Chapter 24: To Find Love Again
Though he could expect a memorable ribbing for it later, Izlude was utterly oblivious to the various contests of skill, his sister's honor being upheld – twice, or even three times if her show of mercy be counted – and the man he'd teasingly considered a possible brother-in-law simultaneously making history by partnering with Lord Phelps to ensure guns saw responsible use and making a fool of himself by failing to consider the possibility that lifting a lady's skirt to see if his girlfriend's lost shoes were underneath might be a bad idea.
But, then again, as remarkable and important as these occurrences might be, how could they compare to having his lover so near at hand and smiling warmly at him?
"So, Sir Damien, would you mind telling me a little about yourself?" Alma asked as she and the man unknowingly regarded as the prevailing suitor strolled arm in arm around Lesalia Castle's breathtaking royal gardens.
At this late hour, and with the nights growing colder, the gardens were largely deserted, save for the fireflies that flitted about like bits of flame estranged from their candles. Between these, and the full moon bathing the garden in radiant light, their surroundings were cast in such ethereal brilliance that Izlude would not have been surprised If he were to turn to Alma and see angel's wings sprouting from her back.
The temptation to confess all, to see if the stone could be persuaded to give him back his true face for another few minutes, was palpable, but he managed to restrain himself. He could not allow impatience, nor the risk of what might happen if he abused the tolerance of whatever will lay hidden within the stone, to thwart him when his goal lay so near.
And, the dangers such rashness might invite would not fall upon him alone.
He surreptitiously eyed Alma's belly, and their child within. After giving silent congratulations to whomever had woven the dress to conceal the evidence, Izlude affirmed that he'd already waited long and worked hard to win Alma back.
He could afford to be patient a bit longer, especially since his and Alma's happy future was not the only one which depended upon his decisions.
"Of course not, my lady," Izlude said, drawing upon his, by now, well-practiced and refined background story which he'd pieced together and knew by heart as if it were his true life's story instead of a façade to deceive the Lucavi as well as the rest of the world into believing Izlude Tingel was now dead. "I'm a third-generation Romandan immigrant. However, my family has lived here since the before the Fifty Years War ended and I was born and raised in Ivalice, so I may as well be a native like yourself."
"I see…," Alma replied. "I met a Romandan trader when I was little, who'd decided to remain here once the Fifty Years War ended. You don't have an accent like he did, though."
"If he was newly arrived at the time, then that wouldn't surprise me," Izlude pointed out. "Many of my countrymen were keen to leave after Czar Ivan Krasnya Pukov put down his rebellious brother, Prince Boris Gegarin Pukov. Those who'd supported Prince Boris held no illusions about their chances for clemency, understandable when you're dealing with someone who insisted on adding "the Terrible" to his own name, and decided to take their chances here."
"I can understand that," Alma commented, a haunted look in her eyes.
Perhaps she recalled the tidal wave of refugees that had poured into Lesalia and how, when food ran low and tempers high, violence erupted between impoverished castaways and besieged natives? Or, maybe she was recalling her own family, House Beoulve, which, like the Imperial House of Romanda, had had its darkest hour presaged by schisms and division which even shared blood could not bridge. Not knowing what words of comfort he could offer without revealing something he oughtn't, he waited in respectful silence until she spoke again.
"You say many Romandans live in Ivalice nowadays?" she asked.
"Quite a few, yes" Izlude answered. "It doesn't surprise me that this is not widely known. As chummy as they can be with their countrymen, even when those are complete strangers, my people aren't nearly as inclined to mingle with folk who are not their own. Usually the people living in such places can't speak your language very well, either because they never leave their communities or because they're disinclined to deal with non-Romandans. Easy enough to say when you have many people around with whom you share a language and a history. But being a stranger in a strange land is lonely enough without being so aloof. My parents always saw that as a mistake, that our supposed home-in-exile was likely to become a new home, and we'd neither accept it nor find acceptance by holding ourselves apart as though we had something to hide or, worse, disdained the people we ought to make friends with instead. So, they encouraged me to learn about and interact with people all over the country, as much as I could, so that I wouldn't live out my days in some enclave of suspicion like those other Romandans. And, I'm glad they did."
A goodly portion of what he'd said was new information, to himself as well as Alma. Though the book he'd acquired on the road to Lesalia had been very informative with regards to what the Romandans were as a nation and a culture, it had left out who they were face-to-face. As it happened, this was not merely an oversight. The disguised knightblade discovered this when, while on the road to Lesalia, a few people had commented on how odd it was for a Romandan immigrant to be so open and friendly with native Ivalicians.
Finding their words odd as well, Izlude had had to improvise by saying he simply enjoyed meeting people and travelling which, judging by the expressions aimed his way, were uncommon sentiments amongst the Romandan immigrant communities.
While passing the time before the ball, with all conceivable preparations complete and hours of otherwise torturous waiting still separating him from his love, Izlude had decided to look into this oddity, just in case more such questions arose at the ball.
As it turned out, though Romandans were quick to hug perfect strangers and call them friend, that was when they were dealing with fellow Romandans. They weren't quite as amicable with Ivalicians, though such exceptions as Dmitri were cropping up. The reasons for this were nebulous, but possibilities included how the Romandans, unable to adapt to Ivalice's climes, had been routed in their brief incursion during the Fifty Years War, envy over Ivalice's pleasant weather whereas Romanda's long winters often meant their dead had to wait months for a respectful burial, contempt towards the weakness and corruption that characterized the Ivalician nobility, or the simple condescension of Ivalice largely lacking the knowledge of firearms, which were a staple of Romanda's style of warfare.
Whatever the reason, or reasons, for Romandan immigrants to so often give their native Ivalician neighbors the cold shoulder, Ivalice was only too happy to reciprocate, especially given how the Romandans' insular nature betrayed this condescension, as well as how proficient Romandan immigrants proved to be at organized crime. Still, a melancholy tale this might be, it hadn't taken Izlude long to weave it into the tale of Damien Mitchell and, in short order, how this Romandan immigrant was different than his fellows, and why he relished it, came as easily to his lips as anything else he'd contrived.
Alma had nodded in understanding and, not for the first time, Izlude felt a pang of paradoxical regret that he'd gotten this far, in no small part, because he'd discovered he was quite good at lying.
Of course, to compound one irony with another, he was also aware that he'd become more approachable since assuming the identity of Damien Mitchell, and even discovered his hidden talent for storytelling.
Still, bluffing his way past strangers curious about his exotic features was one thing.
Lying to the woman he loved was quite another.
Despite his silent affirmation that success would mean a lifetime where he could make this deception up to Alma, Izlude paused and, as had sometimes happened on his journey, bits and pieces of the truth became to slip into his tale.
"It's funny," he remarked, almost off-handedly. "It's only recently that I came to truly appreciate what they did. Learning a new language and about people you might not even meet can easily tax a youngster's patience. But, eventually, I had to leave the place I called home in order to seek out a better future. For a time, it was terribly lonely. But, little by little, I let others in, just as my parents urged me. And, some of the people I count as my best friends I made on my journey here."
Though he ended his words with a mental apology to the late Sir Justin, he felt a warmth emanating from the stone that carried with it reassurance and understanding.
He could almost hear Sir Justin whispering in his ear, stutter and all, that there'd be more than enough time to reminiscence over his and Alma's mutual friend once it was safe to unmask himself.
"Your parents… where are they now?" Alma asked.
"They still live in Yardow," Izlude lied smoothly. "When I managed to secure a post as Duke Barrington's personal bodyguard, I was able to send them money to live comfortably."
Alma gasped. "You were a bodyguard to the last Duke of Favoham? Then, that means you must have been at Riovanes when the massacre occurred! How were you able to survive and get away?"
Expecting his unsuspecting lover to raise such a question, and quashing the urge to drop some hint as to just what he'd really been doing during the massacre, Izlude had his answer ready. "I'd actually left the duke's service by then. It was because…ahem…am I correct in presuming that stories of Duke Barrington's…more sordid activities had been making the rounds?"
Given Malak's presence, and that Izlude had spotted Alma talking with Rafa earlier, the disguised knightblade had little doubt that Alma was already, painfully, aware of how the late and unlamented Duke of Favoham had groomed Malak to be an assassin and had subjected Rafa to depraved cruelty behind closed doors. Still, though it might sting the gentle-hearted duchess, Izlude suspected it might seem odd if he didn't betray at least a hint of disbelief with regards to Duke Barrington's true nature.
Not many had been as keen to open their doors, and their purses, to the many orphans left behind by the Fifty Years War in the way Duke Barrington appeared to, and quite a few wealthy Ivalicians had been eager to supplement his seeming generosity with their own, not realizing their money was supporting the creation of a legion of child-assassins, some of whom doubled as playthings in the duke's bedchamber.
Those who spoke about these belated revelations did so in whispers of shock and dismay, and Izlude couldn't blame them. Nor could he blame Alma when her normally gentle features hardened into a glare for a split second.
"I suspected as much," Izlude intoned, hardly needing feign the sad undertone in his voice and he wondered what must've gone through Malak's head when he learned what Rafa had been subjected to by a man they'd once loved as a father. "On top of his other depravities, he paid his servants and guards a pittance for their honest labor. So, I left to join the Goltana army a few weeks before the massacre happened. I heard the rumors of what had happened while on the front-lines, though what I did hear I could scarcely believe."
"Oh… you were probably very lucky, because I was told there were very few survivors. The servants and knights who managed to get away were probably scarred for life, and a few were driven to madness by the horror of what they went through. When they were questioned, most answered with little more than terrified babbling."
Oh, I can believe it… the disguised knightblade thought silently but held his tongue on the matter.
Instead, he said: "It must've indeed been horrific. I knew many of the knights who'd served Duke Barrington, and none were the sort to scare easily. I can only pray that they'll find peace, if not in this life than the next."
"I hope so too," Alma agreed. She knew her suitor's words rang true since she herself could barely think straight when she came face to face with the demon who'd once worn the shell of her lover's father.
Even in human form, Hashmalum had sent chills down her spine when she encountered him after he'd returned to the room where he'd massacred the Duke of Favoham's personal bodyguards as well as Izlude himself.
"I've considered myself lucky to have left before the massacre. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here with you now, my lady." Izlude continued as he tried to think of a way to change the subject, since he knew the Riovanes massacre was starting to hit much too close to home for both him and Alma.
"I'm glad you did too… I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable by bringing it up," she apologized.
Izlude shook his head. "No, there is nothing to forgive. What about you, Lady Catherine? I'd like to know a bit more about the new Duchess of Lionel, so I can ensure that my humble self is worthy of her."
Alma blushed. "You hold me in too high regard, Sir Damien. As a cousin to King Delita, I was not born into the nobility. My brother, Drake, and I were born to parents of modest origins in the village of Nibelheim. Our mother was a humble seamstress while our father was a carpenter. During the war, my brother fought at King Delita's side while I aided the war effort at home by sewing clothes and blankets for those serving on the front lines."
"And, after the war, your cousin appointed you and Lord Drake Lionel's duke and duchess as a reward, right?" Izlude asked curiously.
Alma nodded. "Yes… Personally, I wouldn't have minded living the life of a seamstress, but my brother fought valiantly at our cousin's side to bring the war to an end, and he deserved a reward far more than I."
Here, the Duchess of Lionel's words trailed off and glanced in the direction of the ballroom, as though vainly seeking some hint of her brother amongst the too thick forest of swaying silk-clad forms.
"Even when we were younger, I could tell he was destined for greatness," she continued. "He was always brave, kind, and had a natural ability to lead. I could tell that, sooner or later, he would leave our little town for bigger and better things. That worried me, and not just because I knew how much I'd miss him, but also because he was a bit naïve. Too quick to trust, too quick to assume that forthrightness could solve your problems just like that, and rarely even considering that some people might not be as trustworthy as him. That's one of the reasons I was glad that he married someone like Agrias, who can help to steady and temper him. There are still days I'd rather be back weaving clothes and blankets, but I suppose Drake's eagerness to do some good for his fellows grew on me."
Izlude smiled. Even knowing that his disguised lover was a true-born noblewoman, her humble modesty and kindness never ceased to amaze him.
"Your love for your brother is admirable, my lady, but I'd warn against belittling yourself so," Izlude advised. "Not everyone who serves their country in times of war does so by taking up the sword; a war cannot be won without the efforts of all its participants. When I was serving on the front lines, I remembered that the nights can often be very cold at times and many of my fellow knights and I would have starved or frozen to death if not for the efforts of those who took it upon themselves to provide us with food, water, clothing, and blankets, especially when they needed such small comforts themselves."
Alma giggled. "I haven't really thought of that. Thank you, Sir Damien. I'm happy to know what little I could do was able to help."
"Yes… and, case in point, my sword will see little use now that the war is over. It is people like carpenters, masons, farmers, tailors, cooks, merchants, miners, and machinists who now have the power to rebuild Ivalice to its former glory."
"True…" Alma agreed. "But, after all the devastation the war wrought, it could take decades."
"I won't argue with that. But sometimes, the most gratification is found not at the end, but on the journey itself," Izlude said gently.
Alma laughed. "You're right, I never thought of that! I had no idea you were also a philosopher, Sir Damien."
Izlude smiled. "I'm not, but I learned a lot of things from my mother. She'd loved the arts since she was a little girl and was keen to share it by teaching others. She was also a philosopher of sorts as well. Something she always said, and made sure to prove, was that "If nothing is permanent in this wicked world, then neither are our troubles"."
"I can appreciate that", Alma said as she took a moment to look into her suitor's steel-grey eyes, perhaps recalling how the wound of Teta's death had been assuaged by the friends she'd made since then.
Even though she had known him only a short time, the Beoulve girl had to admit she was taking a great liking to the enigmatic Sir Damien. Only one other man had such an effect on her, and it was her late fiancé, Izlude Tingel.
Strange… she thought, her brows knitting. It's almost like I'm back at Riovanes with Izlude again. I know this man isn't Izlude, but why does he remind me so much of him?
She could not say. All she was certain of was that something about Sir Damien that reminded her a great deal of the first man to capture her heart before he'd been so cruelly snatched away. More than the thrill that kindled in her breast at the sight of a handsome and yet fascinating stranger, she could also feel from him the same sort of promise, irrational though it might be, that happiness might only be a seemingly foolish gamble away.
The temptation to take that gamble was there. It was real, it was palpable, it was powerful.
And, as she was reminded when she found herself swallowing a gasp when the baby suddenly kicked, such a chance might not come again.
Upon noticing Alma's silence and solemn expression, Izlude became concerned and asked "Is everything all right, Lady Catherine?"
Given what Izlude knew about Alma's condition, and that he might face some rather pointed questions if she gleaned that he knew, the disguised knightblade mentally lambasted himself for the hint of alarm in his tone. Luckily, Alma betrayed no more surprise than one suddenly roused from his or her own thoughts.
"Oh!" the duchess exclaimed when she saw her companion look at her with an expression of concern. "It's just that you remind me of someone I once knew…"
"Really? Who?" Izlude asked, despite already knowing the answer.
"Well… I don't know if you've heard, but I was engaged to a Templar during the war. Sadly, he was killed before we were to be married."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Lady Catherine. I'm sure he must've been a fine man to have caught so auspicious an eye as yours, and that he would have been honored to have you in his life… as would I."
Alma was startled. "You mean…?"
"Yes… I know it's a bit soon to ask, but I fear my heart may burst if I hold in the words much longer. Though I don't doubt that others have said this to you already, I journeyed for weeks to reach here, drawn by siren call of the tales and songs woven about you. And, now that I have met you, I see that every last verse is outshone by you. It would bring me great joy if you were to begin your new journey in life with me."
Alma gasped. "You mean…?"
Izlude nodded as he took a small box out of his pocket and pried the lid open.
Taking her hand, the raven-haired knight went down on one knee. "Lady Catherine, will you marry me?"
Alma found herself speechless as she stared down at the young man before her. Even his posture as he kneeled bore an almost phantasmal resemblance to Izlude. And, although she knew this man was not her deceased fiancé, the Beoulve girl knew this was probably her last chance to choose a husband before her pregnancy became obvious. As her best friend, Queen Ovelia, had told her before, Alma was lucky to have finally found someone to her liking. She could already admit that she could be satisfied being married to him, that she could possibly grow to love him as well.
And she was quite certain that this would be her last chance to avoid having her child stamped with the ignominious brand of a bastard and living in disgrace before he or she was even born.
Perhaps, as had been the case with her father and her mother, love could come again.
"Yes…I'll gladly marry you, Sir Damien!" Alma said.
Izlude smiled, so broadly that his grin nearly took in his ears. "Thank you, Lady Catherine. I know we only just met but I swear to you, once we're married, no, before and after, I promise to do everything in my power to make you happy…"
As Alma watched in silence, the disguised knightblade removed the ring from the box and slipped it on her ring finger. It was not lost on the Beoulve girl that the ring looked virtually identical to the one Izlude had given her, but she knew it could not have been the same one because she had returned it to Meliadoul before the divine knight had parted company with her and Ramza months ago.
Alma had hoped that getting back a piece of Izlude, however small, might bring some small comfort to the divine knight who'd almost been her sister-in-law. Meliadoul hadn't bothered to ask how Alma had gotten it, nor did Alma have the heart to tell her at the time. The Beoulve girl had wished she could've offered more, some succor or comfort to a woman who grieved for the same man she herself yet mourned, but her shattered heart had had nothing to offer. And, right up until seeing Meliadoul at the ball, on the arm of Mustadio and smiling at long last, some part of Alma had always nursed the dark fear that the divine knight had made a second – and, this time, successful – attempt and ending her own life.
Still, she had parted with the ring, in the vain hope that her grief might one day part with her as well.
And, even in such a world where demons could rise from fairy tales to wreck all too real horrors upon mankind, the chance that it might fall into Damien's possession seemed remote indeed.
However, what surprised Alma even more than its striking resemblance to the one Izlude had proposed to her with was that the ring was exactly her size.
Just how could Damien have known her ring size just from their brief time together?
"Do you like, my lady?" Izlude asked as he lifted his head and looked into Alma's eyes.
"It...it's beautiful…" Alma breathed as she beheld the engagement ring, at once awed and shaken by this latest echo of what had been both the transcendent joys and darkest despairs of her life. "Where did you get it?"
"I had it made at a jeweler shop in downtown Lesalia not long after I arrived just in case I was lucky enough to be chosen by you, Lady Catherine. And, I lack the words to convey how grateful I am."
"I don't believe it…but, it looks exactly like the ring my late fiancé gave me."
Izlude frowned in confusion while his brow furrowed in concern. "I'm sorry if my ring has brought back painful memories for you. If you don't like it, I can get you a different one."
Alma shook her head fiercely. "No, I didn't mean it like that, Sir Damien. My apologies; I think it's perfect. I was just surprised at the coincidence that it looked so much like my previous ring, and that it's exactly my size. How did you know?"
Izlude smiled, as much from relief as from pride in how effective his tactic had proven. Although openly revealing his true identity was not an option, and would not be for at least several months, he'd chosen to take Malak's advice and drop subtle hints of his true identity to Alma. One of these had been commissioning a ring that looked identical to the first one he gave her at Riovanes that was also her size as well.
But instead of saying so, he simply answered "I truly did not know; I simply assumed your ring finger was a size five, since the townspeople described you as 'dainty'. "
Alma giggled. "Well, I appreciate your attention to detail, but you mustn't always believe the gossip of townsfolk."
"I understand, but in this case I'm glad I did," Izlude replied with a touch of humor. "You've just made me the happiest man in the world, my lady. Would you like to return to the ballroom for another dance?"
Alma smiled and laughed as she accepted the hand Izlude offered her after he stood up again.
"I'd love to, Sir Damien," she said, smiling that crooked smile of hers at long last
Izlude smiled as he raised her hands to his lips again. "Just call me Damien, my lady."
"Of course… and you can just call me Catherine."
"I would like that…Catherine. Thank you."
Now that he had finally surmounted at least one hurdle in Alma to agree to marry him, Izlude led her by the hand back to the ballroom, a spring in his step even as he silently mulled over his next goal.
How to reveal himself to her?
SSSSSS
"You're a wonderful dancer, Lady Tingel," Mustadio complimented as he led Meliadoul in a slow waltz across the ballroom floor, taking great care to avoid getting too close to the other couples.
After the unlikely pair's combined skills had sent a much chastened Lollotte from the ballroom with her tail between her legs, no one had dared whisper what an odd couple Mustadio Bunanza and Meliadoul Tingel made.
Though, it must be said, they'd hardly lacked for cause.
Not only was the divine knight older than her partner, the gap in their ages similar to that of the Duke of Lionel and his newly-wedded wife, but Meliadoul was also noticeably taller as well. And, while most men preferred a woman who can gaze up at him lovingly though her long lashes and tuck their head under a gentleman's chin, Mustadio seemed quite content at the sight of his secret crush smiling down at him as her unbound tresses tickled at his cheeks and neck like gently teasing fingers.
The auburn-haired divine knight laughed. "You're not half-bad yourself, Master Bunanza, though it wasn't necessary for you to offer to duel with Dame Gervain in my place. I can take care of myself."
Mustadio blushed, his strange gyrations between a suave corsair and a bashful lad accentuating just how odd this odd couple was. "Of course, my lady, I never doubted that. I apologize if I come off as thinking you couldn't. But, as a gentleman, I am obligated to defend a lady who's being maligned."
Meliadoul smiled, something she had started to do a little more often since he'd asked her to be his "date" for the ball. As demented as it sounded, Meliadoul actually looked forward to seeing Mustadio, which was ironic considering that, when they had first met, she'd tried to kill him and, even after she'd joined Ramza's band of outcasts, she'd thought of him as a mere nuisance and barely tolerated him.
And yet, hindsight had told her that, in stopping her from killing herself after Altima's defeat and suckering her into the wager which had ensured she'd be here, Mustadio had brought a great deal of badly needed sunlight to what had otherwise been a future quite dark and bleak.
"It's all right, I don't mind," she said, feelingly. "In fact, I appreciate the sentiment. It means a lot to me…"
"And, of course, you showed me up when you fought her yourself," Mustadio gushed. "You were amazing! And, it was very gallant of you to spare Lollotte after all the vitriol she'd heaped on you."
"To be honest, not so long ago I would've acted differently. Back when I first joined Drake and his band, it was like a part of me had just guttered out. I was so sad, and so angry, at what had happened to Izlude and…and my father, that I just wanted the pain to go away. I stopped caring about anything else, because I honestly thought I didn't have anything else left. It took me a while to realize otherwise…and, I can see that I treated you rather shabbily in the meantime."
Here, Mustadio let a gentle smile cross his features while he brought up one hand to caress Meliadoul's smooth cheek.
"Hey, don't be like that," he said. "I understood…well, it might not have shown, but I knew better than to take it personally. And, I stand by what I said, if you need someone to help you through it, my door's always open. And, plenty of others will say the same.
Meliadoul had to admit, for a man better practiced with dealing with machines than with people, Mustadio could be very sweet. And, though she had more than enough experience to know that he was attracted to her, she had to admit that she rather liked his bumbling affections.
Embarrassing though they might be, his clumsy efforts to charm her were rooted in sincere affection rather than designs upon her wealth, station, or beauty. And, as peculiar a specimen as he might be, his efforts to pull her out of the morass of grief she'd nearly drowned in had taken the sort of devotion that went beyond simple friendship. Finally, though some independent women-at-arms might find displeasure in any man championing the honor they'd rather defend for themselves, Meliadoul was not so prideful as to overlook the great courage it had taken for Mustadio to challenge Lollotte.
The divine knight was about to say something to that effect, and was aware she had a great deal to say on that matter, when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Looking over her partner's shoulder, the auburn-haired divine knight noticed that the Duchess of Lionel had returned, and that she wasn't alone. Arm-in-arm with Catherine Seymour, known to but a select few as Alma Beoulve, was a tall and well-built young man with pale-skin, steel-grey eyes, and hair as black as the midnight sky. Sure enough, he matched the description given to Meliadoul by the stable boys who'd handled Boco and Nelly.
At the sight, at once long awaited and yet coming too soon, the divine knight found herself forcing a grimace from her features. When she'd arrived at Lesalia Castle earlier that day, she had recognized her brother's mount amongst the animals who'd been stabled by the ball's guests. The stable boys reported that Nelly had been left in their care by one Damien Mitchell, a knight of foreign stock and no small amount of fame, and this had gotten Meliadoul's suspicions up.
How could this "Damien Mitchell" have not only acquired her brother's mount but tamed her as well, when anyone else who'd tried to mount Nelly came away with a year or so shaved off their life?
In truth, the divine knight had a supposition or two on that score but dared not voice it. She feared even to ponder it at too great a length, lest her heart be shattered a second time.
Wanting to question the mysterious – and, possibly, prevailing – suitor of the Duchess of Lionel, but not wanting to make a scene or to come off as rude to her partner, Meliadoul quickly searched her mind for an excuse to leave and go after the man known to the Ivalican court as Damien Mitchell. For a long moment, she was at a loss. Not only was she uncertain if Mustadio, who she suspected was a more fragile soul than his service in war and skillful gunplay might suggest, would be wounded by her abrupt exit, but she was more than a bit reluctant to leave his arms. Yet, at the same time, she had no way of knowing when she might next have the chance to question the mysterious Sir Damien. Ultimately, she decided that she needed the closure of truth, be it sweet or bitter, and that she had many, many ways she could make it up to Mustadio. Thus resolved, she gave a deft imitation of a pained grimace and clutched at her stomach, where Lollotte had punched her during their duel.
A loud gasp, that caused several revelers to jerk to a halt, escaped Mustadio's lips while his youthful face contorted in alarm.
"Melia!" he cried, as though the shaft of an arrow had suddenly sprouted in her breast. "Are you alright?!"
Whether out of appreciation or amusement at Mustadio's concern, Meliadoul held up one conciliatory hand and gave a pained smile that wasn't entirely feigned.
The adrenaline of battle, the ecstasy of victory, and the joy that Mustadio managed to kindle in her breast, not to mention a discreet curaga spell she'd cast when no one was looking, had hidden it most effectively but being punched in the gut by someone wearing steel gauntlets hurt.
"Mustadio, there's no need to panic," Meliadoul reassured as she placed a hand on a spot below her right breast, massaging it tenderly. "I'm sorry to have startled you like that, but I fear Dame Gervain hit me harder than I thought. I don't mean to be rude, but could we meet again at another time?"
The blond youth frowned and his brow furrowed, his concern deepening visibly. "Are you sure you're all right, my lady? I could escort you back to your room if you want."
Meliadoul shook her head but tried not to look too eager to turn down Mustadio's offer of assistance, lest he become suspicious of her motives.
In truth, the divine knight had to squelch the urge to admit the truth to the self-styled warrior/machinist. She didn't doubt he'd be eager to help Meliadoul in a simple errand that would grant her closure at worst while, at best, might yield…something else. She could see it in his comically large yet intelligent eyes, and she had to admit that he might've proven helpful as she sought answers regarding the mysterious Sir Damien. Still, Meliadoul had no way of knowing whether her quarry might pose a threat or not. The former would certainly get Mustadio's unlikely protective instincts, and his even-less-likely role as her would-be protector, ablaze and she didn't want to take the risk that her quarry might catch a bullet if he proved…uncooperative.
No, it would be best if she interrogated Sir Damien alone, and made sure he could not escape.
"I appreciate the offer, but it is not necessary. I should be fine getting back by myself," she replied, and promptly wiped away Mustadio's crestfallen expression by cupping his chin with one finger. "Though this is the last night of the ball, I trust you will still be in Lesalia for a while longer?"
"Yes…at least until you are better and we can meet again, my lady," Mustadio affirmed, his frown promptly inverting itself.
Trying her best to avoid breathing a sigh of relief that her ploy had worked, Meliadoul gave the blond youth a hug.
"Thank you for understanding, Mustadio; but I have faith that I will be well enough to meet you again tomorrow. But, in the meantime, I ask that you take your own advice: Remember that you are always welcome in my home."
If he was still disappointed that his partner for the ball had to leave so abruptly, it was obvious that Mustadio understood and that the divine knight's promise had been more than enough to send his spirits soaring again.
"I understand, Melia. Have a good night."
The divine knight had to admit that nickname was growing on her. Then, deciding to sweeten her pledge that they could meet again, she decided that some of her old flirtatious teasing was in order. So, when Mustadio brought up one of her hands to kiss it, she forced their joined hands back downward and said:
"Ah, ah".
After taking an instant of mischievous delight in Mustadio's startled and almost crestfallen expression, Meliadoul gave a coy smile, turned her head slightly, and tapped her cheek.
"Up here," she instructed simply.
Looking fit to explode with delight, Mustadio raised himself on his toes and pressed his lips into Meliadoul's cheek. She promptly reciprocated, getting a goodly bit of Tynar Rouge on his cheek.
Wearing a very big and exceptionally stupid looking grin at what was quite possibly his first kiss, and from the woman of his dreams no less, Mustadio very nearly pirouetted out of the room, quite oblivious to the tittering and somewhat uncouth cheering in his wake. Watching him go, and with surprising longing to see him again, the divine knight, now the new commander of the Knights Templar, said:
"Good night, Mustadio. And, I hope we see each other again soon."
"Soon", however, would have to be later than she would've liked. For, though Mustadio's affections had given her healing and happiness, she now needed answers and closure.
And, to get those, she would need to track down a certain knight of Romandan stock and get him to talk.