A/N: Hey all, so I broke my writer's block by changing up story focus a bit this chapter. It's also shorter, just under 8000 words. In the future I plan to aim more toward this length of chapter as I have received feedback that I am drawing out chapters (and I agree with that.) Big kudos to my beta A Dark Alias as he once again does worked his magic on this chapter.
Chapter 21: Bullies
The bed, bolted to the wall of Eleanor's small cell, jostled as the imprisoned noble wedged her cleaned food tray into the metal fastenings that held the piece of furniture in place. The tin of the tray was mostly pliable; of course 'mostly' still meant Eleanor was exerting far more physical effort than she was used to. All of a sudden, the entire room jostled, causing her to slip and drop the tray with a clatter. Another bout of turbulence, she mused. The first such event had been welcomed smugly as it had proven Eleanor's assumption that she was on an airship. Since then, the twenty or so bouts of turbulence had been met with less smugness and more annoyance.
After shaking off her foul disposition Eleanor retrieved her tray and set about her task once again. The improvised tools made the going slow but Eleanor pressed on regardless. Whatever her position, Eleanor Valliere did not sit and wait like a good little girl. When her work was done, Eleanor held the tray up and looked at it with a mix of satisfaction and trepidation.
Eleanor felt the tin food tray's edge with her finger. Her efforts had sharpened it somewhat, but it was still far from the razor edge she would have preferred. Glancing to the door, she knew she only had so much time before a guard checked on her.
It was now or never. Placing the sharpened edge against her wrist, Eleanor grimaced. This was going to hurt.
The crunch of leaves beneath Siesta's racing stride was drowned out by the thunderous stomps of the beast behind her. "Do not suffer the undead! Purge them in the name of the Founder!" The Cardinal's shout carried through the forest, impressing the need for further haste upon Siesta. Outrunning such a pursuer would have been easier if not for the pale blonde girl limp in Siesta's arms.
Her clothing dyed red with blood, Montmorency's dazed eyes tried and failed to focus on Siesta. Mutely, she tried to piece together her situation. Siesta must have rescued her... Then taken her... here? Montmorency's mind floundered. She needed to think clearer. She needed to focus. Pulling back, Montmorency withdrew into herself, focusing solely on the gem between her goggles. "This is me." She muttered to herself.
Hearing Montmorency's voice, Siesta looked down with relief. "Hang in there Miss Montmorency! I'll protect you." Slowing her gait, Siesta rounded a large oak tree and lay Montmorency down against it. "Hold onto this," Siesta said, forcing a confident smile as she pressed the Pope's hat into Montmorency's arms.
Watching Siesta unsling her axe and look to the sounds of the approaching Cardinal, Montmorency weakly grabbed the maid's arm. "Be careful." Siesta had beaten the undead Cardinal once before, but Montmorency knew the man's strength was not to be underestimated.
With a nod, Siesta broke away and stepped beyond the tree. She couldn't fight while protecting a comatose Montmorency, but she couldn't leave the blonde behind either so the simple hiding spot would have to do for now. Siesta's runes flared to life just as the brush before her exploded outward. The giant of a man charged forward, staff in hand. His half clouded eyes burned with a mad rage and he repeated his butchered battle cry. "Do not suffer the undead! Purge them in the name of the Founder!" Water formed into an axehead at the end of his staff when he swung it at Siesta.
Ducking forward, Siesta felt the wind of the man's strike pass just over her head as she stepped within his guard. The Cardinal released his staff with one hand and made a grab for the maid directly. With her axe gripped firmly in both hands, Siesta rammed the butt of it into the Cardinal's forearm. Even with her enhanced strength, it was like hitting a beam of iron. She just barely managed to divert the grapple as she slipped to the side. With the Cardinal off balance, Siesta spun and swung her axe with all her might. The blade connected with the undead man's side with a wet splash.
Siesta's eyes widened in surprise when water leapt from the man's skin like living armor and caught the blow. Spinning again, Siesta struck twice more like lightning. Twice again water formed from nothing to shield her opponent. A slight dribble of discolored blood caught Siesta's eye. Her last strike had pierced the skin, if only just. Any hope that sight brought died upon seeing the wound close immediately as steam escaped to the air.
"Gandalfr," A voice from above snapped Siesta's attention to where Sheffield stood upon her manta-like gargoyle. "You may have defeated my thrall when he was half finished, but I have… improved him since then." Sheffield tilted her head to the side to avoid Siesta's thrown dagger. "I thought you were supposed to be a maid. Do you lack even the slightest hint of civility?" The annoyed woman glared down at the silent Siesta. For a moment, Sheffield considered putting the Gandalfr in her place, but in the end shook her head at the notion. The Gandalfr was slippery if nothing else and Sheffield did not have the time to waste on a pursuit borne of pride. "Come, thrall." Sheffield commanded. For a moment the Cardinal just growled as he stared down his opponent. "Come, thrall." Sheffield commanded again, the runes on her brow glowing.
His orders set, the Cardinal leapt into the air and kicked off a tree to land upon the gargoyle behind his master. Sheffield spared the maid one more look of distaste before flying away.
Once she was sure her opponents had fled, Siesta let out a sigh of relief and hurried back to where she hid Montmorency. The pale girl looked to Siesta as the maid's expression darkened. Montmorency was getting paler by the minute. The blonde girl spoke first. "We should move." The maid's eyes widened with worry. "I can take it but we can't stay here. Just get me a little further away, someplace I can try to heal myself." Nodding, Siesta scooped Montmorency up in her arms and carried the girl away.
The clearing Siesta eventually found could hardly be called a safe haven, but it was at least farther away from their enemies and would have to do. Siesta anxiously shifted on her feet as she looked down to Montmorency. The blonde was once again in her travel clothing with her glowing wand pressed against her chest. Though the wound was closed, Siesta felt no joy when Montmorency set her wand aside. No, the grim look on Montmorency's face chilled Siesta. Forcing cheer, Siesta vainly hoped. "All better?"
Montmorency just shook her head weakly. "Closing the wound was easy enough, but there's some kind of poison... I can't neutralize it." Tapping her chest, Montmorency looked to the new scar, right over her heart. "It won't beat." Why she felt herself smile, Montmorency didn't even know. Leaning her head back against the tree, she tried to keep her tears from falling. "I'm dead, Siesta. I can keep my blood flowing with magic, but for how long? How long until this body starts to rot? How long until I run out of magic?" Montmorency's eyes fell to the dim light of the soul gem in her hand.
Breath hitching with worry, Siesta interjected, "Louise!" The Valliere's name drew Montmorency's attention. "Miss Louise's healing magic should be able to heal you!" Siesta leaned in and grabbed Montmorency's free hand.
Eyes falling from Siesta to where the maid grasped her hand, Montmorency weakly smiled. Once again, she was to rely on Louise. "Do you know how we became friends?" Siesta hesitated at Montmorency's random statement. "I was a coward." Montmorency closed her eyes, remembering being the only other one to see Id. "I had spent so much time ridiculing her so when I got the smallest inkling that I could face the same treatment that she did, I panicked. I panicked and rushed to apologize to her. I just wanted to ease my own guilt, to fulfill my own selfish desire to prove that I didn't deserve the same cruelty I had given her. And do you know what she did?" Looking up to Siesta, Montmorency smiled in despair. "She forgave me without a second thought." The chuckle that emanated from Montmorency's throat was anything but cheerful. "I don't deserve that kindness."
Heart icy with dread, Siesta spoke up. "Miss Montmorency, you have stood by Louise throughout all of this. You have been a true friend!" Siesta looked to the darkening soul gem.
Montmorency just shook her head. "Don't you get it? Since then I've been trying to prove that I am her friend. Trying to prove that I stay by her side out of something good and right. Not just because I feel guilty, not just because I'm too much of a coward. If cowardice is the root of our friendship, was I ever really her friend?"
With her heart tumbling in conflict, Siesta pulled Montmorency's hand to her chest. She was not a poet, nor a philosopher, nor a great orator of any kind. As a maid, Siesta only had her honest and true heart and whenever she felt unsure of herself, she always went with her instinct. Right now, she felt there was only one answer to that question and she was absolutely certain of it.
The maid's grip tightened around Montmorency's hand. "Yes." The unapologetic confirmation stunned Montmorency. "It doesn't matter how or why. No matter what rotten feeling you think created your friendship, that doesn't diminish it! What matters is that you are Louise's friend. You're my friend. You're a treasured friend to everyone else, too!" Tears formed at the edge of Siesta's sight. Wiping them away, Siesta forced a smile and ordered, "So stop moping around and let's get back to our friends."
Mouth slightly agape, Montmorency paused under the intense stare from Siesta. Then, finally, Montmorency looked down with a soft smile. "Thank you." She whispered before forcing herself to perk up. "Get me one of the grief seeds from that hat. It's a long shot, but Louise's wish bore healing magic for her, so my wish might come in handy right about now."
Happy that she had broken Montmorency out of her sorrow, Siesta set about helping the crippled magical girl.
The Herald soared through the skies flanked by its escorts with all the regality of an emperor looking down upon his subjects. It was the fastest, toughest, most advanced warship Gallia had. Normally, returning to the mobile base would have elicited a breath of relief from Sheffield, but the argument on the deck drew her both her attention and ire. Landing upon the deck, Sheffield mentally commanded her thrall to remain still and strode toward where Jeanette was glaring daggers at Bleu.
While Sheffield couldn't care less about quarrels between mercenaries, she cared quite a bit about the void mages that could be caught in a potential crossfire. As Sheffield strode over, Jeanette bit out, "Our brother is dead,Bleu!" The purple haired girl stepped beyond Cattleya, lying unconscious at her feet.
Meeting Jeanette's icy glare with a cheerful smile, Bleu forced a hint of sadness into his voice. "Alas, it is a tragedy. One that will be resolved between Saito and myself during the climax." That forced sadness faded in the light of Bleu's excited anticipation. Try as he might, the rogue could not completely suppress his glee.
Though momentarily stunned by her brother's callous disregard, Jeanette recovered with more anger. "Is that all we are to you, Bleu? If I died, would it just be an interesting plot point in your 'legend'?" Jeanette clenched her fists tight.
As if Jeanette's anger was truly alien, Bleu brightened, "You would do that for me?" Honest care blossomed on Bleu's face. "If Saito were to kill you just before our fight, I could deliver quite the 'who is the real villain' speech." Cupping his chin, Bleu fantasized about the prospective drama.
Jeanette half wanted to attack Bleu and half wanted to keep shouting. The conflict within her stilled her actions long enough for another to intercede. Just before Sheffield could start snapping at the mercenaries, a young blonde boy looking no older than thirteen strode by the familiar. Smiling apologetically, he appeased Sheffield as best he could and spoke. "Jeanette, you know that is how Bleu is. To him that is caring." The young boy's voice tempered Jeanette's anger. "And Bleu, fantasize when your job is done." Though his words and voice were nothing but pleasant, the two stilled for just a moment before turning to the boy with respect.
Though subdued, Jeanette spoke up, "Damien." Her objection fell silent in the face of Damien's warm smile.
Gesturing to the captive void mages, Damien politely asked. "Would you take them to the cells below and guard them until a shift can be set?" Again the pleasant smile was met with silent, obedient nods. Each mercenary picked up their respective captives and left for the below decks.
When the two were gone, Damien turned to Sheffield. Though he completely ignored the fact she was studying him, she knew that he noticed it. The woman wasn't exactly hiding her interest or the distaste that tainted her gaze. "Make sure they do not harm my captives." Her order was met with graceful professionalism and Sheffield bit down, annoyed all the more.
Sheffield's animosity rolled off Damien like water on a duck's back. Unfaltering in his smile, the boy looked after his siblings. "They may be eccentric, but they are professionals, I guarantee it." Nodding to Sheffield as if dismissed, Damien left for the below decks.
The familiar did not bother to stop the boy. He was the reason she hated dealing with these mercenaries. Bleu, Jeanette, and the deceased Jack – they had been easy enough to read. This one though, he kept his siblings in line but never ventured out on missions himself. The little enigma kept his abilities hidden, ready to double cross Sheffield if she felt inclined to do the same. Despite this, her master still employed them, which infuriated her. However, doubting her master's decisions was unforgivable, so she had to deal with these mercenaries for the time being.
Though caught up in her musings Sheffield did not fail to notice Wardes arrive atop his griffon and land on the Herald. He looked to her when he landed and jested, "So you haven't killed each other yet? My commendations on restraining your feral instincts." He tipped his hat to Sheffield after dismounting.
Though she knew the man was seeking another verbal bout, Sheffield ignored the backhand compliment. She was low on patience after both the mission and dealing with those mercenaries, something Wardes was no doubt counting on. Instead, Sheffield stepped dangerously close to him, not saying a word. The man hesitated with Sheffield just before his face, not expecting such a response. Her clawed finger lightly traced the pommel of his sword-wand and her eyes clouded for a fraction of a second. "You ran." She stated with a condescending little smile before stepping back.
Pausing, Wardes looked to the armored claw on Sheffield's finger. No doubt one of her artifacts, he mused. "Rather than fight a pointless battle, I led Romalia to Louise's rendezvous location." He met her smile with one of her own. "I thought you preferred competency? Or can you not even recognize when your own plans succeed without a hitch?" Whatever advantage the woman might gain from her artifacts, Wardes and his silver tongue would not go down without a fight.
Fort a moment, the two verbal combatants stared each other down. Though sorely tempted, Sheffield remained resolute in her conviction not to get dragged into an argument. "Not completely without a hitch. I would have preferred to be at maximum strength for negotiations." Mercenary or not, Jack's strength would be missed if things didn't go according to plan.
"Indeed," Joseph announced himself as he exited the captain's cabin. Warmth blossomed in Sheffield's heart as she turned to her master. "However, we still have your trump card." The king glanced to the undead Cardinal. The warmth in her chest redoubled at the praise. "Besides, I doubt there will be any issue." An empty, imitated smile formed on Joseph's face. "A fourth piece of void is almost in our grasp. Those who would worry me are separated, captured, or pursued by our own enemies." Soon everything would be finished.
Furrowing his brow, Wardes tried and failed to read Joseph. "Forgive me, my liege, but I cannot see any way this will gain you the Pope's assistance. Perhaps if you informed me of our end goal I might be able to offer advice?" Wardes didn't bother hiding his objective, but his motivation was perfectly cloaked in false loyalty.
Pulling a book from within his cloak, Joseph gestured to Wardes. "I said a piece of void, not the." Joseph looked to the Founder's Prayer Book appreciatively. "Destruction is far easier than creation, after all." With Wardes' question dodged, Joseph turned his gaze to Sheffield. "Bring Eleanor to the cabin. Threaten her sister if you need to." His orders given, Joseph returned to the Captain's quarters.
Though she was quick to follow her master's order, Sheffield couldn't resist a parting shot at Wardes. "Don't think so highly of yourself. Mere mercenaries do not need to know the grand scheme." The man's mind was too busy puzzling over the mystery to bother with a comeback and Sheffield left him to tend to his mount.
Sheffield checked to make sure the half-elf had been properly secured in the aft cell before heading toward the bow. She wasn't about to store all of the prisoners together, but placing the sisters near each other would make persuading them easier. One was always more pliable when a family member's screams of pain were within earshot.
With Bleu apparently happy to stand guard over the half-elf, Sheffield supposed she counted his amicable mood a small blessing. Any levity that might have brought faded to distaste when a fearful guard stopped her on her way to the bow. "Ma'am." The sailor saluted, his fear thoroughly apparent through the formality. "There is a problem." Sheffield's mood soured.
Pale and weak, Eleanor lay curled on her bed, facing away from the cell door. Her blanket lay crumpled at the foot of the bed with a strip torn out of it. Standing in the open doorway, Sheffield's eyes traced from the blanket to the pool of drying blood on the floor to the prisoner's wrist bound with an impromptu bandage made from blanket cloth.
"Suicide," Sheffield stated and Eleanor cringed meekly, refusing to look at the woman. Sheffield studied the sharpened tin eating tray in her hands before handing it to the waiting sailor behind. "I'll give you credit for the creative attempt, but the follow through was a failure." Sheffield stepped into the tiny cell and looked down upon the shivering Eleanor.
After a moment of silence, Sheffield surmised she wasn't getting a response. Turning, the familiar tapped her claw on the modest desk. With a thoughtful expression, Sheffield turned and studied Eleanor once more. "You didn't strike me as the type to do that... Nor as the type who gives up half way." Sheffield's gaze fell on the reddened bandage and a twinkle danced in her eye as she looked to the blanket it came from.
"No..." Sheffield said as she placed her claw against the blanket. The woman's expression turned predatory. "You aren't one who breaks so easily, are you?" In one motion, Sheffield flung the blanket wide, revealing the magic circle written in blood on its underside. Eleanor froze, her shivering stopped, and her mind raced. Half a moment passed before she made to move, only for Sheffield to warn, "Don't try anything stupid, that isn't your area of expertise."
Eleanor's tensed shoulders relaxed and the woman sat up. The false tears that stained the woman's face clashed against the grim determination of her expression. "What now?" She asked, reading herself for what may come.
Sheffield ignored the question and held the blanket up to study. "An artificing circle for wand creation? I suppose I should expect such esoteric knowledge from you. Now just what did you plan to use as a wand, your spoon?" Though she kept her tone condescendingly playful, Sheffield wondered just what Eleanor thought she could do with a barely passable foci far above any earth for her to manipulate. The prisoner's plan most assuredly didn't end at making a wand; she was too smart for that. "No matter, come with me." Though she hesitated at apparently getting off easy, Eleanor knew better than to ignore the order.
The two walked for only a few paces before stopping at the next door. Jeanette greeted Sheffield with forced professionalism and barely glanced at Eleanor. "I am standing guard as ordered." The mercenary wasn't about to ignore Damien, but that didn't mean she was happy about it.
Rather than her usual distaste of the mercenary, Sheffield smiled knowingly. Stepping forward, she opened the cell door and Eleanor's breath caught when she saw the occupant. Cattleya hung unconscious, held up by clad in thick steel manacles chained to the wall. "Sister…" Eleanor's voice left her, unbidden.
Pride and superiority blossomed within Sheffield. "Jeanette, the one who killed your brother is friends with the prisoner there." Jeanette glared daggers at Sheffield. This was nothing she didn't know. Sheffield's next words dripped with venom. "When she wakes, please hurt her. No permanent damage this time." Eleanor whirled on Sheffield, fear and panic in her eyes as her mind raced.
"Ah," Sheffield stopped her, "From now on, you do precisely what my master wishes." Leaning in, Sheffield drank in Eleanor's fear. Her breath brushed against the blonde's ear as she whispered, "We only need your sister's wand hand after all. Those other digits and limbs; they are rather... superfluous."
Tiffania looked to the modest lunch set before her. The food actually looked surprisingly good for a prisoner's rations. Actually, it was the same as Bleu's. The man sat against the closed cell door, eating from his own tray. Warily, Tiffania began to eat; there was no reason to believe it was poisoned, after all, they needed her alive. Seeing her movement, Bleu gestured with his roll of bread, "Good, right?" Tiffania hesitated, but eventually nodded. Bleu took a bite before continuing, "I told them it was for my sister, so don't tell anyone." His wink fell upon silent distrust.
The meal continued in silence before Tiffania eventually spoke. "Why are you being kind?" She half accused. "You betrayed my friends. You kidnapped me. You tried to kill Saito." The tears forming in her eyes threatened to fall.
Bleu shrugged, completely disregarding the soaring emotions of his lunch mate. "There's no point in being pointlessly cruel to you, and my treatment of you will only be mentioned in passing unless I do something despicable." The hint of fear in Tiffania went unnoticed as Bleu continued to muse. "I considered trying to seduce you so you could be torn between Saito and I when we eventually duel, but I feel that would pull too much attention away from our bitter rivalry. Besides," Bleu gestured to Tiffania's repulsed expression. "I probably laid it on too thick during our first meeting so seduction's impossible anyway."
Gritting her teeth, Tiffania glared at Bleu before taking a calming breath. It was obvious that losing control would not help her in the slightest with this man. "Are you insane?" Tiffania asked half as an insult and half honestly.
Shrugging, Bleu pointed out, "No, but insane people never think they're insane. I mean, everyone wants to be immortal, right?" Tiffania faltered at the random subject change. Even Bleu noticed how odd that sounded, "No, I was explaining my unique actions." With his audience's attention, Bleu continued, "Everyone seeks immortality. Most people leave behind descendants, some idiots actually try for literal immortality, and others are like me." Leaning in, Bleu grinned, "We leave behind a legacy."
After pausing for dramatic effect, Bleu continued, "Unlike people, stories last forever. As a realist, I know that being the hero of a story is blind luck, but by working as a mercenary, I have ample opportunity to become the villain of someone else's story. In this case, that hero would be Saito." Folding his arms, Bleu nodded in satisfaction. His hero even shared his appreciation for narrative structure; Bleu couldn't have wished for a better match!
While she still wasn't convinced that he wasn't insane, Tiffania moved on. "That still doesn't explain why you're treating me with kindness. Aren't villains usually cruel?" Trying to get a read on Bleu could very well save her life, so she watched him carefully.
Exasperated, Bleu shook his head with a sigh. "There is more than one type of antagonist. Sure, you've got the super scary evil lord of doom types, but Joseph's got that covered, I think. Besides," Bleu continued with a tip of his hat, "I've always preferred the villains you can't help but like. When the bards finish Saito's story and the audience members say, 'Bleu was a bastard, but I can't help but love that guy' then I'll be dancing with joy in my grave." He smiled at that, but even Bleu knew he had to get to the point eventually, so he added, "Hence why I'll protect you for now. I captured you, so even if some unrelated party comes and does something truly dastardly, it'll reflect poorly on my loveable villain character."
Smirking to himself in satisfaction, Bleu turned his gaze once more upon Tiffania. Whether it would be in a tale or not, he never could pass up the chance to say something dramatic. "Fear not, even if Sheffield herself were to come to kill you, I would fight her off and carry you away to safety." Then the man paused in his bardic presentation and cupped his chin as a thought occurred to him.
"Oooh, that could be nice." He smirked, speaking with swooping enthusiasm as he sounded out the forming plan. "Pressed against the wall, I find what little morality I have left and rescue you. Then, with my own sister hot on our heels we run into Saito." He jumped up, and using his fork as a prop sword, he fenced a phantom opponent. "He is upon me in an instant and though we are evenly matched, slowly I start to lose." False exertion played across Bleu's giddy face, "His rage and my own reluctance to fight put me at the disadvantage; yet just before he strikes the finish blow you jump between us." Bleu held out his arms in imitation.
Then, pointing his fork at Tiffania, Bleu summarized, "Of course then we'd end up forced to travel together. Though Saito and I would shed blood together, he would resist the growing camaraderie due to the grudge in his heart." With false anguish, Bleu lamented, "Our tumultuous relationship would come to a climax when I sacrifice my life to save Saito's. Then, as I lay dying in his arms; he forgives me and gains the resolve to defeat the ultimate villain." Which would be Joseph or something, Bleu concluded with a nod.
Turning, Bleu reached for the door with his plan set in mind, only to falter as he realized. "Wait, if I did that... Damien would get mad." Sighing, Bleu kicked the floor dejectedly. "Never mind..." Turning, he shrugged to Tiffania with a weakened will. "Sorry, guess we'll just stick with the original plan."
Tiffania furrowed her brow and tried to wrap her head around her jailor. As odd and likely insane as he was, at the very least he didn't seem too cruel. Things could be worse.
Blood loss made thinking more difficult than Eleanor liked. Still, after receiving the attention of a healer she was good enough to serve as Joseph's assistant. Chalk in hand, Eleanor made her adjustments to the large magic circle covering most of the barren room. "If you would explain the purpose of this ritual, I might be able to help more." Eleanor kept her tone as neutral as possible. The tyrant of a king was dangerously unpredictable and she did not desire a beating when there was nothing to gain from it.
Said tyrant kept his eyes fixed on the Founder's Prayer Book as he replied, "No need, just keep etching those siphoning runes. Remember to adjust for void magic. Ah," The man's sarcastic enthusiasm was eerily empty. "I suppose I don't need to tell the inventor of void conducting runes such trivial things." Even the superior tone of voice was just plain fake. In fact, the man's eyes never left the page before him, as if his conversation with Eleanor was simply a distraction.
A minor bout of turbulence jostled Eleanor enough to ruin her current etching. Cloaking her investigation with frustration, Eleanor asked, "And just why does this circle need to be airborne? Scribing at your target location would be far faster." Joseph merely looked over his book with a glint of warning in his eye. He knew full well she was digging for information and he wouldn't brook her insubordination much longer. With a huff, the blonde relented and grabbed another piece of chalk before returning to her work.
Though Eleanor made no further attempt to press, her mind didn't stop turning over the problem. Joseph's insistence on an airborne circle meant he was either pressed for time with this ritual, needed the circle airborne, or didn't yet know where the ritual needed to be performed and required mobility.
The circle itself was both incredibly complex and yet incomplete. Either of which made deciphering its purpose difficult and together nearly impossible. Of course 'nearly impossible' was generally synonymous with 'a challenge' in Eleanor's dictionary, so she simply redoubled her efforts. Siphoning runes for drawing magic combined with a four pointed spectrum and modified for conducting void magic. Just what could this man need with four void mages? Whatever this spell was, Eleanor knew she couldn't let it be used. However, for now she would have to play along, lest Cattleya pay the price.
When Cattleya roused, she felt the familiar grogginess of a sleeping potion wearing off. For a moment, her heart spiked with fear. Had everything just been a dream? Was she back, trapped in bed, drinking sleeping potions when the pain became unbearable? Fear turned to relief when her mind cleared and she realized she was just chained in a cell with a dangerous looking purple haired girl fiddling with a knife. Mentally, Cattleya paused and reevaluated if relief was the proper response. One deep breath without an accompanied spike of pain confirmed that yes, relief was an acceptable reaction.
However, the relief was put on hold when the girl flung her knife suddenly, impaling the blade in the wall just to the right of her pink head. "My name is Jeanette." The girl spoke with cold anger as she met Cattleya's surprised gaze. "The man your friend killed was Jack, my brother." Jeanette strode forward until she was face to face with the manacled girl. She reached forward and grabbed the knife embedded in the wall. She wanted Cattleya to know exactly why this was happening.
"…Do you need someone to talk to?" Cattleya's unexpected question stilled Jeanette for half a moment. Fear, defiance, or anger were what she expected, not concern. "I can't imagine what losing a sibling feels like..." Cattleya trailed off, her eyes searching the woman before her.
Anger flared within Jeanette and she clutched her fist tight. "Don't patronize me!" She ground out, her eyes narrowing. In one sudden movement, Jeanette lashed out, slamming her fist into Cattleya's face with as much force as she could muster. Instantly, pain flared within Jeanette's fist, but she paid it no mind. She could heal any damage later and she had borne more pain for lesser reasons in the past. What bothered her more than the pain in her hand was the lack of any real effect upon her prisoner. Just what the hell was this Valliere made of?
Though her face hurt from the sudden punch, Cattleya reigned in her desire to chastise Jeanette. Getting angry wouldn't do anything to help anyone. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to anger you." Even with her experience in the army and with Louise's group, Cattleya still had limited practice interacting with new people. Unintended slights like these frustrated her to no end.
Pausing for a moment, Jeanette studied Cattleya with a curious look. "Are you an idiot?" After a moment more, Jeanette realized it; yes, the girl before her was an idiot. Only a moron would completely miss the fact that she was about to be tortured. Well, even idiots understood pain. Pulling out a vial, Jeanette began to drip a sickly green liquid onto her knife. "Joseph needs you functioning for whatever his plans are." After tucking the vial back within her pocket, Jeanette took a cloth and began to wipe away the excess liquid around the blade's edge. "Luckily, I made this little potion here for just such an occasion." Jeanette grinned at the perplexed, cautious expression of her victim. Finally, she could see the beginnings of fear on her face. "It's mostly manticore venom; just with the dangerous paralytics removed so all that's left is the crippling pain." To emphasize her point, Jeanette lightly pricked Cattleya's outer thigh with her knife.
Pain exploded in Cattleya's leg. It felt like a white hot metal rod had been driven clean through the bone. Her flesh burned, seared, and died ten times over. Clamping down, Cattleya repressed her screams to a strained whimper. Then just as quickly as the pain came, it vanished. Panting, Cattleya looked to her leg. Despite all the pain the limb looked fine. "I am sorry..." Cattleya panted out. Jeanette leaned in, drinking in the sweet revenge. "...for your loss." Cattleya finished between pants.
What was supposed to be delicious revenge was tainted by Cattleya's continued sanctimonious attitude. "No, but you will be sorry." Jeanette threatened to herald the next attack. Lighting quick, Jeanette flicked her knife, grazing Cattleya's arm and side. Again Jeanette's prisoner seized and whimpered as her body was wracked with pain. "See, I'm just supposed to hurt you. Your big sister did something bad, and you get to be punished for it." A sense of superiority filled Jeanette, "How does it feel knowing there is nothing you can do to stop this?"
When the pain once more subsided, Cattleya locked onto what Jeanette had said. "Sister Eleanor is here?" For the first time, real fear entered Cattleya's voice. Eleanor was supposed to be at home. Why... How had she gotten to wherever here was?
Jeanette did not deign to respond, instead, her wrist flicked thrice and Cattleya was assaulted with pain once again. "Tsk tsk, I asked you a question." Once the whimpers turned to pants, Jeanette continued, "Now once more, how does it feel to be helpless?" Like a cat with a mouse, Jeanette purred out her question.
Out of breath and reeling from Jeanette's poison, Cattleya left her head hanging as she replied. "I'm not helpless." Before Jeanette could punish Cattleya's impudence, the Valliere raised her head. "For most of my life it was a struggle to keep living. Yet even when my blood corruption kept me in bed for days at a time, I never once accepted that I was helpless." Steely resolve filled Cattleya and her voice picked up. "I always believed that if I could just help one person my life would have meant something. I was not and I am not helpless."
Cattleya's resolve was not met with anger. No, Jeanette's predatory smile only widened as she rose to the challenge. "Let's just see just how long you can keep up that attitude." This time, Jeanette's knife came forward slowly to trace a thin line of red across Cattleya's face.
Pain flared, blurring Cattleya's vision with tears. Once more, she barely restrained her voice, but only just. Her lungs cried as air was forced from them. Yet, time the pain wasn't over quickly this time. With more poison came an equally long bout of alchemically induced pain. Pressed beyond her limits, Cattleya's voice escaped from a whimper into an exhausted cry from her shuddering breath. When the seconds that seemed like hours passed, Cattleya's strength left her. The chains that restrained her to the wall were the only thing that kept the Valliere upright. Weakly, Cattleya slowly raised her head to look to the smiling face of her captor. Jeanette's face hovered merely a breath from Cattleya's and her eyes traced the small droplet of blood trailing down Cattleya's cheek. "I wonder how your fear tastes..." She breathed and leaned in even closer. A soft wet warmth pressed against Cattleya's face as Jeanette licked the droplet away.
Cattleya panicked.
With a surge of strength born from a wish, Cattleya threw herself against her chains. The wood behind her exploded into splinters as the chains fastened to them were pulled free entirely. Instantly, Cattleya had her manacled hands around Jeanette, pulling the purple haired girl's head in to her own. Cattleya met Jeanette's surprised lips with passion forged in the fires of unadulterated fear.
Jeanette struggled, her wide eyes staring into Cattleya's own. Yet despite Jeanette's best efforts, Cattleya held her firmly in place, barely registering her torturer's feeble attempts to push her off. The Valliere drank deeper and deeper; her tongue forcing its way inside. Cattleya searched and probed; overcoming Jeanette's weakening resistance. Exploring all the more, Cattleya doubled her efforts and drank away. Then, as her breathing slowed in tandem with her exertions, Cattleya slowly broke away and stared into Jeanette's confused, hesitant eyes. "Don't do that, you idiot." Cattleya pleaded, tears forming in the edges of her vision. "I told you I had blood corruption." Cattleya once more pulled Jeanette in, this time to an embrace. With all her heart, Cattleya hoped she had gotten all the blood. "I don't know if it's completely gone, or just dormant. If you caught it..." Cattleya hugged Jeanette tighter. "I'd never forgive myself." Friend or enemy, saint or murderer, Cattleya would never wish the life she had lived on anyone.
So caught up in her worries, Cattleya didn't even notice the new knife covered in sleeping draft pricking her leg. Exhausted from both the pain and her worries, Cattleya lacked the resolve to fight off the darkness that claimed her.
When Jeanette finally untangled herself from the half-chained and unconscious Valliere, she looked upon the collapsed woman with a conflicted heart. Had Cattleya waited until she was alone she might have been able to escape, but instead she had tried to protect Jeanette from her less-than sanitary actions. Now they could take precautions against that ridiculous strength. Now... Jeanette shook her confused head as her thoughts trailed off and back to the unconscious woman before her. Try as she might, Jeanette could not settle herself.
It was hours before Cattleya awoke to the sound of a door closing and a familiar indignant huff coming from next door. Still groggy, Cattleya noted the colder air. Based on that and her admittedly confused internal clock, she guessed it was either evening or early morning. "Eleanor?" Cattleya wondered, hopefully loud enough to be heard through the wall, but not enough to draw an annoyed guard.
A moment's silence fell on the dark, chilled air. Then, muffled by the wall be still clear enough to hear came Eleanor's voice, "I am here, sister."
In her cell, Eleanor lay on her shoddy bed, looking at the ceiling. Though both tired and happy to hear her sister, Eleanor kept her wits about her. "The walls have ears, Cattleya." Eleanor warned.
Ever the optimist, Cattleya's reply lacked any fear. "I love you too, Eleanor." As realists tend to do in the presence of optimists, Eleanor sighed. Though the wall hid Eleanor's sigh, Cattleya knew her sister well enough to predict it, but not enough to properly understand the reasoning. "How did you end up here? Is He- are Alistair and his passenger alright?"
Though Eleanor doubted there was any point in attempting to hide Helene's identity, she wasn't about to correct Cattleya. Better to be too careful than reckless, especially when dealing with Cattleya. "They are fine; I was captured delaying so they could escape." At least, Eleanor hoped the deposed Queen made it safely to the Valliere estate. "Since then, I've been here, forced to help with inane tasks." Again, there was no point in letting on that she had an inkling of whatever Joseph was planning. Though Eleanor kept her tone measured and weary, her steely gaze remained skyward.
Chained as she was, Cattleya refused to lose her positivity. "Don't worry, sister, I'm sure everything will work out!" The chained Valliere encouraged in hopes of sharing that attitude with her sister.
Setting her jaw, Eleanor replied with careful reservation, "I'm sure it will, Cattleya." Eyes hardened with resolve, she continued to stare at the magic circle etched in blood on the ceiling of her cell. I'll make sure of it.
Montmorency opened and closed her hand, testing her waning control over her body. The wind around her whipped sand across the dunes and into her legs. Though she no longer felt the pain of the small pricks against her exposed skin, Montmorency's expression still soured in annoyance. For two days, they had traveled eastward toward her faint 'feeling' of where Louise was supposed to be, traveling straight from the forests of Romalia into the desert of the elven lands' border. If a desert wasn't bad enough, Montmorency did not relish the idea of running into an elven border patrol.
Sliding down the steep dune, Siesta slowed to a stop at the bottom next to Montmorency. "I didn't see much of anything around, save a rock formation in the distance. We should be safe to move." Though Siesta tried to keep her tone positive, her eyes clouded with worry when she caught Montmorency's clenching hand.
Quickly waving off the worry, Montmorency stated, "I'm fine, just help me out here." With an order to act on, Siesta let her worry drop in favor of slinging Montmorency's free hand over her shoulder.
With a walking stick in one arm and Siesta supporting the other, Montmorency once more began the trek. The going was slow through sand, but the two pressed on. Through the wind and the sun, they pressed on. Through exhaustion, worry, and pain they continued to march. With the sun halfway through its descent, they stopped for a break.
Siesta drank as much water as she dared from her waterskin. Though Montmorency could pull water from the air to fill it, the task was more difficult in the dry atmosphere of the desert. Whatever exertion Siesta could spare the ailing blonde was worth a little thirst. For her part, the other girl held a grief seed to her soul gem, purifying it for the second time in as many days. A dark expression fell over Montmorency's face, eliciting Siesta's worried question, "It's not supposed to darken so fast, is it?" Siesta held out the waterskin to Montmorency with a compassionate worry in her eyes.
When Montmorency held her hand up to reject the water, a spark of panic flared within Siesta and she made to object. Yet before Siesta could speak, Montmorency shook her head and explained. "The poison on Bleu's blade, I think it was necrotic." Montmorency tapped her heart for emphasis, "Even with the reagents Romalia took from me, I doubt there's much I could do." Worry and confusion played across Siesta's furrowed brow. Knowing she needed to simplify things, Montmorency plainly said. "My stomach has stopped working. Eating or drinking will just make things worse." The fear in Siesta's eyes reaffirmed Montmorency's decision to hide the full details. Telling the maid-turned-familiar that the majority of her organs had ceased to function would only distract her. For once, she was glad that she didn't technically need this body to live. "Here, help me up." Montmorency put the maid into action before her words could be questioned more.
Biting down on her worries, Siesta helped Montmorency up and the two once more resumed their trek. With each passing hour, the rock formation in the distance grew closer and the sun fell further. A flicker of hope was shared between the two when Montmorency's faint link continued to point toward the shelter. Perhaps their friends were camping there? The thought was hopelessly optimistic, but even Montmorency wanted to believe that they were within reach of their goal.
The sun was just beginning to set when the two arrived at the edge of the formation. Sand lazily blew over the smooth boulders and spires of stone. Leaning on her walking stick, Montmorency looked about the twisting shadows cast by the formation for any sign of life. Much to her worry, she found the opposite of her goal.
Bones bleached pearl white were scattered about the sands, adorned in ruined armor and clutching weapons now useless to them. "What happened here?" Siesta wondered aloud as she approached a skeleton and bent down to investigate.
Close behind, Montmorency looked over Siesta's shoulder. "There's no rust." She noted with caution. Indeed, despite the obvious damage the armor had suffered, there was not a hint of rust on either the sword beside the remains or on the armor itself. The bones looked old, but the fact that they hadn't been buried by sands and the lack of rust spoke otherwise. Beyond that, there was a crest upon the skeleton's helm that Montmorency recognized. Pointing with her walking stick, she informed the maid, "He is… was Gallian." Furrowing her brow, Montmorency puzzled over the mystery.
"Miss Montmorency," Siesta informed with a wary voice, "I think you should look at that." Spurred by the caution in her companion's voice, Montmorency traced the maid's pointing finger to a gap in the rock formation. There, previously hidden by the towering rocks lay a crashed airship. Though the ship's mast was splintered and leaning at an odd angle, the Gallian flag atop it still flapped in the desert breeze.
Though she tried her best, Montmorency couldn't stifle the growing unease within her. "We should keep moving." Siesta was tired from travelling, and Montmorency herself was in no shape to fight. If there were Gallians about, they were best avoided; Montmorency had an oddly familiar worry prickling the hair on the back of her neck. "Whatever killed these Gallians might not have been the others. It could be something worse." And whatever it was could still be around.
With Siesta once more supporting her, Montmorency pressed after the ethereal link she felt on the edge of her senses. Against her better judgment, that feeling led Montmorency toward the rock formation and a cave cloaked in shadows. That odd prickling feeling grew stronger with each step toward the cave. Though Montmorency could scarcely see more than a few feet within the pitch black cavern and the entrance leaked with ominous danger, the magical girl paid it all no mind.
No, for as Montmorency approached, she instinctively knew what was before her. Just as she had always known how to swing her hammer, she knew what this place was. Reaching out her hand, Montmorency pressed against the barrier. An intricate pattern of mirrors and pearl white columns faded into sight just before them. Beside Montmorency, Siesta wondered, "What is this…?" She trailed off, marveling at the sight that was both eerily beautiful and innately alien.
Gulping, Montmorency words burned themselves forever into her memory. "It's a witch's barrier."
A/N: Before anyone calls plot hole I remember that the Cardinal checked Cattleya and said the blood corruption was gone. For those who remembered, kudos. For those who remembered and were ready to shout plot hole, bad reader! Bad! I want y'all to say it with me now. Cattleya... is an idiot.
Now, I know she is shown to be wise(ish in my opinion) at points in canon, but I hope I have accurately shown that she is a feeler before a thinker. Unless helping someone requires thought, her mind defaults to off mode. i.e. She sees Jeanette drink her blood and knows blood corruption is transferable. She doesn't really get how healed she is, and even if she remembered the Cardinal's words, the slightest chance would still be enough for her to act as she did.
Ehem.