Chapter 11: The Best-Laid Plans

"I'm sorry, Bestrald" Dycedarg said, pouring a measure of wine into Larg's glass.

Larg waved a hand dismissively. "Please, Dyce," he said. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"Gustav," Dycedarg said, staring down at his desk. "My brother." He shrugged helplessly. "Everything."

Bestrald shrugged in turn, and took the glass. He lifted it into the dusky sunlight, swirling it idly. "Nothing to be sorry for," Larg said. "We didn't count on Gustav kidnapping him. Or the survivor revealing it."

"There weren't supposed to be survivors," Dyce said gloomily.

"Good thing there were," Larg said. "Otherwise we wouldn't have known fast enough."

Dycedarg shook his head. "It's a mess." He took an undignified swig from his own glass, draining it at once.

"That it is," Larg agreed. He sipped at his glass, enjoying the tart dry tang against his palette. His job now was to act as sounding board for all of Dycedarg's frustrations. He had played the role more than once over the decades they'd known each other. It was a price he willingly paid, so that the mind behind that despondent face would keep working on his behalf.

"It was such a good plan!" Dycedarg exclaimed, rising to his feet and pacing. "The Corps kills the Marquis, so we can use Limberry's forces to finish off the Corps!"

"Well, that part of the plan still works," Larg said.

"With the Marquis alive!" Dycedarg exclaimed. "And now I can't get rid of the pro-peace commanders in the Hokuten."

Larg took another sip of his wine. "No? Why not?"

Dycedarg shook his head. "It was only the Marquis' death that would have justified such extremity," he said. "Traitors in the Hokuten get the liege lord of Limberry killed? God, I could have done what I wanted, and done it in the name of peace."

"And I know how you hate for anyone to get in the way of your unadulterated power," Larg said wryly.

Dycedarg rolled his eyes. "It's your power, Larg," he said. "I just borrow it from time to time."

"Well, can't you dispose of some of them?" Larg asked.

Dycedarg shrugged. "One or two," he said. "Which will make it much harder to go to war. Have to find the right reasons...bah." He waved one hand. "Besides, it wasn't just about that. We were supposed to weaken Limberry, too."

"We still will," Larg said. "They're taking the brunt of the fighting."

"Oh, sure," Dycedarg grunted. "But who knows how long it'll be until King Ondoria dies, and they might have time to rebuild."

"That would be true if you killed Elmdor, too," Larg replied.

"Not quite," Dycedarg said. "He hasn't got an heir."

"When has that ever stopped anyone?" Larg asked.

"No heir," Dycedarg said again. "And so one really with a clear claim. None of the Limberry nobles are all that strong, besides the Elmdor family. The Thadolfas were closest, but of course-"

"Of course," Larg said. "He did well, by the way. I like him."

"Argus?" Dycedarg said. "He's useful. Bit wild for my taste, but he sees a little clearer than Ramza."

"Thank God for your brother," Larg said. He was very grateful for all the good the Beoulves had done him. Balbanes had kept the Hokuten intact through a terrible war, and now Zalbaag continued his legacy of proud and inspiring leadership. Ramza had managed to rescue them from a political quagmire. And Dycedarg...

Well. Dycedarg was the right hand he could not bear to be without.

"Dyce, listen," Larg said. "We were screwed the moment Gustav kidnapped him." Larg pursed his lips. "God, if he'd gotten that ransom, he could've bought himself a new life anywhere he pleased. We might never have found him."

"Is that all you saw?" Dycedarg asked, staring in horror at Larg. Larg was rather used to this: Dycedarg was so brilliantly paranoid, imagining a thousand daggers from a thousand different directions. Of course, some of those daggers were real. The trick was figuring out which.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Larg asked. "He was supposed to kill the Marquis. Instead he went into business for himself. Would've made us look like fools."

"Oh, so what?" Dycedarg asked. "We can stand to look like fools, so long as we're still standing. But Gustav knew, Bestrald. Can you imagine..." He shook his head. "What if he'd talked to the Marquis? Just long enough to get a meeting with Goltanna?"

"Oh," Larg said, and then his eyes widened and he set down his glass and stood up, all without quite knowing what he was doing. "Oh."

Dycedarg nodded glumly. "Gustav kills the Marquis," Dycedarg said. "We kill Gustav, and everything folds our way. Gustav takes the Marquis, and you're executed for treason, and so am I, and maybe both our families!"

"And Goltanna takes the throne," Larg whispered.

"And Goltanna takes the throne," agreed Dycedarg, massaging his temples.

"When did you figure this out?" Larg asked.

"The moment I heard he'd been taken," Dycedarg said. "We were skirting disaster."

Larg absently drained his glass and closed his eyes, letting the bitter fire ooze down his throat.

"Well," Larg said. "We've been lucky, haven't we?"

"We have," Dycedarg said. "Argus survived to bring us news, thanks to my brother. Wiegraf dealt with the traitor for us." He paused, then added, "It's a good idea, you know."

"What?" Larg asked, eyes still shut as visions of disaster circled him like gulls at sea.

"Forgiving any Corps troops who surrender," Dycedarg said. "They're basically trained soldiers. We pass some token laws, give them some respect and what gil we can spare...we could build a new regiment out of them."

Larg's mouth twitched, and he opened his eyes to study his old friend. That was what he loved about Dycedarg. In the aftermath of a crisis he was unbearable, poring over every mistake he had made, every disaster that they had narrowly averted, making even the most unambiguous triumphs bittersweet. But that was because his mind never stopped working. He always looking at the pieces, trying to figure out what new ways they could fit together.

"And you!" Dycedarg suddenly snapped, glaring up at Larg. Larg recoiled.

"What about me?" grunted Larg defensively.

"You fought with Goltanna at Orinus' birthday."

Larg rolled his eyes, trying to fend off the stab of doubt and guilt angling for his heart. "Don't believe everything you hear."

"Even when it's Louveria who tells me?" Dycedarg asked, and the knife in Larg's chest redoubled in force.

Larg grimaced. "Since when do you talk to my sister?"

"Since always," Dycedarg said. "What happened?"

Larg held his tongue for just a moment, feeling like a chastened schoolboy. And then that shame gave way to rage, because he was the Prince of Gallione, brother to the queen, and what right did anyone have to make him feel ashamed? "He was so damnably arrogant!" he shouted. "He was snide, and he made his jokes, and he called my sister-!"

"Have you learned nothing from the Corps, Bestrald?" Dycedarg asked. "This war is going to be fought in the hearts of the people. Whatever may be said of you, good or ill, true or false, you must always think about how it will look. About what kind of story will be told. You cannot rule Ivalice if you do not accept this truth."

Larg bit back his bitter response and closed his eyes. Dycedarg would not be saying it if it weren't true. "I know," he whispered. "I know."

"Good," Dycedarg said. "A beloved king is much harder to assassinate. Look how little anyone cares what becomes of Ondoria. Do you want to repeat his failures?"

"No," Larg said. No, never. When the throne was his, he would be a king worth remembering. He would be the king presiding over Ivalice's golden age. He had known it from the moment his sister had married Ondoria.

"It's not as bad as all that," Larg said, forcing himself away from the alluring visions of his future reign. "The Limberry forces will take the brunt of this fighting. We'll build a new regiment from whichever members of Corps who surrender. And Gustav still had Hokuten cloaks. You can still take out the worst of the opposition."

"I suppose," Dycedarg sighed. "But we'll have to have sufficient pretext to mobilize the rest to war. Goltanna will have to be unambiguously in the wrong. It's the only way to make sure they won't sabotage our efforts." He said nothing for a moment, then added, "And the King?"

"Sicker by the day," Larg said. "He won't last long."

"Orinus will need a regent," Dycedarg said.

"And who can my sister trust, but her dear brother?" Larg asked.

Dycedarg poured the rest of the bottle into their glasses, and raised his to Larg. "To the Crown," he said.

Larg raised his glass in turn. "To the Crown."

To the crown that would one day sit upon his head. Especially so long as he kept Dycedarg by his side.