A cool breeze blustered through the guardhouse, carrying with it the faint clamor of a city pointedly ignoring the fact that it had been conquered. Robin slapped a hand down on a stack of papers that threatened to be swept away in the gust. Despite the day's frustrations, he couldn't help but smile as he listened to the hustle and bustle of Brass Gate.
After Farber's death and the Coalition's capture of The Melody, the civilian leadership of the city had surrendered without a fight. It was a welcome relief to all after the brutal battle for the fortress. All, save for Khan Flavia and the clans she commanded. The Feroxi wanted blood for what had been done to Port Ferox, and had their eyes set on Brass Gate from the moment it appeared on the western horizon. Talking them down, as with most of Chrom's diplomacy, had nearly come to blows, but an impassioned defense from Sumia saw most of the Feroxi stand down, shamefaced. Robin, however, was convinced that what truly halted the Feroxi's vengeance was the snide condemnation from the fleet captains. Ylissian righteousness could be argued with, but Plegian condescension was something Flavia would never allow to be validated. Still, after only the third battle of this war, tensions between allies were rising.
For the first day after the surrender, the citizenry had braced themselves; they had been told of the barbaric countries of the east. By the second day, when they realized that their city wasn't going to be sacked or razed to the ground, the more business-minded of Brass Gate decided that it would be far more lucrative for them to see the Coalition as a new source of customers, as opposed to an occupying army. Now, on the third day since the invasion —and despite a lazily enforced curfew— mongers and merchants could be heard shouting and peddling their wares late into the night.
Robin's body groaned and cracked as he straightened himself up and massaged the bridge of his nose with his free hand. With the wind having subsided, he released the little pile of papers he had been protecting, only for them to topple anyways. He didn't bother recollecting the pages. They were hardly noticeable in the mess that he had made of the guardhouse.
Clothing, styled red and gold, was draped across chairs and benches, with pockets meticulously turned out and suspicious stitching slit. Sheaves of imperial correspondence, personal letters and private journals vied for space on the room's one table with the contents of a soldier's rucksack and even a well-worn traveler's lute. Arranged on the floor was a full set of black armor accented with red paint, a large dent prominent in the center of the breastplate. A man's entire life, boiled down to a room full of trinkets.
Citylord Farber, like the other Valmese mages during the battle on the Archanean and invasion of Port Ferox, had been able to cast magic to a degree that should have been impossible. And somewhere in the chaotic collection was a clue as to how. But, if it was here, Robin wasn't smart enough to see it.
He prodded dejectedly at the compact medical pouch that Farber —and every other soldier in the Empire— carried into battle. Robin had been interested to learn that the Valmese preferred elixirs as a field curative, instead of the vulneraries favored by the Ylissians. Such magical draughts would have been a good place for him to start his investigation, but the contents of this particular pouch was reduced to ground glass when Vaike had kicked the enemy commander in the chest. Extra vials had been found in Farber's rooms, but upon examination, Miriel determined they weren't abnormal. That only left Farber's tome as a possible source of the power.
Robin reached out and flipped the book over. He didn't have the same hatred towards dark magic as Maribelle and the rest of the Shepherd's healers, but it still made him uncomfortable. The tome was similar to any other, save for the large hole bored in the center of its cover and continued on through most of the pages. In the cavity glinted a healer's gemstone, giving the appearance of a large eye, taunting the tactician for his failure. Affixed to the inside of the back cover by a simple metal socket, a magician could turn the pages as normal while still having the gem be the core of each spellwork.
Healers used gemstones for their spells due to the stone's natural ability to turn the elemental manipulation of a manifestation into something that could effect blood and bone in a similar way. A healer's staff was simply a gem, cut and etched with guided markings, attached to some lyric to make a spellwork. Not as versatile as a tome, but when it came to battlefield medicine, one spell was all that was really needed. To see such a gem incorporated into spells not meant to mend flesh, but to twist and tear it made Robin's own skin crawl.
He hadn't wanted to cast a spell from the tome himself, so he'd given it to Tharja and Henry to experiment with. The ship's-mage had been ordered to travel with them as the Shepherd's liaison to the Plegian navy. The two spellcasters had been fascinated by the idea of dark magic that hadn't originated in Plegia, but had to wait while Robin and the other mages examined every inch of the spellworks. It was a old battle-mage's trick to alter some small piece of lyric in one of your spells, so if an enemy mage were to capture your tome and try to cast that specific spell it would result in a dangerous misfire. And if Farber's monstrous strength did originate from the spellbook, such a booby trap might be deadly. The study and subsequent tests came out to nothing. It was just a normal tome.
Robin ran a hand through his hair and took a step back. He wasn't getting anywhere, and if any answers were here, he was too tired, too stressed or too stupid to find them. Again, the sounds of the city wafted in on the breeze, drumming against his taut mind.
I can't just leave without any answers, he told himself.
He had a duty to the Shepherds. This new Valmese magic was a clear threat to all of them, and this battle all but confirmed that it would be a recurring obstacle during this campaign unless he could find a way to counter it.
Well, me and every other mage in the armies, he conceded.
No doubt Miriel had taken over a room somewhere in the fortress proper and was running all manner of experiments alongside the man who claimed to be her son, Laurent. Even Tharja and Maribelle had willingly chosen to work together to autopsy the body of the late citylord. It was unreasonable for him to think that if he took a short break -only an hour or two, really- all progression towards a solution would grind to a halt.
And wasn't Chrom always pestering me about this sort of thing? Maybe, just this once, I'll humor him.
A sharp chorus of laughter from outside pushed him into action. Before he had even realized what he was doing, Robin buckled on his new tome and scooped up his coat from where it had been drying over the back of a chair, freshly laundered after the battle. Shrugging into it and flipping the hood up to conceal his face, he darted out of the room without so much as a backwards glance, stopping only to turn and pocket the brass key for the room's well-oiled lock.
The promises made by the occasional gusts he'd felt while shut into that cramp room were fulfilled by the crisp night air Robin stepped out into. The merriment he'd heard had come from a squad of Plegian soldiers making their way back from the city to their posts in Fort Melody.
The fortress lay like a slumbering dragon at the very tip of the larger of two peninsulas that reached towards each other from the mainland to form the mouth of a large, enclosed bay. With massive stone blocks for scales, a bristling wall of watchtowers for spines, and dozens of alcoves designed for mages to spray fire at any enemy ships, The Melody had stood for decades, guarding the entrance to Brass Gate against all comers.
It was almost sad to see the damage the battle had caused, so many of the its venerable stones cracked from the heat of the Plegian navy. Coalition work crews now toiled side by side, as they had in Port Ferox only a month ago, to mend breaches and prepare in the event of a Valmese counterattack.
Robin pulled back into the shadows and let the boisterous soldiers stroll by. The foolishness of being dressed as a Plegian hiding from other Plegians hit him, and he took a step back out into the light of the fort's many lanterns. He pulled his hood down even farther over his face, hoping no one noticed his embarrassment. This wasn't Ylisstol, where his coat had earned him scornful looks from guards and citizens alike. They were all working together now. He wouldn't stand out anymore; just one more Plegian exploring the city.
He set off across the parade ground, weaving in between large piles of rubble left over from the battle, and made his way through the twisted remains of the main gates onto a short path leading to Brass Gate. The cobblestone trail, lit by a series of lampposts —the Zofian people sure liked their lights— stretched a quarter of the way around the bay, connecting the city to its protector. Looking out into the water, Robin could just make out the anchored silhouettes of the Bellicose and half-a-dozen other vessels that had stayed behind while the rest of the Plegian ships spit into two groups, one to chased what remained of the Valmese navy further north, and the other to begin their endless route between the two continents as a supply line to the Coalition.
Unlike Ylisstol, Brass Gate didn't seem to truly begin anywhere. Immediately upon leaving the fort, private homes constructed of wood lined the path, some being built almost touching The Melody's walls. Many of these hadn't faired well in the battle. Smaller side streets branches off inland, leading to quiet neighborhoods, while a spiderweb of piers and jetties, home to hundreds of little fishing boats, jutted out into the bay. The only sign that Robin was moving towards what was considered the city proper was the shifting quality and size of the buildings . The little family homes gradually gave way to taller, multi-story constructions, with foundations of stone.
The path widened and the trickle of people he had passed on his walk became a river, then a flood. Most of the foot traffic was from Coalition soldiers, although it was clear that many citizens had also disregarded the curfew. It saddened him to see each army still choosing to stay segregated. Blue-uniformed Ylissians clumped together, occasionally stopping to chat with the more spread out Feroxi, distinguished by their tendency to wear fur. Both sides gave the Plegian's a wide berth.
The shouts and calls that, even from inside the fortress, he could hear clearly before became almost deafening as his surroundings became more commercial. There appeared to be some kind of categorization through prominently painted glyphs on the facades of each structure. After some exploring, Robin decided that a symbol resembling a bent bow painted in green denoted a restaurant or tavern, while the same image in red meant an inn. A barbed fishhook the color of amber adorned several shops that sold jewelry, but also a few that specialize in dyes and pigments. He had seen a snowflake-like pattern on no less than eight different shops, all advertising entirely different wares and services. And, of course, even in the middle of the night, all of this was perfectly visible thanks to a truly astonishing amount of lanterns: some magical, some mundane, no two emitted the same color light or had the same design.
Eventually, after giving himself time to wander and absorb the almost rhythmic energy of the city, he was drawn to a quieter section of shops. Here, hustle and bustle was replaced with a more thoughtful air. Crowds thinned to only the occasional cluster of Zofian natives, their conversations reduced to a respectable murmur. Even members of the Coalition who had found their way to this street were muted, perhaps sensing the same reverence that Robin did.
There was no temple or house of worship that he could see, and the buildings all bore the same markings as the rest of the city. He passed a restaurant with every seat on the benches of its long, banquet style tables full of hungry patrons, but their talk never surpassed a low buzz. They were even making an effort not to clack or clink their dishes together.
Finally, he stopped by a storefront baring a symbol he hadn't seen before: a sideways hourglass in porcelain white. It was also the first shop that he had seen that was closed. In Ylisstol, merchants would have placed heavy wooden slats across the entrance and windows, secured in place with an iron chain and padlock. The owner of this establishment seemed to think that simple rope netting, attached by easily reached iron hooks, would be enough to deter thieves. Robin though it painfully naive, but appreciated that he could still examine the wares displayed in the window by the light of the lanterns lining the street, even when the inside was left dark from day's end.
Peering in, he was surprised to find that this wasn't a shop, but a gallery. Only instead of paintings or sculptures, large boards of wood adorned the walls and were propped up for passersby to see from the street. Each board was somehow made from what must have been half a dozen different kinds of lumber seamlessly fitted together, which gave both color and texture to intricate scenes and landscapes that had been etched into their surfaces. No, Robin looked closer, not etched; burned!
It must be from a spell, of that he had no doubt, but he couldn't for the life of him think of a spellwork that would produce such a precise flame.
He was so fascinated by the artwork, a voice from behind caused him to jump and reach for his tome.
"I was here when this place was open. They carve them with lightning."
Robin recognized the voice, and, as he spun around, saw the now-familiar long blue hair and piercing glare of Chrom's so-called daughter.
Lucina watched him like a cat that had cornered a mouse, standing a spear's length away with one hand resting on the hilt of her own Falchion. Even though he hadn't known it at the time, one of Robin's first memories was of this woman carving through Risen to save Lissa. And since then, over the years, he'd seen several more displays of her prowess and speed. At this distance, he wouldn't be able to so much as lift the cover of his spellbook before she'd reach him. He quickly turned his instinctive grab for his tome into a casual straightening of his coat.
Her eyes flicked down to his hand for an instant, just long enough to let him know that his abortive attempt to draw his tome had been noticed and understood. When her gaze returned to meet his, he couldn't help but shiver. He was still not entirely convinced of the princess' story of a dead future, but her left eye provided damning proof that at least part of her tale was true.
Instead of a solid blue, like that of her right eye, Lucina's left iris was broken up by a milky smudge that —if seen up close— could be recognized as the Brand of the Exalt. It was a symbol that heralded royal Ylissian blood. Chrom had the same mark on his arm, and Emmeryn's had been on her brow. And little Lucina back in Ylisstol had been born with such a mark as well; in her left eye.
"I've… used lightning for as long as I can remember, but I've never been able to draw a picture with it." Robin hoped his voice didn't sound as shaky as he thought it did. He suddenly wishes that he had kept to the busier streets of Brass Gate.
Lucina took a step forward, her grip not moving from her blade.
"They use thousands of little iron pins. I don't know if the spell is tailored to this sort of work, but the pins guide the electricity," she said, conversationally.
Was that even possible? He had seen his own spells arc towards armored troops on the battlefield. Could the same be done on such a small scale? You would have to create a spellwork that…
He shook himself. Now was very much not the time to lose focus.
"And you've come back here to see more of the art?" he asked, trying to match her nonchalance.
"I'm here because we need to talk."
Robin swallowed as she took a second step towards him. His tome was too slow. He had a dagger sheathed in his boot, its normally comforting weight felt mocking now. I'd be dead before my hand reached my knee. That left only a simple manifestation and the hope that his enchanted coat could stop a legendary blade as his only strategy of survival.
"I guess I'm lucky, then," he said. "You've been glaring at me for weeks now. It'll be good to finally know what I did to offend you and the rest of your group."
"You walk around with Grima's mark on your jacket. Are you really so unaware as to why my Shepherds might not be fond of that? I-"
"That's not the whole story, princess," Robin interrupted. "I've dealt with more than enough people who don't like my clothes, people who don't have enough imagination to see past an old coat. I don't think the Shepherd's children would have that issue. What's really your problem with me?"
It might not have been wise to antagonize Lucina at that moment, but he felt a small rush of satisfaction as her stern look was marred by a flash of annoyance at being called a child. His little victory collapsed at her next words.
"I saw what you did aboard the Bellicose. That's what we're going to talk about."
A pit formed in Robin's stomach. "I'm not even sure what that means," he said, knowing she'd seen the truth on his face.
Lucina took another step forward.
For as long as Robin had known him, Falchion hadn't left Chrom's side more than a handful of times. And while he'd never wielded the blade himself, —and without any royal blood in his veins it would have gone dull if he'd tried— Robin had learned more about it than any other weapon. He knew that, fabled sword of the Hero-King or otherwise, Falchion's length meant that it had a disadvantage when an opponent was too close. All he needed was for her to take one more step and he might have some breathing room if this conversation went the way he increasingly thought it would.
"Remind me, the battle was rather chaotic, when was it that your tome was destroyed?"
"When we reached that General Ignatius and his honor guard," Robin said, carefully. "As I cast the wind spell that jostled the ship-"
"And knocked us into the ocean," Lucina interrupted. "I lost my spyglass because of that."
"That, umm… Right, sorry. We were in trouble, and I wasn't thinking of your personal belongings. As I was saying, I cast the spell just as one of the Valmese got past you and Chrom. I only had one thing to block her blade with."
"Strange. I'm no magician, but I didn't think one spell could move an entire ship like that."
"It's a very specific spell. Henry taught it to me on the voyage."
"And you had it in your spellbook during the fight? I know you prefer one of the Feroxi-style tomes, but it doesn't seem tactically sound to have such magic taking up the space a more effective combat spell would have held."
"Accept it was 'tactically sound,' wasn't it?" Robin said, seeing an opening. "I thought it would be good to have a spell that could effect the entire battlefield, and I was right. I can't speak for you or Chrom, but I would have been dead without it."
Lucina moved her free hand behind her back . Robin tensed, ready for a strike. She pulled a heavy rectangular object from where it had been clipped to her belt and tossed it on the cobblestones between them with a thunk that echoed down the quiet street. A tome, its cover split by what could have been a killing blow. Twisted lyric bloomed out of the gash from the wrecked spellworks inside.
The princess' eyes bored into his. "Unlike my spyglass, this wasn't lost at sea. Laurent spent much of the remaining voyage working to reconstruct it, and do you know what he's found?"
"It's a Feroxi tome, does he have any experience-"
"No wind spells," she spoke over him. "You don't carry more than one tome, and, like you said, you tend to use lightning. But none of that matters because I saw what really happened. And since you've been lying to me this whole time let me make this crystal clear: your tome was useless before you cast that spell. You used magic without a focus."
Robin's mind raced. So he wasn't just misremembering. Someone else saw it too. Unfortunately, in this moment, Lucina didn't look as if she'd except the truth that he had no idea how he'd done it.
"That's impossible," he said, looking away. He knew it would only make him seem more guilty, but he was unable to think of anything else to answer her accusation with.
"No, it isn't," she responded, causing Robin to look back sharply.
Does she know something that might explain all this?
Lucina blinked, a look of confusion at Robin's reaction crossed her face, quickly hidden as the glare returned. "Noire recently told me of a way that humans might cast spells without the need for a spellwork. It's not a power a decent man would wield…"
Robin's heart sank. If the princess was telling the truth, was this new, as-of-yet unrepeatable ability of his the result of whoever he had been before?
Lost momentarily in thought, Robin started in surprise as Lucina brushed passed him, hand leaving Falchion's pommel, to lean in and examine the gallery's artwork.
"Do people really like this sort of thing?" she asked. "To live in a city so… vibrant yet consider something that's five shades of brown 'high art;' it's madness."
Robin floundered, completely wrong-footed by the sudden change in conversation and the princess' demeanor. He managed to respond with an eloquent, "uhhhh."
She turned back around to face him, half sitting in one of the spaces formed by the rope netting, gripping one of the vertical cords for balance as if she were perched on a swing. Quirking her head to one side she gave him a curious look. "You… have no idea how you did what you did back on that boat, do you?"
Lucina had just given up every advantage she'd had over him. It made him relax, more out of surprise than a feeling of safety.
"No," he admitted. "I've been looking into it every chance I get. But you say Noire has heard of something like this before?"
"I'd ask Lady Tharja for more details. Although… I'm not sure it will help you much. It only proves that it *can* be done. The methods Noire described don't match what I've observed with you."
"Is this your way of saying I might be a 'decent man' after all?" Robin said dryly. He may have failed his investigation of Farber, but tonight might have given him the first clues in another mystery.
Lucina pushed herself up and to his shock, gave him a reserved smile. He blinked, and that was all it took.
The princess had produced a dagger, seemingly from nowhere, and was pressing its tip against his throat, right in between the collar of his coat. Her glare had returned.
"I came to ask you a question, and your first response was to lie about it. You weren't even sure if what you did was wrong! Does anyone else know about it? Does my father? Or have you just been hiding the truth from everyone?"
"You didn't 'ask' me anything. You accused me," Robin replied, anger bubbling into his words.
"I've come all this way to protect my father from any threat. You asked what my real problem with you was? I think you're a threat. You're right, I don't care about your coat. I care that I've only been traveling with my father's Shepherds for less than two months and I've already seen you hiding things from the others."
"Hiding things from the other? Princess, this… whatever it is I can do has nothing to do with the others. This is my problem and mine alone. But everything looks like a threat to you, doesn't it? If you're going to be some kind of bodyguard for Chrom you're going to need to learn the difference between a sinister plot and something that is simply none of your damn business."
Lucina's eyes blazed with anger, but, with a flick of her wrist, the blade vanished, letting Robin breath again. Without another word, she stomped off, not even breaking stride as she reached down to scoop up his old tome from where it lay in the street.
Robin let out a breathe and sat down hard. Touching his neck, his fingers came back with a thin smear of blood.
Making friends everywhere you go, he thought sourly as he pulled up the collar of his shirt to dab at the wound.