"Everyone is in position, Marshal."
The voice issued from Cor's radio. Halfway across Insomnia, two dozen crownsguards were standing at the ready, prepared to implement the final raid on Phoenix Incorporated. From the window in his office, Regis could just see the top of the building that housed their headquarters, but it was much too far to see any of those who now gathered around the exits.
"Do what you came to do, Lieutenant. Kurick is a businessman, not a thug, but he's still a criminal. Don't take any chances and don't let any of them out." Cor spoke into the radio, though it was Regis he looked at as he did so.
"Copy, Marshal. On our way."
How long had it been since they started chasing him? Nearly a year, surely. It had been autumn when the sickness spread through lower Insomnia, landing hundreds in hospitals across the city and spawning pandemonium in the lower class. Now it was late summer again and finally they had cause to arrest Kurick and his collaborators. Regis had Spero to thank for that.
Looking back, the whole ordeal felt like a nightmare. It wasn't just that his people were being killed by neglect inside the Wall—that would have been bad enough—but the timing had always felt intentional. Take advantage of the king's mourning, strike while he was at his weakest, and escape, unscathed, having committed dozens of murders.
But no longer.
"We have him, Marshal. Kurick is in custody."
"And the others?" Cor asked.
"Being rounded up as we speak, Sir."
"Good work, Lieutenant. I'll meet you at the lockup." To Regis, Cor added: "Did you intend to come along, Your Majesty?"
Did he want to see that snake, Bastien Kurick, take his last breath of free air before he was locked behind bars for what remained of his life? The honest answer was yes. It would have been undignified, however, to spit at his feet and shout 'I told you so,' which was what Regis really wanted to do.
Regis sighed. "No. I will see more than enough of him at the sentencing. Until then, let him rot. Perhaps it will take the edge off his arrogance."
"You can't cure narcissism, Your Majesty."
"Perhaps not. All the same, I will wait."
One year ago to the day, Aulea had given birth to two beautiful babies. People always joked that newborns were the farthest thing from cute: red, splotchy, bald, and wrinkled. Maybe he had been biased. Probably he had been biased. Regardless, that evening, holding them in his arms, he couldn't remember having ever seen something more beautiful—excepting his own wife, but that was a different sort of beauty altogether.
Now they were both walking, and Regis would have labelled them the sweetest things on two legs. It didn't matter that their steps were often unsteady and frequently punctuated by falling on their sweet little noses. They were still perfect.
For once, the weather was cooperating. It was as beautiful a day as he could have wanted for them: the perfect sort of day for falling over in the garden—instead of in the nursery—pulling leaves off of bushes, and putting dirt in one's mouth. In short, it was the sort of day when Regis was thankful that there were extra eyes on watch and extra hands to give baths at the end of the day.
"Well," Crea said as she lifted Noctis out of the bushes and picked twigs from his hair. "It was a nice outfit for about twenty minutes."
Regis turned his back on the sunset and beheld the state of his son's attire. It had once been black—a miniature imitation of Regis' own suit—but it was now more than a little brown. He smiled. It was just as well that they had taken pictures before releasing the budding little monsters out to play in the dirt.
"Noctis! Come here, Little Prince." Regis crouched on the garden path, careful to keep his own knees out of the dirt, and held his hands out.
Noctis squirmed free of Crea's hold and toddled as fast as his little legs would take him, giggling all the way. Even after a month, Regis hadn't grown tired of watching them walk on their own. He never would.
When Noct hit his chest, Regis scooped him up into his arms, brushing away the last of the leaves that Crea hadn't yet removed.
"Are you ready for dinner, Little Prince? I believe there is a birthday cake twice as big as you are waiting. Shall we go see?"
"Coo!" said Noctis.
Regis blinked at him. They always made sounds—arguably ones that made sense in some unknown language—but never had either of the twins appeared so clearly to be responding to something with a sound.
"Does it mean something?" He asked, looking up at Crea.
She sighed. "I'm afraid we made the mistake of introducing Noctis to C-O-O-K-I-E-S, and now every time he hears 'dinner', that's what he wants."
"Coo!"
It took a moment for the information to sink in. Not because he had to think about the spelling of 'cookies,' but because all the little pieces, presented so nonchalantly, added up to something very significant.
"So it is a word," Regis said at last.
"Such as it is, yes. He knows the meaning of it, he associates the sounds with the object, he's just working on reproducing the whole thing."
"His first word."
Crea smiled like she was trying not to laugh. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"My son, and his first word is cookie." Regis couldn't decide whether to laugh or to cry, or both at the same time.
"Coo, coo, coooooo!" Noctis bounced up and down in his arms, tugging at the front of Regis' coat.
"Now you've done it, Your Majesty," Crea said.
But Regis didn't care. He didn't care if Noctis only wanted to eat cookies for the rest of the night or for the rest of the year.
"Clarus! Noctis has a first word!"
Farther down the garden walk, Clarus turned from a conversation with his wife. "It isn't 'poo,' is it? We couldn't get Gladio to shut up about poop for at least six months."
"Cookie!" Regis had never been more excited about cookies since he was Noctis' age.
"Coo! Coo! COO!" Noctis yelled.
"That's much better," Clarus said. "What about Reina?"
Reina was off the path, exploring a round-leafed bush in her own particular way. Whereas Noctis had bounded headfirst into the bush, Reina stood at the edge of the planter and patted the leaves gently, as if she believed it was a dog. Behind her, Gladio watched for a few moments before stooping to wrap his arms around her waist and lift her off her feet.
"Gladiolus, no. What have I told you? We do not pick up the princess." Fidelia was on him in an instant, coaxing her son into setting the wide-eyed Reina back on her feet.
Clarus turned his back and covered his mouth to hide his smile. Regis didn't even do that much.
"Coo!" Noctis yelled.
"Does Reina have a first word?" Regis asked Crea, once he felt certain he could speak without laughing.
"None so far," Crea said, unconcerned.
"Is that unusual?" Clarus asked. "I thought most children said something by their first birthday."
Crea shook her head. "Some do, some don't. She certainly understands some words and she makes sounds, they're just not associated with anything in particular. With Noctis shouting about cookies all the time—"
"—Cooooo—!"
"—I bet she has a first word within a month. After all, Noct was walking just a week after Reina. Sometimes I think they're competing," Crea finished, as if she hadn't been interrupted by the hungry prince.
"Of course they are," Clarus said. "They're siblings. They'll be competing for the rest of their lives."
Regis smiled. "Let us eat—Weskham, is everything prepared?"
"Yes, Sire. They only await the word to serve dinner."
"Give the word, then."
Weskham bowed and went on ahead to do as he was bidden. The remainder of the party, which contained—in addition to the royal family and the Amicitias—Cor, three different nursemaids, and a handful of attendants, continued along the garden path to the gazebo, where a table was laid out and decorated. It must have been one of the most lavish parties that had ever been thrown in honor of children who would later have no memory of the event. First birthdays were really, Regis reasoned, for the parents. The only thing missing was the second half of 'parents'.
Regis sighed inwardly, lips tightening at the reminder of Aulea's absence. She would have been overjoyed to celebrate with them, if she had lived.
"Regis?"
Regis pulled himself from his dark thoughts and looked down at Crea. She was watching him expectantly; it made him believe he had missed whatever she had said before.
"Pardon my inattentiveness," Regis said.
"Do you want Noctis to sit with you or in his seat? I think he can be convinced to remain at the table a little longer in his own chair," she repeated.
"Then we will give him his own chair." Regis hadn't forgotten what trying to eat with a baby in his lap was like: amusing, but not especially productive.
When all were seated, Regis held the head of the table with Reina and Noct at either side, sitting at chairs that clipped to the edge of the table. Beyond them were their nurses and Crea, and farther along sat Clarus and his family, Cor, and—when he returned—Weskham.
Some day in the future, the twins would be old enough to choose their own birthday dinner, but for this year they had whatever it was Crea declared was on the menu for one-year-olds. The remainder of the party was served in courses, starting with a light tomato bisque and moving on through salad, glazed pheasant, a selection of cheeses, and eventually culminating in the traditional birthday cake.
Noctis was, predictably, objectionate.
"Coo, coo, COO!" He slammed his hands on his plate. Across the table, Reina regarded him with a stony expression as she picked up a blueberry and put it in her mouth.
"Does he like cake?" Regis asked.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he did," Crea said.
"We shall soon find out."
Already the servers were bringing out the chef's elaborate creation: it was three-tiered and wrapped up like a present, all black with gold ribbons cascading around it. Atop stood two tiny figures with black hair and blue eyes; between them, a single candle sparkled. That, it turned out, was only the first half. In addition to the multi-layered cake, there were two individually decorated cakes, each labeled with a name and a block number 1.
Crea intercepted Noctis' before it landed in front of him, then hesitated, looking at Regis.
"I don't usually let them have sweets unless they've actually eaten some dinner."
Regis waved a hand, unconcerned. "Surely an exception can be made. It is his birthday."
After a moment, Crea traded Noctis' untouched dinner for the personalized cake, though she looked as if she did so against her better judgement.
"Coo!" Noctis squealed.
"Cake," Regis corrected. "By all means, my son, demolish it."
Whether or not Noctis had any idea what the word 'demolish' meant, he certainly needed no more prompting. Two tiny fists smashed down on top of the flawless surface, tearing through the delicately lettered 'Noctis Lucis Caelum' that adorned the top.
On Regis' left, Reina sat, still studying her own cake with uncertainty.
"One year old and already you play the part of a mild-mannered princess." Regis motioned for a servant. "Slice this for her. Princesses do not smash cakes."
Across the table, Noctis shoved a handful of crumbs and chocolate into his mouth.
"Unlike princes," Regis said.
The servant, hiding a smile, retrieved a knife and hurried to do as she was bidden. Once the piece of cake was laid out before her, Reina was convinced to try a bite off of Regis' fork. She liked it enough to continue on her own.
"Your Majesty."
Regis looked up as a new attendant entered the gazebo. The attendant stopped, just at the edge beside him, and bowed deeply.
"Pardon the interruption, Sire, but there is a man in the Citadel requesting an audience with you. He claims that you will wish to see him."
Regis set his fork down, brow furrowing. "His name?"
"One Spero Perdita, Your Majesty."
"Indeed, I do. Have him escorted here." Regis motioned in dismissal and the attendant bowed once more before disappearing.
Down the table, Clarus raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought he was in the hospital."
Regis seemed to hear an objection in his tone. Clarus, perhaps, could still only remember Spero as the unstable wreck they had taken to the psychiatric ward several months previously. If that was what he thought, then he had a surprisingly poor grasp on what it meant to be human.
"He may well have been released," Regis said.
They didn't have long to wait to find out. Spero arrived, in the company of the same attendant who had brought his message, and Regis rose to greet him.
He looked better.
A few weeks ago he had appeared physically well but mentally distressed. Now when he took Regis' hand, he smiled and it looked real. It didn't set them apart; it brought them together.
"Spero. How are you faring?"
"Quite well, actually—I'm sorry; I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner."
"No, no. It is practically finished, in any case," Regis said. Indeed, even as they spoke places were being cleared away and his dinner guests were rising to drift a respectable distance from the king's conversation. "We celebrate the first birthday of the little prince and princess."
"Oh, is that so? I had no notion." Spero's eyes wandered and settled on the children still seated at the table. Noctis, the front of his birthday frock smeared with frosting and cake crumbs, was receiving an abridged bath, while Reina only had her hands and face to be wiped clean before Regis felt justified in plucking her out of her chair.
"This is my little Reina and that messy little monster is Noctis."
Spero lifted one hand to wave to Reina. She stared at him for a moment before waving back; the motion used her whole arm and brought a smile to his face. A true smile.
"A little slice of perfection," Spero said. "I understand now. This is how you can carry on."
His words hinted at sadness, but neither his voice nor his expression betrayed any. He merely looked calm, even content with the knowledge that Regis had his children to hold onto while Spero had none.
Regis passed Reina back to her nurse. "They mean everything to me. But I daresay you did not come to hear me wax poetic about my children."
"No, indeed—not that I mind!—I came for two reasons. To give you this—" he held out a stack of loose leaf papers, bound together with brown string "—and to thank you."
"What is this?" Regis took the packet of paper and turned it over in his hands. It was at least two inches thick of solid paper.
"My manuscript."
"Ah, you have completed it!" Regis flipped through the edge of the papers, looking back up at Spero. "Excellent! How did you find it?"
"Oh, I'll let you decide that for yourself," Spero said. "It's quite a journey. I hope you enjoy it."
"I shall—but have you given me your only copy? I will have to make certain it finds its way back to you when I am through."
Spero waved a hand as if to brush away the words. "Don't concern yourself. There's no rush. No rush at all."
"All the same."
"I also wanted to thank you." Spero ran his hands over his forearms, as if recalling the bandages that he had once worn beneath his sleeves. In spite of the motion, he met Regis' gaze and held it. "You arrested Kurick."
"As I swore I would." Regis didn't break his gaze, either. There was something weighty about it. Something that begged not to be put aside.
"Even so: thank you. We can finally rest easy, now. It's all because of you."
"You are very welcome, though it was more than half your own efforts that allowed us to put Kurick away at last."
"And thank you for the rest, as well." Spero, apparently, had no interest in taking credit for Kurick's arrest. As ever, he was focused on what he wished to say. Never before, though, had Regis seen him so solemn. "Everything you've done for me all along. Thank you."
Regis was at a loss for what to say in the face of such sudden, earnest gratitude. He didn't deserve it, but he took it anyway. For some reason it felt important that he accept it.
"You are welcome."
"They've let me go home, now, so I'll be going back to my apartment. But you don't have to worry about me, anymore." Spero ran his fingers through his hair. None of it caught in his fingers or came out in clumps, this time. "I'm going to congregate with my old friends… have a drink or two… and remember Elaisse. I just wanted to let you know that you made this peace possible. I'm content."
"And full pleased am I to hear it." Regis smiled, clasping Spero's shoulder. "You deserve some peace, at last."
"I think I do." Spero smiled in return. "Thank you, Regis. And goodbye."
"Goodbye, my friend. Until we meet again." Regis released his shoulder as he stepped away. He watched him leave with a wave and for a few hours it seemed all was right in that world, at least.
And that was it. One farewell off his list, one debt paid, one friendship in order. Out of them all, Regis would understand best. It was just a shame about the violin.
"One down, three to go," Spero said.
The attendant gave him a curious look. "Sir?"
"Sorry. I wasn't speaking to you." That was the problem with other people hanging around.
"After tonight, we'll be together again," Elaisse said.