Chapter Three
The Royal City of Rabanastre
Year 707 of the Old Valendian Calendar
Moorv stood nodding, a hand at his chin, frowning but looking genuinely interested while Larsa explained the whole situation. Ashe had collapsed into a chair- honestly, she would have preferred to shrink against the wall under a window, but with Councilman Moorv standing right there, she would never have gotten away with something that undignified.
They're… alive?
That thought repeated in Ashe's mind, all the while humming with the undercurrent of doubt that it might not be true after all. But if it was, then… then… maybe… but… But if it was true…
Oh, no.
Ashe inhaled deeply. She had to get her composure back before she went down that walkway to receive her father's crown. She was going to be queen, after all, and her duty to Dalmasca was far more important than this. She needed to be queen, if she was going to hold her father's kingdom together.
I have to-
Then the door creaked open, and a knight stepped in, glaring through the crack as it swung closed. Ashe sat upright.
"Your Highness, Lady Ashe." The knight bowed. "Forgive me for this interruption-"
"No, that's alright." Ashe shook her head. She just couldn't deal with pleasantries right now. "What's the matter?"
"There are… visitors outside." Ashe's heart leapt into her throat at the knight's words.
"Visitors?" she asked.
"Those two orphans you told me to watch for," the knight continued, "but there are others with them. I wasn't going to have them thrown out, but their spokesperson insisted I ask you about it directly-"
"Yes, let them in!" Ashe sprang out of her chair. The knight straightened in surprise. "I mean… Yes, please," Ashe breathed deeply to calm herself. She couldn't be flustered, couldn't be anxious. She couldn't afford that right now. She should just be happy. Happy her friends were alive- if they were. Happy to be… queen…
"Please," Ashe said to the knight, managing a straight face, "let them in."
"As your highness wishes." The knight bowed again and slipped back out the door.
…
Ignoring the two knights the guard had left to supervise the 'suspicious characters' demanding entrance to the princess's meeting room, Balthier watched the door behind which he'd been told Ashe was waiting.
He couldn't help but wonder if she'd be the same princess he'd known. Bahamut, the battle, that had all been a lifetime ago. People could change in six long months, Balthier knew, especially in the rough winds of the political world. Little princess Ashe, who never gave up…
Balthier just wanted to see her, for now. Say hello. After her coronation, he'd follow his plans to seek out answers, which would surely take him all over the map. But Rabanastre was in a central location. Perhaps… he'd have time to pop in? When he was in the area. Yes, he'd tell her that, after the ceremony. That seemed like a good plan.
Vaan rubbed his foot back and forth, scratching an impatient scuff line on the delicately polished wood floor. Penelo twirled a lock of stray hair. Fran stood with one hand on her hip, as still as a statue, as expressive as a manikin. She looked much better after a good night's rest, hardy meal, and change of clothes, if still a bit weak and off color. Balthier should have let her rest. But Fran insisted she was well enough, and nothing in her expression said otherwise.
Vaan let out a gusty sigh and folded his hands behind his head. "How long does it take Ashe to tell him to let us in?"
"The coronation starts any second," Penelo said, sending her brother a reproving glare. "I'm sure Ashe is busy; she might not have time to see us!"
Vaan's objection was cut off as the door cracked open. The overly protective knight who'd guarded the doorway slipped through, shutting the door before Balthier could catch a glimpse through it. The guard was an argumentative man, and it had taken all Balthier's prowess to convince him to go to the highest authority.
"Her Highness Lady Ashe says," the knight sighed, "that she'll see you."
Balthier nodded, smiling despite himself, quite satisfied he'd carried the day. "Thank you."
"Understand this will be very short," the knight said. "Her Highness's coronation begins very shortly-"
"We understand," Balthier said. "If that's the case, let's not waste time chatting." He gave a single nod to the door. "If you'd be so kind?"
The knight pushed the door open and held it there, switching seamlessly from guard to porter. He stood in stony grimness, back erect and eyes still watching the newcomers with suspicion. Balthier nodded courteously to him as Vaan and Penelo went on ahead, then marched through.
"Your ladyship, please keep this short," some deep, froggy voice was saying. "The ceremony is only-"
"Hey Ashe! We're here!" Vaan called; the poor kid had no respect for the atmosphere of a royal palace.
Ashe stood with her back to the door, being addressed by a stout man in thick purple robes, who broke off as Vaan interrupted him.
Ashe spun around. Shining, gold-platinum hair flew around her face, pure white dress twirling. Massive feathers covered the skirt in a display of royal splendor, sweeping like the folded wings of a great bird.
"Vaan! Penelo! You made-" Ashe broke off. Her eyes darted between Balthier and Fran, face painted with a look of realization torn halfway between joy and horror. "It is…" she started, words trailing off.
"It is you!" Larsa picked up, jumping forward with a bright, cordial smile. His voice seemed to echo from somewhere far away. "Why, you are alive! That's splendid. Isn't that splendid, Basch?"
The Judge at Larsa's side nodded dispassionately. Vaan, shadowed by his sister, strode to greet Larsa. Balthier studied Ashe, surprised by how clearly those eyes represented his foggy memories. A glinting, iron will gently shrouded in a mass of storm clouds…
It came to Balthier that standing there staring like an idiot was not a good way to start a conversation with a royal lady awaiting her crowning. He pulled in a deep breath through his nose, trying not to appear like he was collecting himself.
"Princess." Balthier gave her a nod in greeting, hoping to break the ice. "It's been quite a while. Sorry if I put you through any unnecessary worry."
"Unnece…? I thought…" The dismay fell from Ashe's face, replaced by an indignant flash in her eyes. "What do you mean, unnecessary? I thought you were dead!"
Better? With a flicker of a smile, Balthier decided, yes.
"Well, I'll admit I've made it through a few narrow scrapes," Balthier replied, planting his hands on his hips. "But I'm afraid the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated."
"But where… Then where have you been for so long?" Ashe persisted.
Unpleasant memories raced through Balthier's mind. He sighed. "Prison, the desert- nowhere I'd rather be, that's for certain. You know, considering all the way I've come to be here, you could at least look pleased to see me."
"Oh." Ashe's eyes darted away, flickering with that uncertainty. "I-"
"Ahem." The stout man in purple cleared his throat, stepping pointedly between Ashe and Balthier. "Your ladyship, as touching as this is, you really must hurry. You need to make a good impression on the rest of Ivalice, those present, and especially those not. That is why I, as your advisor, would suggest you try not to be late to your own coronation."
"What?" Ashe swung her face towards the window; her eyes widened as she took in the gathering crowds outside. "Oh!" She looked back at her unexpected guests. "I-I'm so sorry. I have to go. Uh, maybe after-"
"Your Highness, now." The councilman repeated.
Ashe closed her eyes and breathed deep, then nodded. "Yes. I know. Of course."
Balthier had expected this. Ashe would be rushed away; they'd only have a few seconds to show her proof they were alive. Still, he hadn't anticipated the ache that settled in the pit of his stomach as Ashe turned to leave, face set and determined, ready to claim her father's throne. Strange feeling. Balthier pushed it away as irrational.
"Good luck, princess," Balthier called to her, brushing off the awkwardness of their parting. "I should hope you won't need it. Until after, then?"
Ashe glanced back, then nodded, sending a strained smile over all her visitors.
"Oh, yes. Until after. I… Bye."
Ashe turned back to the door, straightened out her dress, sucked in a deep lungful of air, then allowed herself to be escorted out of the room by the purple-robed councilman. Balthier stood watching until the door stopped swinging, and the princess was gone from his sight.
…
Anticipation swamped the air in the form of a thousand voices whispering in eager conversation. Most of the city of Rabanastre packed like sardines into the square outside the palace, congregating around a single clear walkway, whose path began at the palace doors and ended at a grey-bearded old man in ornate robes. The coroner cradled a golden circlet set about with rubies in both hands, watching the palace door with a calm, collected air that reminded Balthier strongly of Fran.
Balthier stood in the front row, within fifteen feet of the coroner. As the princess's friends, he, Fran, Vaan, and Penelo had been seated with the Archadian embassy, namely Larsa and Basch. Balthier had had to do a double take on Larsa's bodyguard once Ashe left; it was most certainly Basch, but, wearing the same Judge armor, he looked identical to his twin brother.
Balthier had expected to see a Rozarrian embassy in the crowd across from them, but however hard he looked, he couldn't see anyone but Dalmascan noblemen over there. Strange. Maybe the other foreigners were seated elsewhere? And what about guards? Balthier scanned the crowds again. He remembered the gobs of Dalmascan knights that had escorted them out here, but where had they gone?
A crash of symbols and blast of trumpets rattled Balthier's eardrums and shattered his thoughts as the royal band struck up a majestic piece. The bubbling crowds quieted to an awed murmur. Balthier pointed his attention with theirs to the palace.
The towering palace doors swung open, creaking on their ancient hinges, and a lone woman emerged. She looked strangely like a bride marching down the aisle, all dressed in white, only alone, solemn, and with no bouquet. Her hands hung empty at her side, shoulders back, form lit with desert sun, eyes fixed straight ahead as she approached the coroner.
The music dropped to a more respectful pitch, trailing off with a chorus of slow-drawn violins. Ashe stopped before the coroner and got to her knees, feathery skirt gathered in her hands, head bowed to receive the crown. The coroner began his speech about Raithwall's proud line and Ashe's long fight for Dalmasca, all the trials Rabanastre's beloved princess had gone through to reach this moment. Ashe stared at the ground all the while, looking more like she knelt under a guillotine, solemnly ready to receive her fate than a princess about to be queen. Balthier frowned. What's wrong with her?
Then Ashe turned her head, ever so slightly, and met Balthier's gaze. That sad, regretful yet resigned look, underlaid with a smoldering determination to go on, glazed her eyes.
"And so, we of Dalmasca proudly accept Lady Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca as our queen and ruler."
Ashe's gaze snapped back to the ground as the coroner lifted the crown; the golden ring glinted in the desert sun as the old, bearded man lowered it towards its bed of platinum hair.
Crack!
A gunshot split the air with a bang as loud as the trumpets that had heralded the princess's arrival. The crown slipped from the coroner's hands as the old man pitched forward; Ashe scrambled back with a gasp. Panic swept the crowd, shouts, screams, and sundry noises of civic chaos picking up where the gunshot left off.
A single heartbeat was all the time instinct need to the send Balthier dashing out of the crowd to stand over the princess, rifle in hand, scanning the buildings above.
In the next heartbeat, he spotted a distant figure on the roof of one, dark against the sky, the metal of something long and thin glinting in its hand. Balthier raised his rifle, aimed, and shot. The figure jerked, picked itself up with no significant trouble, then vanished below the roofline.
In the third heartbeat, Fran was at Balthier's side with her bow, then Vaan with his sword. Basch rushed to join them, tailed by Larsa.
"Lord Larsa, stay back. Get to safety," Basch ordered, motioning with his sword.
Larsa took his place to complete the ring around the princess. "I'm safest with you," he replied, giving Basch a defiant look.
Penelo knelt by the coroner, examining the bullet wound in his abdomen: only a glancing blow. A quick blast of healing magic and he'd be alright. The marksman hadn't been aiming for him. Ashe tried to scramble to her feet, but Balthier held out a hand.
"No princess, stay down."
Ashe rose anyway, ignoring his advice.
Balthier sighed and tore his gaze from the buildings overhead to the panicked crowds, seething like an angry sea. No assassin would see Ashe in there, but she was just as likely to fall and be trampled.
"Ashe, where are your guards?" Balthier said. "Please tell me not even you're so careless-"
"There are guards!" Ashe said. She looked around, sudden distress growing in her gaze. "But where…? Where did they go…?"
Balthier shook his head with a sigh. "Well, I suppose that can't be helped now. No time for dallying! Inside, now!"
Balthier jerked his chin towards the palace door and sprinted. Ashe followed, stumbling over her skirt. Penelo helped the coroner back to his feet, then, struggling to support his weight, dashed to bring up the rear.
Once within the palace doors, Balthier allowed himself a breath of relief. That was far too close… He glanced outside at the roiling crowd, then the roofline where the assassin had disappeared, eyes tracing the direct shot from there through the palace doors. No, they weren't out of hot water just yet. Ashe was still in danger. He it'd be quite a pity to fail this time-
This time? As opposed to Reina?
The sudden thought rearing up in his mind took Balthier off guard. Last time he hadn't even been there. He didn't have the right to fail or succeed at protecting… anyone else. Not when-
Not now! Take a guilt trip when lives aren't in danger!
"Your Highness! Are you alright? What's happening?" one of two guards standing within the doorway asked. A half-helm shielded his eyes but not his mouth.
"I'm fine," Ashe replied. "But, my guards- what happened to them?"
"They were ordered to leave," the guards replied. "I thought others were coming to-"
"Never mind that now," Balthier cut him off, shoving the shadows of guilt into some dark crevasse of his being where it wouldn't bother him. There were a thousand reasons not to let Ashe die, completely separate from any personal vendetta. "I always wanted to be a royal bodyguard." He turned to the guard. "Can you get these doors closed?"
The guard turned and nodded to the other knight, who jerked a lever by the set of doors. Nothing happened.
"What…? Blast!" the knight said, frowning up at the pulley mechanism. "The rope's been cut!"
Balthier sighed, and turned to Basch. "Well? The old-fashioned way?"
Basch nodded. Balthier, Vaan, and Fran lined up on the left door and pushed, while Basch, Larsa, and one Dalmascan knight took the right one. Penelo settled the injured coroner by the wall and ran to help them. The doors' weight matched their size.
Ashe addressed the knight who'd been speaking. "Can you go and bring more knights? Someone needs to go after that assassin."
"He was on the building conjoining this one, on the roof," Balthier said, gladly pulling away from the still-closing door to join the conversation. "I hit him, but I don't think he was badly injured."
"Right. Right away, Your Highness." The knight bowed to the princess, then sprinted down a corridor off the right side of the entry room. Balthier pressed back against the door, and Ashe joined next to him. Balthier felt laughter rising up inside him at the sight of the princess in her coronation dress, back against the ancient, twenty-foot stone door, huffing as she heaved her miniscule weight into it. But he could just see that assassin reappearing over the roofline, aiming through the crack in the doors, and shooting the princess dead. This was no time for hysterics.
"Ashe, you have to get deeper inside," Balthier said, pulling away from the door and nodded to the nearest passage. "Now come on, no objections."
"What?" Ashe's eyes flashed indignantly. "But-"
"Highness, go. Your safety is the most important," Basch said.
"No! I can't just-"
Balthier cut her off with a sigh edging on a groan. Resistance member or queen, Ashe was stubborn as ever. "Come on, princess. Now's not the time." He grabbed Ashe by the arm and pulled her towards the door. After being dragged several steps, Ashe reluctantly fell into stride. Balthier released her once they were through the doorway and out of firing range from outside. Ahead, the corridor turned ninety degrees, heading deeper in.
"Alright Ashe," Balthier said. "You're the one who grew up here. Where-"
The door slammed shut behind them with a bang, followed instantly by the click of locks engaging and Ashe's sharp intake of breath. Balthier spun; with one hand on the door and the other closed around a seven-inch blade stood a man wearing the baggy pants and tunic characteristic of Dalmascan citizens, a mask shielding his eyes, wearing a grim yet satisfied smile. The man lunged.
Blast.
Balthier took this in in a single second. In the next second, he leapt in front of Ashe and whipped out his rifle, calling for her to run. He squeezed the trigger; the man anticipated this movement beforehand and knocked the barrel aside with his wrist, then, in the split second as the bullet cracked into polished wood, he spun around Balthier and charged for the fleeing princess.
"Oh, no, you don't!" One hand on the grip, the other on the nose, Balthier hooked his rifle around the man's neck from behind, stopping him short with a choaked gasped. Balthier hissed into the man's ear, "Now, why don't you be reasonable and-"
Pressure and force shot through Balthier's left side. He broke off, lungs seizing, senses blaring something was terribly wrong. Unconsciously letting his rifle fall, bare instinct brought his hands to the point of impact as he stumbled backward. He caught a glimpse of the wound; the cylindrical hilt of the assassin's dagger protruded from his shirt. His mind reeled more than his body; perhaps that was just the… shock…
Balthier had barely realized he was falling when he struck the ground. The impact sent the missing pain rattling through his body. The difficulty and agony of drawing in his next breath astonished him. The finely polished palace walls around seemed to lose their finish, blurring as warm wetness flowed around his hands.
"Balthier!"
Ashe's shriek pierced the fog collecting over Balthier's world. Lying on his back, he could see like a dream the scene as the assassin charged the princess, drawing a new dagger to replace the one he'd planted in Balthier's side. A blow rattled the room as someone slammed into the locked door, evidently trying to break it down.
Tearing from her horror, Ashe tried to run, but the assassin, much quicker and unencumbered by coronation dress, leapt around and in front of her like a hunting jungle cat. Ashe stumbled backward as the man drew back his knife hand to stab. The princess ripped a decorative shield bearing the Dalmascan coat of arms from the wall, sweeping it around to block the strike. The dagger sank into the aluminum plate up to its hilt. The fierce defiance in Ashe's eyes flickered with fear as the blade point glittered a mere inch from her face. She shoved with all her might, sending the man stumbling back, shield still attached to his knife.
What a strange, misty dream it was, watching a lovely, fiery-eyed princess, all decked for some special occasion, fight for her life against an assassin in a tunic…
No dream…! Some strangled, dying voice tried to think. Ashe is about to get killed! Do something!
No dream… Struggling to cling to reality, Balthier forced his rebelling body to move. He managed to roll over; the action pressed the protruding knife handle into the ground, sending lightning strikes of pain through his body. Balthier made himself keep breathing, teeth clenched; all the while, the pounding on the door echoed the thunderous thumping of his heart in his ears.
Balthier's rifle lay just a few feet away from him. Balthier stretched a shaking hand towards it. So close… he could almost… touch it…
As the assassin shook the thin plate of metal off his knife, Ashe tried to dash past him, but to no avail. The man grabbed her by the face and swung her around, pinning her head into the nearest wall. Ashe cried out and clawed at the man's arm and chest; he took no notice.
Yes!
Balthier managed to get his fingers on the rifle's handle. He would've cheered aloud if he had the breath or wasn't in terrible agony. He closed his hand around the grip, lifting it off the ground. The gun was wet and slippery, difficult to keep hold of… No, it was his hand that was wet…
Teeth gritted in effort, Balthier squinted one eye, searching for a clear shot to hit the assassin and not Ashe. He had to get his finger over the trigger…
Ashe pinned in his grip, the assassin drew back his knife, cocking it as he aimed for her heart.
He thrust.
Crack!
The assassin cut short the strike to end the princess's life with a hiss. His knife clattered to the floor, and he stumbled back, grabbing the hand that had held the weapon; blood ran from the bullet lodged in his wrist.
At that moment, the door standing between them and the entry hall broke open with a terrible smashing sound. Through it charged Basch, behind him Vaan, Penelo, Fran, and Larsa. The stunned assassin had barely turned to face them when Basch ripped his sword from its sheath. Rather than flipping it around to slash, he drove the hilt with full momentum into the man's head. The assassin tumbled back, unconscious.
With a groan, Balthier let his rifle slip from his hand. He rolled himself back onto his back to get the pressure of the knife handle. He thought that would help, but it only seemed to make breathing harder. But Ashe was safe… so now he could… just sleep…
"Your Highness, you're unharm-?"
Basch couldn't finish his question; Ashe ran past him to kneel by Balthier's head, eyes wide in shock and horror. Fran got to her knees beside him at the same time. He winced as a blast of healing magic hit his side like icy water, disturbing his attempt to sink into the blissful, unpainful realm of unconsciousness.
Balthier was dimly aware of Fran's voice as she calmly doled out instructions. "Penelo, help me. Vaan, Larsa, get me water and clean bandages. Ashe, keep him awake."
Ashe nodded to Fran's direction, anxious and solemn, then shifted to lean over Balthier.
"Roger!" Vaan said. "Come on, Larsa!" He turned to jog back out the door.
"What? Ah… Oh." Rather hesitant, Larsa followed him.
Penelo knelt next to Fran, looking rather horrified and rather sick, but lent her healing magic regardless. Balthier gritted his teeth as a second wave of energy chilled his wound, but still refusing to open his eyes. Clinging to reality was too hard. He was just wanted to…
"Balthier! Hold on. Please wake up. Please don't… Please hold on!"
Reluctantly, Balthier opened his eyes. Ashe stared down at him, metallic hair catching the desert sunlight, blue eyes shining with unshed tears. Balthier narrowed his eyes, trying to get the image to focus properly. Maybe he was already unconscious. Maybe he was already dreaming…
"Ashe…" Getting that word through his lungs, throat, and passed his lips was more difficult than he imagined. Getting three more out was even harder. "Are you… alright?"
Ashe's lips parted, but tears choked her voice. She just nodded, setting her short, glossy hair sweeping.
"Good," Balthier breathed out. He let his eyes close, content with that information to slip away.
"No, no, wake up! Balthier! Please!"
Wake up? Why? But the panic in Ashe's voice spurred Balthier to open his eyes again. The water collecting in her right eye overflowed, tracing a glittering path down her cheek, an action quickly mirrored on the other side. Ashe flashed a hand to her face to wipe frustratedly at the tears.
Suddenly Balthier hated this dream, hated watching Ashe cry. He lifted one hand towards the misty image of her face, wondering briefly where the red stains on his fingers had come from. The dreamscape he stared up at flickered, the face growing dark and hazy. For a moment, he thought he might've been wrong, that that face might be Reina's; that thought stung like the dagger in his side. A part of him knew it couldn't be. It was the princess he couldn't fail, who his conscience forbade him to draw close to…
Balthier hesitated, but then pushed his hand towards her face. It hurt too much to think about that. Ashe caught his hand before he could make contact, pulling it away with a look of unease glimmering through her tears.
"Just hold on. You'll be fine," Ashe said, quietly so as not to stir more tears from her eyes. "Just don't… die."
Die? Am I dying?
The thought flickered in Balthier's mind like a sputtering candle. It certainly hurt enough. An odd feeling. There was something of regret, wondering if he'd really done-
"I'm pulling it out now," Fran's voice came. Ashe turned her head towards it.
Then sickening pain flashed through Balthier's side, sucking away his breath. The image of Ashe darkened, spun, and vanished.
Ashe eyes widened as Balthier's rolled closed, and his hand went limp in hers.
"Bal… Balthier?"
No reply. Heart hammering, Ashe swung her face towards the scrambling mages working at his side.
"Fran! He's-!"
"He's still with us," Fran said, resting the bloody knife she'd extracted from Balthier's side on the floor. Her face still held a pallor, but dealing with a medical emergency seemed to help bring her back in character. Penelo held her hands out, blasting the open wound with white light. Fran grabbed her wrist.
"Penelo, stop. Not so much."
"But he'll bleed out!" Penelo said, panic clear in her voice and eyes.
"Magic itself is an outside force, jarring to the body," Fran explained calmly. "His system's already in shock. Too much magic too quickly could kill him just as surely as that wound."
Penelo's eyes darted between Fran and their patient. "Then what do we do?"
"We're here!" Vaan, a bucket of water in his hands jogged through the door, followed by the poor young emperor balancing a load of medical supplies.
"And we got guards coming," Vaan said as he dropped the bucket beside Fran. "To deal with that assassin." He nodded towards the man in question, whom Basch had tied up while everyone scrambled to save Balthier's life. Fran made no acknowledgement, calmly moving to make use of the delivered supplies.
Ashe listened to little of this. She stared down at Balthier's unconscious but pained face, willing her tears to stay at bay, silently pleading.
She was sure of one thing, if nothing else. She didn't want him to die. Not like this.
Oh, please, hold on.
…
"I'll see you when I get back, Reina."
A nod, a smile. 'Be careful.'
Am I ever not? 'I will.' Ffamran considered kissing her, but with Serah right there, that might not end well. Reina's innocent but bright smile was enough.
Reina always smiled.
Splish-splosh… sphlush…
"But it won't come off!" a young, distressed female voice banished the dream-memory, accentuated by another slosh. "I look like a butcher!"
"Quite the opposite," said an accented voice, defiantly Fran's, toned with gentleness. "You did well."
Balthier willed his eyes to open, but in the meantime, let his other senses take in his surroundings. A blanket lay over him, rather too warm. A breeze of fresh but hot air brushed over his face from the right. He was in a bed? His side, honestly, his whole torso, ached. He remembered… wanting to sleep. No, wait–
Like icy water, the whole scene rushed back into Balthier's mind, up to the point when he'd been stabbed. After that, his whole memory was a hazy blend of dreams and reality, dreams of Ashe and… Reina…
Oh. Right.
Those dreams were a new, foreign thing, but Balthier already knew he hated them. So they didn't require anymore thought. Practical things. That was necessary.
Balthier could only assume he'd survived the wound and that he was somewhere recovering. Armed with that knowledge, he convinced his eyelids to draw back. He blinked in the sunlight streaming through the window to his right; the horizontal glass provided an excellent view of Rabanastre's busy streets far, far below.
Fran, Vaan, and Penelo clustered around a wash bason on the bedside table. Penelo was attempting to wash her hands; she really did look like a butcher, with bloodstains up to her elbows. Basch and Larsa stood in the open door, talking in low tones, while Ashe stood by the window, studying the sunlit city outside with a faraway look.
Balthier tried to sit up, then gasped at the pain that split his abdomen. His exclamation claimed the attention of all crowding into the guest room.
"Lie down." Fran's grip pressed Balthier's shoulder, accompanying her firm words.
"I'm fine," Balthier said breathlessly, shaking off Fran's attempt to push him back down; months' oppression had waned her Viera strength.
"Hey! You're back," Vaan said. He elbowed his sister, giving her a look like 'I told you so.' Penelo looked away from him, looking like a sibling who'd been beaten.
"Balthier!" Ashe gasped. "You're alright? I thought…" She trailed off, eyes suddenly darting away.
It took Balthier's tired brain a few moments to study the four crowding at his bedside; even Basch and Larsa looked up from their heated conversation in the doorway. There're all so worried. What did I do to end up stuck with so many… friends?
"My," Balthier said, grunting as he tried to sit up straighter. "I'd've thought you'd all gotten used to idea of me being dead by now." He started as he caught side of the red stain dyeing the white feathers up the side of Ashe's skirt; then he figured that probably wasn't her blood.
"Oh. My apologies about your dress, princess," Balthier said, nodding to her. "It was never my intention to make such a mess."
Ashe glanced down at her dress, then back up to him. She looked horrified, but Balthier let out a weak chuckle. She could laugh or not; being alive was good enough for him.
Balthier focused on sitting up more. The movement sent another jolt of pain through his side. Balthier winced, and this time when Fran commanded him to lie back, he consented. For the moment.
"Did we ever find out who's trying to kill you, princess?" Balthier asked when he'd gotten his breath back.
"They didn't catch the assassin on the roof," Basch answered for her from across the room. "But the one we did take is an infamous mercenary, a gun for hire much like yourself."
"I am not a gun for hire, I am a sky pirate." Balthier figured this was a good moment to sit back up and maintain his dignity, which he managed to do without expressing the pain he so acutely felt. He turned to Ashe. "What about your guards? What happened to them?"
"Orders were sent for them to withdraw just before the ceremony. The orders came from a courier who we haven't been able to identify," Ashe replied, "and the paper they were written on was lost. We can't tell who sent them. They were told it was just a change to guard shift. It… could've been a mix up." Ashe looked at the ground.
Balthier scoffed. "Sounds like a disturbingly far-reaching conspiracy to me. I don't suppose there are any power-hungry councilmen who might be after your high position, are there?"
"Of course not!" Ashe replied, indignant. "I trust all my councilmen!"
"That sounds like something you'll live to regret," Balthier mumbled, half to himself, but Ashe's face said she heard.
"We're interrogating the assassin we caught," Ashe said, not meeting Balthier's gaze. "But he isn't talking."
"Your Highness!"
A knight appeared in the doorway between Basch and Larsa, saluting with an arm across his chest as he addressed the princess.
"Y-Yes?" Ashe raised her eyes to meet the knight's.
"Councilman Moorv has requested to speak with you, Your Highness, regarding today's events."
"Oh." Ashe closed her eyes and breathed out a sigh. "Alright. Tell him I'll be right there."
The knight gave a single nod. "Yes, Your Highness." He turned and disappeared.
"I… guess I have to go then," Ashe said. She walked past the foot of the bed, then turned back. "And thank you all." Her eyes rested on Balthier, still with a glimmer of worry. "And you. You're welcome to stay, you know, as long as you need."
"That won't be necessary," Balthier said, forcing himself up straighter and holding a gasp of pain behind his teeth. "I can-"
"You shouldn't leave that bed for some days," Fran cut him off.
"You're not being serious about that," Balthier said, frowning at her. He didn't want to lie in bed for as much as a few hours, much less days. "Isn't this what you have magic for?"
"The best results will come slowly," Fran replied.
Balthier held back a sharp comment, reminding himself that Fran likely knew magic and healing better than he did. "And how quick can you make that slowly?"
"Your body needs to rest now." At Balthier's expectant gaze, Fran studied him thoughtfully. "Perhaps we can work again tomorrow. Penelo." Fran turned her gaze to the young dancer. "Could you return tomorrow evening and help me?"
"Huh? Uh… oh. Sure." Penelo gave a nervous half smile, glancing down at her hopelessly stained hands.
"Tomorrow evening?" Balthier raised an eyebrow at Fran. Her return stare showed no sign of changing her mind. After several moments holding her gaze,Balthier heaved a painful sigh. He couldn't argue with the fact that he could hardly move as he was, and if Fran didn't deem it wise to finish the job until tomorrow evening, not a lot was going to change her mind. Balthier leaned back with a gusty sigh.
"Well, it seems I might be around for a bit after all."
"Alright then." Ashe nodded. "Goodbye."
Ashe turned to leave, stopping briefly in the doorway for a formal farewell to Larsa. Balthier let his eyes follow her until she was out of sight, then heaved a sigh. Who would want to kill Ashe? I suppose there could be myriad answers, but hypotheticals are useless. Who…?
…
Ziafer slammed his fist down on Tazer's desk.
"We can't do this!" he shouted, making sure every ounce of anger he felt poured into his words.
"We have to," Tazer replied before Ziafer could continue. "There's no other choice. I told you that before. It's for the good of all Ivalice."
Tazer's hands rested on his desk, tranquilly folded. Firelight from the crackling hearth lit his worn features with warm colors and filled the air with a soothing, woody aroma. Its calming powers had no effect on Ziafer.
"That's ridiculous!" he shouted back at Tazer's face, throwing up his hands. "If we do this, we're just as bad as they are! I can't believe you'd sacrifice everything we stand for just to-"
"Ziafer." Tazer's quiet tone somehow managed to cut off Ziafer's outrage. "I know you don't understand. But sometimes, someone has to make sacrifices for the greater good."
Ziafer clenched his teeth but managed not to shout this time. "Then why don't we just bring her back here? Keep her safe?"
"I can't risk that," Tazer replied. "They can't find out where we are."
"That's more dangerous than killing one our world's political leaders?" Ziafer said, fire returning. "Dalmasca has no other heir! It'd be chaos!"
Tazer sighed, studying his folded hands. Then the older man lifted his familiar, fatherly gaze to meet Ziafer's. "Ziafer, the assassins we hired failed. I'm going to have to send some of our own people. You possess great skills; I know I can rely on you. I want you to kill Princess Ashe."
"What?" Ziafer's eye widened in horror; he barely believed what his ears were telling him. "I- No!" Ziafer shook his head in a quick, sharp motion. "No! I won't! And that's that!"
Tazer sighed, then held up his hands. "Very well. I'll send others."
Then he was silent. Ziafer stared, then ground his teeth, wishing he'd continue. "That's it?" Ziafer said at last.
"I could have you thrown out for defying my orders," Tazer said slowly. "But I'm not going to. I hope you'll see I'm doing only what I can, for the good of everyone." Tazer nodded to the door. "You're free to go."
"'Free to go'? Just like that?" Ziafer spat. "You don't have anything else to say?"
"I'm disappointed," Tazer said. Then he pushed back his chair, stood, and gestured to the door. The fire's crackling grew loud in the silent air.
"Fine." Ziafer turned to the door. "Fine. I'm going."
He grabbed the door handle, turned it, and marched out into a blast of wintery air. He threw the door back into its place, a bit more forcefully than he meant to. Whatever.
Ziafer thumped down the three steps from Tazer's abode, boots crunching over freshly laid snow. What was wrong with him? Since when did the Peace Keepers assassinate princesses? He knew Tazer's reasons, but he still didn't think it warranted cold-blooded murder.
Ziafer pulled in crisp, frosty air through his nostrils, making a vain attempt to calm himself. Vast, feathery evergreens spread above, catching swaths of the incoming snow. The rest settled in the pathways and on the roofs of long, barrack-like hovels. Ziafer veering left, marching through the doorway of one such tent. A row of sleeping arrangements spread ahead, separated by curtains thick enough that from within, one might think they were in their own, private room. Ziafer tramped into the first curtain-room and dropped down on his bed.
After simmering for a few moments, he grabbed the pair of swords resting on the floor and drew one out of its case. He reached for a rag to clean it, but stopped as he caught his reflection in the blade. One eye amber brown, the other obliterated by a pinkish scar stretching from his jawline to his hair.
A man so young shouldn't have to bear scars like that, Tazer had said when the bandages first came off. That was three years ago. In all that time Ziafer had never considered doing what he was considering doing now. But he thought of that scar, and how he got it, and who he now being asked to kill…
Ziafer slammed the blade back into its sheath and stood. He hooked both scabbards onto his belt, grabbed a bag, and proceeded to fill it with a bedroll and a few handfuls of clothing. Bag slung casually over one shoulder, swords banging against his thighs, Ziafer strolled back out of his room.
"Hey! Ziafer!" A fellow comrade walking passed motioned a friendly salute as Ziafer emerged. "You have a mission?"
A smirk curved Ziafer's lip. "You bet," he replied. Top priority. Sorry… Tazer.