Co-Author's Note: Falchion1984 here again. Anyhow, this chapter will advance the story arc of young Layla Sadalfus. First, I would like to thank TimeCapsulesLost, whose fic 'Algus Returns' served as the inspiration for Layla's character. On a different note, I made a, possibly flawed, attempt to draw a comparison between Ovelia's marriage - or, at least, where she sees it - and the tragedy of Ashe's marriage in Final Fantasy XII. However, quite a bit of the plot of FFXII, along with most of the metaphysics therein, went over my head so, if I botched the reference and/or comparison, please let me know and I'll try to fix it. Also, there are references here to SerialRavist's FFT fic 'Heart of Gold', as well as a famed high fantasy book series. Find it, and impress me with your geekhood.
Chapter 44: The Last Sadalfus
Over the course of her young life, Layla had seen a number of things she didn't understand. Granted, at barely past her fifth summer, such was to be expected. But, between her mother taking her own life following her brother's death, a mob of strangers ransacking her home, and then weeks spent huddled in the shanty towns outside Lesalia, where death came swiftly and left behind only resigned indifference, one might argue that some things could not be understood.
And, even if one could understand them, would one want to?
Still, this latest oddity was very peculiar indeed.
Aside from King Delita, Sister Agnes, and Lady Balmafula, she had few regular visitors, which made it easy to keep the faces straight.
This face was new.
The young blonde woman before her, though dressed as a simple maid, was radiant and beautiful. At the first sight of her, Layla had felt her breath catch in her throat. Though the woman had kept her face averted for some reason, Layla had managed enough glances at her hair, which was lustrous and expertly combed, and her high delicate cheekbones to guess at the truth.
This was not a maid, but someone playacting as one. And, judging by how well-groomed she was, she might very well be highborn.
Layla wasn't sure what to make of this but, considering what had happened the last time strangers had come knocking at her door – or, rather, breaking it down – she could not suppress a nervous gulp.
To her surprise, the "maid" let out a squeak of alarm and gave a little jump.
Layla had not been expecting that and, for some reason she'd be hard pressed to put into words, she found her anxiety withering. It seemed odd, and unlikely, that someone keen to do her harm would be nearly as jittery as she herself was. Still, that did leave the question of who this strange, probably highborn, woman was, why she was in Layla's room, and why she'd disguised herself as a maid.
After the "maid" had nearly knocked over a vase with an errant stroke of her feather duster, Layla decided that enough was enough. She wanted answers and, as a future knight, she needed to be brave and challenge this intruder to get the answers she wanted.
"Stay, I say, and declare yourself!" she intoned as mightily as she could, which wasn't saying much, and blissfully unaware that she was much too cute to come across as threatening.
Still, the sudden shout was a bit too much for the nervous woman, who yelped loudly, gave a bigger jump this time, knocked over the vase again, and, while diving to catch it, her headscarf came unbound, giving Layla a much clearer view of her features.
"Your…Your Majesty!" she croaked out in horror and mortification.
Layla still cringed when she recalled how she and the queen had first met. It was an ignominious moment for both of them, as the queen had apparently snuck into Layla's room and gotten caught while Layla, still high-strung and nervous after her young life had nearly been cut short several times, had threatened the queen with a wooden sword.
The Queen had forgiven Layla once, but surely, she would not do so a second time.
Queen Ovelia, however, read the little girl's terror on her face and quickly offered a benign, self-deprecating smile. Their mutual embarrassment notwithstanding, the girl's suspicion and caution was not lost on Ovelia. Considering that the House of Sadalfus was a disgraced and fallen noble family, and Layla likely knew it, it made sense that she had either learned or been taught not to trust strangers so easily.
As someone who had been exploited for nearly, if not her entire life, Ovelia understood all too well. Even now, she still had difficulty trusting her own husband despite desperately wanting to.
But this isn't about me. This is about her, Ovelia thought as she tried her best to answer Layla's question. Unlike Delita, who thought nothing of lying if the situation warranted it, Ovelia did not believe in being dishonest unless it was to spare the feelings of someone she held dear. And even then, she did not like it.
She had a feeling Layla wouldn't either. The little girl clearly saw that, despite wishing otherwise, Ovelia could not bring herself to trust her husband and, at times, even feared him. That Ovelia was coming and going from Layla's room, in disguise and undoubtedly behind Delita's back, surely furthered that impression.
So, now that she'd been caught, Ovelia supposed that there was little reason not to be truthful.
"I'm sorry to intrude like this," she began. "I wanted to be sure you were doing alright. And, since it might raise questions if I were seen entering your room, I thought it might be best if I wasn't recognized."
Layla's brow furrowed at that. She had likely gleaned that Ovelia hadn't wanted to be caught by Delita since she had hidden from him after sneaking into Layla's room the first time, but maybe the little girl had expected the royal couple to have discussed her since then.
Ovelia felt no small amount of bitterness at such a prediction proving wrong.
Though she had maintained the outward appearance of the calm and poised queen, gyrating between resignation to the long tragedy her life and marriage had become and fear that a sudden death scene could be right around the corner, keeping up the act had grown increasingly taxing ever since Delita had caused the performance to become an improvisational piece where she had no script.
First, she was baffled as to why he would take in Layla. Then, she was astonished at the contrition and regret she had seen when he'd allowed his mask to slip without realizing that Layla hadn't been the whole of his audience. After that, she was taut as a bowstring as the question of whether or not Delita might have changed weighed upon her, guarded hope warring with the knowledge that few could lie as deftly as her husband…or betray so skillfully.
Though her own "mask" remained in place, it wasn't nearly as secure as it had once been. At times, she would become snappish. Some nights, she would sleep little and awaken half dozing and fully irate. Half her meals would go nearly untouched, food that often tasted of ash crowded out by the leaden knot in her stomach, while others would see her clear her plate with a rapidity that bordered on unladylike.
The preparations for the wedding hadn't helped her mood either.
Having insisted that Annie be on-hand for Alma, she herself had made do with one of the older seamstress's apprentices, a very young woman who wore her ambition on her sleeve and was much too overzealous. The apprentice had whisked her into dresses and then out of them just as quickly to try on another, rarely giving Ovelia the time to breathe, much less opine, and her idea of having Ovelia "try" a given perfume seemingly involved spritzing half the bottle onto the young queen.
The scent of gardenias, which Ovelia normally liked, was much too strong in liquid form and she had been pawing at herself in a vain attempt to wipe off the excess perfume for more than twenty minutes.
The door had barely closed behind the apprentice when Ovelia, in a fit of pique that surprised even her, slapped at the offending decanter of perfume, somehow managed to knock it over without shattering it. After taking a moment to calm herself down, she decided that she needed to delve once more into Delita's odd behavior, and she was almost absurdly glad to be in less elaborate clothes and go largely unseen by the ever-vigilant gossips of the castle.
Oh, yes, it came as such a relief to disguise myself as one of my own servants, sneak into the bedroom of a girl I barely know in order to see if I can coax any information from her about my husband who I can't trust even when I'm not sneaking around behind his back, Ovelia silently assessed with acid sarcasm.
Ovelia was not enamored with the situation, or what she was doing about it. And yet, she knew that simply letting the situation lie would only prolong her pain…or lead to madness.
The young queen didn't doubt that Layla had picked up on this thread. For someone so young, she had proven remarkably bright and empathetic. So, Ovelia did what practitioners of statecraft did best when faced with questions they did not want to discuss.
She changed the subject.
"It occurs to me that I didn't properly introduce myself during our last meeting," she pointed out, recalling that she had shown the little girl her royal insignia ring but hadn't given her name. "I am Ovelia Atkascha."
After a moment's wavering, she offered her hand to Layla, not sure if the girl would shake it, as she might with a friend, or kiss the back of it as a knight or noble would to royalty. Part of her felt a chill of consternation when Layla pantomimed the act of bowing as best she could while sitting up in bed, took the queen's hand, and pressed her lips to the back of it.
"Layla Sadalfus, loyal servant of the crown," she intoned with remarkable gravity, and then her cheeks colored. "Er, did I get it right? I don't know if I remembered what it said on that page in the king's book."
Part of Ovelia still wished Layla would reconsider becoming a knight, especially since she still couldn't be sure she trusted her husband with the little girl's life and loyalty, but another part of her was reluctant to stomp on a little girl's, perhaps only remaining, dream.
"Agrias would likely have a suggestion or two, but that can wait until you're well enough to walk," she ultimately said as she lowered herself into the chair by Layla's bedside.
The little girl nodded gratefully, and Ovelia felt her lips quirk upwards at her answering smile.
"I'm actually surprised that the castle maidservants haven't popped in here more often," Ovelia went on, laying out the conversational bait for an inquisitive young mind that might otherwise stray towards questions the Queen of Ivalice wasn't keen to answer.
"Why is that, Your Majesty?" Layla asked, either taking the bait or opting to let the young queen direct their chat.
"Well, up until the end of the War of the Lions, this room belonged to Orinias, the former crown prince."
The young girl almost jumped at the revelation. She had no idea she had been staying and sleeping in the room of a prince. Or perhaps she had been so distracted by her illness and focused on recovery, not to mention her worrisome observations regarding Delita and Ovelia, that she failed to notice how luxurious the room actually was. As it happened, unbeknownst to both Layla and Ovelia, Delita had ordered the room be cleaned and maintained after it had been vacated by its former occupant, thus allowing it to be put to use at a moment's notice. Yet, he had made no mention of this to Ovelia, and it was not hard for her to guess why.
"You mean, this was Prince Orinas' room?" Layla asked, not sure whether she should feel excited or spooked, given that the former prince was missing and presumed dead.
"Well, yes, it was. But, I suppose it's yours now, if Delita saw fit to let you use it."
"But, why? What happened to the prince?"
Ovelia was hesitant to answer. Truthfully, she was not sure herself. She had hoped that if Delita was unwilling to harm an innocent child like Layla, even though she was related to the youth who murdered his sister, he would not harm Prince Orinas either. Much like Layla, he had been no more than a toddler when his mother, the late Queen Ruvelia, had been ousted from power. After that, he had spent month after month being a game piece, both for Duke Larg and, later, for Lord Dycedarg.
Not that Ruvelia hadn't done likewise, of course.
After that, Ovelia only had some hearsay from Lesalia's ever-churning gossip mill and what Delita had told her. And, of course, she knew to take either with a grain of salt. Still, the story she had heard, questionable though it might be, was that Prince Orinas had been sent away in secret along with some of the former royal family's servants, also bribed by Delita, to take care of him until he reached adulthood.
After that…well, that was in God's hands, she supposed.
More than likely, Delita had done this, firstly, to impress the public with how merciful he could be to a foe that no longer posed a threat and, secondly, because Orinas did, indeed, pose no threat and Delita decided against making a mess when he didn't have to. Part of her did wonder, perhaps even hope, that it was because, as ruthless as he could be, even Delita had lines he would not cross.
Maybe that was true, but Ovelia was not convinced. Yet.
Ironically, Ovelia secretly envied the former prince. By sending him away, Delita had not only spared his life, but also spared him a lifetime as being used as a political pawn by his power-hungry relatives. By denying Orinas his birthright, Delita had also set him free to live his life the way he wished, something his family, including his own mother, would never allow.
Regardless, Orinas' fate was out of Ovelia's hands, whereas Layla might be a different story. She noticed the little girl awaiting her answer, her expression suggesting that she was wrestling with impatience.
Was I so restrained at that age? Ovelia wondered, suspecting the answer was likely "No".
Once more trying her best to hew as close to the truth as possible, Ovelia answered, "I'm not sure. I've only heard rumors, and I can't say I have a high opinion of those or the people who spread them, but I think he was sent away to live with some relatives in Romanda or some other country. In any case, he's not here anymore, so don't worry about using his room."
The young queen would find it hard to put into words why she said what she did next, especially given Layla's remarkable talent for coaxing people into saying more than they meant to, but the words slipped out, nonetheless.
"Reminds me of the room I was given in Lionel Castle," she remarked, nostalgia seeping into her tone. "Better decorated, though. Agrias hated how that room had lace everywhere."
When Layla's eyes shot open, Ovelia knew she had said too much.
"When were you at Lionel Castle, Your Majesty?" she asked. "Was it after Lord Drake became Lionel's new duke?"
Ovelia considered deflecting the question, but then she saw the earnestness in the little girl's gaze. Aside from Agrias, Alma, Ramza, and their various companions, Layla was likely the only one she could talk to about the truth of…well, everything.
The war, Delita, her marriage, and all the treachery and innocent blood that had gone into the foundation of Ivalice's brighter future.
Part of Ovelia admonished her that Layla – and, in fact, no child – should not have the burden of such secrets placed upon them. But, another part reminded Ovelia that, not only was Layla willing, but that there wasn't anybody else.
Sooner or later, Agrias, Alma, and the others would return home, and then she'd be alone in her gilded cage again. And, even if she could not be free, she knew that such isolation would eventually crush her.
"No," she began. "It was just after Zirekile Falls. Delita had left me with Agrias, Drake, and their companions. But, he also left us with a conundrum. Duke Larg would not have schemed to have me assassinated without Queen Ruvelia's approval, so we could not trust the crown. But, keep in mind, assassinating me was only half the plan. The other half was framing Duke Goltana for the deed. If we went to him, who was to say he wouldn't have Agrias and the others put to death and claim we were the assassins in order to clear his own name?"
"He…he would've done that?" Layla asked, though she sounded less disbelieving than merely surprised.
"Oh, yes. In fact, he did quite a few things much like that, and others that were even worse. But, that can wait. Regardless, we decided to head to Lionel Castle to seek Cardinal Draclau. He was reportedly quite loyal to the royal family, and he had remained neutral in the dispute between the two dukes. We thought we could petition the church, through him, for help and that we'd be safe in his castle."
Here, she paused, gauging how much of the rest she ought to tell. Again, she decided to tell most of the truth, but not all of it.
"We were wrong," she finished. "Not long after we arrived, Drake, his companions, and Agrias' two subordinates, Dames Alicia and Lavian, left to help Master Mustadio rescue his father. Agrias and I stayed behind to await word of what the High Confessor would do about the situation."
Here, she paused and allowed a smile that was nonetheless tinged with melancholy.
"Like I said, the room I was given during my stay looked a lot like this," she reiterated. "Except, that one had lace everywhere and, if her expression was anything to go by, Agrias detested lace. I myself was awed, since the room I had at Orbonne was, well, "modest" is the kindest I can come up with. I actually tried to coax Agrias into jumping on the bed with me, but she turned me down."
Layla's answering giggles would've had most women squealing and pinching her cheeks, or at least trying to since hers were still a bit sunken. Ovelia resisted the temptation. Barely.
"The two of us stayed in Lionel for ten days," the young queen continued. "I was enraptured by the place. So expansive, so many people, so much to see. And, much like the late Father Simon, who raised me at Orbonne, the cardinal had an impressive library. Several times, I dozed off in the middle of a book and Agrias had to carry me back to my room."
Again, Ovelia felt the corners of her mouth tilt upwards even as her heart began to sink. At times, she wasn't sure if it was at Zirekile or at Lionel Castle that the last of her innocence had been cruelly stripped away, but she supposed it hardly mattered.
Even if the rift between her and Delita could be mended, some wounds would ache and bleed forever. And, much like the dead who'd fallen at the falls that fateful day, her innocence could not return.
"I didn't realize this until well after the fact," she went on, "but Agrias was likely getting suspicious of why the High Confessor was taking so long to send word to us. But then, on the tenth day, the cardinal summoned me to meet with him. He tried to convince me to speak with him alone, but Agrias would have none of it."
This time, the corners of Ovelia's mouth sank along with her heart at the recollection of what happened next.
"He brought us to an underground chamber, filled with Griffin Knights, and then he…he said to inform Duke Larg that all had gone to plan and that I was to be executed at Golgorand."
Layla was silent for a long moment as if wondering whether or not to believe Ovelia. Not that she could be blamed for her disbelief, of course. Even after some of the late cardinal's "secrets" had begun to leak out, most were reluctant to believe that his "neutrality" had been an act of bad faith or that he was in collusion with the warring dukes. And, they certainly found it hard to believe that Draclau had embezzled from his own orphanages and workhouses to finance such duplicity.
And, for those who did believe it, the truth was a bitter draught.
For a moment, Ovelia wasn't sure on which side of that divide Layla fell. The little girl certainly seemed shocked, especially given the late cardinal's reputation for offering succor to children who were alone and destitute.
But, then again, Ovelia mused, Duke Barrington had much the same reputation, and look how that turned out.
She shook herself back to the present and saw that, though her expression betrayed shock and reluctance, Layla still seemed curious. So, Ovelia went on.
"Small mercies, Agrias was always an impeccable warrior," she said. "Granted, the Aegis spell I used helped, but she was able to best six of them." She paused, her mouth compressing to a thin, grim line. "Part of me was impressed, but the rest of me was confused at the betrayal and horrified at the violence. Still, Agrias got me out, and we nearly got free of the castle, but more knights attacked and separated us. Agrias saw that she couldn't reach me, and that I was being taken back inside the castle, so she ran towards Goug."
"Lady Agrias left you?" Layla asked, surprised.
"She did," the young queen admitted. "But, she didn't have a choice in the matter. Trying to get to me would've been suicide and, if she did get herself killed while Drake and the others had no idea the cardinal had betrayed them, then who could save me?"
"So, you were taken to Golgorand?"
"No," seeing Layla's puzzlement, Ovelia elaborated. "I didn't realize this until later, but the cardinal had likely suspected Agrias might get away, or maybe even wanted her to, so he said I would be taken to Golgorand. He wanted to make sure that, if Agrias did find Drake and the others, that they would follow a false trail."
There was a pause, during which a bitter laugh parted the young queen's lips.
"And, speaking of false, Draclau wasn't working with Larg at all, but with Goltanna," she went on. "And, as if that wasn't enough, Delita was there as well."
"Why was His Majesty working with them?" Layla asked.
"To get what he wanted," Ovelia paused, and then admonished herself for her blunt words. "I'm sorry, I should not have been so indelicate. But, still, he wasn't really working with the cardinal. Or Goltanna, for that matter. You recall how he told you that he tricked Goltanna in order to help himself to become king?" Seeing Layla's nod, Ovelia went on. "Well, there were those in the Church and the Knights Templar who, like Delita, believed that the crown and the nobility had let Ivalice down one too many times, and that new leadership was needed."
This too had been, tactically, leaked by Delita through various means. Over the past few days, a number of the late High Confessor's manipulations had found their way into the hands of Lesalia's gossipmongers. Just enough for people to decide that, much like the former royal family and the warring dukes, the Church's previous leadership was another aspect of the old order best left behind.
After all, the new High Confessor was an avowed reformer…who was working very closely with King Delita. And, Ovelia suspected, was a very accommodating partner.
"In a way, it was amazing," the young queen admitted begrudgingly. "There he was, a commoner, amidst some of the most powerful men in the realm, most of whom likely saw those of low birth as little more than cattle. And yet, within a few years, he had the lot of them practically eating out of his hand…before he strangled them with it. Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Anyway, I hoped Agrias would rescue me, but eventually, time ran out. When I was reminded that I had a choice between the puppeteer's strings or the noose, I chose the former."
How many times had she wished she'd chosen the latter? It must have been quite a few, though she'd seen little point in counting. At the time, life had looked quite bleak, especially with the few people she knew she could trust far out of reach and those near at hand, whether unwittingly or purposefully, using her as a game piece on a chessboard where "pawns" bled and even "queens" lived in terror of those looming beyond, and behind, those humble ranks.
As for what got her through it, she still had no idea.
Was it because what was left of her faith warned her that to take her own life would be to, permanently, deny herself salvation? Maybe it was how her rational, if increasingly jaded, mind admonished her that her death would not prevent anyone else's. Perhaps it was the fool's hope that such darkness could not endure.
If that were so, the fool was either incredibly patient or very foolish indeed.
"Just after that, I was escorted from Lionel, and by Delita, of all people," she continued. "I was quite hurt that he too had betrayed my trust, and him being the one to make sure I left one pair of shackles so that I could be securely clamped in another seemed like insult on top of injury."
How distant that day he had saved her at the falls had seemed, not just now but back then as well.
"When I called him out on the empty promise he'd made, about cutting me free from the strings of those who would manipulate me, he didn't even deny it," she went on. "He just said I didn't have an alternative. And, well, I suppose I didn't. Between that, and not being used to hard travel, I wasn't in much of a hurry to reach Zeltennia, nor of a mind to listen to his complaints about our pace."
A bitter chuckle passed her lips.
"I could tell that he was getting frustrated with me," she went on. "Oh, it wasn't obvious, but I began to pick up small signs here and there. The way this wrinkle would form between his eyes when he was angry, or how the right corner of his jaw would tighten when he was trying to hold his tongue. I'm not sure if it was spite or just me trying to grasp hold of what pleasures I could before the inevitable, but I savored it as best I could. At least, until an arrow fired from the cliffs above nearly took me through the forehead."
Layla did a double take and, clearly drawn in by this bit of excitement, she leaned in to hear more. Not unlike a child being read an especially exciting bedtime story by a parent.
The image struck Ovelia, as did how much she'd thought the same when she'd spied Delita recounting the tale of his journey from a humble farmer's hut to the throne. She found the resemblance more than a bit disconcerting, and it almost made her stop, but something in Layla's gaze silently urged her on.
"It was more of Duke Larg's men," she continued. "There were only three of them, and Delita beat them soundly, but the near-miss drove home his point: I could either follow his lead, or I could die. He was quick to remind me once the battle ended, and this time he didn't bother putting on airs or speaking with restraint."
Ovelia's gaze went distant, once again recalling horrors from long ago that seemed all too eager to rear their heads again. One of Delita's blows had beheaded one of the then-princess's would-be slayers and, in a morbid whimsy of fate, the head had bounced to her feet, sightless eyes staring up at her.
Not that she'd share THAT detail with Layla.
"I can still remember how livid his expression was when he regarded me after that fight," she said. "I had been dizzy and feeling more than a bit ill after that bloodshed, but one glance at him snapped me right to reality. He practically screamed at me, demanding to know if that had been enough to lift the gauze from my eyes. Then, he told me that I could either bemoan my fate and let it claim me, or I could take his hand and live." She paused once more, heaving a melancholy sigh. "He gave me a choice that wasn't a choice at all, and here I am."
And, there it was. The truth. And, quite the ugly truth it was.
More than a few, who still managed to keep the stars in their eyes, likely believed their king and queen had a tale behind their marriage that would be counted among the great romances of Ivalice. But, no, this "romance" was more akin to the Tragedy of Lord Rasler and Princess Ashelia. A political marriage, with puppeteers and betrayals on both sides, and which ended with the young princess widowed mere weeks after her marriage.
It sounded so poignant, given the last few years, though there was one small flaw in the resemblance.
In spite of everything, Rasler and Ashelia had genuinely loved each other.
In fact, knowing the political chess players had already deemed it acceptable to assassinate Ashelia's father to strengthen their hand against the Archadian Empire, and that Ashelia would make just as useful a martyr, had spurred Rasler to try and break off the engagement.
Delita had not made a similar gesture…
…or, had he?
He hadn't needed to offer Ramza and Alma new identities, much less help Alma sidestep the ignominy of being discovered as an unwed mother. It did not serve his purposes to deliver on his promises to Olan and Balmafula, thus allowing either, or both, to honorably depart his service. No machination she could see would be expedited by taking in Layla, much less offering her a chance to succeed where her grandfather and brother had failed.
She still remembered the Delita who had escorted her to this gilded cage and locked the gate, but the resemblance between that Delita and the one she had seen at Layla's bedside was passing, at best.
Delita certainly seemed different, yes. But then, as she had just recounted, he'd fooled her before.
She doubted her heart could take another such blow.
SSSSSS
While the young queen had been mulling over this grim conundrum, the last scion of House Sadalfus had been regarding Ovelia with a thoughtful expression.
Young though she was, Layla had a remarkably keen mind and was quite observant. A lesser-known consequence of always being on the outside looking in is that one can discern a great deal while watching from the shadows.
When watching a group of boys, it is easy to tell which is the smallest in stature, but telling which stands tallest in pride or character takes time and perception to discern. By that same token, one observing a group of girls can often quickly decide which is the prettiest, but a keen eye is needed to tell which is the most self-assured or the least kind.
Despite having spoken little with the queen, and being more than a bit distracted by awe at being in the presence of royalty (not to mention her clumsy disguise), Layla saw quite a lot.
Ovelia found the trappings of royalty uncomfortable, likely due to being accustomed to the more humble garments of a monastery.
Ovelia detested gossip and thought little of gossipmongers, probably because, having no small amount of hardship in her life, tittle-tattle about who was having an affair with whom seemed a petty and malicious waste of time that could easily be cut short.
And, in particular, Ovelia was lonely.
She had few friends she could truly confide in, and those could only stay for so long before they had to return home. And, though she was likely surrounded by strangers who revered her, how many knew what lay beneath the stately gowns and elaborate braids? More to the point, who could know? How many would find not freedom in the truth, but pain at learning the reality behind the fairy tale of the peasant king who saved the kingdom?
How many would lose sight of the future if they knew what it had cost?
Ovelia had had such a burden placed upon her shoulders without having been given a choice in the matter. Well, not a real choice, anyway. Few would have chosen death in her place, even if they wished otherwise later. Still, the distant look in the queen's eyes, her slumped posture, and how hints of bitterness kept creeping into her tone made it clear that, even though she'd "made her bed", as they said, with a sword at her back, that hardly meant she wanted to sleep in it.
But, Layla had seen other things as well.
During the times King Delita would visit her, she noted that he too put on airs for the public, hiding that which would horrify the masses. She also noted that, if anything, he was even lonelier than Ovelia, as those few who knew the truth of the King of Ivalice regarded him with suspicion. But, she did notice one thing more:
Regardless of whether or not Delita still believed the ends justified the means, he did regret the cost.
The man who had dragged Ovelia to Zeltennia to become little more than a scepter, to be used when needed and then stowed away after, had been too fixated upon his goal, too assured of his own sense of righteousness to be distracted by the graves that sprang up in his wake. But now, with his cause taking shape and his unlamented enemies interred in unvisited tombs, what was left to blind him to the price of victory?
Simply put, nothing.
And, in particular, the loss of his marriage to Ovelia had been a heavy blow.
But, was it lost?
The Queen of Ivalice had clearly been hurt, but she had never once mentioned that she hated Delita. Granted, that might be because Layla was getting this epic chapter by chapter, but was it possible that, in spite of everything, Ovelia still loved Delita?
Layla couldn't be sure. But, she did know one thing, and that was seeing the royal couple in such a state didn't sit right with her. And, she wanted to do something about it.
Perhaps this would be a fitting First Quest for Dame Layla Sadalfus the Unbroken.
"Do you think he's still the same man?" she asked, before her nerve failed her.
For a moment, Ovelia was silent. The young queen worried her lower lip with her teeth and her brow furrowed as she considered the question.
"I'm not sure," she eventually said. "The past few weeks, he has been acting differently. He seems more subdued, less attentive. People around here have been gossiping about it – I swear, it feels they do little else in this city – and they've let their imaginations run wild about what it might mean."
Layla had half expected Ovelia to elaborate, but the young queen suddenly fell silent, her gaze darting away. Layla had a feeling that meant Ovelia had been about to say something she suddenly decided that she shouldn't. The last scion of House Sadalfus wondered if she ought to pry, but then decided against it. She had no idea if whatever caused Ovelia to go silent was important, so she decided on the surer path.
"But, he's not like the man from the falls that day, is he?" she asked.
Again, Ovelia seemed to wrestle with her thoughts before she eventually said "No, he isn't".
Seeing the opening, Layla decided to press her advantage.
"He told me that Lord Drake had a lot of reasons to hate him, but doesn't. Is that true?"
The Queen of Ivalice let out a less-than-queenly chuckle at this.
"Drake counts two people who have tried to kill him, twice apiece, as his friends," she noted. "He is…unique."
"What about Chancellor Olan and Lady Balmafula? Didn't you say they were free to go now? They weren't before."
The furrows upon Ovelia's brow deepened, and her hands began wringing the headscarf which she had yet to put back in place. Yes, Layla had seen an expression like that before. Granted, she'd been only half-conscious, and half-dead, at the time, but Maria had worn one much like it when Chancellor Olan had asked her to hand Layla to him so he could find her a doctor. Maria hadn't trusted the man, but she also knew that Layla needed help. Help Maria could not give, and without which Layla would die.
The only real choice had been a leap of faith.
And, sometimes, making that leap took some encouragement.
She'd had been about to offer some when the little girl suddenly had another coughing fit, pointedly reminding her that she had not fully recovered from her illness. And, Unbroken though she might be, Dame Layla Sadalfus needed more time to mend.
Still, she could tell that her words had had some impact. Hopefully, it would be enough.
SSSSSS
Ovelia had, indeed, been deep in thought. And, not just on how amusing the Leslian gossipmongers would find the idea of her taking marital advice from a five-year-old.
Could Delita have changed? Was she unable to see what machination was unfolding because, this time, there WAS no machination? Had some drop of decency finally seeped into that hard, jaded heart that had been in his breast since that fateful day at Fort Zeakden?
A month ago, Ovelia would've thought that impossible, just another bit of wishful thinking that was sure to disappoint, and that Layla was dangerously, self-injuriously naïve for thinking so.
After all, Ovelia had been every bit as naïve way back when, and look where it had gotten her.
When her introspection was interrupted by the sound of the little girl nearly hacking up a lung, Ovelia let out a startled squeak and leapt out of her chair. Her gaze snapped in Layla's direction to see the little girl in the midst of a coughing fit. Once it subsided, the Queen of Ivalice snatched up the bowl of warm water and carefully ladled a spoonful of it down the little girl's throat. Seeing that Layla's breathing was a bit less ragged, Ovelia gave her another spoonful. Ultimately, the last scion of House Sadalfus signed that she was feeling better. Suspecting her intent, though, Ovelia laid a hand on Layla's shoulder and fixed her with a firm expression.
"That's enough for today, sweetie," the young queen said in a gentle, motherly tone, her choice of words and the tone with which she'd spoken startling both of them, but Ovelia quickly regained her composure. "You're still not quite well yet, so you need your rest."
Too weak and exhausted to argue, Layla gave in and allowed Ovelia to tuck her into bed. The young queen noted that she was surprisingly good at it, considering that she had not yet any children of her own.
Not for the first time, the thought had shoveled fresh coal onto the smoldering embers of her melancholy.
That a royal marriage was to produce an heir was to be expected. Ovelia liked to think that such a child being born of a loving marriage, and the child being loved in turn, wasn't too much to ask but, as with many things these days, she was not certain.
The conundrum she was facing right now was quite enough as-is.
Still, though she could not fault Layla for wanting to help her, and was even touched by the gesture, part of her was glad for the opportunity to end this awkward encounter and hopefully leave before anyone, including her husband, noticed anything amiss.
"Mmm…yes, Your Majesty," the little girl mumbled. It was all Ovelia could do not to breathe a sigh of relief that Layla was not a difficult child. But, she supposed that being at death's door, if not in his very foyer, for God knows how long would do that to any child.
After tucking Layla in, Ovelia pieced her disguise back together and prepared to take her leave. She would have a hard time explaining if anyone, much less Delita himself, had caught her in Layla's room. Although she doubted that anyone aside from him, Ramza's former classmates, and herself even knew who Layla was, word about the little girl's auspicious quarters HAD gotten around.
An overzealous seeker of salacious tidbits would discover QUITE the revelation, if he or she popped in now.
Part of Ovelia was glad that hadn't happened, not only because of the risk of getting caught but because people who became intrusive regarding a king's affairs tended to get flogged within an inch of their lives. Granted, Delita had been making quite a show of setting himself apart from his predecessors, but she was in no hurry to discover what he'd regard as ground for making an exception.
Besides, part of her could sympathize with the urge to learn the truth. After all, the whole reason she'd been eavesdropping on the conversation between Delita and Layla earlier – and when nothing could have been further from her original plan, no less – was simply to find out if the little girl before her was Delita's illegitimate child, or worse, his mistress. Even now that she was certain that neither was the case, the young queen still had to suppress a shudder at the mere thought.
Before opening the door to leave, she turned to the little girl, who had not yet fallen asleep and was still watching her with those much too wise eyes.
"Before I go, can you please do me a favor?" she asked, only distantly aware that she could have made that an order instead.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Please don't tell anyone I was here. Especially the king. I…I don't want him to know that I've been going behind his back. At least, not until I've had time to think about, well, everything."
When Layla didn't agree right away, Ovelia felt her heart skip a beat. But, dread became surprise when Layla asked "May I ask a boon, Your Majesty?"
Too startled to do much else, the Queen of Ivalice nodded.
"Please think about what I've said."
Simple words which belied just how enormous and daunting a task it was. But then, what was the alternative?
Ovelia smiled for the little girl's benefit. "I'll try," she said, once more opting for truthfulness. "Thank you. I will come back and check up on you again later. Sleep well and get better soon."
Layla said nothing but smiled back, yawned, and snuggled with Tiggy before turning over to go back to sleep.
SSSSSS
No less than two hours after his queen had left, Delita arrived to check up on his new ward. Having been advised that her appetite was likely to pick up, even if she would still be eating little more than broth for a while yet, he had quickly stepped into the kitchen to fetch her a bowl of soup.
Uniquely, he went largely unnoticed. And those who DID notice him took no pains to drop what they were doing, figuratively or literally, and bow.
Usually, Delita derived a bit of pleasure from a "commoner" commanding such displays of obeisance from his so-called "betters", but he was in a hurry.
Like Ovelia, he was out of his royal trappings, not keen to draw attention to himself. He had just had a brisk session with the Weapons Master, where he'd prevailed in a three-out-of-five contest. It had taken several tries, and several "reassignments" before he found a Weapons Master who would not purposefully throw the fight either for fear of incurring the king's wrath or to curry his favor.
This Weapons Master, a Templar who had retired near the end of the Fifty Years' War, was a BEAST!
He had given the expected speech about how Delita's kingship would prove no shield during their bouts. And then, very much unexpectedly, he had proven his words by punching Delita in the face.
Of the gawkers who'd inevitably trickled in to watch, half had promptly fainted.
When Delita complimented the Weapons Master on putting his words into action and requested that they begin at once, the rest of the gawkers promptly fainted.
Pity, the King of Ivalice mused to himself. They missed quite a show.
As it turned out, the Weapons Master not only lived up to his moniker, but had another surprise which Delita had become particularly fond of.
It was called a dueling mask and, perhaps unsurprisingly, it was invented by Mustadio Bunanza.
It consisted of a cloth helmet and a rounded dome of woven metal which, interestingly, one could see out of but not into.
Since Delita still wore his along with his combat leathers, he attracted a few funny looks, but none would've guessed that the King of Ivalice lay behind the novel headwear.
And that was well and good. For it might have raised some less-than-convenient questions if anyone were to notice the king himself carrying a bowl of soup around when he could easily have some brought to his chambers by a servant if he wanted a late-night snack. And, those questions might have gotten louder, and more insistent, if it became known that he was delivering the food to a "guest".
After reaching Layla's room, and quickly looking around to make sure no one was watching, the king slowly opened the door and went in.
As he had expected, the little girl was in bed, fast asleep and snuggled with the ever-present Tiggy and teal blanket. Even though Layla was no longer at death's door, Delita could tell that she still had a way to go before she could be up and about again. Delita had hoped that Layla would be well enough to attend Sir Damien and Alma's wedding, which was due to take place in a week. It would also be an opportune time to introduce the girl to the public as his ward. But there was no way he could let anyone know that Layla was a daughter of the disgraced Sadalfus family. Even if he himself had finally buried his grudge with them – or, more specifically, Algus – the rest of Ivalice might not be so forgiving of the Sadalfus family patriarch's betrayal during the Fifty Years' War.
And having the new King of Ivalice take in a daughter of a house which had fallen into such ignominy, even though she was completely innocent and had not yet even been born when her grandfather betrayed his troops, would be quite scandalous.
However, this is a problem that was easily remedied. All Delita needed to do was have Olan conveniently forge a new identity for Layla, just as he had for Ramza and Alma. It would not be unusual for him to introduce the girl to the public as his niece or another cousin and give Layla his own surname.
But for now, that could wait. What was more pressing was seeing to the girl's well-being and recovery. Hopefully, she would be well enough to stand and walk for the upcoming wedding. But, if not, he could commission Mustadio Bunanza to come up with a solution. As he had discovered that morning, and not for the first time either, the machinist from Goug was a master inventor of the most useful contraptions he had ever seen. It was more than likely that he could create something that would make it possible for Layla to physically attend Damien and Alma's wedding comfortably, especially since he would benefit from having the king as a patron.
Those who were "quietly" grousing about the machinist's odd courtship of Dame Meliadoul Tingel might very well see that as their cue to pinch their noses and shut the hell up about it.
Upon hearing the door open, Layla slowly opened her eyes and turned in her bed to see another visitor, this one carrying a bowl of soup. Again, she was leery at the sight of someone she didn't know, and his wearing a…actually, she wasn't sure what it was, but she couldn't make out his face, which made her nervous. The man shut the door and then peeled off the mask to reveal the sweaty, reddened face of the king himself. This piqued her curiosity, for she had expected him to send a servant, or one of his other subordinates like Lady Balmafula, to see to her needs. In fact, given that Lady Balmafula clearly didn't trust King Delita, she'd half expected the blond woman to insist upon tending to her. As Delita mopped his brow and ran his hand through his disheveled hair, Layla discreetly studied him.
The first thing she saw was that one of his eyes was swollen and turning purple.
This punched a gasp of distress from her, which caused Delita to look very nearly alarmed, his gaze snapping in her direction, on the alert for some sign that she needed a doctor.
When she told him he was hurt, he blinked in astonishment (tried to, the swollen eye didn't seem to shut correctly) and laughed.
"Oh, this," he remarked blithely, gesturing to the swollen eye. "I finally found a Weapons Master that won't throw a fight. He put up a good one, too."
Though Layla kept her expression studiously blank, hearing the king sound so pleased about someone giving him a black eye made her irrevocably aware of a fundamental truth of the world:
Boys were weird.
Still, despite this seemingly levity, she noted ill-concealed concern in the King's face and the haunted look in his undamaged eye.
While part of her was hesitant to believe what his wife and queen had told her about him, or what he'd told her about himself, she could tell that she was looking at a man who had regrets.
A LOT of regrets.
Layla wondered if letting slip that the queen had been visiting her, possibly by telling Delita that she was expecting her instead, might break the apparent silence between the troubled royal couple. At the last moment, she decided against it. She had promised Ovelia that she would keep her visit a secret and, by the sound of things, the Queen of Ivalice had been on the wrong end of too many broken promises. So, she did her best to pretend that the impromptu visits by the woman Delita missed and yet couldn't bring himself to speak to never happened.
"How are you feeling, child?" the king asked gently, snapping Layla out of her reverie.
"I... I think I'm feeling a bit better. Thank you, sire."
Delita smiled in relief. "I'm glad to hear that. I know you were probably expecting Lady Balmafula, but she was busy with other matters and could not make it, so I've decided to come check on you myself."
"But, why?", Layla asked, half out of curiosity and half wondering if she might learn anything to help her "quest". "You are the king. Don't you have more important things to do too?"
"At the moment, I do not; so, you need not worry about that. Besides, not that many people know you are here yet. And, it'd be best if it stayed that way for a bit longer. There may be a way to ensure that you will not endanger yourself once you're well enough to leave this room. But, considering your family's reputation, it'd be best if you stayed here until everything's ready. If that does happen, do you think you will be well enough to attend a wedding by next week?"
Although Delita had not yet given specifics, Layla knew exactly whose wedding he was talking about. Even when she had been hiding in the shanty town with her nanny, the little noble girl had heard of the upcoming wedding of Duchess Catherine Seymour and her chosen suitor, Sir Damien Mitchell.
The city guards in Lesalia, who'd been handling the emptying of the shanty towns once there was a place for its desperate people to go, liked to gossip every bit as much as the rest of the locals.
Layla may not have known the couple, having only heard of Lady Catherine from the king's stories and Delita only able to relay what he'd heard about Sir Damien, but she was thrilled at the opportunity to attend such a joyous event. She had seen so little joy in her short life thus far, and she wanted to change that.
"I… I want to! I'll try my best to get better quick!"
"Good," Delita replied, nodding approvingly at the little girl's determination as he set the soup down on the bed tray he had brought with him, making sure it was positioned securely in front of the little girl.
Although he had yet to have any children of his own, not the smallest reason being he could barely bring himself to share a room with Ovelia these days, he still remembered from his own experience how much he'd disliked having to take medicine as a child whenever he was sick. He suspected Layla would feel much the same. And so, Delita employed a trick that his own mother used to get him and Teta to take their medicine: he secretly placed it into her food, knowing that the stock and spices would be more than enough to cover the smell and taste of the tonic.
As he expected, the little girl suspected nothing as she took the spoon and started wolfing down her food, a bit louder than would be considered polite, especially when eating in front of a king. But, considering what Layla had been through, Delita was more than happy to let it slide so long as she did not make a habit of it. Delita made a mental note that, in addition to her planned knightly training, she should be tutored in etiquette befitting a noble lady as well.
Still, since the girl's health was still fragile, he did decide to err on the side of caution.
"No one's going to take that from you," he gently pointed out. "And, slurping it down too fast isn't going to help you get better. Take it in slowly, and stop if your stomach gets upset."
Layla nodded, looking a bit embarrassed, and did as he asked. Still, given that eating was a painstaking task when she'd first arrived, given the shriveled state of her stomach and how eating too much or too fast could make her sicker rather than better, he was relieved to see some improvement. Her cheeks were still sunken and her frame rather scrawny, but she looked much better than she had when she first arrived. As soon as Layla was done eating, Delita gently wiped her mouth with a napkin and handed her a glass of water that Balmafula had left on her night table, along with a water pitcher in case she needed a refill.
Like with the soup, Layla drank a bit loudly but again, Delita let it pass. In fact, he was relieved at seeing her eat and drink so heartily for it meant that the little girl was indeed recovering. He would have been truly worried if Layla had declined to eat or drink anything. Or worse, if she'd tried and then vomited it back up.
"I'm glad you're feeling better. When you are ready, I will have you fitted for some new clothes. I will also have Balmafula brief you on what to expect at the wedding, as well as bring you some new books to read." Here, he paused as he noted that his old text from the Gariland Academy was quite a bit more dog-eared and stained than when he'd first given it to her. "I suspect you've finished this, at least twice, so let's see if we can find you other books to help pass the time. Until then, please do not leave this room."
Layla bowed her little head in obedience. "Yes, Your Majesty," she replied. "And, thank you very much."
Delita was about to say something else when he finally noticed something amiss with the room. Maybe it was his imagination, but his instincts told him that something was out of place. That something had happened in Layla's room recently…and which she hadn't mentioned, interestingly. To cover his perusal of the room, and avoid any awkward questions from his young ward, he made his way to the mirror and finger-combed his hair.
Sure enough, he quickly found a clue.
The vase near the mirror had been knocked askew and then hastily put back in place. He could tell because the glaze showing a riot of colorful flowers should've been facing the door, as if in greeting to the occupant, but were instead facing the window. And, more tellingly, the vase had a scent of gardenias despite being filled with tulips. Finally, that scent was coming from a pair of moist handprints, barely discernible in the sunlight that slanted through the window.
Someone had been in here recently, and that someone had been wearing gardenia scented perfume, which they'd gotten on their hands and then the vase.
And he knew it could not have been Balmafula, for she detested perfume and, more to the point, she had not had time to visit Layla since yesterday. Delita was now certain that someone else had been here. And, just recently, since he could still smell the perfume and make out the gardenia scented handprints. It was interesting that Layla hadn't mentioned it.
"Layla?" he asked.
"Yes, Your Majesty?" she answered.
"I hope you don't mind my asking, but has anyone else paid you a visit while I was gone?"
Layla started to feel a little nervous but did her best not to show it.
"Um… I'm not sure. I've been asleep for the last few hours so, if someone else was here, I wouldn't know."
Delita eyed the little girl for a moment, as if wondering whether or not to believe her. But in the end, he decided that it was not worth pursuing, at least for now. He didn't want to upset the little girl or do anything that might stunt her recovery. Besides, a visitor coming and going while Layla was asleep was quite plausible.
"I see. I will be going then. If I cannot find time to return to check on you, I will send Lady Balmafula."
"Yes, Your Majesty. And, thank you again."
Delita's expression softened before he leaned over and gently placed a kiss on Layla's forehead, not unlike how his own mother did for him when he was a child. Even after experiencing several harsh years on the battlefield while planning the downfall of the old Ivalician royalty and nobility, the king still had not forgotten what it meant to have a family.
There were some who thought otherwise, even his nigh-all-forgiving friend, Ramza, but he hoped to prove otherwise.
Even if he could only prove it to himself.
"You're welcome. Sleep well, child."
SSSSSS
Night had fallen by the time Delita had decided that his royal duties had been satisfied for the day, as well as confirmed that his new ward was securely tucked in. He would be late in retiring to his royal chambers for the night with his queen, and not for the first time either. By now, Ovelia had stopped asking him what took so long, and didn't often wait up for him either, almost as if she had gotten used to it…or no longer cared.
Not that he could blame her, all things considered.
Still, even though he often retired late due to his duties, which included overseeing the preparations for his "cousin's" wedding, and even though he often slept in his office of late, Delita always made sure to check in on his queen. If Ovelia had not fallen asleep by the time he returned, he would at least try to muster the nerve to converse with her before bed. Despite what Ovelia thought, he loathed having to put her and their marriage on the back burner these past few weeks, not to mention how he had grossly misjudged just how much she could stand before she began second guessing his building a "new world" for them. But, he had little choice since there had been so much at stake that required his attention and energy. While grateful that Alma had finally chosen a suitor so that he and Ramza no longer had to worry about her being exposed as an unwed mother, Delita now had Layla to worry about. He knew he had no reason to care about the sister of his once hated enemy, no plot that would be helped by the gesture, but that didn't matter.
After all the treachery and innocent blood that he'd mortared this new, hopefully better Ivalice together with, he felt that he owed it to Teta and himself to save at the very least, one innocent victim of a war that he himself played a part in starting.
And if Delita could not do even that, what was the point of becoming king in the first place?
The King of Ivalice thought this over as he opened the door to his bedchamber, fully expecting his wife and queen to be fast asleep considering the late hour and that they were both expected to be up early the next morning for their usual royal duties. But to his surprise, Ovelia was up and wide-awake, leaning back against a stack of pillows while reading a book by the light of a candlelit lamp on the night table next to her.
Delita blinked. "Ovelia?"
The queen, out of her maid's disguise and in her sleepwear, looked up from the book she had been reading. As happened often the past few weeks, Delita had been late in retiring for the night, but Ovelia did not seem bothered by it, instead whiling away the time as she awaited his return. Luckily, the young queen had been able to leave Layla's chambers long before Delita arrived. She could only hope that the little girl would keep her promise and not tell Delita of her visit.
"Yes, Delita?" she replied conversationally, then giving a surprised blink as she saw his face. "I see the rumors about the newly appointed Weapons Master are well-founded. But, enough of that. What is on your mind?"
"What are you doing up so late?" Delita asked, his composure shaken a tad. "I thought you'd be asleep by now."
"I couldn't sleep just yet. So, I've decided to read a little before bed. How was your day?
It was exceedingly rare for Delita to be at a complete loss for words. He had already been thinking on how to break the news about Layla to his wife since she had been found and brought to Lesalia; but now that the opportunity was finally in front of him, he had no idea how to tell her without either sounding as though this was yet another scheme of his or that he had a less-than noble relationship with the little girl.
He'd caught wind that a certain Earl Oliver Nimmt, whose reported extramarital proclivities sent shivers up and down Delita's spine, had been making such suppositions about him before several other Lesalians who had nothing better to do.
Delita would have dueled Nimmt himself, likely to the death, for such an affront if Count Quentin Brightblade, a man of impressive swordsmanship and impressive mustaches, hadn't beaten him to it.
Accustomed though he was to telling his conscience to shut up and get out of the way, some things were simply too vile, even for Delita.
Still, the king tried to come up with something. If he was going to have Layla as his ward, as well as attend Damien and Alma's wedding, he was going to have to explain his reasons to his wife.
Besides, after everything, she of all people deserved the truth.
"Um... Ovelia. There's something I've been meaning to tell you…"
"Oh?" she began, with surprising calm. This too caught Delita off guard. He had expected his wife to frown with displeasure since he had been bracing himself to be accused of having been unfaithful or engaging in some other bit of vileness behind her back.
But this time, Ovelia did not seem the slightest bit upset. Her expression seemed more curious and inquisitive.
Realizing that he should be grateful that his wife was prepared to listen to his explanation without judgment, Delita decided it was time he finally told her everything.
"I'm guessing by now, you've heard the rumors?" he asked, but it occurred to him that, in a place like Lesalia, he may as well have been asking if she'd noticed that grain of sand on the beach that was slightly more angular than the rest. "About a 'guest' in the former Crown Prince Orinas' room?"
Seeing Ovelia nod, Delita took a deep, fortifying breath, and plunged forward with his tale.
"I can now confirm these rumors are true. The 'guest' is a little girl by the name of Layla Sadalfus." Had Delita been in or near his usual state of lucidity, he might've noted that Ovelia seemed a great deal less shocked by this than he would've expected. "You may recall the name from my story about Teta's…death."
Ovelia's reaction, though still more subdued than he'd expected, was at least a bit closer to what he had envisioned. He noticed her give a nervous gulp and her jaw tighten slightly. Still, she wasn't screaming at him, so he forged onward.
"She is Algus's Sadalfus's little sister," he said. "I caught wind of her not long after Ramza and company arrived, and she was found in the shanty towns around the city. She was…very close to death, but Lord Nelson and Sister Agnes tell me she will recover."
"I see," was Ovelia's simple yet ominous response. "And, what do you plan on doing with her? After all, you hate her brother very much for what he did."
"Yes, I hated him," and Delita's use of the past tense seemed to surprise both of them. "But…I want to put it behind me."
Delita didn't notice, but Ovelia's eyebrows had shot up at hearing this.
"Algus has been dead for years, and so has Teta," he went on. "I've spent much too long keeping those wounds green, and causing too many others to bleed just as freely. Many…too many of those I left bleeding didn't deserve it. A few weeks ago, I could tell myself it was necessary and lose nary a wink of sleep over it. But, now…"
His words trailed away, but both royals could guess at them easily enough. Simply put, the taste of revenge had been sweetened by the thrill of rising beyond, far beyond, his supposed station, of having those of high birth either seeking his skill and counsel or quaking in terror at the prospect of facing him in battle, and, above all, of toppling them from their lofty pedestals and into shallow graves so that those they'd stepped on could walk, upright and unhindered, towards a brighter future.
But, once he was fresh out of foes to bring low and necks to sever, the taste of revenge had turned bitter. Then, it had been soured all the more when he could no longer turn a coldly pragmatic eye to how many of those he'd professed to be fighting for had died for his personal crusade. Nor those who, like Ramza, yet lived but who could no longer have the lives they once knew back.
Giving a second chance to someone who'd lost everything due to his actions would not atone for all that, but it might be a good start.
And, had Teta lived, she would've approved.
Delita hadn't realized that he'd given voice to many of these thoughts, not until well after the fact, nor did he emerge from his introspection quickly enough to note that Ovelia had, almost, grasped his hand, only to snatch it back at the last moment.
"Ah, but I haven't answered your question," he realized. "If you are willing, I'd like to take Layla in as a ward of the royal house. I would not be expecting you to help raise her, but I plan to ultimately have her trained as a knight, if she still wishes it. And, perhaps, I might help her to succeed where her fore-bearers had failed."
Delita was aware, painfully aware, that it would have been quite difficult to make Ovelia understand why he decided to take in Layla, considering not only his own tragic history with her brother but the tattered state of his marriage. Again, he overlooked that Ovelia seemed introspective, leery, and more than a bit puzzled by the deluge of unexpected words, but not terribly surprised. Granted, Ovelia already knew most of the details based on the conversation she had heard between her husband and the Sadalfus girl while eavesdropping on them. But, the queen still listened intently to her husband's explanation nonetheless, understanding the gravity of it now that the words were directed at her instead of Layla.
After the king had finished his…story? Confession? Request? Whatever it was, he held his breath while awaiting his wife's reaction, hoping she would understand. Had she not known the truth already, Ovelia might have been jealous or at the very least, baffled as to why he would want to adopt the sister of his sworn enemy. But to his surprise, she was actually very sympathetic.
"It's alright, Delita. I understand," was all she said.
"You do?" he said, taking no pains to hide his wonderment.
"Why wouldn't I? You have been generous with your subjects and with me. Even though I have questioned quite a few things you've done in the past, I still do not believe that you would harm an innocent child regardless of the blood that flows in her veins. However, do you think the rest of Ivalice would be willing to accept Layla with open arms, considering what the patriarch of her family did?"
"You need not worry about that. I will speak with Olan to build her a new identity. We can pass her off as either one of my relatives or a long lost relative of the late Atkascha family, and no one would be the wiser."
"Yes… you're right. Who else knows of Layla's true identity other than yourself?"
"Well, there's you, Olan, Balmafula, and my old classmates from the Academy. And of course, Layla's nanny. Assuming she recovers and is willing, she can stay here and continue to care for the girl, as she always has."
"Do you think it will be difficult to keep Layla's true identity a secret from the public?"
Delita shook his head as he sat down on the bed next to his wife. "I don't think it will be any more difficult than hiding Ramza and Alma's true identities."
"Do you know if the girl has anything on her that could identify her as a daughter of the Sadalfus family? I've heard some noble houses tattoo their family crests onto their children's bodies."
The mention of a tattoo made Delita worry, and he mentally smacked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Back in his days as a cadet, he did remember seeing a small tattoo of the Sadalfus family crest on Algus's chest, a cobra wound around a broadsword whose blade dripped blood and green ichor, when he had to remove his shirt to be treated for an injury on the battlefield.
He hadn't thought much of it at the time, since he'd seen others at the Academy whose families also tattooed their house's crests on children bound for the knighthood. At this point, he could only hope that Layla's parents had not marked their daughter with such a tattoo, especially since she had been born after her grandfather's infamous betrayal and tattooing her with the family crest would be like painting a huge target on her back.
"I'm not sure. I will have to ask her nanny. If Layla does in fact, have a tattoo like Algus, I may have to look into a way to have it removed or covered."
"Yes…that would be wise," Ovelia agreed.
Delita found himself astonished with the calm demeanor of his wife. "My, you're taking this awfully well. Why is that?"
The queen gave her husband a look of wry amusement. "Does it matter? Would you rather I be upset and throw baseless accusations at you?"
Delita shook his head, realizing how stupid his question was and that he should indeed be grateful that his wife wasn't going to accuse him of infidelity, even though he'd half expected it.
"No, of course not. Thank you for understanding. We can talk about this more tomorrow but now I need some sleep. It's been a long day."
"Yes, it has," the queen agreed as she closed her book and set it down on the night table before surprising her husband once more with a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for being honest. Good night."
After putting out the lamp, the royal couple finally took to bed. Ovelia had fallen asleep rather quickly, but Delita stayed up a bit longer. As he settled against the pillows next to his sleeping wife, Delita remained stunned by this good fortune.
Given the tattered state of his marriage, he'd half expected that breaking the news of Layla Sadalfus to his wife would devolve into yet another argument.
That it hadn't made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, that which was tattered might not be beyond mending after all.
His relief became puzzlement, however, when he once more sensed that something was wrong. Something was out of place. Knowing from past experience to heed that instinct, and having already discerned that someone else had visited his new ward, he quickly rose from the bed. Taking a moment to study the room, he noted a decanter on the vanity that was laying on its side.
That was odd, as the, sometimes gratingly, humble Ovelia required a great deal of encouragement to wear perfume. She was also quite neat, which made its position all the more odd. As he picked up the decanter to set it right, a very faint, but unmistakably familiar scent suddenly tickled his nostrils. Snapping back to wakefulness, he gave the squeeze bulb an experimental pinch, causing it to spritz out a fine mist with an all too familiar aroma.
Gardenias.
His eyes darted to Ovelia. Seeing that her breathing was deep and regular, he quietly made his way to her beside, carefully leaned in, and took a quick, silent whiff.
If she had been wearing the perfume recently, the scent had faded, but he did notice something else. The handprints he'd noticed on the vase were the same size as her own.
At that moment, it finally clicked in his mind who had really been in the young noble girl's room earlier that day.
A/N: Hi, this is Elly3981/Shanoawarrior. I thank all our readers who have been so patient with us over the last few years. Its been an incredible journey and I hope you will all stick with us to the end! Please leave reviews, they are like digital hugs to me and my co-writer ^^.