conservatory was half-filled with them, and Penelo stopped to marvel.
"Oh, my," she murmured. "There must be fifty of them." They were like no tree she'd ever seen, with huge, flat leaves, waxy to the touch, but such a brilliant green. A few seemed on the verge of flowering, the shiny pink petals still furled tightly in bud.
"Sixty-two," Balthier corrected as he entered the conservatory at last, following up the last tree. "It's all I could find on such short notice. The Rozarrians were fairly reluctant to part with them. Cost a bloody fortune, in fact."
"Rozarrians? You went to Rozarria for these?" She stroked the leaves, intrigued by the strange, exotic plant.
"Of course. They prefer more tropical climates; they're impossible to find here, hence the need for a conservatory. In fact, I imagine that you'll be the sole cultivator of them in all of Dalmasca." His fingers slid lightly through her hair. "I thought you might've been disappointed, after that nasty bit of business in Rozarria, to have been forced to leave them behind to be trampled on the ground."
For a moment she stared, bewildered. Then, as comprehension struck, she whirled with wide eyes, mouth agape. "Heartfruit? They're heartfruit trees?" She laughed delightedly, threw her arms around his neck, nearly bowling him over for the second time that day. "You brought me heartfruit trees!"
Her lips landed somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth, and her joy was infectious - after a brief moment of surprise at her unrestrained elation, his arms closed around her and he reveled in her happiness. To have been responsible for that overwhelming surge of emotion, to have brought that jubilant smile to her face, to have earned a small slice of her favor humbled him, made an answering warmth bloom in his chest. And he thought he could easily spend the rest of his life like this, searching out ways to make her happy, trying to capture a bit of her glow to hold in his heart like a candle forever.
"Consider them a homecoming gift," he told her, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. She had blossomed here, he realized. Free of the restrictive confines of the palace, she had flourished, reclaimed her smothered spirit. She could laugh again, freely, and without bitterness. She might even wish to stay, might have abandoned her dream of traveling for the permanency and promise of a true home her estate could provide. She could never have thrived like this had he kept her with him aboard the Strahl; she needed the freedom to make her own choices, to discover her own path. She might've been content, he thought, but she could never have been happy being kept at his will. He could well have ended up suffocating her down into nothing but embers, a mere memory of the blazing fire she had once possessed. She needed to choose him, to come with him of her own accord.
And he...had nothing that she required. Except for the fragile seed of trust he'd have to hope had taken root, he had nothing to recommend him, and a mountain of misdeeds yet to atone for. But, as he watched her flutter excitedly through the conservatory he thought that, just maybe, he'd made the path just the tiniest bit easier.