Hope the chapter isn't too boring or rushed! The word count got away from me a bit, but I had fun with these POVs! But we have a lot to cover on day 6, so the next chapter will also focus on day 6 once it's done.
13
Over the North Atlantic Ocean (Morning)
Despite being the one who made the calls and agreed to swap servants, the Build-A-Bitch was certainly tense now that they had the best servant under their thumb.
Amèlie reclined in her chair on the jet casually, the streaked makeup still on her face and the glass of wine in her hand still breathing. Honestly, this wasn't the rawest deal they could've gotten. Sure, she had to shed a hundred or so pounds of dead weight with the third-rate magus in their alliance, but Amèlie was rather proud of the show she'd been able to put on. Proud that it'd been enough to make the bitch spearheading this alliance believe the Frenchman was the biggest culprit of the discord in the trio. And it wasn't like they lost a good servant—if anything, they'd upgraded from the lame Assassin and traded him in for the very flashy, very strong Saber-class servant. That was, like, an instant win right there.
"Are you a fan of red or white?" Amèlie asked Saber. Citra was pacing up and down the jet with Michael hovering behind her, constantly whispering reassurances to her and giving lengthy longitude and latitude updates every thirty seconds. It was obvious that the blonde had no regard for her remaining ally and brand spanking new servant.
Saber was seated across from Amèlie, silently seething as he glared at the distant view of the Vatican on the horizon. Honestly, even when he was brooding, he was rather easy on the eyes. He seemed like a total horndog, too—the man was practically marking his territory on live TV when he and his former master introduced themselves. Amèlie could work with a horndog.
"White," he said curtly. "Red is for plebeians."
Well, that was something they agreed on!
Amèlie slid out the small table extension from the wall beside them and set down her glass. She stood up and walked over to the makeshift wine cabinet she'd installed into the jet on their way out of Italy, and she wasted no time opening the bottle she'd already poured for herself and filling another glass. If everyone was going to get their panties in a twist over today's events, then the best Amèlie could do to smooth things over and get everything back on track was let at least one of her tense teammates indulge in some vices.
Louis had been right, after all. Citra was just a bit too anal for Amèlie to sink her teeth into. But Saber, on the other hand…
She held the fresh glass of wine out for Saber as she sat down in her seat again. Despite the makeup running down her face and her puffy eyes feeling itchy, Amèlie was confident she looked every bit the pitiful little people pleaser Saber probably already pegged her as. She'd claimed to go along with Louis's plan, despite being the one who pushed for it herself, with the white lie that she'd wanted to make him happy. And she'd claimed she never spent time with Citra because she was worried about doing something wrong and making her hate Amèlie.
The lynching that Amèlie had been aiming for wasn't going to come true anymore, but then again, all of that hinged on Soren. Without a servant by his side, breathing down his neck, the Build-A-Bitch had to leave him in the care of her mechanical guard dogs until the jet arrived. What would've been a seventeen-hour trip was significantly shorter, but after all of the stress of everything so far, was it not logical to assume that Citra had to sleep at some point? That she'd slip? If Soren were smart, he'd hesitate to run away from the paparazzi who'd notice him as the fake master of the fake Archer and spill his guts about his family's practices. And if Citra used the little spell she'd cast on him to punish him, it just meant more eyes on him as he writhed in pain in the middle of an interview—more people turning against the Van-Alphen family, no matter the technological advances they'd helped make in the world.
Saber took the glass from her with a surprisingly delicate hand. He swirled it with a sneer.
"Domaine Leflaive Bâtard Montrachet," Amèlie told him. "A little on the cheap side, but I find its hints of hazelnut and citrus to be… refreshing."
Saber scoffed. "Better than the swill that clown of a Pope had available."
"One would think, with wine being such a big deal to them," Amèlie mused, "they'd have better options available. It's almost insulting, that they equate it to the blood of Christ."
Saber gave her a sidelong glance, unimpressed, as he took a long sip of his wine. He didn't seem unhappy with it, but it was obvious that he was craving something a bit more worthy of his position.
Further down the jet, Citra suddenly let out a shout as Michael tried again to calm her. Apparently one number was off in his longitude and latitude updates, meaning that Citra's precious brother was on the move. Well, well, well. Seemed like her big brother was taking the first chance he got to start making moves now that Assassin wasn't breathing down his neck.
Amèlie smiled to herself as she sipped her own wine, and Saber didn't miss her satisfied expression.
"Well?" he prompted her, pulling her gaze away from Citra's budding meltdown. Amèlie looked at him with a smile in her eyes. "What makes you worthy of serving me, then? You sold out the apparent mastermind to that braindead plan—don't tell me your only strength was crying wolf."
Oh, what a lovely question. Amèlie tilted her head innocently at him, batting her eyes like a little doe discovered unawares in a forest.
"It was an unfortunate circumstance," Amèlie drawled. "I do so regret using that nerve agent on the Atlas researcher. What was poor, little old me supposed to do? He wasn't fond of my magic tricks and showmanship. How was I supposed to know that fraternising with the Monette family's heir was going to lead to a confrontation within the Vatican's borders?" She shrugged dramatically, swishing her wine. "I'm just an innocent bystander whose family, the Royal House of Grimaldi, allied with the wrong people. The poor little scapegoat who represents Monaco's royal family in this World Grail War. Oh, if only I didn't have to answer to them during such trying times."
Saber seemed to be following along with her words. She was offering up power—power he seemed to enjoy lauding over others—and because she was making no effort to hide her sarcasm, Saber could at least gather that she'd planned to throw Louis under the bus if taking the Grail vessel had failed. Despite the trouble she'd caused for Saber, Amèlie was confident that her worth and her plans for this Grail War were useful enough to consider her a partner in crime.
Amèlie didn't fully believe she was capable of winning this World Grail War. It was a monumental task, and she was a performer before a fighter, but she could see herself soaring through the public's gaze with all the cameras aimed at her. As much as she was willing to throw Louis to the wolves for everything, Amèlie wouldn't deny that she wanted to be the undisputable MVP of this War—like Louis's grandfather had been. She was beautiful, talented, knew how to sway a crowd. Who cared about sitting on a throne? Amèlie may have been adopted for the purpose of being Monica's successor, but the fact remained that the Royal House of Grimaldi would never accept an outsider as anything other than a pawn unless they could perform an impossible feat. Amèlie's talents were showmanship and running a casino. Even if she were to win the World Grail War, the goalpost would be moved until she either gave up and left Monica's care, or when she or the old farts pushing this standard died.
Realistically, she had no use for the family and their power, either. If Amèlie won, her wish would be for money—stacks upon stacks, enough money to make her rich enough to throw the economy into shambles in her wake, and no amount of dressing up and playing princess would give her enough to sate her taste for the finer things in life. She'd lived at rock bottom, ready to die in the gutter like those around her had, and she'd played little tricks to get by and survive each day. If there was ever a chance to prevent such a fate from befalling her again—if she could at least be known by name, to be talked about like something marvellous, perhaps become a folk hero deemed worthy enough for the Throne to induct her into its count—then the most televised event in the world was that very moment.
Saber finally cracked a smile—rueful, almost bemused—and he leaned his chin against his fist casually.
"What a predicament, indeed," he murmured. "A master shouldn't be following the orders of the common folk, no matter their rank outside of the Grail War, like a pitiful dog. You're not a common bitch, are you?"
A bitch, maybe. Common? Never.
"I wonder about that," Amèlie mused. She looked out the window. The landscape of Italy blurred with the rest of the surrounding countries. They weren't heading towards Monaco, from the looks of things. "What made you answer the summons, Saber?"
"A little whelp tried to answer it first," Saber said simply. "And I'd so hate to give him the satisfaction of walking this earth again."
"My, my. A shared catalyst?"
"Hardly. The fools at the Vatican didn't clean my remains from his precious sword. Would you care to know what that catalyst was?"
Amèlie laughed softly and sipped her wine. "Perhaps you should wait to show your hand, Saber," she advised him. "I cannot guarantee your other master will be as happy to hear your identity. All I need to know is that you're a powerful emperor of the Roman Empire, and you've been severely disrespected by the modern remnants of your home."
Saber hummed. He reached over, fingers brushing the window briefly, before he slid the cover down. Good, Amèlie thought. Whatever hangups he had with his old master and assistants was starting to fade from his thoughts. The more his focus remained on Amèlie, the more Amèlie could use him properly.
The Italian master was wasting his servant's talents as a representative of the Church. How could one hold such a handicap with the Saber class and not exploit that near-guaranteed victory the first chance they got?
"You've certainly a way with words," Saber told her. Amèlie bowed her head in thanks, gracefully taking the complement. "Now, go comfort your ally. Her hysterics are wearing my patience thin."
Ugh, just when she was getting somewhere with him. Amèlie gave him one last smile as she set down her wine and rose from her chair. Citra was still pacing, a crazed look in her eye as she'd started dialling a number on her phone over and over. Michael looked rather concerned, it seemed, though it was hard to tell if it was because of his job security or because he was worried about Citra.
Amèlie had always been cautious with Michael. As much of a fun time as he looked, with his joking personality and easy going demeanour—a casual power he held in his hands that made him untouchable, almost—it was hard to shake the fact that between the time it took for the alliance to be drafted and for the alliance to be accepted, he'd shown up out of nowhere and shadowed Citra like he was near-obsessed with her. Amèlie wasn't sure if it was actually the case, but whether Michael knew it or not, he always looked at Citra with a fondness that the shorter woman never seemed to notice. Far too focused on her work, on her brother, on trying to order Amèlie and Louis around.
What a waste, had been Amèlie's first thought. Despite the undeniable level of unhinged hiding beneath the surface, Michael was quite the catch. Amèlie didn't know much about what was going on in magi circles, but if Michael's mere name was enough to make an Atlas Institute researcher uneasy, then he had a degree of fame—or even infamy—that made him prominent among those with pedigree.
Truly, she thought again as Michael grabbed Citra's shoulder and rubbed circles into it with his thumb, it was such a waste.
Citra wasn't even all that remarkable thanks to all the metal on her body. But she supposed most men wanted toys more than women nowadays. Amèlie wasn't one to talk, though; her eyes were firmly on men with sophistication and recognition, which was why she'd even deigned to fool around with Louis in the first place. She supposed she'd wasted her own time with that one. The minute things got dicey, he lost his cool and made a fool of himself while Assassin scolded him like a petulant child on live TV. There was having standards to live by, and then there was simply being entitled.
As she approached, she could hear Citra trying to calm herself down as she rubbed at her temples with a grimace. The minute Citra opened her eye and saw Amèlie approaching, her anxiety turned to hostility. Michael backed away, hands raised as he smiled helplessly, and Amèlie was almost touched that he had enough sense to not step in between a potential cat fight.
"Sit back down," Citra ordered her. "I don't have the energy to deal with your shit right now."
Oh wow, even cussing at her. Citra was really stressed this time.
"Tell me the matter, love," Amèlie cooed. Citra scowled at her, disgusted. "I thought you'd be happy, having the Saber-class servant."
"I don't have the time to be happy, Ms. Appiani." Yikes, on a surname basis? At least it wasn't the full government name. "Soren is moving without Assassin keeping an eye on him and this jet can't fucking fly fast enough to catch up with him."
Amèlie made some soothing noises. She did her best to look amicable, and if she dared say so, she had Michael fooled right out the gate. "Michael, dear, won't you get Citra something to calm the nerves? Perhaps some tea—"
"Michael, fetch the yuzu wine," Citra ordered. Michael raised his brows, inhaling sharply, and he looked just as surprised as Amèlie that Citra was outright demanding booze at a time like this.
Amèlie cleared her throat. "Or alcohol. Alcohol definitely calms the nerves."
"What do you want, woman?" Citra snapped.
"Easy, now." Amèlie gestured to one of the several unoccupied seats. Citra didn't even move an inch as Michael headed towards the back of the jet and opened a hidden compartment Amèlie hadn't noticed. Damn robot woman, with her hidden mechanisms and trapdoors. If she weren't so anal about everything, Amèlie could've been the perfect partner to work in the spotlight for her while she hung back in the shadows. A magician's best tricks involved hidden compartments and sleight of hand. "I just wanted to apologise for all the trouble you've had to go through on my account."
Citra took in a sharp breath. Michael was back by her side with a bottle of yuzu wine and an empty glass, and before he could even attempt to fill the glass, Citra took the bottle and began to chug it. She held up one mechanical finger at Amèlie, glaring the whole time she drank, and Amèlie was impressed she could just down so much without taking a breath. The bottle was half-empty by the time Citra pulled it back from her lips.
She'd be a riot at the club scene.
Citra took in a big gasp of air. She went to down the other half of the bottle, but Michael gently took the bottle from her hands and capped it silently.
"We need you at least somewhat sober, little miss," he reminded Citra. "Lord knows when your parents will call."
It was the most emotive Amèlie had ever seen Citra. Normally she was so composed, so unfazed by everything, that it felt almost foreign to see her so worked up. Even when the negotiations had clearly been stacked against their alliance, Citra had been calm and collected. In fact, she'd spearheaded most of the demands before her offer to leave Louis behind in Italy as a punishment for him, ousting him from the alliance entirely by giving his command spell to the Italian master; the only falter had been when Assassin was demanded in exchange for Saber, simply because having to babysit Louis while managing Saber was almost akin to sabotage. Losing a covert servant was perhaps the only thing to hit her the hardest, but really, what kind of loss could they count it as? Sure, Assassin had wiped a portion of Baton Rouge off the map not long ago, but when she compared that to the sheer destructiveness of Saber's Noble Phantasm, the winner of the negotiations was very clear.
Amèlie had helped Citra get rid of Louis and replace Assassin with a stronger servant.
"Are you worried about Soren?" Amèlie asked gently. Citra's ire turned to her again, and she was still combative even as Amèlie made herself look as non-threatening as possible.
"Am I worried about Soren?" Citra echoed back at her in a mocking tone. "Who else would I be worried about, hm? I certainly don't have the capacity to care about the third-rate buffoon we dumped on the Vatican's doorstep, and anyone else of importance is right here in this jet."
"Aw, you think I'm—"
"Shut it. You're the equivalent to a bird's waste stained on the engine. If I had the time to care and be thorough, I'd have left you in that dungeon you'd crawled out of."
Well, someone was being a bitch about it.
Amèlie sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Goodness, darling," she cooed. "I'm just as upset as you are that Father Kotomine made Assassin come all the way over here. His idea of casting doubt on the real Archer was expert thinking on his part, and making Soren out to be his master was a stellar way to make sure they were always together. We could've pretended we'd summoned Lancer, since their master hasn't come forward to acknowledge their summoning yet."
"At least you're aware of how severely your mistake fucked things up." Citra finally gave in to Michael's requests to sit down. She sank into the closest chair to her, face falling into her hands immediately, and her panic and aggression melted away into stress and defeat. "He keeps moving. He keeps moving and it's not towards the manor."
Amèlie wasted no time kneeling down in front of Citra. She rested her hands on Citra's cold knees, playing the part of comforting friend, and when Citra looked at her, Amèlie gave her a reassuring smile.
"Let's take deep breaths and work out what we know for certain," Amèlie said softly. "Cold, hard facts. Throw speculation to the side and establish what is certain. What other measures did you have in place for Soren's safety?"
Citra closed her eye and sucked in a deep breath. Ever so slowly, as though she were following Amèlie's advice privately, the stress began to minimise until it was barely noticeable. Citra's expression became relaxed, trained to its usual indifference; even her posture, which was half-slumped and curled in on itself, flipped outwards into a more regal posture that befitted someone with a perfect bluff.
Despite how much the Build-A-Bitch poised herself to be unshakable, Amèlie knew without a doubt that the past few days had been perfect to unearth one of Citra's weaknesses as a person.
What, oh what, she wondered, would Citra do if something did happen to Soren?
Amèlie had been considering helping free Soren from Citra's grasp, especially since his family was completely fine with the dynamic Citra had established, but now that she'd seen how much she lost her cool over him… Well, wouldn't that make her easier to take out so Amèlie could monopolise her servant for her own plans? Having to share… It wasn't exactly ideal.
"There we go," Amèlie cooed. "Are we calm? Do we have backups?"
"It doesn't concern you," Citra said evenly. "Go back to socialising with Saber. You'll be taken back to Monaco once I land in America."
Oh? Getting rid of Amèlie that quickly? The gall of her.
Amèlie hummed and tilted her head. "You know, dear," she went on. "With the right fortification on your part, the Prince's Palace would be a perfect place to keep Soren safe. If there's no reason for him to be running around America anymore, and you still want to use your workshop at the palace, it's a rather beneficial move to keep him within its walls. It was a proper fortress back in the early nineteen-hundreds, after all."
She heard Michael let out an interested sound. Citra inclined her head towards him, and Michael leaned down to murmur to Citra, "The little princess has a point. I found some very useful vantage points during my perimeter checks, and your mother's assistant will be able to stick by Soren's side when you can't. Or, heaven forbid, I could shadow him within the palace."
Citra let out a small groan as she narrowed her eye at Amèlie. She was clearly against it, at least enough to not agree right away, and Amèlie made a show of backing down as she pulled away from Citra and stood up.
"Well, if I'm to be sent back to Monaco, may I take Saber with me?" she asked. "I'd like for him to establish a stronghold somewhere, and given the way he was… described by his former master—"
"As troublesome, yes." Citra looked unimpressed.
"Yes… Troublesome was the word he used, wasn't it?" Amèlie cleared her throat. "I think it would be for the best that he has as little access to your machines as possible. Who's to say he won't throw a tantrum and start ruining your hard work? After such a powerful display with Anima Galatea, I'd hate for him to make a point of breaking it."
"I can hear you, wench," Saber called from his seat. Amèlie turned back to him with a smile, but he wasn't even looking. She could see, however, that he'd finished his glass of wine and was now drinking her own. The dick.
She turned back to Citra and sighed softly.
"For your peace of mind and to minimise any further stress," Amèlie continued, "leave Saber with me in Monaco while you track down Soren. I know you'd trust Michael to handle him with care far more than you would Saber, anyway. He's a good boy."
Michael preened at being called a good boy. Citra scrunched up her face, almost as though she was disgusted that anyone would imply she could try anyone in this jet, but she frowned to herself and cast a glance over in Saber's direction. She looked tired, almost exhausted, and she stared at Saber with an almost appraising eye as the silence dragged on.
And then, firmly, Citra said, "I want incentive."
She wanted what? Amèlie blinked and tilted her head at Citra. What kind of incentive would someone like her need? She clearly did whatever she wanted, just like Amèlie did, and she clearly held most of the power in the alliance thanks to the sheer amount of resources she had in comparison to Amèlie. And with Louis out of the way, Amèlie was going to have to take the time to find a new ally to oust Citra again. What kind of bullshit incentive did she need?
Amèlie smiled and hummed. "What kind?"
Citra pointed over at Saber. Saber, almost as though sensing he was being pointed at, spun his seat around and stared blankly at Citra as he sipped the rest of Amèlie's wine.
"I want a piece of Saber for personal use," Citra told them.
Saber raised a brow. He smirked, languidly rose from his seat, and he sauntered over to the women confidently. He downed the rest of the wine and licked his lips, and he leaned against Amèlie like an old friend getting close for a photo.
"Do you now?" Saber drawled. "Why didn't you say so sooner, ocelle?"
Wow. He moved on from his twink real fast, huh?
Citra glared at him. Michael shifted on his feet behind her.
"I suppose one arm will be enough," she mumbled to herself.
Saber let out a smug laugh.
"Yes, you are rather small… I could hold you in the palm of my hand, even."
It wasn't like Citra was all that small, Amèlie thought. She was only an inch or so smaller than Amèlie herself, and Amèlie fancied herself a good 5'7 and a half, and Citra couldn't be any taller than 5'6. It was only when she put on Anima Galatea that she became closer to six feet, but who was Amèlie to pick at semantics like prosthetic boosts?
Citra blinked slowly at Saber. She looked him up and down. She reclined in her seat with a disinterested hum.
"Then it's settled. Which is your sword hand?" she asked.
Hold on a minute, Amèlie felt like these two were talking about two very different things. Was this about to get messy?
Saber moved away from Amèlie and closer to Citra. He reached out with one hand, likely the sword hand in question, and Amèlie watched in stunned silence as Saber brushed his fingers against Citra's leg. They travelled up her leg, towards her skirt, and Saber was still smug as they pushed against the fabric.
"So nice to see someone throwing themselves at me with the right questions," he mused. "I suppose I might come to enjoy my new masters with some time and effort. I trust my sword hand will be more than enough of an appetiser, ocelle?"
Citra pursed her lips and crossed her legs. Saber chuckled, and when he dared to push at her again—to try and cop a feel again—Amèlie softly cleared her throat and took a step back.
"Well, if that's what's needed for Saber to come to Monaco with me—" she started.
"I don't want your sword hand," Citra interrupted.
In an instant, her hand lunged at Saber and grasped his throat tightly. Saber struggled a little, taken off guard, and Amèlie was almost impressed at the kneejerk fear response in Saber's expression. She'd heard from Louis while they were in the cells that Citra had come to clean up their mess herself, going toe to toe with Saber in a fight and surviving, but she didn't know the full details of that fight. She was more disappointed that she'd missed Anima Galatea in action—the more she could find out about its capabilities, the more Amèlie could prepare to take it apart down the line.
But the fear response turned back into a smugness, and Saber laughed breathlessly.
"Breathplay? Oh, you're far from vanilla, aren't you, ocelle?"
"Michael," Citra deadpanned.
"On it," Michael replied, and his response was instant and almost tense. Amèlie reached up and rubbed her chin in silence. Now this was some juiciness. Was Michael jealous of Saber? Or was he feeling a little territorial? Oh, she was going to have a field day trying to figure out how to manipulate this messy triangle.
Michael moved behind Saber, and Saber raised a brow at Citra. "A third member? Goodness, I suppose this alliance knows how to have a fun time. You there, uncommon bitch—get over here and make it a real party."
Oh, she had a feeling it was going to be a party alright. Just not the kind Saber was expecting.
"Clench your teeth," Michael told Saber. He was running his hands down Saber's arm, almost feeling the armour and muscles methodically, and he even began to move Saber's arm around at the shoulder to test its flexibility.
"A couple of sadists, aren't you?" Saber purred. "No matter. It all comes back to pleasure once the bite of the pain fades away."
This was about to be the funniest thing in the fucking world, Amèlie thought.
"Yeah, no," Michael drawled. "Sorry, your majesty, but men don't do it for me."
And then, without warning, Michael's prosthetic arm slammed into Saber's shoulder and dislodged it with an uncomfortably loud pop. It echoed through the jet, and at first Amèlie thought a bird had slammed into the nearby window at high speeds, but when Saber let out an angered, pained yell, it became apparent that it was very much the man in front of her who'd made the sound.
Michael was quick with his movements, befitting of his past work that Louis had told her about. Before Saber could even grab his sword, too busy trying to break Citra's prosthetic and get her off of his throat, Michael pulled it from its sheath and swung it up in one smooth arc. Saber's arm came off instantly, almost as though Michael had sliced through a stick of butter with a warm knife, and Citra reared back both of her feet to kick him square in the stomach once her mangled prosthetic released his throat. Saber stumbled back and collapsed to the floor, cradling the stump where his arm used to be, and he glared at her with wide, bloodshot eyes as he made animalistic growls and grunts through the pain.
Amèlie brought her hands up to her mouth—to hide her smile, certainly, and to muffle her laugh at Saber's wild misinterpretation of the situation, but also to feign horror at the brutal dismemberment she'd just witnessed. This was definitely going to make Saber favour her over Citra, she thought quickly, and if Amèlie could find alternatives to his power sources, then she'd be more than able to get rid of Citra without breaking the geis. Amèlie simply wasn't allowed to give the order to kill Citra, nor kill Citra herself; but there was nothing stopping her from swaying someone's opinion to believe they should kill Citra, and Saber was just handed a very good reason to kill at least one of his masters just now.
Or, well, unhanded.
"You dare—" Saber started.
Citra rose from her chair. Michael eagerly ran to her side and held Saber's arm out to her, and he cut off Saber with a playful, "Need a hand, little miss? It looks like it'd be real handy for you."
Citra swatted Saber's arm away from her with the broken prosthetic, scowling. "Stick to your day job," she grumbled.
"Oh? Being handsome? Or am I getting paid to be armed?" Michael was preening again as he looked back at Amèlie and Saber, waving Saber's arm at them as though bidding them farewell. "We'll turn back and drop you two off at Monaco. Oh, and little princess?"
Amèlie looked at Michael with wide eyes, still feigning horror at what'd just happened. He tossed Saber's sword towards her, and Amèlie jumped back to avoid the point of the blade lodging into her foot.
"You can handle patching up Saber's little injury, can't you? We've got our hands full, as you can see."
Even when commanding her to play a proper role of master, Michael was still cracking jokes. Amèlie nodded hurriedly as she picked up Saber's sword and hurried to his side—and she was going to give it to him, but Saber's rage didn't know which way it wanted to go. When Amèlie was in his rage, kneeling beside him, he moved to backhand her and shove her away from him. Thoughts flooded her mind, racing at breakneck speeds and repeating statements all over again, and while Amèlie was able to stumble back before he made contact, the thoughts slowly began to coalesce into something far more straightforward.
'Kill you,' Saber's mind raced, drowning out Amèlie's own thoughts. 'I'll kill you.'
Poor baby, Amèlie wanted to coo. But he didn't have to worry too much over it. He still had Amèlie as a reliable master.
And Amèlie had far more plans in mind for Saber than just one measly arm for research.
London, England (Late Morning)
"You're completely certain of Saber's identity?"
"Positive," Rider grunted. Cameras flashed around them as people on the street marvelled at the group. They walked together, everyone covering Holly's blind spots, as they headed for the Clock Tower. "I watched and waited for Mercury to pick up his soul from the battlefield. A troublesome invader should not be left unattended before he's guided to the afterlife by his homeland's psychopomps."
"It's so surreal," Holly mumbled. "I thought King Arthur was a myth this whole time, but if you were there on the battlefield to collect the knights who'd fallen in battle…"
Rider sneered at a reporter who tried to call out to the group, only to be blocked by Vere getting between them and Holly.
"Camelot had close ties to the Courts," Rider explained. "Avalon was not just the name of Arthur Pendragon's scabbard, after all, and Morgan le Fay's name was not just an aesthetic choice."
Vere let out a soft, intrigued sound. "Right… Her name basically means 'Morgan the Fairy', now that I think about it."
"Rather on the nose, considering how many fairies were running around in the open back then," Nat mumbled.
"She used many names," Rider said. "You've heard the old superstitions to never give a fairy your name, as it grants them ownership over it. It works in reverse, too. All of the names Morgan was known by throughout history—they were names she permitted those around her to use."
"So it was wise of Vere and I to only tell Holly our full names," Nat mused.
"Don't get ahead of yourself. She's just as capable of taking your names if you give them to her. She just lacks the mischief to take ownership of them the moment they're given to her."
Holly huffed and pouted. "I'm plenty mischievous."
Rider didn't comment.
While it was normally out of the question—totally, completely out of the question—for Holly to go to the Clock Tower and meet with Jastrum, the discussion about his "agreement" with Holly and the response from that Cemetary guy over in Italy pushed the group in favour of trying to form a temporary alliance with the master of Berserker. It'd been hard to get the message out—Rider spent all night last night sending spectres to relay the message in broken sentences, asking the master and Berserker to meet them at the Clock Tower for negotiations. Hell, they didn't even know if Berserker's master had heard the message at all. But it was a worthwhile trip to make, Nat had told Holly, because they needed to know just how much of a hold Jastrum had on Holly before they could make any moves.
Despite Holly's eagerness to kick Jastrum out, be it dead or alive, and put Vere in his seat, she was having reservations. Normally Holly was full of energy, eager to explore, and a trip to London felt long overdue after her last attempt to wander around in search of her mother's people. In search of answers to her own existence. A place to belong, even if her aunt and grandfather always reassured her that she had a place in the manor with them whenever she wanted it.
She clung to the scarf that hung loosely around Nat's neck and shoulders. It was Nat who led the charge towards the Clock Tower, walking confidently ahead of the group with her head held high. She clearly had a plan in mind, one that involved Holly a bit more exclusively now that they were on the same page with their goals, and the coincidental overlap of the Archelot family in their own lives just proved to give Nat more incentive to push forward. Holly hadn't been the one to spend the most time with Nat over the past couple of days—that was Rider, actually, but only because Holly had thrown herself into her magecraft and set to work restoring the border around the manor after the reporters had snuck in. Their plans to ask the local fae in London and for Rider to summon Olena's soul from the site of her death were put on hold because of that interview two days ago, and in the following days Holly couldn't find any peace and quiet to hear herself think. She was a social person, certainly, but this was the most people had ever paid attention to her in her life.
Nat and Rider had spent the most time together, only because Rider needed to know what questions Nat wanted to ask Olena and Anya when he went to search for them. Being an Atlas Institute researcher, Holly found it remarkable that Nat came so prepared for everything to document it all. Despite her mystic code, Aegis Olena, being more suited to defending Nat and acting as a reminder of her old friend, she'd been able to alter the bird on short notice to document and transcribe conversations that occur near it. All Nat had to do was set up a link to another mystic code in the manor that Rosemary wasn't using anymore—an old typewriter that would type out messages sent from other magi on its own before dinging to let Rosemary know the message was finished—and then give Lena parchment and ink to transcribe the conversation for Rider. They'd even gone so far as to inform Rosemary to stay by the typewriter while they were out today and tonight, just to make sure no one trespassed and stole the papers under their noses, and Holly wouldn't deny that she was a little jealous at how close Rider and Nat seemed to be.
It wasn't that she thought Nat was replacing her or anything. It was more… Yes, it was more like Holly really wanted a chance to forge a bond with someone for once. She was social, yes, and she was energetic, naturally, but beyond her family, Holly had never known friends or close relationships. She wouldn't call herself a bad judge of character—she'd clocked fairly quickly that Jastrum was bad news, even if she couldn't do much to avoid falling into his clutches—and Nat seemed to be… earnest, in a stunted sort of way. Like she wasn't used to having close relationships with others either. From the way she spoke of Olena, and from the way Vere treated her, it looked like Nat only had them to rely on up until recently; not so different to Holly, if she compared their situations, though Holly's lack of meaningful relationships was more due to isolation and sheltering from her aunt and grandfather, while Nat intentionally isolated herself until Olena had needled her way into her life.
She didn't want to toot her own horn, but with how Vere described his late wife to Holly during their own private moments, Olena was very similar to Holly. And Holly, feeling ever hopeful and not missing that the age gap between her and Nat was the same as Nat and Olena, had dared to wonder if Nat would take a shine to her for her similarity to Olena.
It wasn't like she wanted to replace Olena. It was more like she knew Nat was capable of being friendly with someone as extroverted and excitable as Holly. It meant Holly had to put in less work to make herself more palatable to someone in order to get close to them.
Nat wasn't exactly pushing her away when she grabbed onto her scarf to stay close to her as they walked down the street. If anything, she and Aegis Olena would check in on Holly with glances over her shoulder, if only to make sure Holly hadn't let the scarf go yet.
Aegis Olena seemed to be checking on Holly in this moment, as she stared at Nat's back with pursed lips. It was hard to focus properly with all the dark spots in her eyes from the amount of flashes around her.
"Chin up, hollyberry!" Lena chirped. It bounced on Nat's shoulder once. "I think you'll do splendid today!"
Holly gave the bird a helpless smile. "Thank you," she mumbled. "But… holly berries are poisonous. Should that be a nickname for me?"
The iron bird made a shocked expression somehow, jumping back in surprise.
"Oh my! Oh my, oh my!" it squawked. "What about hollyhock? Surely such beautiful flowers aren't poisonous, too!"
She chuckled softly this time. "No," she reassured it. "They only cause mild skin irritations, at best."
"And we're about to irritate this guy's patootie!" it declared.
Holly sputtered at the mental image of Jastrum with a rash on his butt. She covered her mouth with her hand, stifling her laughter, and when she glanced up at Nat again, she didn't miss the woman glancing back at her with a small smile. It seemed she'd been a little worried about Holly. Had Holly looked that uneasy about entering the Clock Tower?
Holly sniffed a little when she was done stifling her laughter. She smiled softly, staring at Nat's back again as Rider and Vere flanked her now that they were entering the Clock Tower gates. The heavy gates creaked open, almost as though welcoming the group, and they came to a stop as Nat turned back to the trio behind her.
"I've been thinking on things on the way over," she told them softly. "And I think it'd be more to our advantage if Vere and I take Jastrum's attention away from Holly while she talks to the local fae. Not to mention, if Holly has the same aversions to iron as the fae do, I don't trust the man to not have something prepared to weaken her while she's in his office."
"I was thinking the same," Vere agreed. He looked at Holly with a brief flicker of concern. "Has he ever taken you to his office…?"
"Once," Holly whispered. "I felt so sick when I left. I think he had a layer of iron built into the walls and ceiling."
Nat nodded once.
"Rider, I doubt you'll be permitted into the Clock Tower without good reason," she told him. "So I want you to try call upon Lena or Anya while we handle Jastrum. If you can't do it today, we'll try again tonight. I doubt, if Berserker's master actually showed up here, that Berserker would attack you in broad daylight. But if she does, you'll have Lena to back you up."
On her shoulder, Aegis Olena posed like a flamenco dancer.
"Now, I'm about to be very harsh to you both. All I ask is that you please don't take it too personally. If I was really this mad or disdainful of you, I'd ignore you outright rather than yell at you. Okay?"
What an odd thing to specify. Holly nodded once.
And then Nat slapped her harshly across the face.
"Don't just nod at me like a buffoon, fool!" Nat yelled. People on the other side of the gate stopped walking and peered out into the street to see what was going on, and Holly felt shame well up in her chest as she nursed her aching cheek. Rider bristled, almost immediately on the defensive, but Holly held up a hand to keep him at bay. "I said, do you understand?"
Holly could taste blood in her mouth as she swallowed and said, "Y—Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Nat—"
Nat slapped her other cheek. Holly actually stumbled this time, and she felt tears spring to her eyes. Vere was tense beside her, and he was clearly fighting back the urge to help her back up.
"Are you daft? Is that it? I told you that it's Ms. Argyris and Ms. Argyris only, you insolent girl!" Nat flicked her hair over her shoulder and clicked her tongue. "If you're supposed to be the representative of the Clock Tower in this War, they might as well just give up. God, how stupid can you get?"
"Y—Yes, Ms. Argyris," Holly mumbled.
Nat sighed heavily, frustrated, and gestured to the street surrounding the gates of the Clock Tower. "Now get to checking the perimeter already. Last thing we need is Berserker getting the drop on us because you couldn't be bothered to do a proper check. Maybe she'll save us the trouble and get rid of you so someone else can be Rider's master," Nat muttered bitterly.
"Yes, Ms. Argyris," Holly repeated. She turned on her heel and began to stumble away, staying out on the street as Rider and Vere stared at her.
It was all an act, she had to remind herself. Nat just got done saying that this wasn't how she behaved when she was upset. It was just an act.
Acting hurt like a bitch.
"Oh, and Rider," she heard Nat say, almost like she'd forgotten he was even there. "You're not needed. Go back to the manor and wait for us there."
Holly heard Rider growl to himself. "My master—" he started.
"Oh, don't coddle the fool," Nat snapped. "A perimeter check won't kill her. Lena, make sure he goes back. You see him head in her direction, you know what to do."
A soft squawk from Aegis Olena. And then a pitiful, "So mean… Nat's so mean…"
"Shoo! I gave you an order!"
The group parted ways after that. Holly looked back in time to see Rider summon Du and mount, letting Aegis Olena rest on Du's head like a perch, and she caught sight of Vere and Nat watching her through the gate as it slid shut behind them. She rubbed her cheeks, the burn from the slaps slowly fading, but Holly still couldn't shake the ache as she felt them start to swell up a little.
She continued to follow the perimeter like Nat had said, but after a good fifteen minutes of walking, Holly was dismayed to not find any fae along the path. Maybe it was because she was too close to the Clock Tower, she thought, or maybe it was because there were too many people around.
When she made it, almost another half an hour later, to the back corner of the Clock Tower, she heard a grunt through her link with Rider that startled her.
'We're going to work on your self defence,' he told her.
Holly sent a whine back through the link. 'I wasn't supposed to block the slaps,' she reminded him.
'Regardless. If a mere slap was enough to make you stumble, I can't leave you alone with anyone bigger or stronger than her.'
Holly couldn't help smiling a little, even with the pain in her face. The way Rider got protective of her, it reminded her of her grandfather at times. She'd wondered, briefly, if Rider could pose as a surrogate father for her and teach her about her fae heritage. But it was very apparent in the recent days that he was more akin to a grumpy grandpa who had trouble saying outright when he was worried or proud of his grandkids. It was an oddly humanising trait to assign to him, but it was still somehow fitting of someone as old as Rider.
'I'll do my best,' she conceded. 'How far are you from Vere's old house?'
'Not far. The stupid iron bird is making me sick.'
'Lena can't help it.' And when Rider didn't reply immediately, Holly added, 'I haven't seen any fae near the Clock Tower.'
'I'd wager Jastrum Archelot's iron cage of an office is enough of a deterrent to keep any curious fae out. He must be paranoid that they'll retaliate against him if they can get close enough.'
What a stupid paranoia to have. Holly didn't even know she was half-fae until just last year. How the hell was she going to make enough connections with the stray fae in London in under a year, minus the amount of time spent in Jastrum's custody and being studied at the Clock Tower? Holly was an outsider to most fae, and while Rider had taken her under his wing immediately, he'd acknowledged that her human half had made him hesitate at first. She had no doubt that fae with less kindness towards humans would spare her a second glance.
Holly sighed and rubbed her cheeks. At least the cold weather was making it easier to reduce the swelling in her cheeks, but it still hurt a lot. The bite of the cold was still a bite nonetheless, and Holly couldn't help the childish whimper as she tried to warm up her nose with her hands.
Something moved past her line of sight, far too quickly for the naked eye to spot. Holly's own eyes, however, could track the frantic movements as they darted through the bushes nearby. Though there wasn't much of a garden next to the Clock Tower's main campus, there were still gardens that Holly could feasibly believe something small was hiding inside of. And something small was hiding in the bush of hydrangeas in between the bushes of azaleas and rhododendrons. Hiding and throwing tiny pebbles in Holly's direction, almost as though trying to get her attention.
Holly blinked slowly. She came to a stop, staring at the hydrangea bush. Another pebble was thrown towards her from it.
Sunflower, came the soft echo of a bell's chime.
Sunflower? the chime repeated.
Sunflower, come here, the whispers beckoned.
As though trying to show her where they wanted her to come, she saw a brief flutter of small, glittering wings peek out from behind the hydrangeas.
Well, Holly did set out to find fae to question about the fire. And they probably saw a lot of things near the Clock Tower from this spot. Not a lot, but enough. Holly sniffed and started walking towards the garden, taking care to make sure no one was watching.
Carpe diem, and whatnot.
"Hello?" she whispered. She pushed aside one of the branches of the shrub, and she saw something small retreat further into the bush. "It's me, the sunflower. Who called out to me?"
She started to crawl under the shrub, to see if any small fae were hiding among the roots, but the minute her hand reached for purchase under the large shrub, Holly lost her balance. It was like a burrow opened up beneath her the moment she approached, and she fell face first into the hole beneath the shrub with a surprised scream.
Holly tumbled and rolled, arms wrapped over her face as she felt twigs scratch at her skin and clothes. Blood seeped onto the vine wrapped around her waist, and the vine sprang to life to wrap her into a tight ball as she continued to tumble down the hole. She never truly stopped rolling until the ball of vines bounced at the bottom of the hole, and Holly held back bile in her throat as her stomach lurched ten times over. The descent had to have been less than a minute long, but the ball of vines still continued to roll until it bumped into something and came to a full stop. If Holly had to guess, it was the bottom of the hole. Knowing her luck, she'd just been lured into a little prank of a trap by some pixies who saw their chance to play a trick.
'Ugh… You never said anything about falling into holes…'
She didn't get a response from Rider. Holly reclined uncomfortably in the vines. She tried again, calling to him, but there was still no response.
Was she trapped in this hole with no way to call out to Rider? Holly looked down at her command spells with growing anxiety. No, she wasn't totally isolated. A command spell could summon him to her side, even if she was trapped in a bounded field or cut off from him telepathically. He may have been similar to a familiar right now, but he wasn't entirely a familiar—the Grail would make her command come true with enough willpower and determination.
Holly sucked in long, steeling breaths and calmed herself. First she had to see what this hole was like in terms of depth, and then she could see about climbing out on her own before using up a command spell.
On the other side of the vines, before she even had a chance to open them up and take a peek, she heard a woman's voice playfully regard the ball of ivy and give it a light push.
"Goodness," the woman's voice drawled. "How did you silly little things get such a big ball of ivy down here?"
Was she talking about the pixies? Holly looked in the direction of the voice. The woman sounded like she was right behind her, talking over her head, and Holly couldn't help instinctively tilting her head back and parting the vines just a little to see who was on the other side.
A dim light flooded through the opening, and Holly flinched. She squeezed her eyes shut, cringing, and that was all it took for the woman to get a proper look at Holly through the gap.
"Oh? Look how red your face is, dear," she cooed. "Is your lip bleeding? Oh, how daft of me—you've cuts all over yourself."
Holly pried her eyes open to take a peek at the woman. She'd expected to find a fairy on the other side—ethereal and with big wings reminiscent of a monarch butterfly. Perhaps with beautiful flaxen hair that fell in long tresses down her back. But when Holly's eyes focused and she could see the woman, albeit upside down, she looked… normal. Human, almost. She was unnaturally gorgeous, of course, but she didn't look the part of a fairy that she'd expected.
The woman's brown hair fell in curls around her shoulders, and her lips were painted red with a small beauty spot on her chin. The only thing remotely fairy-like on her were her robes, which Holly could see part of through the gap; loose and embroidered with bright colours like a chiffon, and if Holly tried to look hard enough, she could see something flutter at the woman's back like dragonfly wings for a brief, fleeting second.
She blinked at the woman. She stared up at her. The woman stared down with a motherly smile.
"Are you…" Holly started. The woman tilted her head, and it was only now that Holly realised her jade eyes were studying her. Holly's sentence trailed off, unable to finish, and the woman let out an amused laugh.
"Look at you," she mused. "Not quite a human. Not quite fae. Not a witch. Dare we call you a magus? Who's to say?"
"I…" Holly quickly blinked and lifted her head, breaking eye contact with the woman. She turned around in the ball of vines and sat up, backing away from her with wide eyes. "Are you… like me?"
"That depends." The woman's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "What are you, girl?"
What was she? Holly furrowed her brows. She… wasn't sure. She knew what her parents were—a human magus and a fairy—but what did that make her? Something like Holly had never been seen before; it was why Jastrum held so much power over her, threatening her freedom with the possibility of being locked away in the Clock Tower and studied like a lab rat. Some folklore had musings about half-fae children, but it almost never seemed to fit Holly's description when she dug deeper.
She pursed her lips and looked away again. "I don't know," she admitted.
"Then I am not like you, girl," the woman said simply, "for I know what I am. But you're not here to ask what I am, are you?"
Holly dug her nails into the vines. "How do you know?"
"The pixies are nosy little things. And they do so love to gossip, especially when the Holly King is out and about among mortals, parading himself as a servant for the Grail War. What a terrible shame."
"Why can't I contact him?" Holly demanded.
"Why, you entered my territory. Did you think I wouldn't have defences in place to prevent a magus and their familiars from wreaking havoc?" The woman shook her head, tutting at Holly. "Oh, this won't do, girl. You've so much to learn, and not enough time. My domain doesn't linger in the passage of time like Avalon does."
So this was definitely the woman's domain? Holly swallowed a lump in her throat. Did that mean the pixies had heard the group's plan to ask around about the fire, and they'd led Holly to the woman for answers? Surely not, she thought. Surely this was just a trick or a prank. She'd have to climb back out and make sure not to eat anything while she was here.
"Come out of there already, girl," the woman prompted her. She turned away, almost as though to give Holly access to the small opening in the vines, and Holly caught sight of the fluttering she'd seen earlier. No wonder the woman didn't have any wings visible. They were just like a dragonfly's, like Holly had thought, but a significant portion of them was torn apart and damaged. Burn marks marred one wing, while the other looked like it'd almost been torn out of the socket in her back. The wings had obviously been a lot bigger, before they'd been damaged. "I don't make it a habit to get involved in the Grail Wars, but the Holly King took such great care to collect my Lenore back in the day, so I'll make an exception. The people who want this knowledge aren't even masters like you, anyway, yes?"
So she was doing this as a favour to Rider? Holly was a little less wary at that. Given what she knew of Rider, she was confident he wouldn't let a slight slide very easily. If the woman knew him somewhat personally, then she probably knew he was swift in his payback and justice.
Holly crawled to the opening and wiggled out. She tumbled to the floor, and when she stood back up again, she got a proper look at the bottom of the hole. It was less the very end of a ditch and more like a homely, underground cottage. The walls were smoothed and rounded, with doors leading to nowhere littering some walls, and old decorations and furniture were scattered about to make it feel more like a proper dwelling. It felt like Holly had stepped into a fantasy film where people had been shrunk and lived in old shoes and boxes like mice, and she was almost surprised to see pixies flitting about around the ball of vines when she stepped out fully. They all seemed to make themselves at home inside, some of them immediately curling up into balls and dozing off in a pile together.
The woman had already moved towards a stove and was boiling some tea, and Holly could smell the berries in the tea mixture as she cautiously approached.
"What… should I call you?" she asked the woman.
The woman chuckled and seemed to consider it. "Goodness, when was the last time I used a name? It had to be back before my Lenore passed on. Was it Hildegarde? No, that was the other child's name… Ah."
Despite her absentminded musings, the woman finally managed to figure out a name and looked back at Holly with an almost rueful smile.
"You may call me Eulalie. Or, if you're feeling formal, Madam Trivia."
Eulalie Trivia… She'd never heard of such a strange name before. Holly fidgeted on her feet and cleared her throat.
"I'm—" she started, only to recall not only Rider's brief lesson on the power of names and ownership to Nat, but also Eulalie's own musings that Holly wasn't quite human or fae. Holly wasn't even sure if the ownership of a name would apply to her from a human or a fairy. She wasn't willing to test it out just yet. "You… may call me Holly."
"Goodness, what a lovely coincidence," Eulalie said. "The Holly King summoned by a girl going by the name Holly. It's like you were destined to cross paths with him. Would you care for some tea, Holly?"
Holly wouldn't deny that she could do with something warm after all the cold air on her face and the tumble she'd taken, but she wasn't about to risk any of the other pitfalls humans fell for with fairies. She politely shook her head, apologising as she did so.
"Pity," Eulalie mumbled. "Willow bark tea is good for soothing pain. You'll have to settle for some aloe vera."
Holly could work with aloe vera.
"U—Um, Madam Trivia," Holly broached. Eulalie looked back at her as she poured herself a cup of tea, humming in acknowledgement. "When you said the pixies brought me to you—does that mean some of them do know what happened to Nat's friend? Or you do?"
"Straight to the point. I like that in a student. Very prudent." Eulalie gestured to the small dining table near the stove, and she sat down on one of the wooden stools as she stirred her tea with a small spoon. "I did not personally witness it, but the nature of my witchcraft has me rather fine-tuned to the passing of mortals. Everyone dies every day, but some die more brutally than others. Some die younger than others. Some don't even get the chance to be alive to begin with." Eulalie watched Holly as she sat down across from her. "When did this person's friend die, then? As I said, the pixies gossip, and I doubt you want to know how much agony they were in when they passed. I'd wager you want to know if it was murder, and if it was, what clues you might glean from the pixies' sightings."
It was that simple? Holly saw some pixies flutter over, crowding Eulalie, and some of them dipped their hands into her cup of tea and took sips of it. Eulalie didn't seem bothered—if anything, it seemed she'd poured the tea for the pixies instead.
"You just need to know when it happened?" Holly asked.
"Of course. The pixies do not lie, dear," Eulalie reassured her. "Only embellish a little."
Okay. Okay. Even if she was sort of stuck down here and couldn't contact Rider, this wasn't so bad, right? Holly picked at her fingernails and nodded a little. Yeah! This wasn't so bad!
With newfound determination, the whiplash from Nat slapping her and the tumble fading from her mind, Holly returned Eulalie's smile with her own confident one.
"I'll need some ink and paper, ma'am. Spare no details."