A/N: Hi, this is Elly3981 and I'd like to apologize for the delay in updates. My co-writer and I have been very busy and at time unsure how we want to continue. I want to thank everyone who has been following our story for the last few years and let you all know that we should be concluding it in a few more chapters. Once again, I would like to thank Falchion1984 for his help in making this fic possible. Enjoy and please review!
Chapter 30: The Sins of Our Brothers
"What to do, indeed?"
Following the confirmation that Algus' sister, Layla, did exist, that question had
been bandied about for the better part of an hour.
Unfortunately, the small group had little to show for it.
Well, after Balmafula had painted several nigh-impeccable reproductions of Layla's portrait, albeit with no sign that she was of noble birth nor the last scion of the hated House Sadalfas, Olan and the rest of Ramza's old squad mates from the Hokuten Academy were still tossing about notions in much the same way a child might toss rings at an array of bottles in hopes that one of those rings would manage the improbable feat of settling about a bottle's neck.
Such games were often derided as being rigged, and this particular exercise in lateral thinking seemed just as futile.
Though all were at a loss as to how Delita had learned that Algus Sadalfas had had a sister when, by all accounts, the arrogant young man had never once mentioned her, the group harbored few if any doubts that allowing her to fall into Delita's hands was not an option.
But, what to do instead had proved elusive.
Granted, both Lionel Castle and Riovanes Castle played host to droves of orphans, be they from the War of the Lions or the Fifty Years War, and one little girl could easily be concealed amongst their number. More importantly, each castle was governed by a duke that was well aware of Delita's true nature and what he would do to the younger sister of his most hated enemy if she were to fall into his hands. The temptation to leave Layla in the care of Duke Drake Seymour, known to a select few as Ramza Beoulve, or Duke Malak Galthana was considerable, but it did carry considerable risks. Delita had proven himself to be a tenacious and eerily foresighted man time and time again. If Olan and his companions claimed their search had ended in failure, even if they found the corpse of some child whose life had been tragically cut short but who bore a fortuitous resemblance to the last scion of House Sadalfas, there was every likelihood that the King of Ivalice would see right through the deception.
Even if, say, Delita did not find some excuse to pop in to inspect the orphanages, he could just as easily have someone in his employ masquerade as adoptive parents and go in to look for a blonde girl in her toddler years and report to him if they saw a child who bore a strong resemblance to his most hated enemy.
And, worse, Ramza and Malak held their titles and castles – and, by extension, their ability to do anybody any good – by Delita's leave alone. If either tried to hide Layla from him and were found out, it could invite retaliation from Delita, whether political or martial in nature.
Even if Ramza or Malak were willing to risk it, the consequence for those who depended upon them would be dire.
Granted, there were uncountable couples in Ivalice who would happily adopt a little girl, but all were strangers who could easily hide deep cruelties behind a kindly veneer. And, even if they were genuine, none would even consider getting between their beloved king and the kin of his most hated enemy.
The option of using the "late" Count Orlandu's network of contacts to find Layla a home in exile in Romanda or even Ordalia was viable, though none envied the prospect of living in a strange land amongst strange people who spoke in strange tongues, with all that was familiar distant and unattainable.
How could they when they'd only narrowly avoided such a fate themselves?
It wasn't until the paint had dried on the new, subtly altered portraits of Layla that the group had had to face facts.
They were talking in circles about how to fool a man who had proven, several times over, to be far cleverer than they, in order to protect a girl they did not even know was still alive, let alone had found.
So, with palpable reluctance, the group had to decide what to do with Layla after finding her and confirming that she yet lived, all while discreetly praying that their failure to outthink Delita would not come back to bite them.
And, though none would admit it, some even prayed that Layla was already dead, as that would surely be a kinder fate that whatever fate Delita had devised.
Armed with a (first) name and a face, it had been a simple matter to ask around in the nearby towns and villages, many of which were still being hacked out of the wilderness and built following the Ivalice's many recent upheavals. And, ultimately, they managed to find and question enough people who recalled seeing Layla to trace her path. From that the group was able to piece together, Layla had been traveling with an older woman, likely a onetime servant of her family, amongst the vast throng of refugees who had fled Zeltennia and Limberry, driven from their homes as their prospects of employment dried up as surely as did the drought ravaged farmlands. And, much to the group's dread, the most recent information on the pair of castaways placed them at the shanty towns that had sprung up around Lesalia.
Which, if true, placed Layla practically on Delita's doorstep.
That revelation made the group's hearts sink, and not only because they might have already failed to spare the little girl from the king's grasp.
After all, few things could make ones heart sink lower, or faster, than the shanty towns.
As the War of the Lions was reaching its apex and Ivalice's economy, already on the brink of ruin following the Fifty Years War, promptly toppled over the edge, over one hundred thousand people had quit their homes and land in the hopes of finding succor in the city of splendors that was Leslia. But, when they arrived, they were greeted by a marbled isle that could not have accommodated the huddled masses of tired and wounded even if it had wanted to. Over time, disbelief turned to desperate hope that the situation might change and, from there, gave way to despairing realization then, ultimately, a smaller war within the grander conflict between the castaways and the natives.
One side had lost everything and was past caring how they got it back from the hardhearted people who still had roofs over their heads and food on their plates, and the other side, far more often than not, wanted simply to defend their families and property from a horde of strangers who would happily trample anyone who got between them and a pittance of food.
Few knew whether more people died needlessly on the front as men and women who'd fought shoulder to shoulder for decades against Ordalia suddenly found themselves on opposite sides or if the greater death toll was exacted in Lesalia's streets as two groups of onetime countrymen, goaded by fear and desperation, turned on each other.
Of those few who could say where the most blood was spent, none were inclined to share that grim figure.
But, then again, did it really matter?
One of the two numbers being smaller than the other would do little, if anything, to diminish the grand and terrible scope of the tragedy.
Such was the prevailing opinion as the group reached the shanty towns. Built by those who had come to Lesalia to find the marbled isle unwilling – and, in truth, unable – to feed, clothe, and shelter them, the refugees had pieced together whatever shelters they could out of a sorry collection of flotsam, castoff material, and assorted junk, creating a collection of hovels that seemingly sprang up like toadstools around the capital of Ivalice, and ones far more poisonous then any deadly fungi found in nature.
Amidst those vast crops of rickety huts, each and every one carried a sobering reminder of just how dark human nature could be.
Yet, to the astonishment of all, that chapter of Ivalician history too seemed to have drawn to a close.
Whereas those "toadstools" had once played host to thousands upon thousands of the wretched and destitute, many of whom dropped dead from hunger, illness, or heartbreak even as one watched, the shanty towns were now all but deserted.
As the flooding in Gallione and the drought in Limberry had ended, offering the chance for Ivalice's farmlands to yield again, and other opportunities for peaceful trades re-materialized, Delita had been able to finance the construction of new towns and villages where the refugees could rebuild their lives. Most jumped at the opportunity, leaving for these new farming, mining, fishing, and trading settlements as fast as they could. Other, more contrite souls, whose consciences were no longer drowned out by the pangs of hunger, had chosen to make amends with the natives of Lesalia, offering their labor in payment for the damage they had done to this family's home or that tradesman's place of business. And, in a scene not far removed from the tale of the Prodigal Son, these offers were accepted in a show of mutual good faith that, not so long ago, seemed a thing extinct and forgotten.
In either case, the shanty towns had emptied nearly as fast as they'd filled up in the first place. And yet, inexplicably, Delita had left it standing, for no apparent reason, right up until just after "Catherine Seymour" had made her debut on the Ivalician social scene. This delay was made all the more peculiar since, well beforehand, the only people left in the shanty towns were squatters, scavengers, madmen, and fugitives, most if not all of whom could not follow their fellows to brighter futures even in the unlikely event that they actually tried to do so.
Delita's as-yet baffling decision not to tear down the shanty towns the first chance he got, his long delay before reversing his stance, and the lack of any obvious reason for him to change his mind when he had left Olan and his companions bewildered. But, as it happened, Delita's strange slowness to clear out the hovels had an unexpected yet fortuitous side effect.
It had kept him from finding Layla before Olan and his group did.
But, that small bit of good fortune promptly gave way to yet another problem when the small group still had no idea how to overcome the ones they'd already discovered.
When they had found the little girl and the older woman she had been traveling with, the latter revealed to be Layla's former nanny, it quickly became apparent that the pair's problems hadn't ended with the sacking of Sadalfas Manor nor even of having to shelter in that wretched warren of poverty and despair. Layla was ill.
And, worse, her ailment, commonly referred to as the Consumption, was widely regarded as the Kiss of Death.
The nanny, though she didn't look long for this world either, had looked ready to spend what little life remained in her to defend her charge but, thankfully, Olan had managed to stop her short by producing the plush tiger and blanket he had found in Layla's former bedroom. The girl, who'd seemed little more than a bundle of skin and bones and who couldn't draw the smallest breath without coughing it out again, along with a worrisome amount of blood, had recognized her two former possessions. She gave a tremulous, disbelieving smile, clearly unused to shows of kindness, and raised beckoning hands.
Her arms could've been mistaken for those of the reanimated skeletons who'd proven the last sight for many an unlucky Ivalician, wasted and wizened, and they trembled visibly under the effort of keeping them outstretched.
Perhaps Olan, though never a knight in fact, was indeed one in spirit, or maybe it was the sight of a child who seemed all but destined to die young, something he'd seen too often and yet against which he could never harden his heart, and the backhanded reminder that he might not live to see old age either. Whatever the reason, either oblivious or indifferent to the possibility that her malady might spread to him, he squeezed his way into the tiny hut and delicately placed the plush tiger and the blanket in the child's hands.
She hugged both to what little remained of her torso and croaked out what might've been an expression of gratitude.
Her eyelids drooped shut then, and Olan found himself wondering if she might've passed on right then and there. Half of him denied it, but the other half wondered if such might be for the best. Ultimately, the former was vindicated when Olan noticed that Layla was still breathing, albeit drawing in air only by the thimbleful.
When Olan came back to himself he saw that, thankfully, the nanny had been perplexed enough by this act of charity that she'd been willing to hear out the group of strangers.
Discreetly crossing his fingers that the finer details of Delita's feud with Algus had never reached the latter's surviving kin, Olan produced King Delita's royal seal and, ironically hoping that Delita's deftness at lying might've rubbed off on him, claimed he and his group had received word of a malady having spread amongst the remaining population of the shanty towns and that any and all infected were to be evacuated to where they could, hopefully, receive treatment. He then asked the nanny to relay what she knew of Layla's symptoms and to allow them to take custody of her.
Even to his own ears, the tale sounded porous. Why would a king, even one as magnanimous as King Delita, care about one sick child of a disgraced noble family? Especially when she was huddled amongst a meager collection of human detritus who were incapable of doing any good even for themselves? And, even if he did care, what could he do against a disease that had no cure, nor even a reliable way to see out its victims painlessly?
And yet, despite that, the nanny, who introduced herself as Maria Schnitt, had accepted his claim. Maybe Olan was a better liar than he thought? Or maybe the nanny suspected she might very well die soon as well and wanted some chance, no matter how miniscule, that Layla would not accompany her so long before her time? Regardless, she relayed what she knew about Layla's symptoms.
From what Olan had managed to get out of the woman, Layla had suddenly been stricken by a constant, wracking cough several days ago. Since that time, she'd also begun to suffer from fever, chills, a loss of appetite, drastic weight loss, and, most tellingly and horrifically, coughing up blood.
The nanny had never seen its like before, but Olan and his companions were able to piece the truth together easily enough.
And, this brought the small group to where they now stood. None of them had foreseen this particular eventuality and, even if they had, they would've drawn a blank on how to confront it. After some minutes of discussion, here with far more somberness than desperation to find some elusive solution, the group had had a half-hearted debate. The notion of whether to take Layla to a nearby abbey set aside for those not long for this world so they might see out their remaining days in peace and quiet was given a modicum of consideration, as was whether to mix a toxin that would end her misery with but one swallow.
Silent prayers were made for some third, better option and, much to the astonishment of all, those prayers were answered.
"Wait a minute!" Raffe suddenly blurted out. "Lord Nelson Thaddeus Stevens!"
"Wait, what?" Olan said, confused.
"Rafa's boyfriend," Raffe went on, oblivious to how astonished his small audience was at that last tidbit. "He's a doctor. And, one time when he and Malak were talking, I overheard him mention that he was experimenting with a possible treatment for the Consumption."
"Wait, Rafa has a boyfriend?" Mydrede asked, looking nearly as bewildered as she might've been if the sun had risen at midnight. "Rafa, who was practically terrified of men, even Drake who has all the maliciousness and menace of a unweaned puppy, has a boyfriend?"
"That's beside the point!" Olan shouted. The last, the very last, thing he needed was this group's silliness getting in the way of a potential solution, however faint and farfetched a hope it might prove. "Raffe, this Lord Nelson, where can we find him?"
When Raffe didn't reply immediately, Olan felt his guarded hope begin to sink a little. And, when Raffe craned his head in the direction of Lesalia, it was all Olan could do not to scream.
Layla's only real chance for survival, however small it might be, lay within Lesalia. Not merely on Delita's doorstep, but in his very foyer.
If they took Layla in there, one could count the minutes until Delita caught wind of it.
But, if they didn't take her inside, she would surely die.
After a long moment of introspection, Olan made the only decision he could.
Whether it was the same decision Ramza or Orlandu would've made, he had no idea. All he was certain of was that it was the only choice he could make.
If Layla was doomed to die young in any case, why not do her what kindness he could beforehand?
"We'll take her to Lord Nelson," he declared and, thankfully, all assembled, including the nanny, nodded their consent.
With that, he made his way back into Layla's hovel. The little girl, still feverish, was slipping in and out of consciousness as he scooped her up, but her eyes cleared just in time for her to look up at him.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice barely a drowsy whisper.
"Someplace better," Olan answered, hoping against hope that fate would not make a liar out of him.
SSSSSS
After the small group had entered the city, Maria took a turn for the worse.
Struck by acute dizziness, whether from hunger or illness, her already slow and laborious pace through the city soon turned into weaving and stumbling which soon left her lagging behind the group and, more worrisome, drawing stares from Lesalia's notoriously gossipy inhabitants.
Olan already had little faith in their chances of getting Layla to Lord Nelson and his treatment saving her, let alone getting Layla back out afterwards without drawing notice, but that didn't stop an icy dread from creeping up his spine as he saw eyes dart to the little girl in his arms and whispers being exchanged.
Balmafula had volunteered to stay with Maria until she was well enough to walk again and urged the others to press on. They did, and they set a brisk pace.
Much to Olan's relief, Lord Nelson had not been hard to find.
Quite the opposite, in fact. From what he'd been able to gather, Lord Nelson was most impressive and inspirational man and, as was the case with impressive and inspirational men, he commanded considerable notoriety.
During the War of the Lions, he had joined a semi-secret organization known as Balbanes' Cubs which, not unlike Ramza, Orlandu, their respective companions, or Olan himself, had recognized that the conflict would make a ruin of Ivalice far sooner than it would make either of the warring dukes a king.
Thus, this collection of men and women had taken it upon themselves to save as many lives as they could however they could. Their activities had included, but were not limited to, smuggling food and medicine to those villages left to starve as they were bled dry to support the dukes' war efforts, evacuating children and elders to abandoned but refurbished houses where they might shelter for the winter, finding wounded who'd been left behind on abandoned battlefields and getting them to where they could receive treatment, scavenging supplies from the battlefield for delivery to those without food or medicine, and smuggling doctors, such as Lord Nelson himself, behind the battlelines to provide clandestine medical treatment to as many patients as could be found.
Few would, or even could, gainsay the group's courage, as being caught by either duke meant being executed, and more than a few of Balbanes' Cubs had paid the ultimate price to ensure the survival of their country.
No less remarkable was that, despite having the title of Lord, Nelson was of common birth.
A phenomenon that would've been unheard-of, if not unthinkable less than a century ago, the Fifty Years War and the War of the Lions had seen its emergence in sporadic instances. From there, it went from unheard-of to rare, and then rapidly rose to uncommon. With the ascension of Delita the Peasant King, there had been a growing number of instances where commoners who performed meritorious service to the kingdom at repeated risk to their own lives had been granted peerage and a noble title. Indeed, there were rumors that Delita was actively trying to convince Lord Nelson to become Ivalice's new, if not first, Minister of Medical Services, though the ever-churning rumor mill that was Lesalia meant that no two accounts of whether this was true, or whether Lord Nelson would accept the post, were alike.
Lord Nelson had been a veritable icon amongst even such an auspicious group as Balbanes' Cubs and, luckily, this him quite easy to find.
As had his…fashion sense.
Lord Nelson was a tall, well-built man who wore a white silk shirt with embroidery at the neck and wrists over which he wore a tunic and overcoat, the latter of which featured shoulder pads from which hung an array of tassels. His breaches were made of tanned buckskin the consistency of fine chamois, which were bridged with his high-topped buff leather buckled boots by lengths of stocking that, strangely, looked as if they were attached to his breaches by a collection of tiny points. His auburn hair, which must've been quite long, was arranged into an array of curls along his temples and just over his ears with the rest gathered into a thick ponytail secured at the nape of his neck with a leather thong. To top of this ensemble, and the group's perplexity, he wore a hat whose brim had been turned up and pinned in place, giving it a triangular appearance.
The group was left gawking at this bizarre, yet undeniably handsome, garb for long, perplexed moments…well, except for Mydrede, who was still befuddled that this man was reportedly courting Rafa. Thankfully, Lord Nelson himself broke his own spell when he noticed the stricken looking girl in Olan's arms and raced over.
Olan quickly explained that the girl had the Consumption and, before he could say more, Lord Nelson beckoned the group to follow him to his practice. Once the small group had been bustled inside, Lord Nelson had shucked his overcoat, his hat, and his hair…
…well, sort of.
In actuality, what the group had taken as a very long and meticulously coifed head of hair had, in actuality, been a powered wig. Why he would wear such a thing was made all the more inscrutable by his having a full set of hair, which was not only the same color and texture as the wig suggested but also seemed to be in excellent condition. There was no time to ask, however, as Lord Nelson donned a garment of white makintosh which ran from his chin to his toes. He then raced over to a bowl of water which rested atop of a small brazier, removed it from the heat and, bracing himself as he did so, plunged his hands into the hot water. Wincing from the burn, he then donned a pair of gloves made from a cotton-like material as well as a mask which he secured over his ears with loops of knotted string.
He then asked who amongst the group could use white magicks, black magicks, time magicks, arithmeticks, and/or the monk's chakra ability. Seeing several hands go up, he pointed to the bowl of water and the cabinet from which he'd taken his garment and gloves and instructed them to wash up and change into the attire he'd just donned.
Bewildered even more by this then what Lord Nelson wore when he was off duty, Olan nonetheless complied, and the others followed suit moments later.
The next few hours were recalled by Olan in fits and starts of further confusion mingled with amazement.
Though cutting open a person to treat a malady was nothing new, the familiar ended right there when it came to Lord Nelson's treatment. Apparently, he devised a remarkable combination of magical and surgical techniques to combat the seemingly incurable disease. It first involved using the monk's chakra ability, normally used to restore a person's body to a harmonious state and remedy such discordant conditions as poisoning and petrification. While unable to cure the Consumption, it could apparently indicate what parts of the body proved resistant to normalization. From there, Lord Nelson directed for a continuous use of spells from the cure family of white magicks to keep Layla alive as long as possible and the casting of sleep spells to prevent her from feeling any pain or thrashing about at an inopportune time. After that, time magicks were employed to lengthen the effects of the sleep and cure spells and to, since the next step involved surgery upon the lungs themselves, slowing down Layla's own bodily functions so that, in effect, her breathing was so drawn out that the lung might be mended and working again before the surgery upon it had the chance to affect her.
After that, with cool precision, Lord Nelson excised a number of chest cavities identified as being tainted, which he then gently opened and directed for the use of arithmeticks to unleash a volley of tiny, highly precise fire spells to burn away the infection, followed by more cure spells and another application of chakra to mend the cavity. The little girl's insides were then knitted back together, literally, and she was gently squeezed to expel the last of the blood from her lungs. Then came the moment of truth when Lord Nelson directed for the time magicks to be broken.
So was done and, after long breathless moments, Layla, who was still asleep, inhaled deeply and then let it out.
There was no coughing, no expulsion of blood, and a hand pressed against her brow revealed that her fever was subsiding rapidly.
Olan gaped in slack-jawed astonishment at what he had just witnessed and yet could scarce believe. Lord Nelson had just saved a patient with the Consumption.
"EUREKA!" bellowed the Man of the Hour, if not the Man of the Century, as he realized, and voiced, what Olan could scarce credit as laying before his eyes.
Despite his jubilation, Lord Nelson looked quite exhausted from the feat he had just accomplished as he sagged against the wall, and Olan shared the feeling. Still, the gravitas of this moment was not lost upon him. For decades, if not longer, being infected by the Consumption left its victim with no choice beyond whether to live their out last days in agony or to be put down like a rapid dog, all whilst the prospect of recovery being as near to hand as the moon.
Now, that had changed.
Indeed, if a treatment for so singularly deadly an ailment could be designed, then everything might very well change.
"You did it," he breathed, his voice little more than a whisper and saturated with mingled wonderment and disbelief.
"You sell yourself and your friends short," Lord Nelson remarked. "I suspected that some…inventive applications of magic would allow the treatment to succeed, but I never had the talent for magic, so I had no way to be certain before now."
"Wait, this was the first time you've performed the treatment successfully?"
"This was the first time I've performed the treatment, period."
"You could've fooled me."
Lord Nelson gave a good-natured chuckle and, with the reluctance of a weary man who knew that more labor lay ahead, heaved himself to his feet. He directed Olan to follow and the pair, leaving Layla to be watched by Ramza's former squad mates, made their way to Lord Nelson's office…
…well, "office" might've been a generous term.
It was a, very, small chamber that seemed little more than a closet for a collection of medical tomes, administrative supplies, and a distinctly inexpensive looking desk. Lord Nelson must've caught Olan's thoughts, for he described the unimpressive office as a concession to the more important chambers in his practice, namely his surgical suite and his supply rooms.
Olan regarded him with unmalicious skepticism and Lord Nelson admitted that the room he'd chosen for his office looked bigger on the building's floorplan.
Regardless, he grabbed a parchment and an inkwell, took up his quill, and began to write. Though Olan twisted his head around to try and see what was being inscribed, he quickly abandoned the effort as he pondered whether all doctors had such atrocious handwriting or whether Lord Nelson was alone in that regard. Either way, Lord Nelson finished writing his nigh-illegible missive and then called for the group to reconvene in his reception hall.
"The girl should be well enough to be moved in an hour or so, but nowhere too far," he began. "She is no longer in danger from the Consumption, but she will have ongoing treatment needs. She has gone too long without proper food or shelter, so she'll need to be taken somewhere she can be kept warm. Make sure she is kept in dry clothing, handle her gently, bundle her up well, and have her stay abed as much as possible. Use warm, dry compresses on the neck, chest, and groin. Do not use hot compresses, or place any compresses on the limbs. She'll also need to be re-nourished on a diet of food and liquids that are easy to swallow and which won't do further damage to her system as it builds itself back up. Start with spoonfuls of water and salted broth, then milk and cream-based soups later on. She'll eventually be able to eat solid foods again, but only in small quantities until she is back to the normal weight for someone her age and build."
Olan quickly committed all this to memory, though he wondered just how he could juggle Layla's needs with keeping her secret from Delita. After all, even if he knew of a place where Layla could be taken where Delita would not think to look, her arrival in Lesalia had likely been noted already and it was likely that word had wended its way to the king while the girl was undergoing surgery. Still, this did not stop him from offering a hand and a warm smile to Lord Nelson.
"Thank you, My Lord," he said feelingly.
"If you wish to do me honor, call me "Doctor"," Lord Nelson said tolerantly. "That is the title I worked for and wanted."
Olan could appreciate the sentiment. Just as Ramza had worked to save Ivalice from the worst of church and state alike, caring nothing for thanks or reward, Lord Nelson considered saving lives to be of greater import than the fame or fortune that could, and most likely would, come with it.
Olan had offered his hand again, and was about to offer Lord Nelson's honorific of choice this time around, but another voice beat him to the punch.
"Doctor it is, then," an all too familiar voice rang out from the entrance to Lord Nelson's practice. "Well done, Doctor Nelson. Excellent work to all, in fact."
Olan, feeling his heart turn to lead and sink into his stomach, turned to the door, already knowing who it was even as he prayed that he was wrong.
Sure enough, standing in the doorway was Delita.
SSSSSS
"Layla? Are you awake, little one?" a strange but soothing voice rang out amidst the blackness.
"Mmm…" the little blond girl murmured sleepily in response to a woman's gentle voice at her bedside.
Opening her eyes, Layla Sadalfas beheld a familiar face. The familiar, if unchanging, broad grin, huge eyes, and very long chin caused her to let out a squeal of delight as she hugged Tiggy with what little strength she could muster. She remembered getting him back from that man with the black ponytail, but it came to her so much like one of the many feverish dreams she'd had lately that she'd doubted it really happened.
When Maria had burst into her room on that fateful day, there'd been no time to grab Tiggy, or much of anything else for that matter, as the pair fled the sight of Sadalfas Manor being sacked behind them. The springy tailed plush tiger had been, reportedly, the last, if not only, gift her older brother had given her before he departed for training amongst Limberry's Aegis Knights. She'd been too little at the time to remember much about Algus, but she'd cried over the loss of her last keepsake of him even more than she'd had when she realized that, whatever it was she was suffering from, she simply wasn't getting better.
Her eyes moistened when she realized that her favorite teal blanket, which had also been returned to her in what she thought might've been a fever dream, had been placed over her beneath the heavier covers of the strange bed she'd found herself in. After long moments of hugging both to her, despite how tired even that simple act made her, she remembered the voice she'd heard earlier. Laboriously, she turned her gaze in the direction of the voice to see a rather exotic-looking blonde woman with slightly slanted eyes, hinting that she might be of eastern origin, seated by her bedside.
Was this woman with the man with the black ponytail when he'd found her? Her recollections were too jumbled by fever and hunger to be sure, but she was fairly certain that she recalled hearing him talking with a group of people not long after he gave her back Tiggy and her blanket. Now that she could see more clearly, she did notice that, despite a kindly smile, the woman did seem anxious.
Reflexively, Layla felt panic welling up in her. She still didn't understand why everyone hated her family, but seeing a veritable army of angry strangers kick down the doors of her ancestral home and smash everything in sight left her little doubt that they'd be just as happy to smash her if they got the chance and that there were others who felt the same way.
But, after a moment's thought, Layla decided that this woman must be an exception. Yes, she seemed anxious, but there was no hint of malice or reproach. Besides, though Layla still had no idea what she'd had that had her coughing all hours, hacking up blood, and wracked by fever day and night, but she could tell that it was gone.
If these people wanted to hurt her, why would they make her well again beforehand?
Reassured, however tentatively, that this woman meant her no harm, Layla regarded her. She noted that she was very pretty, and her exotic features accentuated that nicely.
"W…where am I?" the little girl asked weakly, the simple act of speaking taxing her minute strength.
"Hush, dear," the woman said, approaching the bed. "You've been sick for some time now. My friends and I found you and brought you to a nice doctor who was able to treat you. After that, you were brought here."
"Here?" Though she did not try to move or sit up, and suspected she probably couldn't if she tired, Layla let her gaze roam around the room. The thick and warm blankets may have been a hint that she was no longer in her hovel, but the dead giveaway came when she noticed how clean and luxurious the room was. It reminded the child more than a little of her own room at Sadalfas Manor, before those angry people came to kick down her door, after which her nanny took her away and they went into hiding to protect her from those who still held a grudge against her family.
And such people were not few in number.
"How did I get here?" the little girl asked curiously. "And, where's Maria?"
Balmafula placed a finger on the sickly child's lips and gave a gentle smile.
"Hush, now, dear," she said. "Right now, how you got here doesn't matter. What does is making sure you get better. The doctor is certain the Consumption is gone, but it'll take quite a bit of time before you're up and about again. I'll need you to be careful, and to listen to me when I tell you to do something. First of all, are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"
Before she could open her mouth, Layla's stomach did the talking and let out a loud growl, causing the little girl to blush with embarrassment.
Balmafula found the scene irresistibly cute and had to stifle a laugh to avoid embarrassing Layla further. Not that it helped, since Layla's cheeks turned rosy with mortification. Still, though Balmafula pretended not to notice, she did observe that Layla's color was looking healthier. She had been mightily skeptical when she'd caught up with Olan and he'd told her that this Lord Nelson had succeeded in treating Layla of the Consumption, but she was forced to reevaluate that opinion…and to make sure her head didn't spin right off her neck at the implications.
"So, I take it that's a yes?", she teased gently.
Layla was silent for a moment, unsure of how she should answer. Though Maria hadn't shared any of the details of why her family was so hated – saying she was too young to understand and, when she did understand, she'd wish she didn't – her nanny had nonetheless advised her not to take food or treats from strangers. Despite this, the girl sensed that the man with the black ponytail, and her mysterious caretaker by extension, had been the ones to get her to the doctor who'd treated her. That didn't make sense if they had wanted to hurt her, so she believed they meant her no harm. More than that, she sensed that Balmafula was genuinely concerned for her well-being.
Layla nodded. "Yes, please."
Balmafula smiled. "Alright then. Just wait here. I'll be back as soon as I'm able. You may have a visitor in the meantime, so be sure to behave yourself, all right?"
The little girl was confused. Who would want to see her? Maybe the man with the black ponytail? Perhaps that doctor the woman mentioned? Not knowing what else to say, she simply nodded and settled back against her pillow.
"Alright…"
"Splendid. Be good now. I'll see you again soon."
Layla said nothing more and watched her mysterious caretaker opened the door and made her way out of the room.
As soon as Balmafula emerged into the castle hallway, she quickly closed the door behind her and was about the make her way to the kitchen when she suddenly found herself face to face with the king himself.
Despite her normally icy nerves, Balmafula felt herself blanch.
Recalling the tragic story of how Delita's sister, Teta Hyral, had died at the hands of Algus Sadalfas, Balmafula had been dreading this moment. And, that dread had grown into a crushing weight when she'd been informed that Delita had found the rest of her group, and Layla herself, at Lord Nelson's practice.
During her vigil over Layla, she'd half expected Delita to arrive any minute and smother the little girl to death.
Maybe he needed to clear his schedule first? part of her thought in cynical resignation.
Curiously, he made no move to brush – or, more likely, shove – his way past her. Instead, he almost seemed to be waiting for…actually, she had no idea what he might be waiting for. But, that this was at odds with her expectations did pique her curiosity.
"Your Majesty," Balmafula greeted, trying to keep her voice down as to not awaken their young guest in case she had somehow fallen back asleep. "You startled me."
Delita gave her blank stare for a moment before finally responding. "My apologies, Lady Balmafula. I should have given you notice before I came. How is our guest faring?"
"If you mean little Layla? She seems to be doing well, at least for the moment. I still have no idea how this Lord Nelson treated her condition, but he seems to have done his work well. I was going to head to the kitchen to get her some broth and medicine."
"Yes, good thinking. When you get to the kitchen, ask for a Sister Agnes. She was amongst Balbanes' Cubs and knows how to feed those in Layla's…condition. I requested that she stay on while Layla is being treated, as she is well-suited to see to the girl's needs."
Balmafula had survived as long as she had principally by being quick on her feet and agile of mind, but this left her befuddled. Not only had Delita not smothered Layla the first chance he got, but he had gone to the trouble of finding someone who had experience in nursing those in Layla's emaciated state? Whatever Balmafula had been expecting following the revelation that the last scion of House Sadalfas had fallen into Delita's hands, this wasn't it.
"Did you hear me?" Delita asked, sounding a trifle irritated.
"Oh!" Balmafula blurted out, startled. "Yes, yes. Also, Olan tells me he might be able to have the doctor come here to see her tomorrow and that she should be made to rest easy until then."
Easy, not permanently, she thought to herself, hoping that Delita might, somehow, hear and act upon this unspoken wish.
"I see… yes," he remarked, his agreement surprising her once more. "In the meantime, I would like to check on the little miss myself."
Balmafula didn't know why, but she did not sense the expected malice behind the king's words. Granted, she was far from finding anything he said reassuring – very far, in fact – but the chills that had started climbing up and down her spine at his appearance were fizzling out. She could not make sense of this, but it was almost as though Delita didn't want to hurt Layla.
She was not convinced of this, however, and quickly acted upon her suspicions.
"You need not trouble yourself, sire," she said, sounding desperate and nearly panicked even to her own ears. "Caring for a sick little girl is not something a king should concern himself with."
Delita seemed to read her mind and gently patted her on the shoulder. "It's alright, my lady. Rest assured that I mean the child no harm. I know I'm hardly within my rights to ask this, but please trust me on that."
Balmafula's brow furrowed at this. The words sounded…surprisingly genuine. But, if there was a seed of doubt regarding Delita's intentions towards Layla, it would not lay down roots easily. After all, Delita was likely the deftest liar Balmafula had ever even heard of, let alone had the misfortune of meeting. Yet, at the same time, he had not so long ago forfeited his leverage over both Olan and Balmafula by following through with his promise to vindicate Orlandu and by destroying the locket which he could've used to seal away her voice. Confounded all over again, she simply sighed.
After all, regardless of Delita's recent oddities, and whatever his intentions might be, the fact remained that he knew Layla existed, what she looked like, had her under his roof, and she was in no condition to be spirited away even if there was somewhere she could be taken to.
It looked as though she had no choice but to trust Delita's word.
"Very well, then," she remarked, unable to keep a bleak note from her tone. "I will see you when I get back."
"Very good."
After the blonde woman left, Delita quickly glanced up and down the hallway to make sure he was alone. Seeing no one, he slowly opened the door and stepped inside. As he crossed the threshold, he felt a sting of irony at just which room he'd chosen to secrete the last scion of House Sadalfas. Unbeknownst to Layla herself, the room where she rested once belonged to the now-exiled Prince Orinias Atkasha. With the deaths of Duke Larg, Dycedarg and Zalbag Beoulve, and Queen Ruvelia, there was no one left to back the former prince's claim to the throne, so Delita saw him as no longer being a threat. With his mother and uncle gone, Delita had chosen to spare the boy prince who would've been made a puppet king by either the church or his own family, and exiled him to Romanda.
Not an enviable fate, perhaps, but it was not lost on Delita that, for the first time in his life, in being stripped of his crown, Orinias had been set free.
What he might become, now that he could be his own man, Delita could not guess. But, it was not lost on him that, much like Delita himself in his youth, Orinias had been practically raised – practically bred – to be controlled and manipulated.
He wondered how many boys who dreamed of being a prince, or even a king, might reconsider their choice of fantasies if that ever came to light.
He shook off the thought, however, and turned his attention to what little he knew of Layla.
Prior to being discovered by Olan and company – and practically under Delita's very nose, no less – Layla had spent the past few months living in a small, run down hut amongst a veritable forest of others in the now largely empty shanty towns that ringed Lesalia. To pile one irony on top of another, Delita realized that, had he chosen to have the shanty towns torn down the minute he'd had a viable plan by which the people living there could rebuild their lives, he likely would have discovered her himself. Though she'd been disguised as a mere peasant girl at the time, he suspected he would've noted the resemblance between her and Algus Sadalfas. What he'd have done then, if he hadn't been haunted by Algus, be he a spirit or a hallucination, he shuddered to contemplate.
Regardless, she was discovered by Olan, Balmafula, and his and Ramza's former squad mates from their distant time at the Hokuten Academy. They'd persuaded the girl's nanny, whose fate was not yet known to him, to turn her over to their care when it became evident that her illness was far beyond the ability of either the nanny or traditional medicine to treat.
Naturally, Layla's nanny was reluctant to hand her over to Olan and company. But, between the chancellor charming the girl with some shrewd charity and producing the king's official seal as proof of his own identity, the woman was ultimately persuaded that it was not only for Layla's own good, but also an order from the king himself.
Granted, Delita had little doubt that Olan was being…selective in how much he told the woman, but that mattered little. The ever-wagging tongues that Lesalia was famed for soon carried word to him of the chancellor carrying a nearly dead little girl into the city and, from there, Delita had picked up the trail quite easily.
In the end, the nanny had had to agree to Olan's offer, as she had already done all she could for Layla and realized that her best chance for survival was with the sort of treatment and medicine not available to poor commoners.
Or fallen noble families living in destitution and ignominy.
The king made a mental note to see if Lord Nelson might be willing to share his method of treating the Consumption, in case it could be reproduced on a wide scale.
Once inside, Delita set aside the thought as he quietly closed the door behind him. His gaze fell on the young blonde girl lying in bed before him. Like her late older brother, his hated enemy, Layla Sadalfas had Algus' flaxen blond hair and, Delita assumed, his sky-blue eyes as well. But unlike Algus, Layla's features were more gentle, more innocent despite the fact that she experienced the same cruel world the rest of her family did. If there was one thing the noble classes of Ivalice despised and looked down on more than commoners, it was fallen and disgraced nobles.
Like the Sadalfas family.
As he gazed silently at Layla Sadalfas, Delita could not help but wonder if things could have been different between Algus and himself. His late rival was a brave and skilled knight, he could admit unreservedly, and might've have risen high indeed if he had not allowed his arrogance and pride to drive him towards signing his own death warrant. He remembered, with cold clarity, Algus' irrational and very nearly deranged hatred for commoners. The fact that the Sadalfas family fell from grace was due to circumstances beyond Algus' control, and Delita had no doubt that the young nobleman might have been able to restore their tainted reputation if only he had not been such a terrible human being.
But the King of Ivalice knew that it was useless to ponder such things now. What was done was done.
He'd done much that he expected he would regret for the remainder of his life, and had good cause to fear what lay ahead in the next life. But he knew also that Algus' death, and the many others he'd caused directly or indirectly, could not be undone.
Had Delita been the same person he had been five years prior, he would have held the child before him in contempt simply for having the same blood as the ruthless youth who murdered his cherished younger sister, maybe even expedited Layla's reunion with her sibling. But that was before he'd been forced to see the full measure of what he had done in his coldly calculated quest for vengeance. Before he'd had to face the legions of ghosts he'd created, with Algus at their head.
Before Ramza, in an act of kindness that defied all sense, had pulled him back from the brink of madness.
And, having been chastened for his hubris and unshackled by forgiveness, Delita was now mature enough to understand that Teta would not have wanted him to harm an innocent child, regardless of the blood that flowed in her veins.
The notion drove home the ironic point that, in many ways, Layla was another Teta.
A girl who was scorned simply for being born to inauspicious sires, who was hated for something she'd neither chosen to be nor could change, and who, if nature were left to take its course, could have no likely hope for life to get better.
In that moment, he silently affirmed that he would do all he could to help her. Even if the legacy of House Sadalfas was tainted beyond recovery, he would find a way for Layla to live a respectable life and die only when old age claimed her.
After all, he had sworn to overturn the old order of Ivalice and make himself a king so that there would be no more victims like his sister. And, if he could not prevent another Teta even with the crown upon his head, the wealth of the kingdom at his fingertips, and the masses happily dancing in the palm of his hand, then what was the point of it all?
What was the point of all those ghosts he'd made if the world they'd left behind was not made a better one?
After his eyes had taken in Layla from pate to toes, Delita was about to depart when he heard Layla stir. He turned and saw that the child's head had turned in his direction, her wide blue eyes staring at him.
"Um…who's there?" she asked curiously.
Delita hesitated for a moment before he finally relented and slowly stepped into the moonlight that shone through the window, allowing Layla to get a better look at him.
The little girl blinked, her tired and confuzzled mind trying to recall where she had seen this man before. Not surprisingly, it took Layla a few moments since Delita was out of his armor and royal robes, and the crown was also missing from his brow.
After a time, it finally dawned on Layla that she had indeed seen Delita before. Not in person, obviously, but one of the squatters from the shanty towns had managed to get his hands on some of the new paper currency and she recalled seeing his famous portrait on the one gil bill the squatter had in his grimy fists.
"Are you…?" she began, her already soft voice choked with disbelief.
"I am indeed…," Delita confirmed, his tone matter of fact rather than prideful.
"Oh… then, if you are the king, then I must be at Lesalia Castle, yes?"
"That's right. I personally ordered my subordinates to seek you out and bring you directly to me. The fact that you were gravely ill was something we had not foreseen, and I am very glad one of my knights knew about Lord…pardon me, Doctor Nelson. He was the one who treated you, and advised us of what you would need as you recover."
Layla was not used to kindness, from anyone besides Maria, so her mind was left awhirl why the king, of all people, would seek her out and want to ensure that she would recover when it seemed everybody else wanted her dead. She knew she ought to be grateful, and she was, but her gratitude was overshadowed by her confusion.
"But, why me?" she asked.
"Because I realized that you are the last living scion of House Sadalfas," Delita replied, pausing before he continued. "And because… I knew your brother…"
Layla gasped. Although she'd still been just a baby when her brother had died, she had heard stories about him from Maria, who'd raised her in place of her mother, of whom she also had no memories either. For upon learning of Algus' death, Elena Sadalfas went mad with grief and died soon after. Indeed, all Layla knew about Algus was from Maria, who had also cared for him as his nanny when he was a child. But, as much as the woman had told her about Algus, deep down, Layla had always sensed that she was hiding things from her about her elder brother.
Was she now facing someone who could tell her what Maria would not?
Curious, and feeling a bit bold now that she knew the King of Ivalice meant her no harm, Layla finally asked the question they both knew was on her mind.
"Were you and Algus friends?"
"No," Delita answered, more harshly than he'd intended, and causing the little girl blanch in fear.
Seeing Layla's reaction, and realizing too late the root of it, Delita felt a pang of guilt and quickly apologized. Back when they were still speaking to one another, which seemed long ago indeed, Ovelia had told him that children were more perceptive than adults gave them credit for. Perhaps it was due to how he'd never truly realized his real place in the Beoulve Manor until after Teta was dead, but he'd never believed Ovelia's claim had been true until now.
"I'm sorry, child," he said, with a humility that doused her dread the way a bucket of water doused a candle. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
"Um…it's alright," she said, her head abuzz with legions of new questions. "I shouldn't have asked."
Delita's expression softened. "There's no need to fret over it," he assured. "Algus was your brother and, forgive me if this pains you, but I suspect you're too young to remember him. It's only natural you would want to know more about him."
Even though the elder Sadalfas had caused the death of his only sister, Delita refrained from speaking ill of Algus. Instead, he focused on his enemy's more admirable qualities.
For all his faults, and Algus had enough of them to fill whole volumes, he was nonetheless a man who'd been fortified by a life where he'd had to prove himself, over and over again, to an audience that would accept him only begrudgingly, if at all. He was driven, dedicated, brave, and, ironically, he'd had the wits and insight to foresee that Dycedarg cared nothing for Teta's survival.
"As I'm sure your nanny told you, your brother tried to restore your family's reputation by becoming a knight," he began. "In many ways, he was well suited to the task. Even in the face of constant rejection and scorn, he persisted. He proved dedicated to his training, brave upon the battlefield, and unflagging in whatever he sought to achieve. For a time, I considered it an honor to fight alongside him."
Delita knew that he was telling the little girl half-truths, if even, but he also knew that the little girl wanted to know more about Algus and that she was in no state to hear about how he'd discovered Algus' darker nature, nor how Algus had helped Delita discover his own darker nature. There would be more than enough time, and more than enough chances, for Layla to learn the rest of the truth later in life, and Delita could neither dictate when that happened nor how Layla would react. For now, let her hear a story that would make her smile, however briefly.
There'd been few of those in her life, he suspected.
"Sadly," Delita continued "his chance of redeeming your family name was lost when he fell in battle. It meant a great deal to him, as did you. While he was with myself, my cousin Drake Seymour, and the knights who were with the group that found you, he spoke of you fondly. He told me he undertook that task for you above all else, so that you would be able to grow up without the burden of your family's shame."
"I thought you said you and he weren't friends?" Layla asked, though with no small hint of trepidation in her voice.
"We weren't," Delita reaffirmed. "Not at the end, at least. And, things were…quite bad at the end. But, I've put it behind me. It was difficult – very difficult, in fact – and I often wonder if things would've been better if I'd been wise enough to do so sooner. But, for all Algus' faults, I could see that Algus dreamed of you being able to grow up without the burdens he'd had to shoulder, and I could respect that."
"Oh…," Layla gasped out in amazement, but then her eyes drifted downward sadly. "But, now that he's gone, that can never happen."
At these words, Delita found a strange notion come over him. Perhaps it was the reminder earlier of how Ramza had given him another chance when he in no way deserved it? Or, maybe his earlier likening of Layla to Teta had struck an unexpected chord. Either way, he shook his head.
"Don't be so sure," he advised. "Algus may be gone, but you aren't. Perhaps you might succeed where he failed? Perhaps you might prove just as capable of restoring your family's honor as he? Maybe even more so."
"How?" Layla asked, flabbergasted by the implication but clearly intrigued.
Delita sighed as he took the seat from which Balmafula had kept her vigil while tending to Layla. "You could become a knight in Algus' place. Or a mage, perhaps. I have fought alongside many of each, and counted them as honorable and worthy. Are you interested?"
Layla gasped. When she had been forced to flee her home, her life had become nothing more than surviving one day at a time. Even before she'd fallen ill, Layla often found herself dreading the future, try though she did not to dwell upon it. Sheer luck had guided the man with the black ponytail, the blonde woman with the slanted eyes, and their friends to Layla and her nanny before the disease killed them, but it seemed that small miracle had another following at its heels.
And although Delita had made it clear that he and Algus had not been on good terms, the king still offered her a chance at restoring her family's honor, as well as a chance at a better life, something that Layla never even dreamed was possible.
As she considered the admiration for her late brother's ambition to become a knight and to redeem their family, and the king's belief that she might succeed where Algus had failed, the little girl knew what her choice would be.
"I… I think I want to be a knight!" she said excitedly.
Delita found himself amused, but impressed by the girl's enthusiasm, and smiled for the first time in a long time. He knew he owed Algus no favors and was unlikely to ever forgive the bastard for Teta's death. But regardless of what the elder Sadalfas had done, his sister was innocent and deserved a chance at redeeming her family name. And perhaps by allowing the girl this one in a lifetime opportunity, Delita could find some redemption himself.
Perhaps he could make sure Layla did not become another Teta.
"Good… I'm glad," he said. "I'm sure you will be a fine knight, given time and training. I won't lie to you, that training will be tough. I can attest to that, having trained at the academy in Gariland myself. But, you have your brother's determination and I believe you can pull it off. However, you need not worry about it for now. You are still so young and have much you need to learn first, including how to read and write. That is, after you recover. Right now, that is our first priority."
"I won't let you down, Your Majesty," she affirmed. "But, if I may ask, where is Maria? She's my nanny. She was with me when the man with the black ponytail found me, but I don't know what's happened to her."
"In truth, I don't either," Delita admitted. "But, I know the people I sent to look for you. I'll ask them. If Maria wants a place in the castle at your side, she shall have it. But, there is something you ought to know first. Something about Algus."
Judging by the expression on the girl's face, one might've thought Deltia offered her a dish of chocolate pudding. The expression made the king reluctant to continue, but he knew he had to.
After all, both he and Algus had fallen into this particular trap, and that was quite enough.
"You should know what killed your brother," he began, noting her sharp intake of breath. "In a very real way, his pride killed him. His goal was admirable but, over time, his anger got the better of him. As I said, he endured much rejection and scorn, but he came to hate those who did not accept him, along with those who were commended when he believed they'd done less than he to earn it. Eventually, that anger took over and he began making enemies of those whom he should've befriended, acted out of pride when he should've acted out of humility, and offered a clenched fist when he should've offered an open hand."
The faces of Ramza, Alma, and Ovelia flashed through his mind and, with sorrow that was not easily concealed, he saw that things would not, could not, be the same between them again.
"Those were his mistakes," he went on. "And, they were mine as well. Don't make the same mistakes we did. Do not begrudge another a well-earned victory, even if you are the one who is bested. Do not collect and clench down upon grudges. And, above all, do not put the pursuit of glory or gratification, or revenge, above your duty to aid your fellow knights and to protect the people. Algus and I both forgot that lesson somewhere along the way. He paid for it with his life, and I doubt I'll live long enough to mend the damage I caused during that time."
Here, he fixed the little girl with a solemn stare.
"If you reconsider after hearing that, I won't gainsay you," he assured. "But, if you want to succeed where your brother failed, never forget what I told you."
Layla was struck, profoundly, by what she had heard. Not just that Algus had been brought low, in part, by his own hubris but that the king had admitted to much the same fault. She was no less gobsmacked by how Delita – unintentionally, she suspected –had let just how pained he was over his past show in his words. It was like there was some undercurrent of bleakness, directed inward rather than at her, beneath his stern warning not to let her pride become her downfall. And, despite her own problems being far from over and having only just met this man, she felt her heart go out to him.
With a herculean effort, she moved her withered, trembling hand to grasp his, startling him in so doing, and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"You're a good man, sire," she said, her voice husky with emotion. "I think you believe you weren't in the past, and maybe that's true. But, I believe you've changed. And, when I'm grown up and trained, I'd be honored to serve you."
Delita seemed startled by her words, and she wondered if she'd given some impertinence, but then he broke into a smile that warmed her heart.
"I'll try to make good on that faith," he said, the weight of sincerity behind his words. "And, I'll expect no less from you once your training begins. For now, rest, and I'll ask around about your nanny."
Layla looked only too happy to oblige, still exhausted from her condition and all the more fatigued by his astonishing conversation. Just as Delita rose to depart, they heard a knock on the door. As Layla was in no condition to walk, let alone pull open the heavy door, the king himself rose and opened the door for her. As he expected, Delita found Balmafula on the other side of the door with a tray upon which sat a small bowl of salted broth and another of warm water for their guest.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty", the blonde apologized. "Have I come at a bad time?"
Delita shook his head. "No. Actually, your timing is perfect, as I must take my leave. Besides, I'm sure our guest is hungry."
Turning back to Layla, he said "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sadalfas. Rest well, and we shall meet again."
Layla blushed. "T...thank you, Your Majesty."
Delita nodded and prepared to take his leave. Before opening the door and seeing himself out, Delita patted Balmafula on the shoulder and spoke in a low voice.
"Please take care of our guest. For now, her recovery is your first priority. Also, come to my office later, and tell me everything you know about her nanny."
Balmafula surprised both of them by smiling in response and gave a slight bow, taking care not the spill the broth and water she was holding.
"Of course, Your Majesty," she replied. "Have a good night."
"You too, Lady Balmafula," Delita said. "Good night."
With that, Delita pieced together his customary mask. It was the mask of unflappable leadership, of personable temperament, of always being sure what was best for Ivalice and having the will to carry it out.
He wore it for subjects, for servants, for knights, for nobles, for commoners, and, in more ways than one, for himself.
It would not do for any of them to see how, inwardly, he was near to tears with joy.
In many ways, Layla had as little cause to forgive him as Ramza, and yet she did the impossible and had reached out her hand in earnest friendship and respect.
And, in taking that hand, Delita found himself feeling very nearly human again.