Recap: Marianne and Nunnally are on a family bonding trip and run into Amelia, V.V.'s assistant. Naoto's rebellious activities have been exposed to Lord Ashford. Suzaku is watching the massacre unfold around him along with other war crimes and, in a last ditch effort, called Lelouch. Arthur Greenford is busy scheming his way to more power and also curious of his friend, Frederick Oberstein's, interest in the occult.
Ch. 29: Familial Casualties
On August 2nd, Prince Clovis ordered the purge of Shinjuku, home to numerous Numbers, Honorary Britannians, and the occasional Britannians of dubious heritage or limited means. Casualties are estimated to be around 40,000 to 80,000 deaths and 5,000 to 15,000 wounded. Official figures originally claimed about 500 deaths and were later revised to 2,000. The usage of knightmares in the attack made identification of the deceased difficult, while poor records of the Numbers meant many were never accounted for. The incident was well documented within the Chrysanthemum which published personal accounts from the survivors as well as photos and videos.
Britannian opinion, while initially apathetic, turned negative once Emperor Charles's disapproval leaked to the press. Breaking from the royal family, Nunnally vi Britannia and Euphemia li Britannia both went on public record to officially denounce the massacre.
This event marked the beginning of a period of political unrest within Japan as various resistance cells were emboldened to act, while abroad…
—History of Britannia
Jasper, Area Two
The morning was no better for Marianne as she woke without her daughter by her side and to one Unspeakable lightly sleeping in a chair by the windows. Her daughter hadn't decided to return home, instead spending her night out in the cold. So stubborn... Just like Marianne had been.
The family in the opposing room rushed past her down the hall, casting disparaging glances over their shoulders. Breakfast proved to be impossible as there was no room for her wheelchair. Meanwhile, an elderly man with a cane and an old army jacket was greeted warmly. For so long, she had wished to have been born someone worthy of respect, then she fought for it... But in the end, simple Marianne was worth nothing.
This was the world her daughter lived in, day by day. Royalty afforded Marianne too many protections. There was no room for weakness within Britannia, a sentiment Marianne agreed heartily with. Yet what was weakness?
They dismissed her; in a knightmare, she brought nations to their knees. Her daughter had overcome her disadvantages to claim the mantle of the Black King. Like the nobles she despised, she had taken things at face value instead of seeing the potential within that Reuben always found and nurtured.
Huffing, she left the inn to grab breakfast at the teahouse filled with beautiful depictions of birds in flight, gently flickering candles, and small dangling mirrors which jingled in the breeze. Mrs. Basset regaled her with tales from her own childhood, not noticing the woman before her was one of the girls she used to teach her letters to. It was nice to be remembered warmly, even if that girl was long since dead, yet the tale dragged old memories to light with an annoying itch in her mind; Marianne had forgotten for a reason.
"Did you ever hear about Aimee?" Marianne interrupted as the woman recollected a rather embarrassing incident where she had goaded the older boys to teach her how to fight. Marianne had learned something that day; the weak would always be played for fools by the strong, and a band of weaklings could bring down the strongest predator.
Mrs. Basset frowned, strangely silent. "Nasty business that was. She's dead. Better off that way too." She stirred her tea absently and unfocused eyes stared out the window. "You're the first to listen... No one ever wants to listen to a crazy woman ramble. I remember her so well. Nunnally used to visit and tell me how she was doing with Lord Ashford. She was waiting to hear about Aimee too. Then she died."
"So nothing?" Marianne confirmed, unsure whether she should be relieved or not. Had her cousin known all along that Marianne hadn't told the truth and taken that secret to her grave?
The grey eyes focused on her. "The last time anyone asked about her was about fifteen years ago. They asked about the men who came and about Marianne... I already made the mistake of telling them too much. I wondered what harm a child could do... and he seemed so curious and earnest, even if he was a noble. But—" She shook her head. "He was a corrupted being. My grandmother warned me of them. Tragedy always follows. You have a shard too. I won't let the poor girl's peace be disturbed even further with such wickedness."
"I swear I mean no harm." Marianne reached across the table, brushing through the small mirrors hanging above the center, and grabbed her hand. "I only want to know the truth."
Mrs. Basset tore her hand free and banged her cane against the wheelchair. "What use do you have? I already said too much."
"She's my sister," Marianne whispered. "You know something." Even if Marianne hadn't expected it to run across a reference to geass here in the middle of nowhere. "You always fixed my hair so my parents wouldn't know I was climbing the trees again."
Trembling, Mrs. Basset extended a hand and brushed her messy French braid. "Mary?"
"Yes." Marianne chuckled weakly. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
Another strike to her wheelchair sent an unpleasant shiver up her spine. "You never came back! And what sort of nonsense have you gotten yourself mixed up in now? I swear, girl. You attract more trouble than flies to honey."
"You really haven't changed one bit," Marianne grumbled, even if she ran a teahouse of all things now. "And I did come back. To bury my cousin."
"You should've said hello. It's not good to grieve alone." Mrs. Basset humphed. "And what of your family's graves? I have been paying respect all by my lonesome. You're quite lucky Nunnally told me where you lot buried their ashes. Not even in a respectable graveyard. What were you thinking? Sit. I'm getting biscuits."
Marianne massaged her nose with one hand, while the other signaled the Unspeakable to relax. She would rather not have her only source of information be accidentally killed in a fit of overzealous protectiveness.
Slamming a porcelain plate—nicer than the previous table setting they had been using—down, Mrs. Basset observed her intently. "What did you do to yourself, child? Didn't your parents ever warn against pacts with the devil?"
"I'm not religious," Marianne dismissed. She grudgingly took a bite and winced at the burst of nostalgia. For a moment, Aimee laughed in her ears as she stole the last of her biscuits. "I think I ended up with the better side of the deal regardless."
"Yes... You're an Empress now." Mrs. Basset tilted her head. "Married to a man almost thirty years your senior. And now stuck in that chair. How long until he throws you away like his countless other wives? From where I'm standing, you've only bought yourself momentary happiness. There is always a price to pay... and it's a miracle that God hasn't cast you back into the sea yet."
Whenever she heard disparaging comments regarding her marriage before, they were out of envy or hatred. None of them had ever cared for her except Reuben, and he had made his disapproval clear but knew better than to comment on a done deal. "Thank you for worrying, but I am who I want to be. I do not fear that Charles will lose interest in me and shatter my fairytale. I reminded him of the value of living, much as my children do for me."
"And what of your Faustian bargain, Mary? What have you lost?"
"Only what was the fault of my own actions."
Like her children's trust because she had prioritized the Empire over them and for threatening the friend they held dear. She had blinded herself for so long to anything outside of her little bubble, not realizing her children had crossed the boundary and become enraptured with the world beyond. They saw beauty in what had brought Marianne only suffering. They were stronger than her to keep facing the world despite being repeatedly burnt.
"You're a calamity," Mrs. Basset mumbled.
"How do you know about my... bargain?" Marianne asked softly. The Geass Directorate and Charles's personal agents were thorough in stamping out every possible evidence. No one would believe a crazy old woman, but if the source was still floating around, then it was her duty to remove it.
"Mary," Mrs. Basset whispered sadly. "Have you truly forgotten?"
"I was a child; they forget things."
"When your family fled Napoleon's revolution and the devil at his side, they settled here and helped build the church to ward against the evil in the land. Your eyes glimmer red in the mirrors. They show a facet of the truth. That's what my grandmother used to say, and she always said the devil would claim one of yours eventually."
Nervously, Marianne checked the mirror and to her relief found the normal purple hue. "You're mad."
Mrs. Basset merely smiled. "You haven't learned to see. The not-child looking for your sister, while having fallen to the devil, didn't see either. All superstitions are grounded in reality."
Ignoring the bumbling nonsense, Marianne asked, "What did you tell him?"
"She was sold," Mrs. Basset whispered. "You should pick some baptisias before you leave."
Shuddering, Marianne rolled outside, yet she stopped at the flower garden at the side and snapped off a stalk. The purple flowers rested on the stem like a hundred butterflies posed for flight—a vibrant burst of life in the dull town.
Her sister was alive. That was the truth, and Marianne had abandoned her for decades to slavery. A noble had undoubtedly claimed her... and then— A not-boy. V.V. Why had he come here, searching through her past? It must have been before her marriage, when he had been protesting to Charles.
Everyone had protested except her.
Charles ignored them all and pushed through his will. He had made concessions to stabilize his power afterwards as the nobles bristled at the idea of an upstart whore claiming a seat by his throne.
Sighing, she rolled to the graveyard and the worn marble headstones within. The gravel crunched beneath her wheels. Her head rang as more memories whispered and gnawed at the back of her mind. She would collect her daughter and leave tomorrow to find the trail of decade old human traffickers.
She owed her sister that much. She owed her daughter even more.
By her cousin's tombstone, she spotted her daughter's familiar form, with straw hair dancing in the wind. She wasn't out of place in the town at all. By her side stood another woman, and Marianne bristled at the idea of a stranger invading her cousin's grave.
The woman turned curiously, and her heart froze. Amelia.
"Nunnally! Get over here, now," she screamed. The Unspeakable at her side moved forward, dragging her daughter back to safety and out of reach from V.V.'s assistant. How had she even known that Marianne would be here? Why couldn't he just leave her alone?
"Mother?" Nunnally asked quietly in concern.
Pale as a corpse, Amelia offered an apologetic smile. "You must be Mary. I'm sorry. She said she forgot your phone number. I was going to help her find her way back to the inn, but I had to take a small detour. I'm Amelia."
Marianne clamped down on the protective rage and focused on the opportunity before her. She had V.V.'s assistant out in the open and hadn't noticed any folks out of place. The woman was unprotected.
"My apologies," Marianne said. "Nunnally has a tendency to find trouble. Thank you for looking out for her. May I treat you to lunch?"
Amelia's brow furrowed as she looked at her daughter. "It would be my pleasure."
As they passed a freshly cleaned and reflective storefront window, Marianne flared her geass. She couldn't be sure that Amelia didn't have her own contract despite her words. For a moment, Amelia's steps hitched as the geass settled into her mind, and Mariann calmed as the connection settled. Whatever happened, the woman was hers now.
They conversed like old friends, and Marianne wondered if that was her geass at play, letting her always know the right thing to say and imbuing them with a sense of familiarity. It was strange watching her; she appeared utterly oblivious to the Unspeakable following them from the shadows. Every time she stepped into the wide open streets filled with bustling people, her shoulders hunched. Otherwise, she clung to the edges of the buildings. Her nose had turned red, sunburnt.
"Do you not go outside frequently?" Marianne finally asked.
"My job keeps me busy. It's been many years since I've come home—I mean, had a vacation." She laughed guiltily, so different from the cold, defensive woman in the labs.
A horrid truth stood before her. Marianne clenched her eyes, unwilling to accept it.
Lunch turned into dinner. Amelia practically clung to her side. Slowly, her laughs became easier. Her eyes filled with wonder as they took an evening stroll through the woodland pathways. The sun was slowly setting, covering the world in twilight, but Amelia seemed oblivious as she brushed her hand over a tree once more.
Nunnally pulled her aside. "She's lying."
"I know," Marianne answered.
"You're scared... Is she dangerous?"
"Not right now..." Only if V.V. followed her here and ended her vacation.
"Why don't you join us tomorrow?" Marianne asked as they returned to the inn. "My daughter enjoys your company."
Amelia frowned. "I'm sorry. I have to return to work. Breakfast perhaps?"
Nunnally pouted, crossing her arms. "You could quit and find work elsewhere. They would give you a vacation."
"I don't have anything else," Amelia admitted, downcast. "Thank you, though, for taking me along. I haven't had that much fun... in years."
"I will see you in the morning," Marianne promised; her heart burned.
As the door shut behind them, trapping them in their small room, she let out a long shaking breath and fumbled with her hair. Everything was spiraling out of control.
"That was Aimee, wasn't it?" Nunnally asked.
Aimee who had been stolen away, only to be found by V.V. because he wanted to ruin Marianne... Who then locked her up in the depth of the labs and deprived her of a life.
"I can't let her go back," Marianne said, even if she would make an excellent involuntary spy. She had geassed her own sister. "She is going to hate me."
Nunnally grabbed her hand in reassurance. "She was looking for you too."
"Everyone hates me. I keep messing up." Marianne withdrew and pulled out her phone. Half a dozen missed calls from Reuben glared at her, but he could wait. She was on vacation, and her daughter was safe by her side. There were more important arrangements to make.
"I don't hate you," Nunnally whispered. "I'm sorry for running off. I didn't think you could be scared."
"You and Lelouch are some of the few who can." She pulled in her daughter for a hug. Nunnally stiffened momentarily before relaxing into her embrace. "I won't ask you to give up the power you gained, only to be more careful. I cannot bear the thought of losing you. You don't need to follow in Lelouch's footsteps of attracting danger with his every breath."
Nunnally giggled. "He's really not good at keeping his head down."
"Charles left him alone in the palace for a day, and Carine tried to kill him." She shook her head. Charles was way too harsh on their son's guards; it was a miracle they managed to keep up with Lelouch's wayward tendencies. "Don't laugh, sweetie. You tried to depose the Viceroy and took over a criminal syndicate. Really. What am I going to do with you two?"
"I beat him in chess and robbed him blind. He has to serve me now."
"If you're going to do this, then you should've killed him," Marianne chided. "He is a loose end who will betray you."
"He's scared of me."
"Your guard is coming with you. He can at least help you clean up your mess and make it into an organization worthy of an Imperial Princess. That means no more destabilizing the Area in your little spat. You have to be wary of the collateral damage. Clovis has already lost."
"Fine," Nunnally said grudgingly. "I'm keeping the title of Black King."
"Then take care of your predecessor."
"And I'm not going to let people think I'm weak."
Marianne chuckled, remembering the countless insults she had suffered here. "Why don't I help you with that one instead? The Empire will be stronger as a result."
"I don't need your help," Nunnally grumbled from her lap. Teenagers.
"An exchange then. You leave Clovis alone, and I start a grant in Mr. Cameron's name. Do we have a deal?"
Nunnally straightened and held herself formally as she extended her hand. Marianne shook it firmly. Finally, one potential disaster eased. That just left the clusterfuck of the Geass Order, an immortal gremlin, and her sister.
Ashford Labs, Area Eleven
True to his word, Lord Ashford had brought his younger brother to him, and Naoto had thanked him with a grateful smile to hide the lance of terror shredding his heart apart. Everything had fallen apart, and now he was stuck deep underground, cut off from his friends and with a hostage to ensure his compliance.
His mother was still out there, but she thought Oscar was with him, safe. Nothing could be further from the truth.
His friends from the hospital called regularly. Naoto fed them the well practiced lies Lord Ashford instructed him to say. That he was in the hospital in Niigata. That he was very busy adjusting to his workload, so he wouldn't be able to visit. And when that excuse ran dry, that his younger brother had moved in, and he couldn't possibly leave him alone for the day.
He wondered if they knew something was wrong. If they heard the tremor in his voice. If they thought anything was strange.
Slowly, the calls trickled to a halt.
In a better would, he would take some comfort for his brother at his side. They would cling to each other to weather the oncoming storm and reemerge victorious on the other side.
"I want to go home!" Oscar screamed, throwing the small bedside lamp at him. "I want Mother. I'm Japanese!"
Naoto caught the lamp and set it down. He tried to tuck him in, earning a fist to the eye for his troubles. After turning off the lights, he leaned against the door as the screams echoed through. Why couldn't he get through to him?
They had to be careful. They were deep within Lord Ashford's territory. Their every conversation was monitored, but every time Naoto reprimanded his brother for the near treasonous words that spilled from his lips, Oscar merely doubled down and hated him even more.
The phone buzzed in his hand. Always the exact same time, nine p.m. on a Sunday evening. He read the message from Frederick and put away the phone, still unsure how to respond. Lelouch was a Britannian prince. His mother had bathed Tokyo in blood. His guard kept trying to talk to him.
Was it a trap? Or earnest?
How was he supposed to tell truth from fiction?
He fell into bed tiredly, closed his eyes, and woke to the insistent beeping of his alarm. He made breakfast for Oscar. Wrestled a screaming child into his seat. Washed the cereal out of his hair. Locked his brother in their rooms and resigned himself to returning to the usual destruction. Went to the small medical offices and treated various blisters, rashes, and one broken arm.
In the evening, Frederick texted him, Have I done something wrong? I'm sorry.
Been busy with work, he lied. Feeling guilty, he added, I took in my brother. Text me when you're in town?
He justified it by telling himself that this way he would have a heads up when the prince returned and demanded his head. Prince Lelouch? His sister had volunteered at the hospital as well. What was their goal?
A few days later, he pulled up a chair and sat across from Oscar. "Let's talk."
Oscar huffed. "I wanna go home."
"Mom sent you to live with me," he said.
"You're lying! The men came and got me." The eyes narrowed hatefully. "What did you do to her?"
Naoto leaned forward until he was level with his brother's eyes. "Was she worried when you left? Did she scream? Cry?"
"No..." Oscar kicked his legs idly. "But I did. And she didn't do anything! Mommy always helps me."
"Remember when I visited? She asked me to take you in, and I said I would. She wants you to have the best life possible, and you can't get that with her."
"Well, I don't want it!" He crossed his arms. "I want Mommy. And you never go outside. We're always inside. It's a prison!"
"Yes, it is," Naoto whispered. He wrapped his fingers around the small childish hand. "And I need you to be very brave, okay? I did something foolish, so I have to stay inside, but I'll ask them to take you to the gardens. They're quite beautiful."
"I don't want to stay. They're mean!"
"No," Naoto said firmly. "They're Britannians. You are one as well."
"No! I'm like Mommy. I'm not like them. They're evil."
Why couldn't he be quiet and not say such incriminating things? "But Mommy loved Daddy, and he was Britannian. He's even a lord, a noble. We're not allowed to be a part of his family because it would be dangerous. The other bad men don't like that Daddy loved Mommy. Still, you can be a normal Britannian. You can learn so many things."
Oscar stuck out his tongue.
"What about a deal? You try to fit in with everyone and see how you like it. They get extra dessert from the cafeteria." Or rather Naoto was going to donate his to the cause. "If you don't like it, I'll talk to Lord Ashford about sending you home."
The answer would be a resounding no. Lord Ashford wouldn't risk letting his hostage escape.
"Can I see Mommy?" Oscar insisted stubbornly.
"I will talk to him," Naoto conceded. Not that anything would come out of it.
Oscar frowned pensively, face screwed up in concentration. He nodded seriously. "Fine."
The next week passed much easier, and Lord Ashford pulled him into his office to praise them. Naoto couldn't meet the man's eyes. He had a call with his father later that night who congratulated him on his promotion to Niigata, completely unaware of Naoto's disastrous actions.
On the second of August, his phone rang.
"Nathan," Lucy said breathlessly. "Have you heard anything from Shinjuku?"
"No?"
"Karl went into the ghettos for a home visit. You know how the Elevens don't like to go too far out, especially with the Knight Police being so aggressive of late. He was supposed to be back hours ago, but they're saying something about traffic restrictions, and I can't get in! Please... Can you call Lord Ashford? He can order them to step aside. This is his city."
"I'll try," Naoto promised. Had there been some sort of traffic accident?
He walked up to the office in a daze. It was nice hearing her voice again although it was a shame that they were blocking off the area. Or had the Blood of the Samurai attacked? He knocked. "Lord Ashford? It's Nathan."
"Come in," Lord Ashford said. Inside, everything was put together exactly as the last time he had been in there.
"I was wondering if you know anything about what is happening in Shinjuku, my lord? A friend from the hospital called. Apparently, one of our own hasn't returned yet, and he can't get out."
Lord Ashford's face turned grave, gesturing at the empty chair, conveying a silent demand. "Prince Clovis has ordered an urban renewal project. My hands are tied."
"Urban renewal? What does that mean?" Naoto asked quietly. Did that mean Karl was stuck in traffic?
"I warned you, the innocent always pay the price. Earlier today, a shipment of medical equipment was stolen by a terrorist group."
Some of Ohgi's group had survived? His shoulders lightened. He hadn't condemned them all to death.
"Clovis has decided in his infinite wisdom to annihilate the entire ghetto."
"What?" Naoto squeaked. "He can't— You have to do something! At least get Karl out. He's a doctor!"
"And what do you suggest I do?" Lord Ashford peered at him over his glasses. "An Imperial Prince, the Viceroy of Area Eleven, gave a command. I must obey. I have submitted a complaint to the Emperor."
"That will take weeks, months! They're dying now." His hands clenched in his laps. Would Karl even be alive by the end? Surely, the Britannian troops wouldn't kill one of their own. Yet, even if he survived, countless others would die. "They're innocent."
"Everything has a price, Nathan. Maybe if you had been a little more helpful, this could have been avoided. Clearly, Clovis does not want his little side project to come to light."
"I told you about it!"
"And I was working on it," Lord Ashford growled. "Slowly and subtly with great care because anything with royals involved is more likely to detonate in your hands than theirs. At least you can be assured that he will no longer be able to continue in such... experiments. The Emperor will not be pleased when productivity plummets. Or when the accusations come in that Clovis co-opted military forces for a personal affair. Your group stopped him; you should be happy."
"Not like this." Naoto shook his head as Lord Ashford stood and opened the blinds. Hesitantly, Naoto wandered to his side and looked over at the city and the plume of smoke billowing over Shinjuku.
Lord Ashford pulled out his phone, snapping quick orders for all hospital staff to withdraw for their own safety. Grabbing the window sill, Naoto pressed his forehead against the panes, as if he could reach out and extinguish the fires with his hands. Swat the helicopters out of the sky and crush the knightmares.
He spun around and stormed to the door.
"Where do you think you are going?" Lord Ashford asked, stopping him.
"To help. Like hell am I going to just stand by and do nothing, my lord," he finished with a mocking drawl.
"Nathan. Sit."
Stubbornly, he ignored him and pulled on the door. It was locked. "Just let me go. If I'm going to die, I might as well save some people."
"Save me from the melodramatic youth." A strong hand clamped around his shoulder and pushed him into the neighboring couch. "You would not even be able to approach. They would shoot you on sight before you could break through the encirclement."
His nails dug into his palm. "This is your city! Fucking do something!"
Lord Ashford seemed to age before his eyes. "Clovis is not entertaining calls at this time. Marianne turned off her phone a few days ago, not that she would feel particularly inclined to intervene. The knightmares out there are under the Purists control; they will not listen to me now that they have been given permission by His Highness to interfere in my territory. The officers on the ground are likewise clogged with Purist fanatics. I have maybe two captains who stood down at my request. Some of their lieutenants mutinied, insisting on following the imperial prerogative instead. About six lieutenants abstained; three of them are in command of Honorary Britannians, and I will be spending the next few months defending them in their upcoming court martial."
He pressed his fingers to the right of his eyes and massaged the skin in methodical circles. "So yes, Nathan. I have been fucking doing something, but there is very little that I can do short of calling on my personal forces and storming over their myself, only to be slaughtered for treason."
Two quick raps knocked on the door, and Lord Ashford retreated behind his desk, unlocking the door with a buzz.
A prim, proper woman stood there. "You asked for any updates regarding Shinjuku, my lord?"
"Yes. Has the situation changed?"
She nodded and a hint of wonder entered her voice. "The Emperor personally countermanded Prince Clovis's orders. All units are to withdraw and establish a perimeter. Nobody is allowed in or out, but relief stations are permitted on the boundary."
"Thank you, Jessica," Lord Ashford said. "You may go. Inform me if the situation changes."
The door closed, and he slumped, shaking his head in wonder. "Countermanding them himself? Charles has to be right pissed. Clovis, you utter fool."
Naoto stood, knees weak from relief. "I'm going to help."
"You will stay here," Lord Ashford snapped, voice sharp.
"As you pointed out, I bear some responsibility, so I'm not going to stand here and not do the right thing!"
"If a single one of your friends or even acquaintances sees you there, they will kill you." He sighed. "Tend to your brother, Nathan. There is no reason for anyone else to die this week."
"No." If Lord Ashford didn't want him or his brother dead, then Naoto wouldn't quail anymore under his threats.
"For the love of the Emperor..." Lord Ashford waved his hand. "Take him to his room and make sure he stays there."
Shouting, Naoto was dragged back underground and into the labs. He cursed the guards and pulled on the handle desperately. Nothing. Frustrated, he kicked the door.
"Nathan?" Oscar squeaked, sitting on his chair and clutching his teddy-bear. "Why are you—? That's what I do."
The strength drained out of him, and he slid to the floor. Oscar approached him warily and wrapped his hand around his wrist.
Naoto stroked his hair and whispered, "I was playing a game of pretend, and I did something very bad. I have to be even better at pretending now... I messed up today. I got too angry; I always mess up when I'm angry."
"Why don't you stop? You're not having fun. Mommy always said that everyone having fun is the most important part."
"I'm so sorry," he half-sobbed and pulled away. Thankfully, his phone buzzed, distracting him from the need to answer.
Frederick had asked, "How are you doing?" He had broken from the schedule, an hour after the Emperor ordered the troops to withdraw from Shinjuku. He knew what happened; Naoto was certain. If anyone could get the Emperor to intervene, it would be the son of his favorite wife. Prince Lelouch had spent an inordinate time baiting the Knight Police. When Refrain flooded the streets, he hadn't turned the patients in but chased off the investigator. He was friends with the former Prime Minister of Japan's son.
"I'm fine," Nathan replied. After a moment of hesitation, he added, "It's nice to hear from you after being swamped in work. Maybe the next time you visit we could get lunch in Shinjuku? There's an excellent place I know."
The reply was slow to come, and Oscar peered over his arm insistently. "What about a home cooked meal instead? Lelouch owes me a favor, and he can definitely make whatever you like, even sushi. I personally don't get the appeal."
Oh, he definitely knew. "That would be nice. Sorry. Have to go. My brother is calling for me."
"Good night, Naoto."
Oscar poked him in the arm. "You lied... You're still playing pretend."
Pulling him in for a hug, Naoto whispered, "When adults play, the game never ends. You're not allowed to drop out."
Shinjuku, Area Eleven
Suzaku lowered the phone, not knowing what he was doing. Never before had he so viscerally felt the difference between the two of them as now with dying screams in the background. Lelouch was a Britannian prince; Suzaku was nothing, garbage to be disposed of.
Boots neared, and he pressed himself against the wall, into the crack between the dumpster and the wall. Anything to not be seen. There was no way to escape. The enemy had knightmares, guns, and near infinite reinforcements. Suzaku hadn't even been able to hold off Gottwald when he had a knightmare. Now, he had nothing.
The boots neared. Cruel voices quipped to another, and a glass crunched. A panicked scream was cut silent with one deafening crack. He flinched, elbowing the dumpster.
His lungs struggled to expand. Two voices quieted. Bile rose in his throat. Slow, steady steps approached. His vision blurred.
An amused chuckle; the muzzle of a gun slipped beneath his chin. "Found one of the monkeys."
"Look at him tremble! I bet he would do anything."
He looked up at the visored men. All he could see was the satisfied twist of their mouth. "Isn't that right, monkey?"
Suzaku nodded. He didn't want to die. Not yet. Maybe, Lelouch could come through. Somehow, end this mess despite being who knows where.
"Kiss my boots."
He dropped his head, crawling to the blood stained boots. Anything to survive, to buy a little more time. He couldn't die yet, especially in a lonely alleyway.
"Hey, Frank! Look at this. He's actually doing it!" The soldier laughed and kicked him in the head, sending him crashing backwards, smacking into the wall. His vision blurred, and the soldier kneeled before him. "Why don't you tell us where the rest of you monkeys are hiding?"
"What?" he rasped. His mouth filled with the taste of blood.
Coarse leather fingers brushed over his cheek. "Now, don't cry. You see, Frank and I have a bet with the other squad. They're ahead of us by fifteen whole points. You want to be helpful, right?"
His stomach spasmed, and he lurched to the side, vomiting. The green bile splattered on the stained boot beside him.
"Clean that up, boy."
"Just kill him already. We're not going to catch up any time soon."
"The building is empty. No bodies, so if we didn't catch them, they have to be somewhere. This monkey got left behind, but I bet he knows where the others are. Don't you?"
Two more boots entered the field of his vision, and a hand reached down to pick up the phone. "Now, where did an Eleven get this? You know, you could be executed for that."
Like it mattered. Suzaku coughed and spat a chunk of saliva mixed with gobbled blood on the ground. His tongue ran across his teeth, testing his aching jaw. The world was slowly settling back down. The building beside him swayed to the beat of his heart. This was the end. His last foolish hope hadn't been enough.
He rolled onto his back and watched the smoke lazily drift upwards in mesmerizing swirls. Some of it was black and putrid, like the burnt bottom of a pot. It stretched upwards like a giant octopus, each tendril feeding on the city below.
"Hey, look at this. It made a call. Just a few minutes ago." A black helmet reflected his own swollen face back at him. "Now who would an Eleven call?"
"Don't know," Suzaku said weakly. He was so tired.
Why had everything gone wrong?
The soldier lifted the phone up. "Shall we find out? Think we can get a bonus? A collaborator?"
"No proper Britannian would."
"Why the fuck is the number so long."
"I bet it just put any numbers it could. It's a dud."
"We should still check."
Suzaku took a deep breath. His hand drifted downwards, irritating his tender skin. His clothes were nearly seared in. He pushed himself onto his elbows.
"We're never going to catch up this way. We should check the building again. The monkeys are probably hiding."
"Nah, I'm going to call. It's boring looking through rooms."
"The Lieutenant is going to tear us a new one for fooling around."
He found the hilt, strong and sturdy. A good kitchen knife.
"Let me call it in. See if it's important."
Tackling the soldier fumbling with the phone, Suzaku slammed the knife into his neck, right beneath the break in the armor. He couldn't see the soldier's face, only his own crazed eyes reflecting in the helmet. He looked like a monster—his eyes bloodshot.
The other soldier was shouting, and Suzaku stepped back, tearing the knife free. The body dropped like a stone. He turned around, staring at the other soldier and the gun pointed squarely at his chest.
At least Suzaku culled the herd by one. Maybe someone else would survive as a result. The phone which he called Lelouch on lay innocently in limp hands. Suzaku brought down his heel, destroying the last bit of evidence. A sickening snap pierced the background din of screams.
"You—" the soldier snarled.
Suzaku raised his chin. He would die on his feet.
The radio crackled. "This is Merlin, all units pull back."
"What?" the soldier asked, echoing his thoughts.
"You are not to engage the Numbers. Operational parameters have changed."
"Merlin, this is B-579. Those orders are fucking bullshit! We were told to exterminate the Elevens. That is what Prince Clovis said. Did he change his mind?"
Had Lelouch called him? Convinced him otherwise?
"Orders are directly from the Emperor. I repeat, withdraw and do not engage. We will hold a perimeter."
A wave of relief crashed into him, and Suzaku lowered the knife. He was going to live.
"This fucking Eleven killed Fred!"
"Are you disobeying the Emperor?"
The soldier across from him snarled, and Suzaku stepped away from his fallen comrade. For a moment, he feared that he would shoot anyway, orders be damned. The gun lowered slightly, and he didn't wait twice to turn around and run.
The Emperor's orders were always absolute. For the first time, he was grateful for it. He was alive, whereas the corpse, dangling from a broken window above him, wasn't. Why was he spared? He hadn't even been able to stop Gottwald.
The streets were full of Britannian soldiers, and through the narrow gaps between the buildings he watched as knightmares slowly rolled away. It was over... Lelouch had come through. Somehow, he had gone over Clovis's head and stopped it.
Somehow.
He could scarcely believe it himself. It was impossible. Lelouch was good at doing the impossible.
His muscles screamed, and he staggered, collapsing into the adjacent wall and sliding down to the ground. He didn't even have the energy to lift his arm anymore. Or the energy to cry.
Through fluttering eyes, he watched as the soldiers met in the open street and passed him. They shouted to each other eagerly, often numbers—their kill count. Between them, they carried stretchers. People like Suzaku who lay in the street, barely clinging onto life, were forgotten. One soldier tried to drag a screaming woman along. Another stopped him, knocking the woman away with a baton to the head and leaving the soldier alone.
It was over.
The shadows grew longer. The sun sank lower.
Suzaku pushed himself to his feet. He wiped his hands on his pants, dried flakes of vomit and blood drifting to the ground. From his pocket, he pulled out a granola bar and shoved it into his mouth.
With no more soldiers in sight, people were slowly crawling out of their hiding spots. They wandered into the street. Some fell to the ground, kneeling and screaming. Others stood idly by like Suzaku, trying to understand how they were still alive.
A woman eyed the granola bar in his hands, and Suzaku stuffed the remainder into his mouth. He leaned down to pick up an abandoned knife. The blade shone red, either from twilight or blood. To be safe, he wiped it on his pants.
Slowly, he began the journey home. It was over.
He skirted near the edge of the ghettos and his heart sped up as familiar soldiers loitered along the perimeter, separated by newly established barbed wire. The smell brought him to a halt as he gagged. His empty stomach spasmed violently and eyes watered. Around him, bodies decorated the street, like a child's toy soldiers forgotten in their haste to leave. They piled onto each other haphazardly, and Suzaku could imagine what happened as hundreds, thousands collected together and charged in a bid to break out of Shinjuku.
From beneath a body, a hand twitched. Someone was still alive.
He looked around, trying to find anyone who could help. He paused by them. He could; he needed to get home.
One foot after another, and he passed the pleading, buried corpse. Now, the streets turned narrower. The buildings groaned around him ominously. The knightmares had just blasted right through. Water splashed near him, and he stopped at the sudden squelching of his boots.
His heart leapt into his throat. He was standing in a sea of blood. When?
Why? Wasn't it over?
Gunfire echoed around him, followed by frantic splashing. Ahead of him, a group of men approached, their hands clutching stolen rifles. They rudely pushed past him, exiting the sea of blood. A flurry of gunfire erupted, and one returned, dragging another body behind them.
Swallowing, Suzaku focused ahead. One foot in front of another. It was time to go home. Nothing else mattered.
This was his fault. Britannia only attacked because they dared to steal from Prince Clovis.
Poison gas would've been preferable to this.
The blood turned to water, and Suzaku blinked at the fire hydrant drowning the street. He crept closer, eyes checking over his shoulder. The water was refreshing to touch. He closed his eyes, simply enjoying the cool water blasting into his back as if it could scrub him free of his sin.
"Suzaku!" a relieved voice shouted, and Ban was suddenly before him, checking him over and fingers brushing over his swollen cheeks. Needles of piercing pain erupted at his touch, then were smothered by warm arms wrapping around. He stiffened; he was dirty, filthy. "You're alright. Why didn't you eject, you idiot/"
"I couldn't," Suzaku said blankly.
"We have a first aid station set up." He pushed him by the shoulders, leading him away from the cleansing water, away from home. "Let's get you checked out."
"No, no, no," Suzaku mumbled and tore free. "I have to go home."
Ban bowed his head, and he radiated such incredible sadness. "I understand."
No, he didn't! He couldn't understand. Why was he looking like that? With pity in his eyes?
He should be furious because it was their fault everyone was dead! And Suzaku should've never gotten involved.
Now, he would do the right thing. He would go home. Tell Chiba everything like he should've since the beginning. She would contact Tohdoh and everything would be alright.
"I'm going home." Suzaku nodded and turned around.
"Suzaku!"
He didn't look back. One foot in front of another.
His apartment building remained standing with the front door ajar and the first two stories of windows blown out. The building to the right had collapsed. A group of ten stood in the center of the rubble, each with a shovel in hand. Somehow, they managed to scrounge up a wheelbarrow to collect items.
"Fucking hell! What do you think you're doing with that? That's my wife's you bastard." A man, wielding a spiked bat, sprinted after a fleeing duo with masks over their heads in the distance. "Get back here!"
Suzaku ignored them and stepped inside, glass crunching beneath his feet. Something squished. He kept his eyes up and stepped through the door. The old rickety staircase stretched up above him. A raindrop landed on his hand, and he looked up. Someone had managed to destroy part of the landing and a soldier hung there, skewered on the railing. A drop of blood pooled at the tip of his boots and fell onto his palm.
He wiped his hand off. Of course Chiba had done well. She was a soldier, had trained as one, and they had weapons.
In the corner of his eyes, grey lumps stacked against the wall. The walls separating the hallway from the apartments had been torn to shreds. He peered inside curiously, the sharp smell of gunpowder tickling his nose.
His foot struck something and it clattered across the wall. An inert grenade.
He stepped back warily, unsure whether he should pick it up, throw it out, or just leave it the hell alone.
The railing biting into his palm, Suzaku pulled himself over. Everything groaned beneath him precariously. Were they still hiding?
"It's Suzaku!" he shouted.
Nothing.
Of course they wouldn't be that foolish.
Leaping over the missing steps, he landed on the third floor. Yamamoto's door was open; he peeked inside. The entire room was ransacked, and there on the ground, Yamamoto lay, curled around one of the neighbor's children. His head was half gone, and a dull maroon surrounded him, slightly raised, like a chili left to simmer too long.
He stepped closer and knelt. The girl was cold to touch. Her wide, glassy eyes bore into him. He stumbled backwards.
The door slammed shut on his way out. The stairs taunted him, and he leapt up them three steps at a time, half expecting the reprimanding shouts as everyone complained about the earthquakes left in his wake. Nothing.
No, no, no.
They were supposed to be safe. They were deep in the ghettos. They were protected by a JLF cell. The collapsed building next to them had been their headquarters.
A Britannian soldier lay on the top landing with a chopstick shoved through his eyes. He was their only casualty here.
Suzaku stepped into his apartment. It was surprisingly still put together, not ransacked like Yam—others.
Wine stained the cabinets and pasta sauce covered the counter where he and Tohdoh would sip tea and discuss the world at large. His foot knocked against something, and he bent down to pick up the electric kettle. It was slightly bent.
"Obasan!" he shouted.
Of course, she wasn't here. She would've gone out to evacuate with Ko or fight.
They didn't have a plan for such a large-scale attack. Where was he supposed to go now to meet up with them? Perhaps, it was better to stay put. His nose scrunched as he spotted his futon lying haphazardly across the floor. Sighing, he rolled it up. He went through the kitchen first, carefully putting everything back to where it was supposed to be.
The empty box of crackers he put in the trash. In the sink, he found a gun, and he stepped back as if burnt. Why had she left it there? If Britannians saw it, they would be in big trouble.
He picked it up with the tips of his fingers and dumped it into the bin. Not the best, but he could ask Chiba later what to do about it. Brits probably wouldn't dig through their trash.
He walked past the screen which Chiba and Tohdoh had set up to have some privacy. Shoes blocked his path. They were connected to a pair of pale, bare legs. Purple welts covered the thighs. The pelvis was completely bare, not even a scrap of cloth offering a modicum of modesty. Long red scratches tore through the torso. To the side, on the futon lay something white and pink, edges black—a fingernail.
"Please," he whispered. Why couldn't he look away?
This wasn't something he should see.
Breasts lay bare, crushed against the side. A broken arm jutted out from beneath her. The wrist bulged, skin mottled purple. A pristine white shard burst through. Slightly higher, black bands wrapped around her neck.
"Chiba-san?" he whispered. This wasn't her. It had to be someone else.
He crept closer as if he was a child afraid of waking his mother. He couldn't even pretend she was sleeping. Her death had been a violent, disparaging one with her body preserving the evidence like a canvas. His pointer finger pushed her cheek.
Nothing.
Slowly, he turned the head, wanting to know what stranger was in his home. Who was she? Who had fought here and ultimately lost?
The eyes were swollen and the nose crushed, yet that was undoubtedly Chiba's hair, even drenched in blood. And her lips with the skin scar in the corner. Ko's woven bracelet on the wrist splayed out beside her.
No...
"Chiba-san," he whispered. He shook her shoulders. "Please, wake up. We've got to move. I know you're pretending. The Brits left, I promise. We can get you to a doctor. We'll go to Tohdoh-sensei. He'll take care of you, and—" He broke into a small sob. His hand curled around hers. They hadn't been the closest, but she had always been there, taking care of him and Ko. "Please. You need to get up. For Ko's sake. He needs his mother... I need you."
She didn't respond, just as cold and limp as before.
He pulled on her arm and dragged it over the back of his shoulder. He would carry her then. Bring her to the doctor. He pushed off the ground and tried to shift the weight. So heavy...
She fell to the ground with a dull thump, her head bouncing off the ground. Not a single twitch.
"Chiba-san, please." He sank to his knees. If he had called Lelouch sooner, would she still be alive? What if he never went on the forsaken mission? What if he had told her the truth after the first confrontation with Tamaki when they learned who he was. "Come on. I know you're there... You wouldn't leave us alone."
A fly buzzed by.
"Please..."
The sun dipped lower, stealing the last rays of dusk and plunging them into darkness. He reached forward, clutching her hand. Waiting for anything, a sign. She would wake up any minute now with a gasp. She had so much to live for. She would never leave Ko—
He dropped the hand with a dull thunk. Ko? Where was Ko? He should be here. Had Suzaku missed him?
Clambering to his feet, he slammed the wall and flicked the light switch. Nothing. His blood thrummed and a dull roar in his ear drowned out all other thoughts.
Ko.
His brother.
Where was he?
Flashlight in the drawer.
"Ko?" he shouted, the bright beam swinging over the room and chasing away the shadows of lurking soldiers, moving forward, guns raised. They were holding him. Laughing as they pinned down, and Chiba begged for his life. "Otouto?"
Frantically, he searched through their apartment, scattering the items he had neatly returned to their place. His fingers at times came back wet and sticky.
"Otouto wa doko?" he screamed.
He exited the room. Entered the neighbor's. Didn't even need to break the door. The soldiers had done it for him. They were an older couple. They lay slumped against the wall, in a final lover's embrace. The other apartment was empty. He didn't care about the crash of china as he dug through their cupboards.
"Otouto!"
He dropped to the floor below and began the search anew. Dead. And more dead.
"Ko-chan!"
The third floor was a mess. Walls broken and riddled with bullet holes. His flashlight cast long, terrifying shadows. Someone had tried to hide in the closet. Their blood pooled beneath the door.
Why?
At the bottom landing, he fell to his knees and bit his tongue until his mouth flooded with copper. With effort, he calmed his breath, focusing on the pain. Or some of it. Everything hurt from his leg, to his throbbing head, and now his tongue. But it was better than the monster winding around his chest, not allowing him to breathe. The lump in his throat, moving down, tearing him apart from the inside out.
He hadn't found Ko's body. Chiba must have sent him away. He could still be alive.
"Otouto!" he screamed until his throat was hoarse. "Ko-chan! Ko-chan! Dōka yuru shite kudasai..."
Pushing himself up, he grasped the rickety railing and his eyes followed the trail of destruction yet saw nothing on the following floor. He pushed his way into the apartment, ready to start his search again. One last time. They had raped the woman living here as well.
His hand fell to his side, and he turned around. Ko was gone? Had Chiba given him to someone, and they ran? Or was he buried under the rubble outside?
The dryer rattled. Someone was doing laundry at a time like this? He sniffed his shirt. Perhaps, they were smart.
He turned the flashlight over in his hands, flicked the button, and plunged himself into darkness. The dryer rattled again. Wasn't the power out? He switched the light back on.
Holding the flashlight with his teeth, he pushed the debris off the top of the dryer and pried open the dented lid. Small sobs greeted him first, and tilting his head, he guided the beam of light inside the hull.
"Niisan?"
"Ko-chan." Suzaku reached inside and ignored the burn of his arms to pull his brother out. "You're alive."
Small hands fisted his shirt, and Ko buried his head into his shoulders, sobs wracking his body.
He whispered sweet reassuring nothings and stroked his hair, marveling that he was alive. The only one to escape within the building. Everything else had been destroyed.
"Where's kaasan?"
"She—" He choked off. "She went out to fight the bad men."
Ko snuggled closer, whispering, "That's what she said. She said I had to be good and be very quiet. Even if it was super loud and scary."
One hand pulled him closer, the other brushed through his chair. "And you did a very good job. I'm so proud of you."
"It was very scary." Ko sniffled. "They were so loud. Everything kept shaking." His hands patted him up and down. "Where's Doggy?"
Sighing, Suzaku set him on the ground, barely able to let him go. He reached back into the dryer, groping in the dark. He pulled out the patched stuffed animal and handed it to him, before hugging him tightly.
They couldn't stay here.
"What's that?" Ko asked, pointing up where the dead soldier hung on the railing.
"Nothing" Suzaku said. "Come on. We need to go."
"Where are we going?"
Suzaku pressed his head further into his shoulder so he wouldn't see the bodies piled outside. "To your father."
"Will Kaasan be there?"
"Yes." The lie slipped out effortlessly.
"The bad men?"
"They'll never hurt you," Suzaku vowed. "I promise."
Whatever it took, he would ensure Ko's survival and a better future. It was the only way to even begin to atone for the mistake which led them here. They were all guilty in some way, but not Ko. He was innocent. Too young to remember a life from before. Too young to do anything. Old enough to know something was wrong. He deserved more than a slow death.
"Trust me," Suzaku whispered.
"Nissan? Why are you crying?"
He rubbed his eyes. "I'm happy you're safe."
Greenford Manor, Homeland
Arthur set down the receiver next to the marble chessboard and leaned back with a satisfied smirk. He could never have foreseen such an enticing blunder from Clovis, but with it, the Purists' path to victory was paved clear. He couldn't care less about the Elevens Clovis slaughtered, but the economic ramifications would be tremendous. They were essential to the economy and many were Honoraries serving in noble houses.
Within two days, Clovis would be faced with a political firestorm as his constituents complained about lost labor. Not to mention, Lord Ashford with his soft heart would withdraw his support out of some kind of moral claim.
What had driven Clovis to such desperation? Such an opportunity...
He would have to move quickly to secure loyal men into prominent positions. They would of course be willing to offer the prince a helping hand to clean up this mess he caused and a willing ear for his turmoil. When the other nobles turned for help, they would find the Purists the first to assist. They would be trusted, and when they presented evidence of Clovis's transgressions, the prince would be deposed and forcibly recalled to the homeland to answer to the Emperor personally.
In his absence, things would suddenly get better, and one of theirs would be the clear logical option to step up for the viceroyship.
He ran his finger along the polished marble, then picked up and examined one of the carved pieces. In this game, the king was Princess Guinevere. Her range of motion was far too limited, and her authority mattered very little. He wasn't quite sure where his nephew fit in yet, but he tied the king piece to his side.
Arthur still needed his queen to strike the decisive blow in Area Eleven and claim the mantle of the viceroyship. He glanced across the board to the black pieces. Life was so much easier when you knew who each piece was; he had almost forgotten his most powerful opponent in this game: Ashford. Would he be loyal to his king? He was always rather fond of Clovis, but his bleeding heart could hardly forgive Clovis's actions.
With Clovis almost out of the way, it was a shame Ashford still clung on like the old cockroach he was. Or...
Frederick would be annoyed; his partnership with Ashford was apparently paying great dividends in developing sixth generation knightmare frames. But then again, Frederick had apparently taken on a side project to pursue rumors of immortality for some reason. He would simply have to cope with the minor hiccup of losing his business partner.
The commoner wench would be absolutely devastated by the perceived betrayal of her long time ally. He relished the thought for a moment before moving onto more practical benefits. The woman was far too entrenched for it to impact her position, but her son was remarkably difficult to assassinate and becoming ever more troublesome. He attacked Princess Carine and got away with it. Knocking out one of the brat's key supporters now would spare Arthur a significant headache in the long run.
"Lord Oberstein is here to see you, my lord," his assistant informed him.
Arthur didn't bother looking up, staring at his pieces intently. Jeremiah was competent; he would make a good viceroy, but he still clung to his unrequited loyalty to the vi Britannia line. The boy was too young, worshipping the grounds of the royals and not realizing the delicate balance of power which made them beholden to the nobility.
A balance the emperor had carefully been eroding. If it were not so infuriating, Arthur would be impressed.
For now, he would keep Jeremiah distracted but in the game. Perhaps, it was an old man's sentimentality.
"Well, this is a nostalgic sight," Frederick drawled.
"Like you are any different."
"And what piece has you in such a twist?"
Arthur leaned back. "About geass..."
Frederick stiffened. "Where did you hear that?"
"I noticed you were investigating the occult. I would have thought you above such childish dreams such as immortality."
"Immortality?" He grabbed the back of the red upholstered chair and quickly tucked his right hand out of sight as it was ransacked by tremors.
"Your little story books mentioned a green witch, and I was reminded of this strange tale from back when we repelled the French invasion of Area Six. They prayed for her to return and save their pathetic excuse of a life. Apparently, she has always fought against Britannia, from the side of Joan of Arc to Napoleon. I mentioned the tale to another associate, and he told of a similar story, this time a boy, who rode along the great Ottoman Selim, bringing prosperity and carnage in equal measure. The story goes that if you defeat Death's conqueror in their own game, you shall be granted an immortal life."
Shaking his head at such childish fancy, he opened the binder to find a photo taken from one of the many gatherings during the Emblem of Blood. "Really. You see a woman in green hair next to the Emperor, and you succumb to paranoia. I assure you the Emperor is most human."
Frederick smiled tightly. "May I?"
"If it will ease your mind."
"No," he said, examining the picture. "It does quite the opposite. I have spent over thirty years tracking down every mention and in less than a year—"
"A dying man told you a children's tale." Arthur snorted. "He is fortunate to be dead already, or I would kill him again for causing you such anxiety. For relieving you of your burden, I believe I should acquire a discount on the next shipment of knightmares. It is disdainful to extort your friends through the nose."
Frederick narrowed his eyes. "Have you met the Emperor of late?"
"He most definitely was not an example of the fountain of youth. No worries there."
"Thank you. You will have your discount if Prince Lelouch attends that little soiree of yours."
"The wench's brat at a Purist gathering?" Affronted, Art held out his hand expectantly for the photo. "It is not a soiree. It is the social event of the season, and I won't let him ruin it. He will bring the Eleven."
Sumeragi was worse than a cockroach; she was covered in glimmering, poisonous thorns. His latest assassin's head had been delivered to his doorstop along with a gorgeously written letter reminding him that were she to die certain almost treasonous activities would come to light. He wanted her nowhere near his affairs, and his own growing folder of blackmail merely assured them mutual destruction.
He wasn't even sure if she was working for the JLF, spying on them, or utterly oblivious to her associate's dealing. The Emperor had to know, especially because only his agents could so thoroughly protect her.
"Ten percent," Frederick bargained.
"Invite him yourself." That way there would be no viper as the mandatory plus one. "Even if I did extend an invitation, he would never attend."
Frederick raised an eyebrow. "I trust in your creativity. Fifteen percent."
"Agreed," Arthur growled. He was never going to attain a more favorable price on knightmares in his lifetime. How to entice the notoriously festivity averse prince to attend was a separate matter. If only killing him at the event would not cause a debilitating scandal. "Your interest in him is incomprehensible. He bloodied himself against princess Carine. With him anywhere near the helm, the succession will lead to a bloody brawl without any regard for rules of decorum."
"I could say much the same about Prince Schneizel."
"He knows how to behave and is from a good, strong family. That brat sprung from poisoned roots, thus his fruits will be as well."
"Arthur..." Frederick sighed. "We all share the same corrupted soil. If anything, Prince Lelouch's eccentricities have inoculated him against the worst of it."
Snorting, Arthur pushed aside a binder. "He really does not hide his disdain for his father well. Princess Guinevere, while perhaps frustrated with the Emperor, still clings to such childish loyalty. She does not even wish to proactively move against any of her siblings. I spent three days with Bedievere talking her out of helping Carine. It would have been political suicide. Nevertheless, his one merit does not compensate for his numerous flaws. You will have your work cut out for you. Princes Guinevere is open to a partnership."
Frederick smiled wistfully. "Thank you for the offer. I think I will manage."
"Even if we are friends, I will not let you stand in my way," Arthur warned as Frederick headed to the door and grabbed his hat. "Princess Guinevere will be the next Empress."
"I would expect nothing else. Until our respective charges declare each other mortal enemies, I will continue to see you for tea every third month."
Arthur laughed. Frederick would never change. With their friendship, he would be even polite enough to tell him his betrayal, right before he slit his throat, and Arthur would do the same. He shoved his chair back and opened the door for him. He bowed in respect and farewell. "I will see you then."
Author's Note
No worldbuilding thoughts this time. I promise that the next few chapters will be somewhat lighter. We also see more of Lelouch.
On geass and codes: canon is a mess; I'm doing my own thing.
See you in the comments/reviews, on discord, or in two weeks. :)
Chat with me on the discord: discord . gg / uSBegVj
Thank you x1tears1X on FFN and dark for your help with betaing.