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Chapter 30: The Safer Lie

...what is often forgotten is that King Ondoria III was never meant to be king at all. He was the youngest of King Denamda IV's three sons, married to Louveria Larg in order to secure the loyalty of Bestrald Larg and his Hokuten. But after his marriage, Ondoria rose rapidly through the line of succession. His eldest brother had died fighting at their father's side against Romanda: his remaining brother perished of the same strange disease that took their father. Of course, there was no plague in Ivalice at the time, and the reported symptoms did not match the Black Plague that destroyed the Romandans and forced them to withdraw from Ivalice's shores. Some well-meaning scholars have speculated that it was a genetic condition. After all, when Ondoria himself finally died, allowing Queen-mother Louveria to seize control of Ivalice, his symptoms bore a marked resemblance to those of his father and brother, who took ill so soon after Ondoria married his bride...

-Alazlam Durai, "The Succession Crisis"

Igros was not the same.

It might have been the two years that had passed, between then and now. It might have been that with the Corps no longer raiding the countryside, Gallione had returned to relative peace and prosperity, as long as you didn't look too close. It might have been a lot of things.

But Ramza was pretty sure it wasn't the city that had changed. It was Ramza himself. The last time he'd been in this city, he'd been a triumphant kid looking for a night on the town. Out with Teta, Delita, Argus, Alma, Beowulf, Reis...

So many hurt. So many dead.

But Ramza was familiar with that old grief and guilt, and could set it aside long enough to admit that even if Igros wasn't tainted with memories of failure and betrayal, he wouldn't have recognized it. The boy who had seen Igros was a scion of the Beoulve family, with gil in his pocket and a name that warranted respect. Every bar and every attraction had opened to him without resistance, subtle and eager to please, to shine with his name or his influence or simply to take his money.

But there were more than enough mercenaries in the world, and whatever respect Gaffgarion commanded in certain circles, it didn't extend to barkeeps and actors, grocers and butchers, the hundred thousand people who made a city tick. Ramza was just a hired thug in their streets, and wary eyes followed him wherever he went—some afraid of what he might do to them, some wondering what they might do to him. The stately, brick-and-mortar order of the city that had seemed so spectacular to him as a cadet felt very different now. It felt like a facade, hiding the same human ugliness that hid in every corner of Ivalice.

Besides which, this was a Hokuten stronghold, and the last thing Ramza wanted was for anyone with contacts to either his days at the Academy or his brothers to get a bead on him.

Fortunately, Gaffgarion was just as wary of catching the wrong kind of attention as Ramza was, and quartered them in a little inn on the outskirts of the city—on the far side from where the Beoulve Manor was located. Making arrangements for this special job with the Hokuten kept him away most hours.

"You're staying in again?" demanded Radia, glaring at him.

"I don't think the bartender minds," Ramza said, and the burly man on the other side of the bar chuckled and shook his head.

"I mind!" Radia exclaimed. "Why do I have to wander around this place by myself just because you'd rather mope at the bar?"

"I think your question answers itself," Ramza said.

Radia scowled at him over folded arms. Ramza sighed and looked away from her. "You know why I don't want to be here."

"I know," Radia huffed. "Doens't mean it doesn't piss me off."

"That's fair," Ramza agreed. "How can I make it up to you?"

"Point me somewhere fun!" Radia demanded.

"What are you looking for?"

After some quick questions and jotting down some hasty instructions, Radia left, exasperated but satisfied, with directions to a little theater known for staging both mock battles and burlesque and the location of the Mage's Mystery. Ramza watched her go, his beer in hand, his head delightfully dizzy from his drinks. He smiled a little as the sun beat down on him from the cloudless blue sky, watching Radia stride purposefully across the cobblestones, her red hair bouncing on her back and shoulders. Aside from her, the street was almost empty: Leo had almost given way to Virgo, and the full heat of summer had emptied the streets.

Ramza took another sip from his drink, his head spinning. He didn't like to get drunk—he'd seen so many men and women these last two years hurt because they'd been in their cups when the action started—but here in Igros it was just about the only thing keeping him sane from his gnawing anxiety.

What if Zalbaag heard he was in the city? What if Dycedarg did? What if someone recognized Radia? What if someone recognized Ramza? And memories, too: memories of a Leo nearly three years gone, when Ramza and Delita had come home and so had Alma and Teta and...and...!

Ramza drank a little more deeply with every stab of doubt and grief, until he found his drink was empty. He blinked down at his glass in consternation and stumbled back inside, slumping onto a stool in front of the bartender. He slapped some gil down on the table, and the bartender obediently began to refill his beer.

"Ramza!" barked a high young woman's voice.

Ramza bolted upright, his eyes wide, goosebumps unfurling across his skin. He recognized that voice but it couldn't be. It couldn't. How...?

"Ramza," said the voice, quieter now. "Lugria."

Ramza turned slowly. Alma Beoulve stood in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest, eyes leveled in an imperious glare. The past two years seemed to have thinned her a little—she didn't look quite so young or baby-faced. Her honey-blonde hair was tied back in a severe ponytail. She wore a rough-spun dress of green-and-brown and had a cloth sack over one shoulder.

"How..." Ramza started. "How did you...find me?"

Alma's eyes narrowed into a glare. "Two years," she growled. "Two years and that's the first thing you're gonna say to me?"

She marched across the room, her arms unfolding and curling into fists. "Two years," she said. "Two years without so much as a letter, and all I've got is Reis telling me she and Beowulf don't know what happened and Zal telling me Teta's dead and Dyce telling me you're alive but he doesn't know where and. Two. YEARS!" She came to a stop just in front of him. "What do you have to say for yourself!"

Ramza stared at Alma. Alma stared at Ramza.

"How-" Ramza started again.

"Saint's sake!" she shouted. "I know I'm just a-" she assumed a whining falsetto. "-poor noble girl who's never had military training." Her eyes narrowed, and her voice resumed its usual tone. "But it's still not that hard to spread the word that there's gil waiting for anyone who points me to any Ramzas or Lugrias. Which reminds me." She reached down the front of her dress, pulled out a small pouch bound with twine, and tossed it on the bar. The clinking rattle of coins bouncing together sounded out on impact.

"Much obliged, my lady," the bartender said, inclining his head.

"I'd be obliged if you'd get me a drink and then find something in the storeroom to keep you busy!" snapped Alma.

"What will the lady-"

"Something strong."

The bartender inclined his head again and set about fixing her drink. Alma resumed glaring at Ramza, and Ramza found he could not quite bear to meet her eyes. He'd promised her he'd bring Teta home. He'd promised...

He'd failed.

The bartender set the new drink on the bar and disappeared. Alma glanced after him, then said, "We're going up to your room." She grabbed her drink and his wrist and pulled him off his barstool with such force that Ramza almost fell. He barely had time to grab his own drink as she led him to the stairs.

"Alma-" he started.

"Which room is yours!" she said.

"This one," he said, leading her to the large corner suite Gaffgarion had booked for them. He pulled out his key and opened the door, and Alma shoved him inside and locked the door behind him. She immediately took a seat on the sunken couch against the far wall that had served as Radia's bed the last few nights, brushing aside some of Radia's gear. Ramza took a seat on the corner of Gaffgarion's bed.

"Don't trust any man who takes bribes," Alma said. "And didn't want him figuring out we're Beoulves."

Ramza gave her a surprised look. He hadn't known she was so cagey.

"Oh, don't look at me like that!" Alma exclaimed. "I'm not a child!"

"I'm sorry," Ramza said. He felt tears in his eyes, and closed his eyelids to keep them from spilling. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Alma sighed. "Of course you are," she huffed. "You haven't changed, have you?"

He opened his eyes at once, tears melting away in a flash of anger that warmed his cheeks. "Yes I have."

"No, you haven't," Alma said. "I bet you're still blaming yourself for everything."

Ramza glared at her. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"No, I don't know anything!" Alma shouted. "And whose fault is that! My idiot brothers, keeping me in the goddamn dark all the goddamn time!"

They glared at each other, Alma's arms folded across her chest again. They broke eye contact at the same moment. Alma looked around the room, cocked an eyebrow, and bent over to pick something off the floor—a discarded black bandeau.

"This yours?" Alma asked, twirling it on one finger.

Ramza snatched it away from her, flushing. "No," he said.

"Whose, then?" she demanded.

"My friend," Ramza said.

Alma looked around the room. "Not your only friend, I take it."

"There's three of us," Ramza said.

"Three of you," Alma repeated. "And what have you been doing?"

Ramza shrugged. "I'm a mercenary," he said.

Alma shook her head. "Why?"

Ramza snorted. "I trained as a soldier, didn't I?" Ramza said.

"Yeah, but you didn't like it."

"And you liked the Igros Academy?" Ramza countered.

"No one likes the Igros Academy."

"But you still went."

Alma huffed. "You wanna try convincing Dyce not to marry me off?"

Of course. Dycedarg planned for Alma's future, as he planned for Larg's. Everywhere Ramza looked, he felt his brother's shadow.

"Ramza?" Alma asked. "You okay?"

"Fine," Ramza mumbled, and took another drink.

Silence again. Alma was studying him without anger in her eyes, and that was somehow worse. She was looking at him with kindness, almost with understanding. But mostly, she was looking at him with pity.

"I haven't been back there, you know," Alma said abruptly. "To the Academy. Not since..."

She trailed off. Ramza didn't look at her.

"So where?" he asked, staring at his drink. "The Manor?"

Alma laughed. "As if," she said. "No, they shipped me off to Orbonne. You know it?"

"I don't," Ramza said.

"It's a bit south of Dorter," she said. "Pretty close to the Mullonde Sea. Father Simon is really nice, and it's got this fantastic library, and..." Her eyes glowed a little. "Ramza. Ramza, guess who I met!"

"Who?" Ramza asked.

"Princess Ovelia," Alma answered smugly.

Ramza nodded. "I'm glad for you."

She scowled at him. "Why are you being such an asshole?"

"Maybe I am one."

"You...!" Alma trailed off and took a deep breath. She raised her drink to her lip and downed half of it in one gulp.

Ramza was being an ass. He knew that. His sister was trying to reconnect with him, sharing something interesting, and it was interesting, wasn't it, Ovelia was practically a recluse by now, consigned to convent after convent by a Queen who resented any claim she could make over her beloved son, and Alma had actually met her.

"I saw Reis, you know," Alma said. "After everything."

Reis and Beowulf. Ramza still didn't know what had happened to them. He'd considered sending letters, but then realized he didn't know where to send them to. He'd also considered asking Master Daravon where they were, but then realized that Daravon would have no way to reply to him. Perhaps Alma knew.

"Are they alright?" Ramza asked.

Alma nodded. "Last I heard, they were in Lionel."

"Lionel?" Ramza repeated. "Why?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" Alma said. "Beowulf joined the Templars."

Ramza blinked. "I'm surprised they'd have him."

"I think Reis had something to do with that," Alma said. "And the Bishop helped, I think. He's working with Cardinal Delacroix now, so I guess he took Reis and Beowulf with him."

So Beowulf was alright. Ramza had hoped, but...but it was much different to know. To know that at least some of his friends had survived that disaster, and were living happy lives somewhere else.

Tears stinging in his eyes again. Ramza tried to surreptitiously wipe them away.

"So Reis told you about...about the Valkyries?" Ramza asked.

"That they almost killed you guys?" Alma said, fingering the hilt of Radia's sword. "Yeah. And about Wiegraf."

Alarms in Ramza's head. "What about Wiegraf?" Ramza asked.

"That he was waiting for you," Alma said. "That he thought you'd killed his sister. That he'd ordered Teta to be freed. And...about Teta being..." Her eyes were softer now. "So you guys were going after her, when...when she..."

"Yes," Ramza said.

Silence again. Ramza stared down at the wooden floorboards, feeling hollow inside. He was grateful to Reis—she hadn't shared what Wiegraf had told them, about Dycedarg's deeds and his aims. But his head was still spinning with drink, and now that feeling seemed to accentuate and amplify the old grief and failure. No amount of gratitude could alleviate that feeling.

He took a desperate swig from his glass, hoping to drown that feeling. Across from him, Alma lifted her own glass to her lips. She downed its contents, closed her eyes, and shuddered.

"What happened at Zeakden, Ramza?" Alma asked.

Ramza closed his eyes in turn. "What did Zal tell you?"

"That you were too late," she said. "Both of you."

Liar. That lying monster, who'd ordered her death, and for what? So he could slaughter the men whose only crime had been rebelling against a broken promise? And now he kept lying, pretending he was innocent, pretending he was too late. No, Ramza had been too late—too late to realize the truth, and too late to stop Zal and Argus. Too late to side with Radia and Wiegraf.

He opened his mouth to tell her everything. To tell her what Dycedarg had done, responsible for the wrongs that had set the Corps on their grim path and manipulated them into self-destruction. To tell her of Zalbaag's broken promise and his fatal order.

"I was," Ramza said. "Too late."

"But what happened?" Alma insisted.

"By...by the time Delita and I got there," Ramza said. "Teta had been...taken hostage. Against Wiegraf's order, I guess, but still, and...and Zalbaag..."

Ramza took a steadying breath, searching for the right words. And as he did, he remembered Reis. Reis, closer to Alma than he was. Reis, who hadn't told her the truth.

The question was, why? Why not tell her? But the answer was obvious, wasn't it?

"Zalbaag and...and the other Hokuten...they'd been hit," Ramza said. "Tied up fighting, and...and by the time Delita and I..." He closed his eyes. "It was too late."

"And Delita?" Alma demanded.

"He...he went after the man who..." Ramza swallowed. "But he...he was hurt, and I...I finished it."

"You..." She trailed off, staring at him. "Ramza, you..."

"I killed him," Ramza said, and Argus' face and desperate curses flashed through his mind once more.

"Oh," she said. Her hands were folded in her lap, and for a moment they clenched together.

"Delita?" she asked.

"He was...he was hurt," Ramza said. "We both were, and...and when the fort blew..." He closed his eyes. "He didn't make it."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Both of them,'

Silence again. Ramza closed his eyes. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to remember.

"So why didn't you come back?" she asked. "Why didn't you-" There were tears in Alma's voice, and Ramza looked up and found her eyes were scrunched closed as she tried not to cry, her cheeks flushed. "Didn't even write if Dyce hadn't told me I'd have thought you were...you were...!"

She drew a deep, shaky breath that was almost a sob. Ramza felt his tears burning more strongly now, and drew his own trembling breath.

"I promised you, Alma," he said. "And I couldn't...I couldn't...!"

Alma rose from the couch, rushed to him and wrapped her arms around him, and they held each other, both sobbing, grieving, and the room was spinning and the world was spinning and Ramza could take no comfort in his sister's embrace or her understanding because she couldn't understand because he couldn't let her. He couldn't keep her safe, either. If he told her what Zalbaag and Dycedarg had done, she would try to leave, and Ramza had seen enough of the world now. He knew what would happen, with Alma's name and all the enemies and opportunities that came with it. Look at what had happened to Teta, just pretending.

Ramza couldn't save Teta. He couldn't save Delita. He doubted he could save Alma. The best he could do was make sure that she never needed saving.

A lock clicked in the door. Ramza blinked, opened his eyes as it swung open, and found Radia standing on the other side. Her mouth was slightly open.

"Should I..." she started. "Should I leave?"

Ramza felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Alma bolted to her feet, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry!" she said. "You must be one of Ramza's friends!"

Radia looked between them in confusion. "I guess?"

"Radia," Ramza said, wiping his own eyes. "This is my sister."

"Oh!" Radia exclaimed. "You're Alma?" Her eyes narrowed in worry. "Wait, should she be here? It's not a great neighborhood."

"Not a great..." Alma repeated. "Wait. She knows you're-"

"She knows," Ramza said. "She..." Ramza wasn't exactly sure what to say here. "She was trying to save Teta, same as me," Ramza said. "And when the fort blew, she...she got me out."

"Oh," Alma said, and her voice was suddenly small.

"Don't listen to this idiot," Radia scoffed. "He saved me first."

"I didn't-" Ramza started.

"And it's not like I actually got Teta out," Radia said. "Saint's sake, if I hadn't been such a fucking idiot, I-"

Alma crossed the room, stumbling a little—apparently that drink had hit her harder than Ramza had realized. She put her hands on Radia's shoulders and looked up into the taller woman's face. "Thank you," Alma said.

"Really, I didn't-" Radia broke off. "Wait. You need to go."

"I do?" Alma said.

Radia looked over her head to Ramza. "Dad's on his way back," Radia said. "Saw him coming down the street."

Oh no. No, Ramza didn't know what would happen if he let Gaffgarion meet Alma, but he had no intention of finding out, especially not after this latest twist of the knife with Grimms.

"Hurry," Ramza said, grabbing his sister's wrist and hauling her out of the room, pulling her quickly down the stairs. He nodded to the bartender, who gave him a baffled look as Ramza pulled Alma through the kitchen.

"What are you doing!" squawked the innkeep, a burly man with illustrious curly dark locks spilling down his shoulders whose tattooed arms were whisking, stirring, and sauteeing what looked like a half dozen different pots and pans. "Out, out!"

Ramza stepped past him, still pulling his sister.

"What are you doing?" Alma asked.

"I don't want you meeting my boss," Ramza said

"What's wrong with your boss?"

"The same thing that's wrong with everything else." He reached the kitchen door and led her into a stinking alley between the inn and the neighboring tailor's. "You need to go."

"You need to write!" Alma said.

"Alma, not now-"

"Now," Alma insisted. "Or I'm marching back in there to meet your boss."

Ramza stared at her. Alma stared defiantly back.

"I'll write," he said. "I promise."

"You'd better," she said, and shoved the bag over her shoulder into his arms.

"What's this?" Ramza asked.

"Your birthday present," she said. "It's tomorrow, right?"

Ramza stared at her. He felt something thick and warm rising in his chest, and he felt his eyes burning again. "Alma-" he started.

"Stay safe, Ramza," she said, and embraced him, and Ramza hugged her back and closed his burning eyes and felt, for the first time in a long time, just a little bit at home.

Then the moment passed, and Alma hurried down the alley, and Ramza hurried back through the kitchen.

"Again!" boomed the innkeep, and Ramza mumbled apologies that he was pretty sure the innkeep couldn't hear over all the yelling and rushed past him and out into the main room where Radia was already waiting for him with a half-smile on her narrow face.

"There's gil in it if you forget you saw her," Ramza said to the barkeep.

"Saw who?" the barkeep asked.

"Good man," Ramza said. "And there's more if you can calm him down."

"I am not the Saint," huffed the barkeep. "I can promise no miracles." But he left the bar and re-entered the kitchen.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" howled the innkeep, before the door closed, and and that moment Gaffgarion entered the room in an ornate red tunic with a pattern of black roses embroidered around the collar, tucked into pressed white trousers bound with a black cord. He shot a quizzical glance at the kitchen door.

"What in hell?" he asked.

"Lovers' quarrel," Radia said without missing a beat.

"Huh." Gaffgarion jerked his head upwards, and climbed the stairs. Radia grabbed her drink and followed after, with Ramza trailing behind. She held the door to their room open until he'd entered. Gaffgarion had Ramza's beer in one hand, and Alma's drink in the other.

"Mixing and matching?" Gaffgarion inquired. Ramza shrugged, trying to mask the adrenaline shock through his veins, and Gaffgarion laughed. "No accounting for taste." He clapped his hands together, and said, "We've earned a few drinks. We've cause to celebrate tonight."

"Contract's been approved?" Radia said.

"With some lucrative bonuses attached," Gaffgarion said.

"And do we finally get to know what it is?"

Gaffgarion rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his mouth spread in a sardonic grin beneath his bristling mustache. "Well, I get to know..." he said.

"Dad," Radia said warningly.

"How about I make you guess, dear daughter mine?" Gaffgarion asked.. "Ramza can play, too. First clue: we're going to Orbonne Monastery."

Ramza's head jerked in in surprise before he could stop himself. Gaffgarion cocked his head. "Ramza?" he said. "You have a guess?"

"I..." Ramza wasn't sure if it was more suspicious to pretend he knew or pretend he didn't. He decided to split the difference. "I...think I heard that it's a popular place to educate noblewomen," Ramza said. "Are we guarding someone important?"

"Oooh, got it in one!" Gaffgarion exclaimed. "But can you guess who we're guarding?"

It really seemed like Gaffgarion didn't know. Should Ramza double down? "It had better not be Alma," Ramza growled, and he didn't have to fake the anger in his voice. "We had a deal-"

"Easy, boy!" Gaffgarion said, holding up a forestalling hand. "No, there's only one person left worth guarding at Orbonne." Gaffgarion's grin widened, and Ramza knew what he was going to say before he spoke. "The Princess Ovelia Atkascha."