The Nebula drifted lazily in the Eryth Sea breeze. Sharla squinted, narrowing down her field of vision until all she could see was the enemy. It was the last one. Just one shot and she could return to Alcamoth, report a job well done. Her finger curled around the trigger of her rifle. An intake of breath, slow and steady, and—
A dark blur obscured her sight. She blinked, focus lost. In front of her, Reyn chased down the Nebula as it retreated. It hovered just beyond the reach of his wildly swinging weapon, almost taunting. Then it vanished into a wisp of low hanging cloud. Sharla lowered her rifle with a sigh.
"Damn, almost had it," Reyn said, jogging back to her side. He grinned and ran a hand through his hair. Oblivious to her sour expression.
"I would've had it if you hadn't ruined my shot."
His face fell. "You got the last two so I thought… I was just trying to help."
She holstered her rifle and folded her arms over her chest. Normally, she would laugh off Reyn's antics. But they'd all been on edge since the events of Prison Island. Even before then, their group dynamic twisted into something… off.
Dunban fractured their team when he agreed to marry Melia against her will. Despite Melia's reassurances, Sharla wasn't quite convinced. It baffled her that only Riki seemed to agree. But maybe she shouldn't have been surprised. Maybe their friendships had been flimsy from the start and she'd wanted so desperately for something normal that she clung to them anyway. She ignored every warning sign. Just to pretend that the wounds of Colony 6's fall could heal.
"Thanks," she said flatly.
Reyn opened his mouth to protest then closed it without a word. Good. She didn't think anything he could say would lighten her mood. Because he wouldn't realize that letting the Nebula get away wasn't the problem. It was a symptom of a greater disease, one that had spread too far, too fast.
"Well, it's gone now. Let's head back." Her voice sagged under the weight of her negativity. She tilted her head to look up at the sky, arm slung across her forehead to shield her eyes from the midafternoon sun. "We can finish the job after lunch."
At the mention of food, he perked up. "There's this really good—"
"Sounds delicious. You should ask Riki and Shulk to go with you."
It would've been simpler to just tell him that she needed time alone. Less chance of him getting the wrong idea. He didn't handle nuance very well and it was always easier in the long run to just be straight with him. But something held her back. The inevitable question: why. Or worse… What's wrong?
Her home, her family, her friends. Everything was wrong and she didn't want to waste time explaining it to someone who refused to side with her on the simplest issue. It still needled her that he'd had the nerve to support Dunban's decision. Didn't he care about Melia? Did any of them? Even Shulk hadn't been completely confident in condemning the plot.
"We can meet at the Centre Gate when you're done," she continued, forcing away her thoughts. All of them. She couldn't let herself get distracted now.
"Yeah, sure." Reyn sounded more subdued than usual. As if the implication of her words struck and he could at last see her rejection for what it was. "Just make sure you eat too."
She nodded, not trusting herself to respond around the lump that had lodged itself in her throat.
They picked their way across the hovering reefs in silence. Tension threaded through the air, creating a tight weave. It was almost tangible, like spider silk clinging to the skin. Though, no matter how many times Sharla brushed herself off, the web remained.
But then, that feeling wasn't foreign to her. Lately, everything she'd endured had stuck to her despite how she struggled to get away. She was a fly, wings and legs tangled in gossamer. And while she trapped herself, the spider waited for her to tire. A shudder rippled through her body. One she couldn't suppress.
She snuck a glance at Reyn, but his gaze was focused on the next teleporter. Which she appreciated. She didn't want to talk about all that weighed on her. And she definitely didn't want Reyn to be the one to ask, to listen. To hold her as she wept for her losses. She stopped that thought in its tracks. It wasn't fair of her to expect anything of him. Barely any time had passed since Gadolt— And she needed to focus on winning the war and caring for Juju.
She was still mad at Reyn anyway.
With a flash, the pair warped to the next reef. She let the wonder of High Entian technology distract her from the sudden emptiness in her chest. How did such a machine even work? For a moment, she considered asking Shulk what he thought. Until she remembered she wasn't exactly pleased with him either.
This is such a mess, she thought, swiping at the hair that had fallen into her face.
Beside her, Reyn tensed then stopped. "Sharla…?"
Her hands reached for her rifle by reflex. At the same time, her eyes followed his gaze, landing on a winged form slumped against a rocky outcrop. A High Entia. The rifle slipped from her fingers – back into its holster – and she sprinted forward.
She dropped to her knees in front of them. Blood, so much blood. It stained their clothes, their wings, their skin. Red mingled with a black fluid she couldn't identify. No, not black. Blue. The breath caught in her lungs as she remembered.
"That's Telethia blood." Reyn spoke up before she could. Of course he'd remember too; he'd been covered in the stuff last time they fought one. In the Tomb. He drew his weapon without waiting for her response. "I'll keep an eye out in case it comes back."
"Thanks," she said, keeping her full attention on the person before her.
Their head lolled forward, chin pressed into their chest. If they were breathing, it was shallow enough that she couldn't see it. She reached for them, hesitated. After watching the emperor die – helpless to even ease his pain – she wasn't sure she could handle it again so soon.
But she pushed through her nerves, gently tilting their head back against the rock. They needed help and she couldn't just—
"It's Kallian." Her voice scarcely rose above a whisper.
Still, Reyn heard her. He abandoned his patrol of the hovering reef and squatted down at her side. "Is he… you know…?"
Sharla's own heart thudded in her chest as she sought out a pulse. On the outside, she maintained the calm that was required of a medic. But her mind flooded with questions and fears. She swallowed hard, pressing the pads of her fingers into the skin where jaw met neck. A strong heartbeat met her probing. Faster than what she suspected was healthy, yet it didn't matter. Not right then.
"Alive," she said with a sigh. She cleared her throat then raised her voice. "Prince Kallian, can you hear me?"
No answer.
She grabbed his shoulder, gave it a light shake. Still nothing. Sweeping her hair behind her ear, she bent over him. A soft breath tickled her cheek and she pulled back.
"Unresponsive but breathing," she said, more to herself than Reyn. Her lips pursed into a frown. A cursory glance told her that the prince wasn't actively bleeding. Maybe a head injury? She turned to Reyn. "There isn't much I can do for him here. I need you to run to Alcamoth and get help."
"Got it." He stood, but hesitated. "What about the Telethia?"
She forced a smile. "Run fast."
He'd only taken a few steps when Kallian's eyes fluttered open. The irises were thin slivers of ice blue around dilated pupils. Sharla furrowed her brows. Well, that supported her concussion theory…
Before she could inspect him further, a sharp pain bloomed in her stomach, sent her sprawling across the grass. She gasped, all the air in her lungs abandoning her. Slow, she sat up. Her head spun from the oxygen deprivation, the sudden reorientation of her body.
"Stay away from me." The prince's voice was hoarse, his fingers clawing into the dirt. His leg tensed, as if prepared to kick out once more.
Reyn stepped between her and Kallian. "Touch her again and I'll—"
"It's okay." She dragged herself to her feet and placed a hand on Reyn's shoulder to call him off. "He's just scared. I'm fine." Then her attention shifted back to the prince. "Do you know where you are?"
A flash of uncertainty crossed his face as his gaze flicked from Reyn back to Sharla. Seemingly satisfied, he threw a quick glance around, brows knitting together. "Eryth Sea."
"Right, good." A note of concern slipped into her voice. In spite of her extensive medical training, she couldn't prevent it. She'd hoped he would answer with the reef number. Or, at least be aware that they were on a hovering reef in the first place. But knowing the general area wasn't a bad start.
She knelt down once more, pulling Reyn with her. As she got closer, Kallian scrambled back, though he hit the rock face before he could put any distance between them. His chest heaved with each breath he took. She'd thought that perhaps Reyn was the source of his fear, but his eyes locked on her. Only once darting away.
But he had no reason to be afraid of her. They'd met several times and he knew that she always sought to help his family. Unless…
"Your Highness, you're hurt," she said softly. She edged backward, giving him space, and urged Reyn to do the same. Anything to put him at ease. "We're here to help. But, in order to do that, I need to touch you."
As the word 'touch' left her lips, he curled into himself, forehead bumping against his knees. His wings pulled tight around him. A barrier of red-tinted feathers. "No, no, no…"
Sharla cringed internally as he moved. If he did have a concussion, any further trauma could result in permanent damage. Reyn's hand came to rest on her upper back. It was a light touch, almost nonexistent. But it gave her an idea.
"What about him? Will you let Reyn examine you instead?"
Kallian raised his head, squinted at Reyn for several moments. Then he nodded.
Relief surged in her chest. She hadn't thought the prince would approve her suggestion. And if he hadn't, the only remaining option would be to send for help from the city. The same doctors that had mistreated him before… She forced the memory away, turned to Reyn. Her companion's face had paled somewhat.
"That's great and all, but did you forget which one of us is the doc?" he asked with a nervous laugh. It broke off a bit abruptly. When he spoke again, his voice pitched up with the onset of his panic. "Lemme go get someone, like we agreed before. I just… Sharla, I can't—"
"Yes, you can. I'll walk you through it." Her fingers circled his bicep and gave a gentle squeeze.
He sighed as his hand closed over hers. Steeling himself for the task ahead. "Okay. What do I do?"
"First, check his head. Carefully." She let their hands stay joined for a second more before pulling away, letting him get to work.
Reyn crawled forward until he knelt at Kallian's side, raised his hands to start combing through the prince's hair. Then he froze and looked back at her.
She continued her instructions. "He's pretty out of it, could be a concussion. So, you're looking for any injuries. Cuts, bruises, fresh blood, swelling."
Kallian leaned against the rock, hands knotted in the grass. At Reyn's touch, he flinched but, otherwise, was motionless. A minute passed that way. Reyn searching the prince's scalp for any sign of a wound and Kallian staring down Sharla like he expected her to break their deal. Were his pupils shrinking? Normally, that would be a good thing, but now… she wasn't so sure.
"Nothing," Reyn said, sitting back on his heels.
That couldn't be right.
"Is he wounded elsewhere?"
Reyn took another few minutes to examine the rest of Kallian's body. When he finished, a frown tugged at his mouth. He caught her eye, gave a slight head shake.
The contents of her stomach turned to ice. If Kallian had no visible injuries, then the blood he was drenched in didn't belong to him. But given the amount of blood and the time they'd already spent here, there was almost no chance this other person had survived.
Although, she supposed the blood could be from more than one source. It seemed much more likely that Kallian had been out with his guards when they were attacked by a Telethia. They'd, of course, protected him from harm. Perhaps they'd even slayed the monster – that would explain the ink-colored bloodstains. So, why was he alone? And those dilated pupils still nagged at her. That, paired with the confusion, the erratic behavior, it should've been a concussion.
"Do you remember what you were doing out here?" she asked. "Who you were with?"
"I…" Kallian inspected his hands as if they held the answers. Then he met her gaze – his pupils were definitely smaller now, almost normal. His brows drew together. "You… You're Melia's friend. I thought… Forgive me, I don't know what I thought." As he spoke, he dragged out his words like he was still figuring out what to say. Still processing. "My last memories are"—a flush crept into his cheeks—"from last night."
"What happened last night?" She did her best to stay in the moment. Not speculate about why and how he'd suddenly remembered who she was. Still, her secondary theory was looking even more likely.
"We arranged a war council in the evening with the ministers. Dunban and I. Everything after that is…" He trailed off and shook his head. "It's gone."
Before Sharla could respond, the transporter ahead of them flashed. A handful of guards poured out onto the hovering reef. They marched toward the small group and didn't stop until they'd surrounded Kallian. Shoving Reyn aside to do so.
"Hey, watch it!" Reyn leapt to his feet, fists balled up.
"His Highness is in need of proper medical care," the apparent leader said, shooting a pointed glare at Sharla. "We do not require the aid of interlopers."
"These 'interlopers' are friends of the royal family," she countered.
The guard scoffed but didn't deign to reply. He focused instead on coordinating his men, delivering stern instructions on how to transport the prince.
Rage boiled in her stomach, watching them carry on like she was nothing. She stood and her hand flew to the rifle in its holster. It was mere luck that Reyn decided to glance at her in that moment. He grabbed her arm before she could draw the weapon. Not hard enough to hurt her, but firm.
"There are five of them and two of us," he murmured. "We ain't winning that fight."
He was right. Still, she couldn't make herself let go right away. Would Melia ever forgive her if she let Kallian get hurt? If she didn't fight for him now, maybe the chance would never come again. It would be too late. And, as much as she tried to be her usual, level headed self, she couldn't stop thinking about that. She'd already let Melia down twice.
They were supposed to be able to depend on her…
Reyn, as if sensing her turmoil, guided her into a hug as the guards whisked Kallian away. Back toward Alcamoth. "It's okay; I wanna bash their heads in too."
Her grip loosened on her gun and she couldn't stop the smile that took over her lips. Sometimes, he knew exactly what to say. Exactly how to ease her concerns. Because, when he held her like this, all her doubts evaporated like dew in the afternoon heat.
Above everything else, it reminded her that she wasn't alone, that she and the rest of her friends weren't so different. Even when they argued.
She finally released her weapon. Her arms wrapped around him instead, pulling him closer. "I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier. I know you just wanted to help. And I appreciate that. So much." She paused. It wasn't much of an apology but she hoped he would accept it all the same.
"Yeah, but I ended up getting in the way." He spoke into her hair, his breath warm. "So, I'm sorry too."
"It was just a Nebula. I shouldn't have reacted like that." She paused again, this time to enjoy the moment rather than doubt herself. It wouldn't last – it couldn't. In a few more seconds, they would break apart and go back to their strained friendship. Maybe pretend none of this had happened. "You did a good job with Kallian. Even though you were nervous, you really came through for him."
"About that…"
She pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face.
"Do you still think it's a concussion? He didn't have a scratch on him." He let his arms loosen then fall away.
"It's possible to be concussed without any external signs," she said, hugging herself. It wasn't a suitable replacement, but she held on anyway. "But he recovered quite fast. What concerns me more, though, is his memory. Usually, memory loss would only surround the cause of trauma. He'd remember going for a walk but not that he fell and hit his head. Losing an entire night? I don't know. What do you think?"
"Dunno what's wrong with him now, but he was probably plastered last night," Reyn said with a shrug. "And if he'd had enough, he'd still be feeling it when he woke up."
"Hard to imagine His Highness that drunk." She laughed harder than she'd intended to. But with all the stress they'd experienced, it just came out and wouldn't stop.
"I'm serious! I could smell the booze on him." He crinkled his nose playfully.
As soon as her composure returned, she was back to thinking about Kallian's condition. "It's worth considering, at least. High Entia could react to alcohol more strongly than we do." Or maybe it was more than alcohol. She just didn't want to say it if Reyn wasn't already thinking it himself. Especially if she was wrong. That was how rumors started.
Not that she didn't trust Reyn to be discreet, of course. She just couldn't be sure that no one else was around to hear her speculation. Besides, the last thing the prince needed was more rumors. It seemed like she learned something new about him every time she visited the shops. Though, she used the term 'learned' very lightly. Most of it was just gossip – some misunderstanding basic mental health and others spreading outright falsehoods.
The growl of her empty stomach interrupted her thoughts. Only then did she remember that they'd been about to take a lunch break when they'd found Kallian.
"You should go eat," Reyn said, his grin fading. "I'll… um… try to go check up on him."
And with the dampening of his good mood, the memories of her rejection resurfaced. Bionis, she'd been stupid… The guilt gnawed at her worse than the hunger did. She should've just swallowed her pride and accepted his invitation. Make an effort to actually fix things instead of wallowing in their brokenness.
"We should do that together. I think I can get us in contact with the most influential doctor in Alcamoth if we need her. Then, after we're sure the prince is alright, you can show me that restaurant you mentioned?" She winked, half joking, half flirtatious.
Reyn blushed and turned away. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want." Despite his efforts to sound nonchalant, his voice betrayed him, carrying with it the tiniest tremor.
Something swelled in her chest. Hope, maybe. Because, for the first time since she'd learned of Dunban's Prison Island deal, it felt like the world could be right again. At the very least, she wasn't mad at Reyn anymore. Watching him take on the role of healer regardless of his discomfort… It made her realize that he was the type to go out of his way to support his friends. Even if his morals didn't agree with them.
She smiled as she walked beside him, gave his shoulder a light punch. And he whined the way he always did, which made her grin spread wider. He returned the gesture, his touch so soft she could've melted. But she caught herself before she revealed the full extent of the warmth blooming inside her.
A teasing glare put an end to their exchange. He held up his hands, let her punch him again so she could win.
Everything was going to be okay; she was sure of it now.
"Empress! Will you be planning your father's funeral rites?"
Melia had expected such questions but it still hurt to think about. The last thing on her mind was planning yet another ceremony when the war was already on their doorstep. No, not their doorstep. It was already in the sitting room, sipping their tea and making a nuisance of itself. But tradition overruled her desires. Her entire life at this point was proof of that.
"Of course," she said with a deceptively easy smile. "We will soon prepare a public celebration of the late emperor's life. For now, my family and I humbly ask for privacy while we face the worst of our grief. Thank you."
The onslaught of camera flashes let up as they considered her request. Or took note of her words to twist for their newspapers. Her fingers clenched around Dunban's arm, using him to anchor herself. She kept the same serene smile pasted in place. It was almost eerie in its insincerity. But the common people didn't notice. They were too busy arranging their next round of questioning and dodging Lucio's attempts to bat them out of the empress's personal space.
"Is it not a bit soon to be making a public appearance?" a different reporter demanded. "Perhaps, there are special plans for the day?" He snickered at a joke only he knew the punchline to and weaved through the crowd for a picture from a new angle.
"Nothing so sensational, I assure you." She allowed herself a soft chuckle. All part of the game she was playing. "Every consort is encouraged to pick a ministry to work with. As the Dowager Consort dedicated herself to medical advancement, my beloved has expressed interest in our military pursuits. I have decided to show him the armory, that he might aid us in securing victory against the Mechon."
A scattered cheer rippled through the crowd, underlaid with disapproving murmurs. Dunban stiffened at her side, likely from her term of endearment. She hadn't planned for it, but she needed to show her people that they were in good hands. The picture of a strong marriage would reassure them more than her words ever could. They knew the royal family were trained well in the ways of verbal manipulation, after all. With any luck, they hadn't yet realized that her public image was just as cultivated.
More questions bombarded her but she didn't react. Smile for the cameras, wave, put on a good enough show that they believed her. She remembered her father training her for the press, shortly before her introduction to court. When the spotlight finally shone upon her, he expected her to dance in its brilliance, not fall, sprain an ankle.
And so, he'd invited her to his private sitting room. The week leading up to the introductory banquet, he spent an hour each day pestering until her façade broke. He'd frowned with each failure. But she'd needed that hint of disappointment; it made the lessons stick.
On the last day, after he'd approved her performance, he asked a series of increasingly ridiculous questions until they both collapsed in a fit of giggles. It was her favorite memory of him. When her life was simpler, her family happier.
Her smile faltered. Ever the quick thinker, she pressed a kiss against Dunban's cheek to mask her sadness. His skin burned beneath her lips. And, just slightly too late, she realized her mistake.
The crowd erupted.
Shouts and jeers and invasive questions flooded her ears, muddling together too much to make sense of individual words. She pulled away from him but the damage had been done. A couple people surged toward her, more camera than High Entia. The clicking lens a substitute for their gaze.
Lucio jumped in front of her, whipping those that came too close with the shaft of his spear. "Step away from the empress."
She didn't know how he managed to shout above the chaos that enfolded them. But his voice rang clear, managed to settle a large portion of the crowd. She supposed he took after his father in more than just appearance. Still, some of her rowdier subjects continued with their barrage of vulgar questions.
They mostly asked if she was still a virgin or if Dunban satisfied her. But the man who'd challenged her before worked a different angle. When he kept his queries vague, she feigned ignorance. It only encouraged him to be more explicit, more in her face.
"Come now, Your Majesty, playing coy is for the little fledglings at court," he said, jerking his camera around to capture a side view of her flat stomach. "I have it on good authority that there's a royal baby." He smirked. "Or, there was. Did you miscarry our heir?"
Melia stared at the man as he doubled over with laughter. Laughter so brutal and raspy that it sounded more like coughing. Dunban murmured something into her ear, but she couldn't hear it. The laugh consumed her. And all she could think of was Catlaina in the palace infirmary. Her guard had been lucky her injury hadn't harmed the baby. But what if…? She bit back a bitter retort, unable to break her training. It was too deeply embedded in her being now. Her father's voice always a soft tug in her mind: When all other strategies fail, be silent.
Lucio turned from his most recent scuffle, eyes ablaze. She'd never seen such anger in him before. Even when he'd tried to coax Kaelin into retaliating against Minister Caul's mandated shift change, he'd maintained a semblance of composure.
The man's laughter cut off as Lucio seized him by the throat.
"Shut your loathsome mouth before I skewer you." He jabbed the butt of his spear into the reporter's abdomen for emphasis. Hard enough to bruise.
In that moment, he didn't look like Lucio anymore. His mouth contorted into a feral snarl, wings flared outward. He seemed closer related to the Ansels of Valak Mountain than any High Entia. The fingers around the man's neck like talons and any hint of sentience in his eyes drowned out by malice.
"Lucio, enough," Dunban said, the words sharp.
At the reprimand, Lucio snapped back to himself. He released the man's throat and backed away, though his face was still screwed up with disgust. "Just… get out of here."
The reporter didn't hesitate. He scuttled away like a bug that had narrowly avoided being squashed. Melia fought back a smirk. Lucio might've been out of line, but she'd be a liar if she said it didn't feel good to have him on her side.
"I am afraid that is all the time I have for questions today." Her perfect, formal tone shattered the silence. She pretended she'd seen nothing. They'd had a lovely press conference and no one spoke tactlessly. And certainly, her guard hadn't almost strangled one of the attendees. No, of course none of that had happened. That would be absurd.
She smiled to the remaining audience. "Thank you for speaking with me. Your concerns have been heard and will be attended to as necessary."
Then she spun on her heel and continued toward the cluster of ministry buildings. Dunban almost stumbled as she dragged him along with her. But he caught himself before he could embarrass the empire. Lucio marched after them, head held high.
"Are you going to punish him?" Dunban asked, voice so low only Melia could hear it.
"What for?"
"Insubordination?"
"Is it not a good thing if he makes our enemies hesitate?" She fixed her gaze straight ahead, not daring to glance back at Lucio lest he realize he was the topic of their conversation.
"He very well may be—" Dunban cut himself off as they passed a little too close to a merchant and their cart. Even after they'd walked out of earshot, he didn't finish his sentence. "It isn't right that he should walk away from this without consequence. We wouldn't be so lenient in Colony 9."
"Then he will be thankful this is Alcamoth," she said, her tone cooling. Something about his words put her on the defensive. Perhaps the implication that Colony 9 was better. She wanted him to be happy here too… Her expression softened. "I'll speak with him. But I need you to trust me right now. The risks I take are not taken lightly."
"You have plans for him then."
It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway. "I do."
His eyes settled on her; she felt their weight, their heat against the side of her face. She didn't turn. He didn't speak. They continued their walk in silence until they arrived at the Ministry of Defense.
Lucio held open the door for them then followed them into the ministry. It was a single floor building with a high, vaulted ceiling. No windows. The entryway served as a hub, countless corridors branching off, leading deeper into areas of varying security clearance levels.
Melia heaved a sigh as the door slammed shut behind her. At last, she allowed herself to release Dunban's arm and smoothed down her skirt. Tried to make herself look more composed than she actually was. The crowd had been so… insistent. No breaks, no time for thought. Just an endless downpour of personal questions that had never come up when she and her father rehearsed. But then, how could she expect her father to have taught a child to answer inquiries about pregnancy?
She'd known exactly what to say about war, famine, world-ending calamities. Her own personal life, though? Even staying silent hadn't worked very well.
Before she could lose herself in reflection, analyzing every possible mistake, she noticed Minister Caul hustling across the large room toward them. She frowned. Since Caul was the one who had put together the inaccurate report, she preferred not to have him hovering over her shoulder during the inspection.
Lucio glanced at her then to his father. "I can distract him while you search the armory."
"How long?" she asked, her voice an urgent whisper.
"An hour, maybe two. I know it isn't much but—"
"That's all we need," Dunban said. "Which way?"
Lucio pointed them to a wide hall to their left, gave vague directions to a keycard-locked door. He passed his card to Dunban – the ministry might have "accidentally" locked out Melia's – then sauntered off to intercept Minister Caul.
Dunban pocketed the card as Melia stared after Lucio. Her lips tugged into a frown. Was it appropriate to be worried for him? She wasn't sure. But after his behavior towards the journalist, she couldn't help the little twinge in her stomach. Leaving him on his own felt… risky. More than she'd calculated for.
"Let's go," she said.
She kept track of the time in her head. Counting down the minutes and seconds as they searched for the armory entrance.
For how rushed Lucio's directions had been, the door wasn't difficult to find. It stretched from floor to ceiling and was nearly as wide as it was tall. Beyond its size, a pair of guards had been stationed out front. One by the scanner, the other across the hall.
"Remember, we're meant to be here," she murmured.
Dunban gave a sharp nod.
They approached the scanner guard and Melia pulled out her card. The soldier bowed to them, delivered a standard albeit respectful greeting. Then uncertainty shadowed his face.
"Minister Caul didn't mention you would be inspecting the vault today."
"It isn't a formal inspection, just a tour for the First Consort," she said, voice even and face blank. She tapped her card against the sensor, but the telltale beep never came. The indicator light stayed crimson. A hint of a frown slipped through her façade. "That's odd."
Internally, the gears of her mind whirred. Her father had given her clearance to enter the armory when she'd first began her diplomatic missions. She'd given him no reason to revoke it. Which meant someone else must've done it. But who? Who else knew the passcode for Defense's keycard terminal?
"Try mine." Dunban handed her Lucio's card. Without missing a beat, he turned back to the soldier. "How often do these cards fail? If the entire system goes down, would our weapons be inaccessible?"
The guard fumbled through an explanation of the armory door's manual override as Melia scanned Lucio's card. With a shrill chirp and a flash of turquoise, the door unlocked. She tucked the card away, beside her own. Just in case the guard had any ideas about checking it. While it wouldn't be immediately obvious that the card wasn't actually Dunban's, she didn't want to risk anyone recognizing Lucio's number.
While she and Dunban would be exempt from the usual punishment, if a court determined Lucio had willfully given up his card, he'd be sent right back to the Tower. Or executed. Allowing unauthorized personnel access to all of Alcamoth's weapons would likely be considered treason. In his case, with his reputation, it wouldn't matter that he'd given his card to the empress. He'd receive no leniency.
A small, bitter part of herself wondered how Colony 9 would handle such an infraction.
The door slid up and back, lining the ceiling of the armory. Dunban found a natural place to end his conversation with the guard then followed Melia into the vault.
Fifteen minutes had passed since they parted with Lucio. They consulted Minister Caul's report, divided up the work, then searched in silence.
Melia paced the aisles between weapon racks. More counting. But it drowned out the constant tick of her mental clock and, for that, she was grateful. She'd assigned Dunban the easier task of doing inventory on the larger units. The anti-Mechon aircraft and armored vehicles. She needed the space, needed the drone of equations to distract her mind from… everything.
Thirty more minutes dragged by as they searched, checking the report several times to compare their findings with the official numbers. They'd found nothing. Their time was running down and there was nothing. A chill seized her. What if Lucio had lied? What if this whole mission was just a trap?
"Melia."
She whirled around, heart pounding. "Did you find something?"
Dunban hesitated before moving to the weapon rack beside hers. He sifted through the blasters as he spoke. "If anything's been left out of the report, they've likely moved it elsewhere."
"I feared as much," she said, hugging the file to her chest and hanging her head. "Or maybe there was no discrepancy at all."
"Why would he lie?" The lid of an ammunition box clicked shut as Dunban turned to face her. He leaned against the rack, folding his arms over his chest. "There's no evidence that any weapons have been misallocated, so I doubt he wanted to set someone up. And he has to know this will reflect badly on him."
"What if he only needed us out of the way?"
"Maybe," Dunban said, nodding slowly. Then he frowned. "But it doesn't make sense… We saw him go with Minister Caul. Why accuse him of treachery and then work with him? Lucio would be pointing a finger at himself as well."
Melia flipped through the pages one more time. Maybe they'd missed something – some hint. Lucio hadn't specified exactly what information was incorrect. They'd just assumed he meant weapons. She paused, trailing her finger down the columns of text until she landed on the value she'd been seeking. Enlistment numbers. What if Defense had recruited far more soldiers than she knew?
But that didn't explain why Lucio led them to the armory.
She closed the file with a sharp snap and tucked it under her arm. "Well. We have no reason to linger here any longer. Let's rejoin Lucio before he can cause trouble for us." If he hasn't already. Her mental clock ticked ever higher, nearly an hour since they'd parted ways. Ample opportunity.
Without waiting for Dunban to reply, she spun on her heel and strode down the aisle, back toward the entrance. She wasn't sure what her next move should be. She needed help. Someone who could point her in the right direction. And who was more loyal to her than the ministries.
Kallian was the obvious answer. He'd worked closely with Defense for decades. If she'd missed anything in her search, he would know it. Anything she hadn't considered. With luck, he would have some idea of where else to look.
As she reached the end of the aisle, she broke out of her thoughts enough to realize that Dunban hadn't followed her. She glanced over her shoulder, caught his gaze.
"What is it?"
He hesitated. "Nothing that I should bother you with. Not right now."
Melia held in a sigh. If not now, when? This could be the last moment they have alone – truly alone – for a long time. And if Lucio had done something while they were distracted, it was far too late to stop him. She could spare a few more minutes for her own peace of mind.
Slow, almost cautious, she retraced her steps until she stood at his side once more. Their fingers laced together. She couldn't tell who had initiated the contact. A little of both, maybe. Maybe she'd reached for him and he for her and it all culminated in their hands finding each other. Clinging to the warmth of another living body.
"Do not coddle me," she said with a faint smile. "I may be grieving but that doesn't excuse me from my duties as empress. Duties that will be much easier to fulfill if I have all the information."
Dunban stared down at their joined hands for a moment before replying. "Fiora is alive."
Fiora. He'd never said her name before, not to Melia anyway. But she knew – by the light tremor in his voice, the fevered glint in his eyes – that this was the name of his sister. The formerly dead sister.
"I… What?"
"The other Mechon – on Prison Island – it was her."
"How is that possible?" Her voice didn't raise above a hoarse whisper. If not for their entwined fingers, she might have reached for the weapons rack for support.
He shook his head, his thumb unconsciously tracing circles against her skin. "I don't know." Then, for the first time, he noticed the bruise that discolored her wrist. The one he'd given her. His fingers tensed in her grip as if debating whether he should pull away. Yet at the same time, he couldn't make himself let go. Instead, he brought up his other hand and brushed his fingertips across the expanse of fading purple. "I'm so sorry."
"It was an accident," she said as her stomach twisted with unease.
"That isn't an excuse."
"No, I suppose not." She tugged her hand out of his grasp. The loss of contact relieved her nausea somewhat, but not enough to be satisfying. She needed to escape the armory – the ministry itself, even. "But I would prefer to focus on the events that aren't accidents. The attack on the wedding, the Mechon…" She met his gaze, trying not to read into his expression. "And, of course, Fiora."
At the mention of his sister, Dunban stiffened. "It wasn't her fault. She isn't herself; they've corrupted her."
Melia wondered again how the Mechon had managed such a feat. What technology must they possess in order to turn flesh into metal and circuits? Not only that, but the monster they'd created could function.
"I understand. She will face no punishment when we get her back."
His eyes widened. "When? Does that mean…?"
"Your sister's condition would be a terrible burden to shoulder alone. Thankfully, we're a team." Her smile returned, small and short lived, but she hoped it would reassure him of her intentions. "I won't give up on her."
Something shifted in the air around them. Heat and heaviness filled the gaps between oxygen molecules until it was too thick to breathe. Not unlike the effects of fire ether. But when Melia reached out, she could sense no disturbance, no manipulation.
As her focus returned to her immediate environment, she found Dunban staring at her. Staring as if she'd just said a particularly crude joke in polite company. He masked the expression by turning away, toward the armory door.
"We should… We should check in with Lucio."
He walked off without waiting for her to join him. She blinked. Had her words upset him somehow? She couldn't imagine that he would be angered by her commitment to rescuing his sister from the clutches of Mechonis. Then, what was it? Perhaps her earlier judgement had been correct. She'd convinced herself, during their walk to the ministry building, that she might have misinterpreted his reluctance to spar with her.
But maybe she'd been right all along. Maybe he didn't see any value in having her as his partner – sparring or otherwise. That bitter embarrassment rose in her stomach once more. Shoving it down for the moment, she jogged to catch up with him.
They exchanged stiff, hurried goodbyes with the armory guard then retraced their path back to the main hub room. But Lucio wasn't anywhere in sight. Melia frowned. That didn't bode well… She led the way deeper into the ministry, following the only lead she had.
Just as they arrived at the transporter to the minister's office, Lucio materialized in a flash of pale light. He doubled over as he stepped off the platform, hand clutched to his face. Blood seeped through his fingers.
"What happened?"
Lucio flinched at the sound of her voice. He raised his head, revealing the deep bruising around one eye, the tear tracks glistening down his cheeks. But his hand stayed pressed against his nose. A stubborn refusal to display the full damage. He cracked a smile, made morbid by the blood that spilled over his lips and teeth.
"Ah, this? It's nothing, Your Majesty." His tone didn't match the levity of his expression. It was somber and hoarse. "Family matter."
He could barely choke out the last words and something in Melia burned. Her father had been strict and aloof – sometimes harsh – but he'd never laid hands on her or Kallian. No matter what trouble they caused, they met with only words and extra chores or lessons as their punishments.
"Here, let me see," she said, gentle, easily drowning her anger with concern.
She guided his arm down and he didn't resist. Behind his shielding hand, his already crooked nose was bent at a more extreme angle. The skin bruised and swollen.
Moving with the caution of prey in a Feris den, she cupped his cheek. Her eyes slipped shut as she pushed healing ether through her palm. He tensed beneath her touch. But relaxed once the pain of his broken nose faded. The blood stopped flowing, the swelling decreased. When she was satisfied with her work, she pulled away, opening her eyes to study him. The bruises hadn't faded at all and his nose hadn't realigned.
"That's all I can do." Melia's arm tingled where the ether had traveled through her. It was a pleasant sensation, a type of warmth. She'd rested enough that her reserves were full. No longer drawing from a well that had gone dry, the use of ether hadn't hurt or drained her. She'd missed feeling this strong.
"You should have a doctor set that for you," Dunban added. His gaze flicked to Melia as she stepped toward the transporter. "What are you doing?"
"It is considered poor etiquette to neglect greeting a minister when you enter their domain." The ice of formality raised goosebumps along her arms. She didn't know what she was going to do, just that something had to be done. But the sensation unsettled her all the same. She crafted a smile to reassure, to fool. "I'll only be a moment."
She proceeded onto the platform before either of her companions could protest.
The transporter led directly into Caul's office. For such an important room, the security seemed awfully lax. But, then again, an intruder would have to walk through the entire ministry unnoticed. A tall order when Defense boasted constant activity.
Caul looked up from his desk when she entered. If her unannounced visit made him nervous, he didn't show it. He smiled and set his pen down beside the blood-spattered page he was transcribing from. Her stomach churned.
Here he sat, with bruised knuckles and bloodied documents, and he had the gall to smile at her? As if she didn't know what he'd done. She wrenched her eyes away from him, glanced about the office instead.
It wasn't as austere as Fannar's, clad in elaborate tapestries and portraits of famed generals. Shelves lined the walls. Each one displayed trinkets of various origin – decorative swords, a diamond-studded compass, a jar of brass buttons. Yet, even with the sheer volume of things there was an undeniable sense of organization. Every paper, every ornament, had a place.
"Do you require my services, Your Majesty?"
Her gaze snapped back to him, anger rising in her like a viper poised to strike. "No. I came to issue a warning."
He frowned, headwings tensing then flexing outward. An overcompensation. She might've taken some measure of enjoyment from his discomfort, if her own nerves weren't eating away at her composure. This would be her first confrontation with a minister since inheriting the throne. How she chose to proceed now would color the rest of her reign.
"Should you harm Lucio again, you will be charged with treason."
"Treason?" Caul sputtered, eyes bulging. "For disciplining my son?"
"Some might consider an attack on an Imperial Guard to be equal to attacking the empress herself," she said. "With her guard indisposed, she would become vulnerable to further attack. Your actions put me at risk, don't you agree?"
The minister swallowed. Then his gaze left hers, dropping to the documents Lucio's blood had ruined. Brows knit together. He fisted his hands in his hair for a moment. But, remembering Melia's presence, he forced himself to sit up straight, palms on the desk.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Please forgive my carelessness."
A knot of tension in her chest released. He hadn't fought nearly as hard as she'd expected. Perhaps she should push for a favor. If he was genuine in his remorse, he'd do almost anything for a chance at forgiveness. And if he wasn't… It would be a balancing game. What could he afford to lose to preserve the illusion of loyalty?
But she had to maintain balance as well. Too pointed a request would reveal her position – her thoughts and the actions she might take. She couldn't forewarn him that she suspected him of true treachery.
And an innocuous ask would waste the rare opportunity she'd created. She pursed her lips.
"I suppose I could be willing to overlook your indiscretion." Voice airy, feigning disinterest. She selected a crystalline inkwell from his desk and turned it over in her hands. The ink shone an iridescent blue beneath the ether light. Not much different from Telethia blood. She set the inkwell down, but in the wrong place.
It was a trick she'd learned from Yumea. Disrespect their personal effects with indifference. Those of weaker will would be unsettled enough that one could swoop in and 'guide' them.
"Unfortunately, I must ask for something in return."
"There is no need for such unseemly tactics," he said, lips twisting in a grimace. "I am ever your servant. Command me and your will shall be done. Any time."
A welcome sentiment, to be sure, but she still didn't trust him. The ministries were filled with flatterers and schemers. At times, it seemed the only way to climb politically was to push others down, step on their backs like rungs. Or lower oneself to little more than a footstool for the highest power. A footstool that would eventually stab her in the back, of course, but a footstool nonetheless.
She smiled, too calculated to be warm. "How noble. It puts me at ease knowing I can rely on you." Standard flattery had never made her so sick before. Now, her stomach flipped, throat clenched. "However, I would prefer to have a formal agreement in this case. Without specific terms, how shall I know when your penance is paid?"
He inclined his head. "As you wish."
"Excellent." She paused, mind spinning. In the moment, she found it difficult to decide on a request. There were too many factors to consider, too many options. She needed to stall for time. "I'll have Minister Asdis draw up a contract. While you await its delivery, you might consider apologizing to your son. He could very well report you for excessive force."
Whether he was fooled by her bluff or not, she didn't let herself linger. She whirled around, stepped onto the transporter, and let it whisk her back to the ministry's main room.