Chapter 25: A Deception Uncovered
Though his heart ached at the notion, Izlude had been obliged to make a fast exit not long after his ring was once again upon Alma's finger. He had hoped to have another dance with her, maybe surreptitiously relay this success to Ramza and Malak, or even share the good news with Manon and Charlotte, who would soon be much akin to his step-children. However, upon realizing that his sister was in the ballroom, he decided that he could not risk it.
At least, not yet.
Though he ached at the prospect of parting from Alma so soon after they'd found each other again, and he suspected missing Manon and Charlotte's smiling faces upon hearing the news of the engagement was an opportunity he'd regret allowing to pass him by, he also knew that many things, including his unborn child's welfare, depended on him maintaining his secrecy for at least a little longer. Izlude vowed to make it up to them, to take Manon to watch the New Year's joust and to bring Charlotte all the sweets she could cram into her stomach (which, he wagered, was quite a bit), he quickly made his way to the castle stables, hoping that Meliadoul had not spotted him. Having faced the risk of exposure more than once in his long, strange journey, it was with the ease of long practice that he swept his face clean of anxiety, calmed his breathing, and unobtrusively made his way toward the exit, his long stride and calm steps never faltering. Though he had fully intended to reveal himself to Meliadoul, the knightblade knew that now was not a good time, especially since he had not yet pieced together a plausible explanation for his revival, even to Alma.
And, until he could, Izlude knew he could not let Meliadoul suspect him. The knightblade knew his elder sister could be extremely persistent when she wanted answers, and he could not afford to let her blow his cover.
Not only could being exposed harm Izlude himself and even his unborn child, but also Meliadoul as well.
Though he had sound reason to believe that the threat posed by the Lucavi had been overturned – though, for how long, who could say? – he also knew that, officially, Izlude Tingel was dead. And, if it became widely known that this was not so, it might raise unwanted questions about how he'd survived and just why he'd seen fit to disguise another's corpse as his own.
Such a truth, much like the truth behind the "holy" Zodiac Stones, was more dangerous than any lie.
He felt a curious pulse of energy in his pocket which evoked the image of someone, with a palpable degree of sarcasm, saying that they would endeavor not to take such words personally.
Though Izlude had no way of knowing whether the stone genuinely would consider one too many ill-mannered words as cause to suck out his soul and inflict all manner of desecrations on his body, the knightblade took the hint and once more affirmed that trying the stone's patience would not be wise.
No offense, but I really don't like the idea of seeing who can and cannot have as….amicable a relationship as we do, he mused, long past thinking it odd to be, effectively, talking to a rock.
Luckily, it seemed Pisces did, in fact, embody empathy, for the stone promptly sent a pulse of understanding and fell quiet.
Not wanting the servants and guards he passed to suspect something was amiss, Izlude tried his best to maintain a steady pace and appear as calm and collected as he could while, at the same time, walk fast enough so that he could reach the stables and pick up Nelly and be on his way back to the inn where he was staying before Meliadoul could pick up his trail. Once he was safely back in his room, the knightblade could finally take time to think on how he could reveal his true identity to his once-again fiancée and sister without frightening or overwhelming them…or in Alma's case, causing a miscarriage.
After slipping past several servants and guards without raising too much interest among them beyond the inevitable lingering glances his exotic appearance attracted, Izlude finally arrived at the stables where he found both the stable boy who had taken his chocobo to a stall to be fed and watered while awaiting his return.
Upon seeing him, Eric was surprised. "Sir Damien! Are you leaving already? The ball isn't over for at least a few more hours!"
Izlude shook his head, hardly needing to feign disappointment at his abrupt exit. "I know. But, regrettably, something came up and I had to leave the Duchess of Lionel for the night. We'll meet again another time."
Although the knightblade knew he owed no explanation to the stable boy, Izlude still felt the need to give him an answer, if only out of courtesy for taking care of Nelly in his absence. Though, beyond that, was the fact that his dearly departed mother had always taught him to treat everyone with kindness and respect, regardless of their station in society.
He'd already had to make several painful compromises in order to slip away from Meliadoul, all of which he knew were necessary, but there was only so much he could abide in one evening.
Eric raised a brow. "The duchess? Oh, you mean Lady Catherine chose you? That's wonderful, Sir Damien!" the boy exclaimed with a broad grin.
Izlude gave a nervous laugh. "She has shown more interest in me than the others that came before, that is true. But, there is still much I need to do before we can make any announcements. Like asking for the blessing of King Delita and her brother, Duke Drake."
The boy nodded in understanding. "I see. I completely understand, sir. So, would you like me to prepare your chocobo?"
"Yes, please," Izlude answered. "But you need not do more than hand her over to me; I won't be riding Nelly tonight, I'll just walk back to the inn where I'm staying with her. It's not that far away."
"Of course, Sir Damien. Right away," Eric said before going to one of the stalls.
In what felt like yet another of fate's vindictive whims, the stall in question was one of the furthest back in the stables, and Eric wasn't exactly sprinting there. After long minutes of refraining from glancing over his shoulder to see if Meliadoul might be there, lest his eyes meet hers and betray him, he finally saw Eric open the wooden door before taking Nelly by the reins and leading her to Izlude.
Grateful that the boy decided not to press the matter of the engagement further, Izlude fished a fifty-gil bill from his pocket and pressed it into Eric's hand as soon as he'd returned with Nelly.
Upon seeing the generous gratuity, Eric surreptitiously pinched himself and then grinned from ear to ear.
"Thank you, sir!" he said, with unabashed enthusiasm. "That's mighty generous of you! I cannot believe my luck, but you're the second person to leave me such a generous gratuity this night!"
Izlude raised a brow. "The second, you say? And, who was the first?"
"Believe it or not, she was a tall and pretty lady; the new commander of the Knights Templar, Dame Meliadoul Tingel."
The knightblade could literally feel a bead of sweat coursing its way down the back of his neck at the mention of his sister's name and, for an irrational moment, wondered if it was possible that the young stable boy before him had deduced that there was some kind of connection between him and Meliadoul, even with the holy stone to disguise him.
Not wanting to stick around long enough to find out, Izlude quickly thought of a polite excuse to leave and be on his way.
"Interesting…though, I can assure you, the only thing a humble ex-bodyguard to the former Duke of Favoham and the commander of the Templars have in common is a keen eye for such fine service as you have provided tonight. Thank you for watching Nelly for me, Eric. Have a good night, and I hope you reward yourself well with that gil!"
To his relief, the stable boy decided to leave it at that.
"Thank you, sir. Good night to you as well. And, congratulations!" Eric waved merrily as the disguised knightblade disappeared into the shadowy streets.
Don't congratulate me yet, child. There is still much work to be done before I can claim Alma's hand… Izlude thought but held his tongue and finally led Nelly from the royal stables without another word.
As he'd left, knowing that he'd be forever denied seeing Manon and Charlotte's reaction to the man they'd already grown fond of effectively becoming their stepfather by marrying the woman they loved as a mother, he tried to content himself with imagining the scene. Surprised though he was at how much of a smile it brought to his face to contemplate his unlikely stepchildren, given their brief and unlooked-for acquaintance, he was even more surprised at how readily the image came, and the twinge it brought to his heart. He could see Manon, thrilled at the prospect of having another knight he'd come to respect to guide him as he earned his spurs, energetically slashing at the air with whatever might pass as a sword to his youthful imagination, and dancing back and forth across the marble. He could see Charlotte, rolling her eyes at the display, even as she whispered to herself that she did not find Manon's smile charming and that such nonsensical thoughts could only be smothered with cake, of which there was no such thing as "too much".
Now that I think about it, he thought to himself, relieved that his musings were tugging the corners of his mouth upward, perhaps after Alma and I get those two to admit to how they feel about each other, our next project should be getting that girl's eating habits under control.
More unbidden images – of him and Alma wrestling plates of confections from Charlotte, of Manon mounting his first chocobo while Alma and Charlotte looked on with pride and affection, and of the four of them, along with the other orphans of Lionel, gathered around the dinner table like a proper, if strange, family – flittered about Izlude's head and, though no substitute for the happiness so near and yet so far away, these musings would keep his spirits for a time.
SSSSSS
As soon as he had left the castle well behind him, Izlude took a moment to glance around to ensure he was alone. Seeing few people about, and none of whom taking more than a passing interest in him, he breathed a sigh of relief and quietly tugged on Nelly's reins to prompt her to follow him. Aside from his inn being only a block or two away from the castle, Izlude felt that he would draw less attention leading his chocobo instead of riding her back.
Thankfully, there were few people on the streets at this hour, mostly ordinary folk preparing to close shop or finish whatever business they had in town before heading home for the night. And, as Izlude had hoped, no one paid him any mind since he made an effort to keep a low profile. Since the knightblade had left the ball early, no one from the castle was out and about, and it would probably be some time before anyone would even notice he was missing.
One of the fortuitous truisms about Lesalian gossip is that people could get so caught up in the canards and tidbits about a person that they notice only belatedly, if at all, that the person in question has departed. And, considering that he was the chosen suitor of Duchess Catherine Seymour, Izlude didn't doubt that they'd be titling and tattling over him for hours before they noticed his departure.
Hopefully, the gossips would, true to form, either assume he'd departed at a sensible time or not care either way, short of someone spotting his exit. As far as he knew, only Alma and Eric knew he'd departed early, and he doubted either would be whispering about it.
Sighing in relief, Izlude started off taking the same, steady strides he used when he left the ballroom and made his way to the inn. The knightblade hated the feeling of needing to get somewhere in a hurry, especially when he was heading away from where he most longed to be, and yet at the same time not being able to run or walk too fast, lest he rouse the suspicion of those around him.
And, as for having seen Meliadoul at the ball, knowing how she'd grieved for him and yet not being able to tell him that he still lived, he liked that even less.
Now that he thought about it, Izlude knew he shouldn't have been surprised that his elder sister would be in attendance. As one of Ramza's companions who helped him to take down the Lucavi, there was no way Meliadoul wouldn't have been invited to the ball. And Mustadio did inform Izlude when they had met at the tailor shop that he had come to Lesalia seeking her, hence the reason for his new haircut and flamboyant garb as well as attempts to imitate the suave mannerisms of one of the ancient, but charming, sky pirates of Ivalician antiquity.
Even though the knightblade knew he would have to face his sister eventually, Izlude decided that he would put that off for the moment until he could secure his engagement to Alma by getting the approval of the king as well as her brother's. He'd use the intervening time to come up with some explanation as to why he'd waited so long to tell her that would not see him come away spitting teeth.
Unfortunately for Izlude, he was going to have to face his sister sooner than he had hoped. After he'd felt he was finally a safe distance away from Lesalia Castle, he'd become increasingly absorbed in his own thoughts regarding what to do next. So, the knightblade failed to notice that, as had been the case with Duke Malak Galthana, he had picked up another stalker in pursuit of his true identity.
One of Izlude's biggest mistakes was his sudden decision to take a shortcut back to his inn by passing through a narrow alley between two buildings instead of taking the longer path through the city square. Since the holy stone he carried had not given him any sign of danger, Izlude lowered his guard and started to walk a bit more slowly while giving Nelly the occasional tug to ensure she still followed his lead.
Just before he could get to the other side of the alley, Izlude suddenly felt a remarkably strong hand grab him by the shoulder and forcibly spin him around before slamming him into the nearby stone wall. The impact almost knocked the wind out of him.
Thinking that his assailant must be a robber after his newly invented, and quite full, wallet, Izlude felt more vexation than terror. He'd dealt with such thugs often enough, and was about to strike out at him or her to create enough space to draw his sword from its sheath but then he finally saw the face of his attacker. His own features promptly drained of color as he quickly recognized the one person he had left the ball early to avoid in the first place now looming over him and scowling fiercely.
Thinking quickly, Izlude tried his best to feign bewildered incredulity at his sister, several criticisms of this effrontery on the tip of his tongue, which he somehow managed to remember even when he saw Meliadoul giving him a glare almost frightening enough to kill.
"My lady! What is the meaning of this?!" the knightblade demanded in a strained whisper.
As children, Meliadoul had been taller than him and, unlike other sisters whose younger brothers outgrow them upon reaching adulthood, she still stood at least two inches over Izlude in height.
And was still considerably stronger as well.
"Don't play dumb," Meliadoul hissed. "I followed you here since you left the stables. What I want to know is how you obtained my brother's chocobo, Nelly. I'm also curious about why she's so friendly with you, considering that she would not let anyone besides him and myself ride her."
Trying his best to stay calm, as well as to inject a believable note of astonishment into his words, Izlude said: "What? My lady, are you telling me that this chocobo is a mount of the famed Knights Templar? Belonging to their late second-in-command, no less? I swear to you, I had no idea, my lady!"
Izlude had had more than enough successes, and more than enough close calls, to be able to look back upon his various performances with an objective eye. Given time and practice, the incriminating pauses from his speech and the self-conscious way his eyes drifted from the gaze of those he spoke to had ceased. By that same token, he'd learned how to harness his own great capacities for empathy, anger, contrition, and curiosity, so that he might endear himself to those who might help him to reunite with Alma, and perhaps even count themselves amongst his friends afterward.
The performance he'd just given would've been more than enough to convince the Fredericks, Sir Alian, the Boulder Devils, or even Alma herself…
…but, he got the distinct impression that Meliadoul would prove a much harsher critic.
"Where did you get Nelly?" she asked, steel in her tone.
The disguised knightblade inwardly cursed himself for ending up in this situation. Perhaps bluffing his way back into Alma's affections, unable to reveal the truth for the sake of her health, had stung him more than he'd been willing to admit to himself. After all, concocting a false history and peddling it to new acquaintances, even new friends, was one thing. But, as he'd discovered this night, doing so with someone he loved was quite another.
Or, maybe such a string of successes with his newly learned but well-honed skills in subterfuge had caused him to become overconfident and he'd been too dismissive of how likely, and how problematic, was the prospect of Meliadoul catching him as he made his exit?
Either way, he was now hemmed in, and by someone who he knew was neither easily fooled nor whose safety could be guaranteed if she learned the truth.
And, of course, that was discounting the possibility that he'd be beaten black and blue if she discovered his deception. Mustering his reserve, Izlude composed his words carefully.
"I bought Nelly from a traveling merchant, not long after I chose to leave Duke Barrington's service and depart Riovanes," Izlude began, suspecting that the Times made "Damien Mitchell's" former connection to Favoham too well known for him to talk his way around it. "I departed several weeks before the massacre, for Duke Barrington's mistreatment of his servants had run me out of patience. I'd heard tales of then-Sir Delita by that point and, though I'd not met the man, I suspected he'd be a commander to whom I could happily pledge my sword. As I trekked into Yardow, I learned of a merchant who was selling a number of fine chocobos at bargain prices."
Here, Izlude paused and allowed a hint of self-deprecation to seep into his tone.
"With the Battle of Fort Besselat looking to decide the war one way or the other, I'd feared what chance I had to enter Sir Delita's service would be lost if I had to walk all the way there, and my severance pay was quite meager. The merchant selling such fine mounts, and for a pittance, was too good an opportunity to pass up."
Again, Izlude paused. When he spoke again, he hardly needed to feign the contrition in his tone.
"I swear to you, my lady," he began earnestly, "I had no idea Nelly even had a former owner, let alone that she belonged to your late brother, and I've never had any problems handling her."
Here, Izlude's words trailed away as he caught sight of his sister's expression. He had half expected her to appear dejected at being played false by this faint glimmer of hope that her brother might not be dead after all, perhaps followed by anger at the interloping knight of foreign stock who'd unwittingly helped himself to her dead kin's property. He'd been expected both, and bracing himself accordingly, many protestations of innocence and sympathy for her loss couched upon his tongue and ready to be sent forth…
…and, he hated it.
Rationalizing the act with Alma had been painful, but the peril to her health and that of his unborn child and been enough to fortify his reserve and to keep his aching heart from betraying his secrets. Yet, the act had been trying and left him raw.
Too raw to repeat such a feat so soon.
And, with his reserve so sorely tested, perhaps that explained why the next words to pass his lips were so ill-advised.
"I know it is hardly the same as having your brother back, my lady," he began, speaking too fast for his normally sound wits to interfere. "But, if you wish it, I can return Nelly to you."
If the divine knight's eyebrow arching at these words wasn't enough of a hint that he'd somehow miscalculated, then the indignant "WARK!" from Nelly, and the reproachful peck she gave him, certainly was.
"You must be quite charming indeed to command such loyalty from so stubborn a mount, especially so soon after you bought her from a "traveling merchant"," Meliadoul opined, though her tone had the hairs on the back of Izlude's neck standing on end. "But, aren't you forgetting something?"
The disguised knightblade was suddenly very certain that he'd forgotten something, not the smallest reason being that he could feel the stone vibrating urgently enough to corroborate his sister's ominous words. Yet, though he searched his memory frantically for whatever the divine knight might be referring to, he remained unilluminated.
"I…am afraid I do not understand, my lady," he admitted, hardly needing to feign incomprehension.
"Do you?" the divine knight sneered before releasing Izlude and stepping back slightly. Reaching into the pocket of her cloak, Meliadoul pulled out what appeared to be a gold-tone coin-like object. Holding it between her thumb and forefinger, she held it out for Izlude to see.
Izlude managed to keep his gaze steady and his breathing calm at the sight of it. Barely.
Though it had been months since Izlude abandoned the only thing he had left that could identify him as a son of the Tingel family, there was no mistaking his dog tag, which he had exchanged for the true Damien Mitchell's when he'd claimed the dead man's identity as his own.
But there was no way he could let Meliadoul know that, so Izlude did his best to feign ignorance.
"What is that?" he asked, trying his best to remain calm and allowing nothing but perplexity to cross his features.
Meliadoul snorted. "Are you saying you don't recognize it? It belonged to my late brother, the true owner of your chocobo, Nelly, who I gave as a birthday gift. It was only a few months ago that he perished at Riovanes. And furthermore, I discovered that none of the survivors of the massacre had escaped with any of the chocobos at the castle, especially since they had barely escaped with their lives. Yet, someone had released those animals kept in the stables, likely so they wouldn't starve to death waiting for owners who'd never return. Remember, these weren't pack animals free to all finders. These were mounts trained for combat, and trained to run to the nearest outpost they know of if left riderless for too long. They're also trained to be…very uncooperative with strangers and can only be trained to accept new riders by specialists. So, how is it that this "traveling merchant" you describe managed to catch a knight's mount when it had the advantage of the open field? And, more to the point, how is it that you have Nelly, who'd bite a stranger's fingers from his hand before letting him mount? You couldn't have possibly bought her from a traveling merchant as you claim!"
Izlude could only assume that his borrowed face's natural paleness was the only reason Meliadoul hadn't pointed out how he'd been blanching this whole time.
With an inward snarl, he cursed himself for a fool. Although he'd been aware of such safeguards designed to make war chocobos very difficult to steal, Nelly had served him so well and for so long that this information went unused and later forgotten. And, the divine knight before him had, very thoroughly, used this oversight to snare him. Now that he was thoroughly cornered, psychologically as well as physically, Izlude finally stared to panic. Yet, he still refused to reveal anything that would confirm his sister's suspicions that he was not truly the knight whose identity he'd claimed.
"I…I don't know what you mean, my lady!" Izlude spluttered, his words sounding suspect even to his own ears.
In reply to his stubborn denial, Meliadoul smiled coldly before she suddenly grabbed his left wrist in a grip of iron and twisted it around, causing him to wince in pain as his palm was forced upward. What Meliadoul saw there made her gasp as she beheld the one thing that finally confirmed what she had suspected since she'd caught sight of him in the castle ballroom.
Confused, Izlude looked down at his own hand to see what Meliadoul found so astonishing and he found himself gasping as well when he saw his strawberry sized birthmark on the inside of his left wrist.
Bewildered, the knightblade did not even have enough time to think about how his birthmark had suddenly reappeared after being disguised by the holy stone for months, especially given that he was positive the telltale mark had not been there five minutes ago, when he suddenly caught sight of his sister's expression.
Had Izlude blanched any more, he might've been mistaken for some new subspecies of undead.
Not that he could be blamed, of course. After all, he had dared to lie straight to Meliadoul's face, something he had never done as a child, partly because he knew how hazardous it could be to one's health. Meliadoul's expression was a mixture of anger as well as hurt at the realization that Izlude had kept the fact that he had indeed survived and escaped the Riovanes massacre from her for months.
Months she had spent grieving, months she had spent in bitter loneliness, months she had spent in self-recrimination at not having seen that their father had been subverted by the Lucavi and acted to prevent such a tragedy, months spent trying to drown her sorrows in the blood of demonkind.
Izlude was, as those of the cruder persuasions would have put it, screwed.
"Did you think that I would not know my own little brother?!" the divine knight asked, her eyes brimming with hot tears of anger. "Why, Izlude? Why the deception? If you were alive all this time, why did you not make yourself known to me?!"
Knowing that he could deny his true identity no longer, the knightblade finally caved.
"I…I couldn't! There were reasons!" he said, already wondering if he'd soon be parting company with a few incisors or a few canines.
"Such as?" Meliadoul asked, her tone suggesting that her thoughts mirrored Izlude's own.
Izlude took a deep breath. Now that his sister knew he was alive, he had no choice but to tell her the truth. After all, what else could he do? But the problem was, would she believe it?
Seeing no other option, the knightblade did his best to give Meliadoul a, very, short recounting of what had happened to him, from the time he was revived by the Holy Stone up until he made his way to Lesalia to vie for Alma's hand.
He hardly needed the stone's precautionary pulsing to know that including the part about Alma being pregnant by him out of wedlock would be a very, very bad idea.
"I didn't mean to deceive you, Melly, honest!" Izlude insisted. "I just wasn't sure how to tell you, even if I could. I had no way of knowing which Templars were and weren't in on fath-and I mean Hashmalum's plot. If he'd thought you knew too much, he would've killed you. And, even if I had some way to contact you, what was I going to say? "Hello, I know I look like a Romandan now, and I sound like the sort of yokel you see wearing a kilt and torturing people with bagpipe music in the Favoham highlands, but I'm actually your brother who's not dead but was resurrected by one of those holy stones you read about in the gospel, which aren't actually holy and turn people into demons by the way. I'd stick around, but I need to find my girlfriend, who's the younger sister of the most infamous heretic of the last century. Yeah, the same guy who impaled you at Bervenia. And, by the way, my girlfriend's sadly been abducted by our father who, even more sadly than that, had his soul evicted by a demon, the same one that killed me, over a decade ago. Just though you should know, bye!""
At some point during this tirade, Izlude suddenly recalled that Meliadoul hated sarcasm.
Really, really hated it.
It was no longer a question of whether he'd soon part with his incisors or his canines, but whether he'd soon be short a molar or two as well.
"I'm so sorry, Melly," he said after a long pause. "I wanted to tell you at Bervenia, if only to stop you and Ramza from killing each other, but I looked and even sounded different. So, I figured all I could do was to bide my time. I knew I needed to reveal myself to you, but I needed a bit more time to think about it, especially since I had no way of knowing if the stone would give me back my real face again. But, since you've decided to follow me, it's completely out of my hands now!"
Instead of saying that she didn't believe him as he expected, Meliadoul finally released Izlude and calmed down.
"So, it was as I suspected all along…" she muttered.
The knightblade was puzzled. "What?"
"After the Duke of Barrington had not been heard from and Riovanes Castle remained silent for too long, investigators from the church were sent there to find out why. The corpses that hadn't been squashed into jelly were brought to the castle morgue to be identified, and I was summoned by the priests who accompanied the church investigators to confirm whether or not the corpse clad in your armor and wearing your dog tag was yours."
Izlude stared at his sister in astonishment. "Did you know…?"
Meliadoul shook her head. "No…I was not certain. But I had my doubts…my suspicions…"
SSSSSS
"I have a bad feeling about this."
Meliadoul remembered Dame Anastasia Caldaur saying that when the pair had received the summons from the Lord Commander to travel to Riovanes Castle. At the time, the divine knight had thought only that her sister-in-arms had a gift for the melodramatic.
Now, she thought it would be nearer the truth to say that Anastasia had a gift for understatement.
The missive had said that the details were too sensitive to be relayed in a document that could, just possibly, be intercepted by unauthorized persons, and that the Templar commander in charge of the operation would brief her upon her arrival.
The urgency, and secrecy, of this errand was obvious, though the need for it remained unclear. The Knights Templar – and, indeed, nearly all the might of the Church of Glabados – had been bent to the task of ensuring that the corrupt crown, which had failed the good people of Ivalice for the final time by leaving the kingdom defeated and destitute after the Fifty Years War, would be toppled and replaced with a puppet monarchy whose strings were guided by the deft but hidden hand of the High Confessor. This had meant fanning the copious, and quite hot, embers of dissent to ignite flame after flame of rebellion, goading the feuding dukes into a war neither could win and which all would lose, assassinating the leaders of either camp, and then plucking the role of mediator from the upraised hands of the grateful populace.
This had meant that the church's agents were hard at work in the warring provinces of Lesalia, Gallione, Zeltennia, and Limberry, these efforts controlled from the heart of the church in Muround and supported by the church-controlled province of Lionel.
So, why had Favoham suddenly become so important?
It had not aligned with either side, it was not nearly as populous as its neighbors, it had little to offer save the skills of its assassins and weaponeers, which no side had any lack of, and it had little strategic value in a conflict waged far to the east and south of its modestly sized borders.
Indeed, if the seven provinces of Ivalice were to be sorted in accordance to the sum total of their importance to the church's plan to end this age of corruption, then Favoham would be at or near the bottom of the list.
And yet, clearly, something had changed.
Upon arriving, the two divine knights knew what.
Riovanes Castle had become a charnel house.
The scene that greeted the pair was so vile that Anastasia retched on the spot and only sheer willpower kept Meliadoul from doing likewise. Of the more than five hundred people who'd lived and worked within the castle, all but a handful had been slain. Their blood splattered across every surface, their limps strewn across the floor like the discarded toys of some demonic child, their entrails smeared over the walls. Some forms were largely whole, save for skulls that had been smashed like melons while others had been crushed into a jelly of gore and splintered bone.
Meliadoul's nausea was overpowered, barely, by terror when she recalled that, just days before this happened, her father and brother had travelled here for some errand whose purpose was unknown to her.
Without paying any heed to the people sent from the Glabados Church who, like her, had discovered the cause behind the prolonged silence from Riovanes and who were now engaged in the solemn task of cleaning up as well as attempting to identify the bodies that littered the castle hallways and courtyard, Meliadoul Tingel quickly made her way to the castle morgue.
Ignoring the overwhelming stench of blood and the sight of the slaughtered, both of which were almost overpowering to those attempting to sift through the dead for some hint of which barely intact corpse was which, there was only one thing was on Meliadoul's mind.
Her younger brother, Izlude.
What might've become him, she could not say…feared to say. Though the summons had made no mention of this horrific slaughter, it had said that the few survivors whom the church had been able to find were far too unhinged to provide any useful information…but that there were a few bodies that needed identification.
Meliadoul had hoped that the war chocobos missing from the stables, including Nelly, might've meant that her brother had escaped the carnage, and yet the knot of leaden dread her stomach had tied itself into only tightened with each passing moment.
It cannot be. It cannot be. It cannot be… she thought frantically over and over.
He should have been out of Riovanes before this happened… But the thought did little to soothe her nerves as she rushed down the dark stairway that led to the morgue, fittingly located in the subterranean bowels of the castle and seemingly miles away. She hadn't planned on imparting as much force to the doors at the bottom as she had, but the sound echoed up and down the otherwise muted hallway nonetheless.
A lone priest in the entryway jumped at the sound. He looked at her in shock for a moment, possibly about to inquire why she was not accompanied by the commander who was leading this grim mission, but his features quickly became sympathetic, as if he recognized who she was. Immediately, he made a courteous bow.
"My lady…," the young man began, but trailed off as if he didn't know what to tell her.
Although he did not say so, Meliadoul knew this priest was the one whom she was meant to see, that the commander, had she found him, would've escorted her here to that she could identify a corpse that might be either that of her brother or her father, the Templar commander Vormav Tingel. Normally, their father would have been summoned for this grim task but, since he was nowhere to be found at the moment, and his corpse might very well be among the dead, Meliadoul was called upon instead.
The divine knight brushed him off with a wave of her hand. She didn't need his sympathy, and they both knew it. Having no patience for formalities, the divine knight finally asked what they both knew was on her mind.
"Where is the body?" Her voice sounded hollow to her ears, completely devoid of emotion. "Or, is it "bodies"? Who have I lost?"
Not wanting to incite her anger, the priest remained silent and pointed west. Meliadoul's throat tightened even more.
Without saying a word, she turned and walked to the west. Perhaps the priest followed her, but she paid him no heed. Her whole being was consumed with the thought that one, or both, of the men dearest to her heart might've been killed in whatever atrocity had been wrought above. She wouldn't permit another thought to enter her mind, not even the torturous hope that one, or both, might've escaped.
Meliadoul came to another door. This time she took more care as she opened it. The door emitted a low moan as it opened, not unlike that of a predator opening its jaws to swallow her up. Beyond the door was a darkened room; the only source of light was a handful of flickering candles giving it a palpable ominous aura. The light from outside the room cast her silhouette on a table and threw into sharp relief a body over which draped a shroud of white linen.
She stepped in. The darkness seemed to deaden sound just as readily as it blotted out light. Not her armored boots against the stone, not her rasping breath, nor her metal bracers clinking from her trembling arms could shatter the funereal stillness as she reached to pull back the white linen.
The enchantment shattered. Meliadoul's legs gave out from underneath her and her shin guards landed on the stone floor with a resounding crash. The sound reverberated off the walls of the small enclosed room. The question of who she had lost, turned into a dark mantra over the seeming thousand steps that separated the door from the slab, ended and was replaced by just one word.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!!"
After being closed off in her mind for so long, banked behind the same walls of sheer willpower that had kept her from adding the contents of her stomach to the menagerie of gore upstairs, Meliadoul suddenly became painfully aware of her own body. Her hands clenched in fists, covering her eyes. Something wet rolled down her wrist.
Am I crying? she wondered, a hint of astonishment amidst her sudden outpouring of grief.
There was little doubt as crystalline drops of bitter liquid glistening on her gauntlets, trickling through the cracks to moisten her fingers. Soon her whole body shook wracked with sobs.
No, she thought; she tried to hold back the tears, I have to be strong…for him. This gave her strength as she fought for composure. She wiped away the tears from her eyes and face. Slowly she climbed to her feet and commanded them to hold her upright.
She looked down at her brother's corpse that was clad in the same gold-tone armor and green tabard she had last seen him in. Unlike many victims of the massacre, Izlude's body had not been gutted, nor dismembered, nor squashed into a bloody pulp. By some too small mercy, his corpse still retained its human shape, something Meliadoul was grateful for. But the fact that his face was crushed beyond recognition didn't make it any less horrid for his sister's eyes.
She tore her eyes away from the misshapen, splintered mass that used to be her brother's skull as she drew back more of the linen shroud. She felt herself go pale. She had seen many battle wounds, but none such as this. His armor and tabard alike were shredded, as though by the impossibly sharp claws of some creature sprung from nightmares, and his chest and abdomen were nothing more than a bloody mess.
Fighting the ever-present urge to vomit, Meliadoul tore her eyes away from his corpse for a moment as she reached for his left hand and removed the gauntlet and bracer covering it. Bracing herself for the worst, and wondering just how this could be worse, she searched for the birthmark on his wrist that only she, Izlude, and their parents knew he had.
But it was nowhere to be seen. Because the skin over the spot where it was supposed to be had been savaged nearly to the bone.
So, Meliadoul searched for the only other thing that could identify the ravaged corpse as her brother's: his gold-tone dog tag which still hung around his stiff neck.
As she had feared, there was no mistaking that the dog tag she had removed and now held in her hand was that of her younger brother.
Vormav Tingel's fate remained unknown, but his son and her brother, Izlude Tingel, was dead.
But still, something was amiss. Out of the corner of her eye, the divine knight noticed that the little hair that remained on the corpse's scalp was a shade darkerthan Izlude's. She knew her brother wasn't in the habit of coloring his hair and, though it was not uncommon for the order's covert agents to make subtle alterations to their appearance in order to conduct their assignments without arousing attention, Izlude lacked the training and ability to dissemble which was requisite to spycraft. And, it certainly didn't explain why Izlude had somehow become much, much paler than even death could account for. Not only that, the faceless dead man lying on the cold stone table looked to be slightly taller than Izlude as well, which Meliadoul's keen eye had noticed despite the fact that his body was lying down.
Even so, these subtle discrepancies were not enough to drown out the pure unadulterated rage that was beginning to build inside the divine knight and she instantly needed a name to put to the killer of her cherished younger brother.
Gripping Izlude's dog tag, Meliadoul's hands balled into even tighter fists at her side. She squeezed so tight that her gauntlets creaking in protest against the metal of the dog tag.
"Who did this?" the divine knight demanded coldly, her voice tight with barely-restrained rage.
The priest standing at the door jumped at the sound of her voice. "No one knows", he answered nervously as if he feared inciting Meliadoul's anger. "There are rumors, but…"
"Who did this?" she repeated, this time a bit more forcefully. The temperature in the room dropped as killer intent flooded the enclosed space and the priest knew he could put off giving the fallen knight's sister an answer no longer. Especially if he didn't want her to vent her rage on him.
"Ramza Beoulve."
"Ramza Beoulve…" Meliadoul hissed. The name sounded familiar and, with a silent thunderclap, she remembered. If her memory served her right, the man in question was a son of the famous General Balbanes Beoulve who served the crown loyally during the Fifty Years War. Ramza himself had deserted the Hokuten following the destruction of the Corpse Brigade at Zeikden Fortress and was later implicated in the murder of Cardinal Draclau and the theft of a holy artifact.
But none of that mattered to her. For what he had done, the divine knight had vowed to make him pay.
With his life.
"Ramza Beoulve…" Meliadoul repeated quietly before her face finally contorted with rage and she released an ear-shattering scream that made her only listener jump before cowering in fear.
"YOUR BLOOD IS MINE!"
ssssss
"A bit later, after I'd calmed down a bit, I realized the claim that Ramza was responsible for the massacre didn't make sense," Meliadoul admitted. "Yeah, he was the most infamous heretic of the last century and he'd bloodied the church's nose several times. But, breaking into a castle and killing over five hundred people? Reportedly in a matter of minutes? It was hard enough to believe anyone could do that at all, let alone with such…such…savagery. So, when I ambushed Ramza at Bervenia, I said that I blamed him in part because, even if he hadn't been responsible, it stood to reason that he'd had something to say about it. He always seemed to be in the thick of things, after all. Just my luck that his explanation sounded ridiculous even with the benefit of hindsight, eh?"
"I know," Izlude agreed. "I swear, I would've thought the explanation he gave you in Bervenia was a tall tale if I hadn't seen Hashmalum face-to-face."
"Yeah, even after he spared me, and I had some evidence that he hadn't been responsible for the massacre, I thought maybe he sounded like some sort of addlepated idiot until I tracked him to Limberry and-"
Here, the divine knight paused as some of her brother's earlier words came back to her.
"My God. You said you followed him to Bervenia? That means you saw…"
She couldn't finish the sentence, but she didn't have to. Even after seeing Ramza heal her, even after seeing her whole and unharmed afterwards, the image of his sister, spitted upon the blade of the reluctant Ramza, would likely haunt Izlude until his second and final death.
"I'm so sorry, Melly…," Izlude apologized after hearing his sister's side of the story. "I shouldn't have brought up Bervenia. I mean, that gives me nightmares, and I can barely imagine what it must've been like for you."
Having had his chest literally ripped to shreds by Hasmalum, Izlude could, indeed, imagine just what it had been like, albeit with the narrowest of margins. To, literally, behold death looming above through fading vision, the searing pain of the wound which, paradoxically, ached less and less and life ebbed away, and the far greater anguish of knowing all that had been left undone.
Only belatedly did he realize his slip in using the word "barely", which prompted a shiver of disapproval and warning from the stone, but it seemed Meliadoul hadn't taken notice.
At least, not yet. Now that she had unmasked him, the divine knight would no doubt demand that he be very, very forthcoming.
"It was wrong of me not to tell you right away, but you must believe me when I say I didn't intend to keep this a secret forever," he continued, his words quavering. "I truly believed it was better for both of us if you remained ignorant until the time was right."
"Oh, and why is that?" Meliadoul demanded.
"Because if the Lucavi demon masquerading as our father knew I was alive, he would have sent his minions to finish me off for good, if not kill me himself. And, if he had reason to believe you knew I was alive, he might have gotten rid of you as well. And, again, it's not like I had any way to prove my identity…," Izlude answered tiredly, hoping his answer would satisfy Meliadoul.
And, as much as she hated to admit it, the divine knight knew her brother was likely right about their father…or more accurately, the demon who had taken his form to command the Templar. For all the pain it had caused her, for how near she'd come to total despair, she had to concede that Izlude's decision to keep the fact that he had miraculously escaped the Riovanes Castle massacre a secret from her was the correct one.
"Tsk, fine!" she said, her answer causing Izlude to drop his guard and give a sigh of relief as she turned away from him for a moment to reflect on his confession…
…which was a big mistake.
For while his sister agreed with the rationale behind his decision, it didn't mean she had to like it, which Meliadoul demonstrated when she suddenly spun around again and punched her little brother in the face.
Hard.
"THAT is for putting me through all that grief for nothing, you big idiot!" she screamed at him, hiccups punctuating her words as her eyes misted.
Izlude barely had time to process this before Meliadoul suddenly hurled herself at him, clutching him tight enough to squeeze air from his lungs, and began sobbing in his chest.
It had been a long time since he'd seen her cry like this. It had been a long time since he'd seen her cry at all. Though the recollection lay on the very fringe of his memory, for Izlude had been quite young at the time, he suspected that the last time he'd seen her cry like this had been when their mother had died. It had likely been the single worst day of either of the lives, recent events notwithstanding, and one of only a handful of instances where he'd seen his normally vivacious sister in tears.
And, he didn't like it.
He pondered whether he ought to just allow her to let out the grief she'd kept pent up behind a veritable dam of grim willpower or if he ought to say something that might allow some levity into this emotionally charged reunion.
He had quite a few things to say about her new boyfriend, all very cheekily worded.
He promptly reconsidered when he felt the stone in his pocket give a cold throb which had a distinct flavor of "SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU IDOIT!"
Perhaps Meliadoul sensed his train of thought, for she promptly echoed the sentiment. Still, despite the hour, Lesalia was a city that never truly slept, and it was not beyond the realm of possibility that someone on some manner of late night ramble might hear the divine knight's sobbing and decide to investigate. So, after managing to avoid bursting into flames when his speaking prompted a truly frightening glare from his sister, he suggested they talk more at the inn.
He had many reasons to wish for privacy, not the smallest being he didn't want to risk the wrong person noticing if the Pisces Stone made any further…changes to his disguise.
Still, as he walked Meliadoul back to the inn, which was thankfully quiet enough that no one noticed the pair, he swore he heard Meliadoul mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "so happy to have you back".
Knowing from prior experience that his sister did not appreciate being called out on her sentimental side, Izlude silently returned the sentiment.
In a strange and yet palpably real way, he felt like himself again at long last.