Chapter Three

Rozarria's Majestic Capital, Bervenia
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Twenty days after Bahamut's fall

Clori perched her hands on her hips. She smiled with all the smugness contained in her.

"Here we are."

A wide street spread beyond, not busy. This was a residential district, upper class. Finely built buildings stretched along the streetway, attesting to Rozarria's prosperity. Leafy vines wormed up the columns of almost every structure, and deep green bushes with curious flowers of blue and turquoise seemed a required fixture for every strip of grass. A whale-like passenger ship rose above the roofline from downtown, backed by a blue canvas painted with puffy white splotches. The spire of House Margrace's royal palace speared through the clouds beyond.

The rumbled of far-off engines, with the creaking of coach wheels and hum of distant conversation, combined with the mixing smells of wood, stone, a nearby bakery, overly scented flowers, the general odor of people, and the faint scent of industrial fumes cast an overarching sense.

Civilization.

Balthier breathed deep, relishing the atmosphere.

"See? I said I'd get you here, didn't I?" Clori asked, wearing her smirk well.

"Yes, you did," Balthier replied. "And we're terribly grateful." Terribly grateful to have that unfortunate misadventure behind us.

"Aw, thanks," Clori said, tilting her head. She glanced down the streetway. "I have some friends to meet up with. Missions to complete, stuff to deliver."

"What you came here for must be awfully small is you've been carrying it this whole time," Balthier said.

Clori shrugged. "Bigger than you think."

"Exactly what is it?" Balthier asked.

Clori smiled. "Sorry, can't tell, merc."

I will be so glad when I never have to hear that word again. "I figured."

"Well, I'm off. Full-blood." She nodded to Fran, then turned to Balthier, smiling. "Merc. See you around." Clori turned on her heel and sauntered off down the street. Soon she was hid by marble arches and flowery bushes. Balthier sighed.

"Well, come on, Fran. Let's find the aerodrome."

Fran started wordlessly off in the general direction of the airship they'd seen take off, heels clinking on the sidewalk. Balthier fell into step beside her as she went past.

…

Balthier and Fran moved along the street towards the aerodrome, passing dark alleyways between welcoming businesses. The buildings cast shadows over the sidewalk in the afternoon sun. Tiny strips of dirt around every door were fully populated with blue-flowered bushes, even in this busy sector. They must be some sort of cultural symbol, Balthier decided.

A hundred voices twittered from within the aerodrome doors, released into the atmosphere as a human family emerged from the busy interior. The door swung shut behind them, muting the noises. The sight of the building sent a fresh wave of satisfaction through Balthier. Finally, finally, they were here, and soon to be in Rabanastre.

Balthier glanced over his shoulder. Nothing behind them but roads and alleys and sidewalk. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling they were being followed. Something the shadows in the alleyways… Or perhaps he just pessimistically doubted they could make it safely out of there without something terrible happening. Balthier shook his head and looked back to the road ahead. Probably unfounded fears.

"We'll take the first flight we can get," Balthier said. "Fortunately, I didn't leave my wallet on Bahamut, what precious little's left in it." Balthier sighed. "I am going to find answers, but first, we may need to find a job."

Fran nodded. "That shouldn't be hard. There will be much to take care of around Rabanastre after that battle, even still."

"Just the work for a sky pirate," Balthier concurred.

The road curved, bringing the large aerodrome doors into better view. Freedom, Balthier thought with a sigh. That was what the sky, the rumble of engines, that fantastical title had always meant. Yet freedom didn't seem to mean as much as answers would. Still, it'd be good to feel an airship coming to life around him again. Even better if it were Strahl.

"Hey, merc. Think you can spare a moment?"

Balthier stopped and looked over his shoulder at that syrupy voice, Fran mirroring his movements. On the smooth pavement behind stood a woman in grey leggings, a navy tunic, and a brown cloak, black hair stirring in the breeze.

"Clori? And what on Ivalice do you want?" Balthier said, arching an eyebrow as he turned to face her fully.

"Well, hello to you too," Clori said dryly. "Long time no see."

"Actually, it hasn't been an hour yet," Balthier said. "And I'm assuming this is no social call. What do you want?"

Clori breathed a short sigh. "Spoil sport. I just need… well, bit of a… favor." Clori's voice faltered on that last part, but she quickly recovered her saccharine tone. "I figured since we've been through so much together, you might be willing to lend me a hand. Besides, you owe me, right?"

Balthier studied her with narrowed eyes. "That depends on what you want. We're in a bit of a hurry."

"Oh, don't worry; it won't take long." Clori said, a smile creeping over her lips. Balthier frowned.

"You haven't said what yet." Balthier was half-ready to leave her there and continue towards the aerodrome. Something was distinctly fishy about this.

"Well…" Clori formed the word slowly. "Just a little-"

Balthier didn't catch the end of her sentence. An arm came around his neck from behind, pressing the thin edge of cold steel to his throat. Balthier grabbed at the arm with a gasp of surprise; metal biting into his flesh cut off the reflex. The captor fisted his other hand into Balthier's sleeve and jerked him backward into the shadow of the alley with surprising force.

"Don't move," a voice whispered in Balthier's ear. The knife at his throat bade him obey.

Out of the corner of his eye, Balthier saw a man in a navy tunic holding Fran in a similar manner, arm hooked around her throat, dagger pressed to her neck. A third blue tunicked man slipped from the shadows and grabbed Fran's arm, keeping the still-thrashing Viera doubly secure.

Red Fangs.

Lead settled in Balthier's stomach.

Oh, no…

"Good work, Clori," said the man holding the dagger to Fran's throat, a tall, black-haired man. "I apologize for doubting you. Actually-" he scrutinized his captive. "She may be the same one who got away."

Clori stood at the alley's entrance, watching with indifference; Balthier thought he saw one eye twitch. Then she shrugged, her usual smug look returning as she met the man's eyes. "Hey, I told you. Clori always delivers."

"I should've guessed," Balthier said, setting a searing glare at Clori.

Clori turned her forest green gaze to him, with the nerve to still be smirking. She faintly shrugged one shoulder. "Sorry, merc. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

"No." Fran shook her head, the quiver of fear breaking through the usual placidity of her voice. "No! No, I won't go back!"

With a feral shout, Fran kicked aside the stunned man holding her arm, getting a red stripe across her throat as she yanked away from the man with the dagger. He grabbed her by the shoulder, jerking her to a halt, and Fran spun, flashing up her hands to blast him with elemental fury. Blue light barely lit around her hands when Clori sent a spinning side kick to Fran's forehead. The blow knocked Fran into the wall with a cry, and she crumpled motionless to the ground.

"Fran!"

Balthier tried to break away from his captor, but the other man who'd held Fran swooped up and grabbed his arm. Fran lay in the dust, forehead furrowed but obviously unconscious. Getting away from four Red Fangs seemed hard enough before; escaping four savages while dragging an unconscious Viera was nigh on impossible. Balthier clenched his teeth, acutely aware of the unfeeling hands vised into his sleeves and the dagger at his throat. Now what?

"Careful, Clori," said the black-haired man, frowning down at Fran's prone form. "We need her alive."

"She is alive," Clori replied, hands on her hips. "Calm down, won't you? You think I don't know what I'm doing?"

The black-haired man sighed. "Help me carry her."

He rolled Fran onto her back, then took her ankles. Clori grabbed her under the shoulders, and together they lifted her. Her head hung back, long white ears brushing the gravel as she rose.

Balthier itched to do something. Run or draw his rifle, something. He jerked against his captors again, but to no avail.

"Zanthe! What do we do with him?" The voice of one of his captors rang in Balthier's ear.

The black-haired man turned to Clori. "You've gotten sloppy," he said. "You don't usually have witness."

Clori rolled her eyes. "We follow protocol, right? Make General Errol happy."

Zanthe narrowed his eyes. "An unusual suggestion from you." He turned over his shoulder to address the two restraining Balthier. "You heard her. We'll meet you there."

One of the two nodded. They started hauling Balthier away. He dragged his feet for a moment, but knew it was ultimately pointless. After a few feet he fell into step, letting himself be pushed out of the alley. He made certain Clori got his hottest glare as they went by.

…

Balthier sat on a bench, hands cuffed behind him and chained to the metal pool. The air was stagnant, stirred only by one small window at the top of a wall washed in faded brown paint. A waiting room in this branch of the Rozarrian prison department. Evidently, the Red Fangs had finagled a deal with the operator of this small branch to seal away the unwanted witness that might make their lives difficult.

The four despicable creatures stood near the doorway a few yards away, chatting over their job well done. Balthier had no idea where they'd brought Fran, but at least they seemed distracted.

Balthier straightened his arms, trying to get the lock picks in his sleeves to drop down. He had to get out of here before he was lugged off to a cell. This could be bad, very bad indeed… Forget finding answers. He couldn't let these Red Fangs take Fran. Who knew what they'd do with her? She certainly didn't seem to think it'd be conducive to her health.

"So there really was a village out there?" asked one of the younger Red Fangs Balthier hadn't yet identified.

"…No. But I got what I came for," Clori added quickly. "That's what matters."

"I don't see why you're suddenly so insistent on following Errol's 'no blood' protocol," the other unnamed Red Fang said. "He doesn't even know about this mission. This was all Razner. So why-?"

Clori silenced him with a searing look. "So why does it matter?"

"You're usually ever so keen to slit a throat." Zanthe, leaning on the wall with his arms folded, didn't bother to look at the tiff among his juniors. "But it doesn't matter. Our work is finished. Razner's purposes go on."

Zanthe pushed off the wall and headed for the door.

"I'll be right along," Clori called. She turned and walked toward Balthier. He froze, just as he felt one small length of metal slip inside his sleeve. Oh, not now!

Clori stopped in front of him, hands on her hips, sickly smile on her lips, furry grey ears straight, black curls falling down to the brown cloak flowing off her shoulders.

"You comfortable?" she asked. Her syrupy voice made Balthier want to vomit.

"No, as it happens, not particularly," Balthier replied. "Where's Fran?"

"Full-blood's safe." Clori took a few steps and sat on the bench next to him, staring up at the roof, leaning back as if she intended to spend quite a while there.

"I am not happy with you, Clori Trells," Balthier hissed at her, pouring every ounce of loathing he felt into his voice.

"Oh, I figured," Clori said. She turned leafy green eyes to him. "The Salikawood."

Balthier blinked. "What?"

Clori raised one eyebrow in a perfect arch. "You know where that is?"

"Well, yes," Balthier replied, "but hardly see how that's pertinent-"

"In the northern part, a town called Sial," Clori continued, lowering her voice. She leaned closer. "Little backwater place. I doubt you've heard of it, but you'll find it on a map. Just west of there, underground. Might want to pay a visit."

Balthier narrowed his eyes. "Won't I be in prison?"

Clori's lips curled up in a smile. "Nah, you're clever. You'll get out."

"And you're telling me this, why?"

Clori shrugged. "By the time you get there, Razner'll be done with whatever he needs your full-blood friend for. It's no skin off my nose."

Balthier arched an eyebrow. "Really? That's it?"

Clori pulled her green eyes away from him, breaking eye contact while keeping her head still. "Look, I don't usually feel rotten about stabbing people in the back, but…" She sighed, shoulders dropping from their erect posture. "Well, you saved my hide out there. I owe you."

Clori clicked her heels together and stood, every ounce of remorse draining from her features in favor of that smirk. She took one stride towards her Red Fang friends.

"This doesn't make us even, Clori," Balthier called after her, and she stopped.

"Hey, I have to go," Clori said, glancing over her shoulder. She grinned her sickly smile, tipping her head. "I'll see you around, merc."

Clori turned and sauntered back to her companions. Balthier heaved a sigh.

That despicable woman… She could at least look like she feels a bit more "rotten" about-

Balthier cut off the stream of thought.

Gift horse. Mouth. Not looking.

Clori conferred briefly with her comrades, then all four of them filed out the door. Balthier heard Zanthe's deep voice outside, then the prison overseer marched in, followed by three guards. He gave them orders as they crossed the threshold; Balthier caught something about 'search him' and the name of a particular cell block.

Balthier jerked his arms again; the lock picks didn't budge. The three guards marched towards him. Oh, no…

"Come on," one guard grunted as he unhooked Balthier's cuffs from the pole behind him. "On your feet. Stand."

"And what if I don't want to stand?" Balthier replied, holding the man's cold grey gaze. The guard just scoffed.

With the assistance of two tugging prison guards, Balthier stood, and the guards proceeded to give him a thorough searching. Once they'd removed the last set of lock picks, one guard shoved him, hands bound, through the door that led farther into the prison.

Blast. So much for the royal palace, Balthier thought bitterly as the heavy door boomed shut behind them. A dismal grey hallway lined with barred doors stretched ahead. A buzz of interest rose from within the cells as the newest arrival marched down the passage. Balthier gritted his teeth.

So much for Fran, so much for answers. This is not good. I hope you can all wait a little longer.

…

One month after Bahamut's fall

Ashe exhaled, watching her breath frost then vanish in the chilly night air. She shuddered, rubbing down the goosebumps on her forearms, her thin, silver, Dalmascan court dress doing little to cut back the nip of the crisp breeze.

Ashe leaned against the railing; Bervenia's ornate rooftops spread out below, waiting to receive the first snow of the season, as still and serene as a painting. No raised voices, no pointless political squabbling. Ashe considered herself lucky she was here to see it.

Lucky to be here? Ashe looked down at the frosty railing under her arms. Considering how the conference with Larsa and Emperor Lebavis that afternoon had gone, that seemed an overstatement. Yet it was no more surprisingly difficult than anything about ruling a nation had turned out to be. Ashe hadn't even gotten officially coronated yet.

Ashe closed her eyes and sighed. She wished she could simply forget all that and enjoy this moment.

Footsteps echoed by metal clinking sounded in the hallway behind the balcony. Ashe turned her head sharply, a thousand memories of Archadian knights and shouts of 'insurgents!' setting her heart pounding. She reached instinctively for the nonexistent sword at her waist; her fingers closed around air.

Out of the open hallway that melted seamlessly into the balcony overlooking Bervenia stepped a man, dark armor glinting in the city's lights, black cape swirling, a permanent frown sculpted over his helmet. He reached up and lifted the mask off. Ashe knew the battle-scarred face underneath it. She gasped in delight, all fear fleeing.

"Captain Basch!"

"Your Highness." Basch nodded in acknowledgement, tucking his helmet under his arm. "I was told I'd find you out here. May I join you?"

"Of course!" Ashe said, nodding. Basch walked up to the railing and set his helmet on it. Ashe looked over his black armor that had so alarmed her. It must've been him with Larsa in the conference room… She hadn't recognized him in that suit.

"Where is Larsa?" Ashe asked, glancing back at the hallway.

"His Excellency Lord Larsa has turned in for the night," Basch said. "He may be emperor, but Lord Larsa is still a fourteen-year-old boy."

Ashe nodded. As Emperor Lebavis had pointed out… "And can someone tell me if the little princess has even reached two decades? And not even queen, yet! I'm used to dealing with competent rulers, not children!" Ashe swallowed. The harsh ringing of the old man's voice would keep her up. But she'd have to think about the conference eventually. Dalmasca and Rozarria shared a border and a detailed trade agreement.

"Highness, have you been well?" Basch broke the silence that had settled over them. "I know we didn't part on… pleasant terms."

The thought of that conversation, that day, those weeks made Ashe's chest tighten. Bahamut blocked the stars out her bedroom window, reminding her every night.

"I'm fine," Ashe said, looking away from Basch's face. Her eyes pricked. Just a little.

"You kept that… wrench?" Basch asked.

The weight in her pocket seemed to shift at those words. Ashe met Basch's firm eyes.

"Yes," she admitted. "But don't worry," she added quickly, before Basch could scold her for holding on. "I know they're…" Ashe's gaze fell. Bervenia spread out below, full of lights and life. Like Rabanastre still was every night. Only because…

Ashe closed her eyes. "I know they're gone. I've known it all along. I just…" Ashe sucked a deep breath of crisp air and lifted her face. Cold wind whooshed over her, swirling her hair, a second's merciful distraction.

"Oh, Basch, it was so confusing," Ashe said, opening her eyes. Sweet yet stinging memories trickled one by one into her conscious thought. "I thought maybe- maybe we- or-"

Ashe paused. Her jumbled thoughts dodged the words she tried to tack them down with.

"It's understandable," Basch said, resting his hands on his helmet. Specks of white collected on the black metal. "But you have duties now. Dalmasca is depending on you."

"I know," Ashe said. The invisible weight pressed on her shoulders, making her want to crumple. Ashe gripped the railing, as if that could brace her. She fought to keep that fear out of her voice. "It's alright, Basch. I'm… I'm alright."

Basch nodded. "That's good. You've grown strong. Raminas would be proud of you."

Ashe looked up at Basch's face, startled by the words. Father… Would he?

Basch lifted his helmet.

"I should be going," he said. "It doesn't do for me to be too far from my charge."

"Of course." Ashe nodded. "Goodnight, Captain Basch."

Basch set his helmet back on. "Goodnight." His voice echoed deep within the metal. "Fates favor you, Princess Ashe."

Basch turned and left the balcony, metallic clinks echoing his movements as he marched away.

Ashe turned back to the night sky with a sigh. White flakes fluttered down from the encompassing blackness in swirling, fairy-like dances, tossed and turned in the bitter wind. Ashe could feel spots of dampness where they rested and melted away on her hair and shoulders. She closed her eyes, remembering hot air from Bahamut's engines brushing over her, the touch of a hand on her cheek…

Ashe opened her eyes, bringing herself back to the wintery reality. She studied the snow drifting down. Ashe hadn't seen snow since the Paramina Rift, where she'd come to associate it with long, cold nights spend crowded around the fire, where Penelo danced to keep warm and Vaan complained, then Balthier answered him with some clever quip, insisting he was 'perfectly alright' though he looked just as frost-bitten as the rest of them.

Yes. Ashe breathed out; her breath collected momentarily in a frosty cloud. That's how I want to remember him. Not all the… confusion. Maybe there was something. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was just a girlish fantasy. But now I'll never know.

Basch is right. I can't dwell on it. It probably wasn't. I could never hope that… I just want to remember it well. You understand, don't you? You'd be the first to tell me I have to carry on. But you're not… Ashe closed her eyes, swallowing hard.

Not here anymore. Gone. I have to know that. Goodbye, Balthier-

"Lady Ashe? Is that you?"

Ashe turned with a start. In the lamplight stood a familiar Rozarrian agent, sunglasses donned, curly black hair swept back, purple shirt pressed free of wrinkles.

"Oh! Al-Cid," Ashe said. "I-I'm sorry. I was…" She paused, looked away. "Somewhere else."

"Not somewhere pleasant, by the looks of it," Al-Cid said, every word dripping with his thick accent. He swept off his sunglasses and walked to Ashe's side. "Back in our discordant meeting room, perhaps?"

"No…" Ashe said. "But… you're right. That didn't go very well."

"Mm, I must apologize for our emperor," Al-Cid said, hands flicking in habitual gestures. "He… well, he made his opinions known." Al-Cid leaned one arm on the railing, facing Ashe. "Never fear; I shall do my best to persuade him that your ladyship is perfectly capable, and that your company will not be so unpleasant as he fears."

"Oh." Ashe blinked. "Thank you, Al-Cid." From what she'd seen in the meeting, Al-Cid did have an established relationship with Emperor Lebavis. His influence could be very helpful.

"And, speaking of your company…" Al-Cid said, unconsciously tracing a circle in the air with one hand. "Might I try and lighten your ladyship's heavy spirits?" Al-Cid straightened off the railing and swung his arms to the city below. "I could show you around! Winter is falling, but the palace greenhouse gardens have royal blue enough. And the night is young yet." His toothy smile emerged. "Perhaps we might even end our evening with dinner?"

Dinner? Ashe studied Al-Cid's face for several moments. Honestly, she didn't feel like a dinner right now. But maybe, if she gave it a chance, it could… lighten her spirits, like he said.

"Why not?"