Chapter Eighteen

The mirror had eyes. It would lend them to Frieza on occasion. It would let him see the forces aligning against him. Just as frequently, they watched him, a hypercritical stare he could never escape. He was aware they were watching him fall apart. Strange how a construction that appeared so sturdy, that had weathered every argument and every plea like a dam impervious to the heaviest storm, could be undermined by the tiniest of fractures.

Strange, too, what hands could deal those fractures. They could come from the smallest of details, something another man would not have even noticed, let alone allowed to call his whole existence into question. Three Brenchian attendants with the kind of dead eyes one came to expect on Ketchyn faces sat Pan in front of a dresser. All three were hard at work on her hair, one with a brush, one with various foams, one with a plain silver band that matched her chest plate. Frieza watched the whole thing through the mirror's borrowed eyes. He frowned.

"Come here a moment, would you please?" He asked.

Captain Ginyu was away on business, so it was left to one of the others to volunteer a response. The slightest of shadows appeared at his side.

"Tell me, Jeice," Frieza said, "Do you know what an anachronism is?"

"I can't say that I do, Lord Frieza."

Frieza traced a line down Pan's deer-in-the-headlights face before pointing at her bright red dress with its shiny armor. "That's an anachronism."

"That explains why I don't know it. I never was up on my high-end fashion designers."

"…of course not." Frieza could have explained, but didn't think it was worth his time, especially since Jeice was liable to forget such an explanation. "I find my concentration broken by thoughts of her these days, and not of the sort you'd expect. I feel a nagging anxiety I can't quite explain. Do you know how much of my childhood I wasted in that court she's now expected to navigate? I know how it works. I wonder if she does. That dress, for instance. If it was her idea to wear it, I doubt she's aware of its significance, or that whoever suggested it to her is using her to send a message. I also wonder where she got it. It shouldn't exist."

"The skirt's a little puffy and impractical, but it's not that bad."

"It's ceremonial garb. It's not so cumbersome it couldn't be worn into combat- nothing of Saiyan design would be- but its primary purpose was…"

His reply was cut short by surprise. Pan noticed all three sets of eyes were down and winked. Hastily, she scribbled on a piece of paper and held it up.

Remember what I did to Trunks on Gelbo?

If Frieza had any doubt the wink had been meant for him, the message left none. She'd written it backwards so he'd be able to read it. He'd thought of the mirror as a one-way spyglass, not a device for communication; and yet, apparently knowing she was being watched had given Pan the idea to start sending messages of her own through it. She flattened the paper again as the attendants looked up, and didn't pull it back up until they were again occupied.

Then it said, I'm being punished for it.

"Apparently, she disagrees."

An attendant sprayed a puff of perfume at Pan. She coughed and held up a paper that said, HELP.

Frieza chuckled. It wasn't particularly loud or joyful, and it stopped as soon as it started, at which point he cuffed Jeice on the back of the head.

"Well? Help her."

Jeice bowed. "As you command."

The slight shadow peeled away from the wall and left the tomb.

Frieza turned back to the mirror, silent once more. Now Pan was pretending to bang on the surface while mouthing, 'let me out.' He still felt a twinge of… was that jealousy or concern or some emulsion of both?... knowing the mirror could see what he saw, and therefore eavesdropped on these messages meant for him. It didn't react with the kind of contempt it had shown in the past, however. The glow of its oily surface had a subdued quality, as if the thing was deep in thought as well as sleep. Or perhaps, for once, it watched the growing cracks in his resolve with some mote of empathy.

"I'm sure it's a convincing replica," He said. "Or some antique Flare couldn't be without and had smuggled to him. He fancied himself a collector, perhaps because it had a more sophisticated ring to it than murderer. Surely he didn't acquire every piece in his collection directly off its original owner's back. It was imported. Yes, that must be it."

Mustn't it?

The mirror's heartbeat slowed. Empathy. It wasn't something Frieza normally had much respect for, but he supposed in this case, it could be forgiven. What could understand his fear of shattering better than a mirror?

ooo

One of the people at this table was Pan's true enemy. One of them had brought Frieza back to life. Ember was sure it was Incendria. Pan wasn't anymore. In fact, as she stared from Sulfuri to Magmast to Incendria to even Lucia, the only ones she knew she could definitively rule out were Ember and Gelata, and them only because they'd been with her when some of the plotting must have happened.

Pan wasn't familiar with all of the concepts they discussed, but she tried to focus on her suspects and their conversation, hoping the amateur necromancer at the table would do or say something to tip her off.

"We're here today," Sulfuri started, "Because two days ago, an attempt was made on the Count of Colander by what appeared to be members of the Planet Trade Organization."

"Appeared," Magmast snorted. Pan knew he had been sick the last time she saw him, but she couldn't believe the difference now. He sat up straight and strong, with broad shoulders and folded hands. Wrinkles and other signs of age and weathering didn't make him any less intimidating than they made Master Roshi when he was serious. When she entered and he fixed her with a long, hard stare, she actually shrunk back a little.

Sulfuri sneered. "I know you've been angling for Cocytus to form a standing army of its own, and a looming invasion from those ice-maggot thugs would give you a perfect excuse to establish one, wouldn't it? Temporarily, of course; and then you just wouldn't ever have the time or the inclination to disband it. But you can't ignore the possibility that the attack came from one of your many enemies on world, and they disguised themselves so you wouldn't know which."

"I have only one enemy who wants to be rid of me that badly," Magmast said. "And I don't believe he has the creativity or the clout for an operation like this."

Incendria sat between the two, and she extended her pole across the table. It flared. "Your majesty, my count, please. I'm to understand these men, whatever their identities, were successful in infiltrating the manor, poisoning you, and escaping. It was by sheer chance they were attacked by bandits in the forest."

Shivor said nothing, but Pan saw his stoic face crack just a bit. He knew those men hadn't been killed by bandits.

"If they can do that in Colander, they can do it in Asphodel. This is a threat to all of us. Let's stay on that subject, please. I'd like to go back to what my brother calls my frivolous moping."

And there it was, the reason Pan's certainty of Incendria's guilt was wavering. Compared to the others at the table she just didn't have much motive. Yes, she was vaguely dissatisfied with her life and was obviously hiding something, but after her reluctance to come to this meeting and willingness to abandon the palace, Pan was certain it wasn't designs on the throne of Asphodel.

She made a mental note. Suspect: Incendria. Suspect because: she's secretive and creeps me out. Possibly innocent because: that's really all I have on her.

"I'm not certain your scenario is a possibility so much as it is wishful thinking," Magmast said. "But assuming it's not, we have to accept that a very dangerous group of criminals has breached the Prismasphere, and face exactly what that means."

Sulfuri flinched. Pan had never seen him flinch before and had to admit the sight satisfied her a little. "The only way for a spaceship to land through the Prismasphere is by way of a prismatic cloak. That's technology only available on Ketchyn."

That must be why Pan hadn't heard from the Para Brothers yet. Perhaps she should get her hands on some of this equipment.

"If your attackers come from off-world," Sulfuri continued, "That means someone on-world sent them that tech and told them how to use it. It would certainly explain why they haven't come after you before now, as long as Cold's elder son has been itching to get his hands on you."

This time, Magmast flinched. Lucia touched his hand. Sulfuri missed the hooded glare she shot him. Pan didn't.

Suspect: Lucia and Shivor. Pan thought. Suspects because: Lucia is protective of her father and has recruited Shivor behind his back before. They could have summoned Frieza to take care of Magmast's enemies while keeping Magmast's hands clean. She doesn't have much in the way of foresight and might not understand the danger of dealing with the Vile Wave or men like Frieza. Shivor could have called some favors to get Asphodel's soldiers to clean up their mess at Cold Manor. Possibly innocent because: she doesn't have much in the way of foresight and that scheme requires a lot.

"I don't blame him," Magmast whispered, pulling his hand from Lucia's.

Sulfuri ignored him. "It also means someone on Ketchyn is working with them. We have a traitor in our ranks. And frankly, if the target hadn't been you, I'd suspect you. I'm not sure I still don't. You chip away a little here and there, but we both know your ultimate endgame is restoring Colander's independence, and then Blendarr's, and eventually, Cocytus's; splitting my father's kingdom into the quasi-functional warring states they were before he united and civilized them."

"And yours is keeping that zombie of a kingdom shuffling on its decaying feet just because he said you couldn't," Magmast said.

Pan glanced at the king and saw another flinch. Suspect: Sulfuri. Suspect because: trying to earn the posthumous respect of his abusive mass-murdering father by keeping his kingdom together. He's stayed in power in spite of having no clear advantage over the competition. No question he has the authority to call the raid on Cold Manor. He could have summoned Frieza to keep anti-Cold sentiment stirred up so Magmast doesn't get his independent Cocytus. Possibly innocent because: he wasn't faking that surprise when I told him I was attacked by Frieza.

"Decaying or not, we can all agree the last thing our people need- any of them- is more upheaval," Ember said. "Yours are noble sentiments, Count, but we can't discuss them seriously at this table, without any contribution from our citizens. Now, about the business of investigating this immediate threat of assassins and a potential traitor…"

Pan left that meeting with her head spinning. She wished Gohan were here. He'd be able to sift through all this. She made a gallant attempt, though; and so involved did she get, she rounded a corner and almost walked straight into Count Magmast.

They were alone in the hallway. He stared up at a painting, a stately Sutova nobleman drawn so perfected as to be generic, but he turned his head when he felt her at his elbow. He held her in place yet again with that scrutinizing look.

"Hello," He said. "You're the one Lucia tells me helped Shivor retrieve that antidote I needed. I'm glad I have this opportunity to thank you personally."

"You're welcome," Pan said. His unwavering eyes made her nervous, especially the way they kept darting over her. She didn't like creepers to begin with, and this one felt like he was sizing her up for vulnerabilities.

He must have noticed she'd noticed. "That is a lovely dress. May I ask where you got it?"

"Princess Incendria lent it to me. I didn't have anything formal to wear, and she thought it would fit."

"Indeed," Magmast said. "I should have guessed it was Incendria. It fits too well. It's not a costume, is it? You're really a Saiyan."

Pan fell into a guarded stance without thinking about it. Magmast made no attempt to attack her, though. He only turned back to the painting.

She unwrapped her tail from her waist and pulled it through the hole on the dress.

"Phenomenal. I haven't seen one of your kind since…"

He trailed off. Pan didn't know how to break the silence, but it was so oppressive and uncomfortable, she didn't know how not to.

"The hunting grounds," Pan said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

He closed his eyes. "Do you know hatred is like a well? It runs deep. It runs cold. And it's so very easy to convince yourself that reflection you see on the surface is really you, when at the bottom, you're drowning. I once believed your kind, and especially the Reizomorphs, were inferior to the Sutova. I really did. But I also thought ravens were inferior to the Sutova and I didn't feel compelled by seething rage to destroy every single one I saw. What was the difference? Down at the bottom of that well, where I was drowning, it came down to one thing. One of them had something I wanted."

He looked to the floor.

"I wouldn't dare ask for forgiveness. I don't think what I've done can be forgiven. There's only one path left for me. I will spend the rest of my life doing all in my power to make sure it never happens again."

Magmast left. He must have had other places to be.

"Don't forget to hide your tail before you go back into public," He called back.

Pan tucked her tail back into the cloth and wrapped it around her waist immediately. She watched Magmast's leathery cape follow him down the hall, and she made her last mental note.

Suspect: Magmast. Suspect because: he's trying to undo his greatest mistake.

Possibly innocent because: can't think of any reason.