Chapter 20: By Nobler Means

Colder and colder with every hour they rode. Farther and farther, as men and women staggered and slumped into the dirt. Some rose again. Many didn't.

Teta, her body a bundled mess of bruises and dirt, watched them from her place in front of Gregory, with the bird bobbing beneath her as its feathers traced a pattern on her thighs. She chafed and ached from the constant up and down of their journey, Higher and higher they climbed, riding along the long high plains of Fovoham, with windmills churning away here and there in the distance.

It was slow going, of course. Gregory and his riders were the healthiest of the group, stopping here and there to keep the straggling line in motion. At times, Gregory was the only rider: he would send his fellows in different directions, making contact with other members of the Corps, setting up camps where they would try to sleep through the cold, chilly nights. But there weren't enough blankets and never enough food, and the moans of the wounded made it so hard to sleep, and there were always a few who went to sleep and never woke up the next morning.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Teta asked, one stark morning, staring at the body of a huddled man who looked younger than she was. Her voice was weak and her stomach ached with hunger. She shouldn't have spoken—that wasn't how she survived—but she was so tired, and it seemed so wrong that someone so young should die alone in the cold.

"Now you care?" Gregory asked.

Teta didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. She didn't know how many men and women had set out from the Plateau, but by the time they reached their destination, at least a fifth of them were dead.

Their destination was a small farm that straddled a high mountain pass, with the heavy shadows of the Lenalian mountains looming overhead. A windmill spun above them, and the creaking of its churning gears could be heard long before they reached it. The air was cool and crisp, unexpectedly pleasant after their cold passage. But farther to the south, Teta could see heavy snowclouds among the mountains.

There were other men and women of the Corps here. Teta had a hard time thinking of the ragged band they'd led out of the Plateau as soldiers, but the word seemed much more fitting here. They looked just as strong and capable as the Hokuten guards who so often staffed the Beoulve Manor. They had set up numerous tents and worked at steaming pots set over numerous fires. Cries of relief echoed across the lines of the Corps.

Gregory rode through the ranks of the soldiers until he had reached a heavy wooden door at the base of the windmill. He dismounted, and led Teta inside. She'd never been inside one before, and in spite of her aching fear and gnawing hunger she found herself slightly fascinated by the gears turning around her, a constant rumble she could feel in her teeth. Wooden crates and piles of hay were scattered haphazardly around the gigantic wheels of the central column.

"Stay here," Gregory ordered, shoving her onto one of the patches of hay. "You leave this room, I won't be responsible for what happens to you."

He left the room and headed back outside. The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him, and Teta heard the clink of a key being turned in the lock. Teta had not wasted time protesting, and she didn't waste time investigating the crates, either. There would be time enough for that latter. The pile of hay had a dusty, musty scent, and it scratched awfully against her ankles, but it promised warmth, and she dug herself deeper, huddling in on herself, closing her eyes against the aching of her stomach.

She was still alive. She was still alive.

She slept again, for what else was she to do? She didn't know how long it was she slept. All at once she was awake, and she heard voices outside the door.

"...not happy, Greg," said a high, nervous voice she didn't recognize.

"What choice did I have, Drew?" answered Gregory.

"So why is she still here?"

"You're not seeing the bigger picture."

The key turned in the lock again. Teta shut her eyes tight, and huddled deeper into the straw. She forced herself to breathe, slow and deep and regular. She didn't know where the conversation would lead, but it was her first chance to hear Gregory unguarded, and even the smallest scrap of information could make a huge difference. Learning about Eugenia's bed-wetting at school and dropping the information in an isolated moment had made sure the bitch kept her hands to herself in all future encounters.

"Then tell me, Greg," said Drew.

"One sec."

She heard Gregory moved towards her, kept her breathing even, her eyes closed. He slapped the straw next to her, and she gave a low grunt of surprise and rolled away from the sound, huddling deeper in on herself.

Gregory moved away. His footsteps were shifting back and forth across the room. Was he pacing?

"How bad it is?" Gregory asked.

"It's bad," Drew said. "Wiegraf's got raiding parties hitting their flanks, but we're outnumbered and they've got all the supplies they need. They're coming."

"Zeakden's still holding?" Gregory asked.

"Zeakden's still...Greg, they're heading for Zeakden?"

Gregory snorted. "Of course they are," he said. "They take Zeakden, and they can take the whole north. Every other fort, all without a real fight. And we've got nowhere to run, right? That's what she's for."

"What she's..."

"Who's leading the assault, Drew?" Gregory asked.

"Who's leading...who leads the fucking Hokuten, Greg?" Drew's voice cracked.

"And whose sister do I have here?" Gregory asked.

"That's..." Drew trailed off. "That's the Beoulve girl?"

"Exactly," Gregory said. "She got us out of that Manor. She got us through the Limberry lines. I don't care how much they hate us, Drew, they're not gonna let us slit her throat. They'll bargain. Buy us time to figure something out."

"Figure what out, Greg?" Drew asked.

The door swung open. There was the skidding, squealing sound of feet pivoting on their heels. There were audible gasps.

"He doesn't know, Drew," said a deep, male voice that sounded vaguely familiar to Teta's ears. Did it sound a little like Miluda?

"Wiegraf!" Drew squeaked.

Wiegraf? Wiegraf Folles? Leader of the Death Corps?

Teta forced herself to keep breathing slow and steady. She couldn't be noticed now.

"Sir," Gregory said, his voice tight with fear. "It's good to see you."

"I wish I could say the same, Gregory," Wiegraf said. "But that would be a lie. You're not my sister, first of all. Where is she?"

"She remained behind to hold the Plateau," Gregory said.

"With what?" Wiegraf asked. "Six women?"

"Five," Gregory said.

"Braves save us," Wiegraf whispered. "Who'd we lose?"

"Emilie," Gregory said.

"That's a damn shame," Wiegraf said. "She was quite a soldier. Unlike you, Gregory."

"Sir-" Gregory began.

"A hostage, Gregory," Wiegraf said. "You've seen what I do to the men who resort to such disgraceful tactics."

"I'm not Gustav, sir."

"Oh, I'm well aware," Wiegraf replied. "Gustav, for all his many faults, had a plan."

"Sir-"

"Lieutenant Levigne," Wiegraf said, and there was murder in his voice. "I sent you south because you and your men were the best-trained to make the crossing over the mountains. You were supposed to threaten Igros and tie up the Hokuten. What did you do instead?"

"I know I failed, sir-"

"Gregory, you attempted to kill Prince Larg's foremost military advisor," Wiegraf said. "I don't care that you failed. I care that you made the attempt at all."

"I would have shown the world that such men can be killed!" Gregory declared, fire in his voice.

"He's not Elidibus, Gregory," Wiegraf said. "The world knows he can be killed. Who gives a damn? Our goal was to threaten the Hokuten and make it clear that we could exhaust them. It was to prove to Gallione that the men who claim to be looking for their best interests can't even protect their capital. It would have discredited and demoralized them, all while distracting them so we could evacuate the south."

"Instead, you drew their ire. Instead, Zalbaag Beoulve is marching north with the full force of the Hokuten. Thank God you didn't kill him, Lieutenant. Dycedarg may be a snake, but at least he's a clever snake. He won't let the Hokuten kill themselves on a mission of vengeance that serves no purpose. Of course, it's serving its purpose. I don't know how we stop that army from killing us."

"The girl, sir," Gregory said. "She-"

"Even if I deigned to use her in such a disgraceful fashion," Wiegraf said. "She could only buy us a little time. And using her like that...do you have any idea what that would do to our cause?"

"Who gives a damn, sir!" Gregory shouted. "They're winning!"

Silence in the room. Teta's heart was pounding, but she did not allow her inner panic and anxiety to break her pretense of sleep.

"Gregory..." Drew whispered.

"Oh, what!" Gregory shouted. "What does it matter now? How many men and women are dead in the south? How many of us are gonna live through the next week? I'm giving us hope, and he thinks he can tell me-"

There was the sound of rapid footsteps. Teta couldn't help herself: she slitted her eyes and saw a blonde, strong shape crossing the room. Gregory flinched backwards, but the blonde shape—Wiegraf?—merely rested his hands upon Gregory's shoulders. She shut her eyes quickly.

"Gregory," Wiegraf said. "You're not Gustav. I know that. You're not a monster. You're just frightened. I understand. I don't want to die, either. But I would rather these noble fuckers visit the worst horrors they can imagine on me than ever allow myself sink to their wretched level."

"What does it matter if we're all going to die?" Gregory asked, and there were tears in his voice.

"It matters, Gregory," Wiegraf said. "Say the worst comes. Say we all die. If we die like bandits, with our sword at the throat of an innocent who never wronged us, that's how we'll be remembered. But if we die like heroes? If we die fighting for our cause and refusing to dirty our hands? They'll remember."

"They won't," Gregory said.

"If they don't," Wiegraf replied. "Their brothers will. So will their mothers, their fathers, their sons, and their daughters. They'll know that the blood on their loved one's hands is nobler by far than the so-called noble blood in their veins."

"And we make them pay dearly for every inch," Wiegraf said. "We fight clean, and we fight better, and we make them fear what people like us can do. Fear us the way they fear a panther stalking them at night, because that fear is the first step on the path to respect. When they know we can tear their throats out, they'll know better than to piss on us. Fear for our strength and admiration for our good deeds...even in death, from such simple things we may raise a brighter future from our ashes,"

The words touched something in Teta, something young and painful. She had visions of the quiet torments of the Preparatory Academy, the whispers and mockeries, the second-hand dresses shredded and burned while she was out of her room, the fingernails that had cut into her thighs during class, daring her to make a sound and draw the ire of the teachers. The Corps were bandits and marauders, who'd hurt the Hokuten and hurt convoys and hurt her and Alma and Dycedarg, had taken Teta hostage and threatened her and beatne her, but in Wiegraf's words she saw an end to that kind of nasty, low cruelty, inflicted on her just because she was beneath them.

"So, we're going to let the girl go," Wiegraf said. "Because otherwise, we're no better than they are."

Footsteps moving towards her. "Uh, sir," Drew said. "She's asleep."

"Oh, please," scoffed Wiegraf. "The girl's been awake since before I entered the room."

Teta stiffened in surprise, her heart beating so fast that it felt like it might burst from her chest. Wiegraf chuckled. "It was well-done, child," he said. "But you didn't even move when I burst in. Either someone drugged you, or you're a masterful actress who missed a beat. It's an easy mistake to make."

Well, no point in pretending now.

Teta sat up at once, opening her eyes and taking in the room. High-voiced Drew had lank brown hair and a double-chin. He towered over Gregory and Wiegraf. As for Wiegraf, he had a prominent jaw and blonde hair, and blue eyes that were surprisingly kind. He knelt in front of her.

"Alma, is it?" he said. "Alma Beoulve. I met your brother and his friends. They're impressive, for ones so young."

Teta swallowed. "Thank you, sir."

Wiegraf smiled. It softened his rugged face. "Have you been treated well?"

Teta hesitated, then looked towards Gregory. He was staring at her with a curious absence of emotion on his face. "Yes," she said. "He's looked after me and been very reasonable, all things considered."

"Who choked you?" Wiegraf asked, gazing down at the bruises on Teta's neck.

Teta said nothing. Gregory jerked out of his vacant reverie and cleared his throat.

"Ah, sir," Gregory said. "That was, uh..."

"Miluda," Wiegraf said, eyes closed. "Yes, well...I cannot blame her for her rage. I heard..." He studied Teta and asked, "You know what happened to the Valkyries?" Teta nodded, and Wiegraf asked, "It struck me as rather change. Would your brother really do such a thing?"

Delita or Ramza? But that question was irrelevant, because the answer was the same. "No, sir."

"Well," Wiegraf sighed. "Whatever his guilt, his sins do not rest on your head. Milly's anger blinds her to that reality. I will not ask you to forgive us, but I do ask that you understand." He stood up. "We'll leave you here with food when we depart," he said. "The Hokuten won't tarry far behind, but if you don't feel like waiting you might be able to make it to the Limberry lines past the Plateau. Though with the snow, you might..."

He trailed off, and Teta understood why. There were shouts from outside, shouts of alarm and panic. The shouts were getting louder with every moment, and Wiegraf turned towards the door.

It swung open, and Radia stumbled through the doorway. Her red hair was greasy, her clothing torn and ragged and burnt, and her tired eyes were underscored by dark bags. She staggered into the room, with soldiers crowding around behind her.

"Radia?" Wiegraf said. He attempted to grab her by the shoulders, but she shuddered at his touch, ducked past him and sank against a crate, without looking at him or anyone else in the room.

Wiegraf stared at her. He looked around the room—even at Teta, who barely noticed. Because the last time she had seen Radia she had been proud and strong and fierce and above all else kind even in her anger. Because in the thick of a dangerous place where Teta had been terrified and hurt, Radia had been a moment's rest and comfort and security.

Now she looked broken and hollowed out. She looked like the wounded on the Plateau, the dying in the Plague tents. She looked like a woman who'd lost everything.

Wiegraf knelt in front of Radia, but made no move to touch her. Radia's eyelids were fluttering.

"Radia," Wiegraf said. "What's become of Milly...of Captain Miluda?"

Radia's eyelids flickered open. There was silence in the mill, broken only by the creaking of the gears. She stared at Wiegraf for a long time, blinking slowly.

"Dead," she croaked.

A ripple of gasps. Wiegraf didn't move.

"How?" Wiegraf asked.

Radia looked over Wiegraf's shoulder at Teta. She didn't seem to see anyone else in the room. Wiegraf craned his neck to follow her gaze.

"Brother," Radia sighed. Her eyelids were fluttering again. "Her...broth..."

She slumped where she sat, her eyelids closed. Her breath came in the even metronome of sleep.

Wiegraf stood up slowly. Teta felt ice in her veins. She stared at his impassive back, her eyes flickering towards the door crammed with soldiers. No way out. No safety. No hope.

"Gregory," Wiegraf said. "Take Radia with you to Zeakden when you go. She's had a long few days."

"Yes...yes sir," Gregory whispered.

"I'll get everything ready," Wiegraf said.

Wiegraf turned towards the door. Teta still couldn't see his face.

"If anyone touches the girl," Wiegraf said. "I'll have whatever it was that did the touching."

He left the room. Teta sat alone in the room, filled with the low rumbling of the ever-turning mill. Gregory's eyes were on her.

"Your brother, Beoulve?" he said. "How? Zalbaag's heading towards Zeakden from the south, and I don't think you've got a Healer who can fix what I did to Dycedarg that quick."

Teta shook her head, barely looking at Gregory or Drew. Her eyes were on Radia, her heart aching in her chest. Radia still thought Teta was Ramza's sister so...so didn't that mean Ramza had killed Miluda? And she'd been so sure...

And how was she supposed to feel about the death of Miluda Folles? About the woman whose hands had been around her neck, left her with bruises she could still feel? How was she supposed to feel when she heard the pain in Wiegraf's voice? When she recognized that pain, because she felt it roaring to life in her own heart, an inferno that threatened to consume her?

Ramza had killed Miluda, but what had become of him afterwards? What had become of Delita? Was he dead? Was he...

She'd lost her parents. Did she have to lose her brothers, too?

There were angry eyes on her, from all sides. She should have felt in mortal peril, whatever Wiegraf's words of protection. But she was lost now, lost in questions. What the hell had Radia seen?

Gradually, the soldiers filtered out of the room. Gregory stayed behind longest, glaring at her, but Drew pulled him from the room, and soon it was just Teta and Radia.

Teta rose from her seat, pulling her blanket with her. She draped it over the sleeping woman, who turned, grunted softly, and then resumed her easy breathing. Teta moved back across the room, folding her arms protectively across her chest to try and ward off the hold. And the grinding mill turned on, and on, and on.

After awhile, the door opened again. Wiegraf entered the room, and made straight for her. Teta stiffened, but did not pull away.

"Your brother," Wiegraf said. She could see his face now, lined and craggy, as imposing as the mountains off to the south. There was no trace of kindness in his eyes.

"I'm sorry-" she started, because she didn't know what else to say.

"She choked you," Wiegraf said. "You're sorry?"

Teta opened her mouth, unsure of what she intended to say. Miluda had hurt her worse than any of her captors, but Wiegraf had still lost a sister.

While she searched for the words, Wiegraf said, "Here's the problem I'm having. There are four Beoulve children, and the three I'm met were blonde and relatively fair. Your hair and skin are darker. Now, maybe I'd buy it's because Alma Beoulve was from a different mother, but so was Ramza Beoulve, and I'm having a hard time believing that he can look like his brothers while you look like none of them. You follow me?"

Oh, Teta followed him, alright. Her heart was beating rabbit-quick in her chest, and her throat felt very dry, and her fingertips felt fuzzy with weakness.

"You're not a Beoulve, are you?" Wiegraf asked.

What was she supposed to say? Cling to the lie that had kept her alive thus far? Tell him the truth, now that the truth was exposed? But his sister was dead and their was a blade on his hip and he could cut her down so easily and-

"It's alright," Wiegraf said. "It got you this far, didn't it?" He studied her for a moment, then asked, "Who are you?"

"No one," she croaked.

"I doubt that very much," Wiegraf said.

"I...lady-in-waiting," Teta said. "I...I guess."

"For the real Alma Beoulve?" Wiegraf asked.

Teta nodded. Wiegraf pursed his lips and looked over his shoulder at Radia. "Did she know?" Wiegraf asked.

The pieces clicked together. Wiegraf had solved the mystery, but not for her sake. He was looking for the answer to a question. Who was her brother?

"No," Teta said. It was true, of course, but she still felt a pang of guilt. She was betraying Ramza. She was betraying Alma. But if Delita was still alive, she didn't want to turn Wiegraf Folles upon him.

"I see," Wiegraf said. "So it was Ramza, after all." He stood up and turned to go.

"Wait!" Teta called.

Wiegraf stopped. Teta swallowed. It felt like her whole body was trembling.

"My brother, he..." Teta said. "He...he looks like me. Please, don't..."

"I met him," Wiegraf said. "He's funny." He studied Teta for a time, then said, "I can't make any promises. But I'll try."

"Thank you," she said. "And I'm...really. I'm sorry." And she was surprised to find she meant it. Whatever Miluda had done to her, Wiegraf didn't deserve to lose his sister.

Wiegraf nodded. "It must've been hard," Wiegraf said. "But you did well. You're safe now."

He left the room. Teta sank back against the hay, ignoring it as it scratched at her. She still felt so feeble, so weak. Attacked, and betrayed, and betraying. It was so hard to stay alive. It was so...

She must have slept again. This time, she was awoken by a rattling boom that thundered even over the grinding mill around her. She blinked the sleep from her eyes as the door swung open and Gregory entered the mill, with Drew and Foxe at his side. Drew moved towards Radia, slinging her over one shoulder.

"Get up," Gregory said.

Teta stared at him, her brain lagging sluggishly, struggling to make sense of what she was seeing and hearing.

"What?" she said.

"I won't ask again," Gregory said, and drew his sword.

Teta's heart lurched, bolts of fear bringing her fully conscious and alert. She pulled herself back against the hay, staring at him. A part of her didn't understand. A part of her understood all too well.

"Wiegraf said-" she started, though she had so little hope.

"Wiegraf?" Gregory repeated. "Your brother killed Miluda, and you..." He moved towards her, half-raising his sword. His eyes were wide. He looked so pale and so frightened, not at all the commanding man who'd attacked the Beoulve Manor and kept his men in check.

"I'm not dying," he said. "We're not dying. And if you fuck with me, I'll lock you in here with Foxe."

Foxe leered at her over his shoulder. "Could do it anyways," Foxe said. "Give me a little-"

Teta rose to her feet and moved to the door, trying to marshal some pretense of calm or control as she felt her thoughts shrieking, her body tinny and distant and empty. She was...she was so close! She could have...she...!

Stay alive stay alive stay alive

Stay alive for what? So that Foxe can have his way with you when their resentment finally boils over? So they can slit your throat when they try and bargain with your life and find out who you really are? How does this end? How do you possibly survive this?

She walked outside on her own power, because that was all she could do. Because she would not be carried or manhandled, because even that small pretense of control was something to cling to. And maybe there was a little bit of those childhood stories, the idea that she could seize the moment and escape if she just kept her wits about her.

After all her time in the mill, the sunlight hurt her eyes. The thick array of tents were gone—the soldiers had ridden off. No trace of the wounded remained, save for a few burning pyres hosting the smoldering dead.

Thunder sounded again. No, not thunder: more like cannon fire, or the booming blast of Dycedarg's magic shattering masonry in the Manor. On a hill to the south, she saw a flash of bright light, and saw a portion of the hill explode up into a rain of dust and dirt. She shielded her eyes against the bright and burning sun, struggled to make out the human figures fighting atop that broken hill, and-

And saw that it was Wiegraf's sword on Delita's.

Her mouth opened. Her veins thrilled with electric relief. "DELITA!" she cried, and started to run towards him.

He looked away from his duel. "TETA!" he roared, his voice loud in spite of the distance.

Before she could move any further, an arm pulled across her shoulders, and a sword gleamed just below her eyes.

"Shout again, and I'll take your tongue," Gregory said.

Ice radiated out from Teta's bones. Gregory pulled her in an awkward shuffle towards the chocobos, who were fretting and balking at the sounds of battle in the distance. But as Gregory tried to haul her atop the bird, she twisted in his grasp.

"I warned you-" Gregory snarled

"Do it!" she cried, forcing fire and fury into her voice, pretending to be the noblewoman she claimed to be, because her brother was right there, so close, because for the first time in days she had reason to hope and because she was so outraged that this coward had the unmitigated gall to try and take that hope away from her. "Do it!"

Gregory stared at her, his face male, his mouth slightly open. His grip weakened, just for a moment.

Then his sword hilt rose high and hammered down against the top of her head. The world exploded into a hot, star-spattered darkness.