The Noose Tightens
Lady Nikos found Qrow Branwen at the back of the house, the paper doors leading out into the garden slid back while the man himself sat in the doorway, back slumped and elbows resting upon his knees.
He looked a rather pathetic sight. Small wonder he had been hiding in his guest room for so long.
And yet, at the same time, she could not help but pity him. To be rejected by one’s blood was… a rather unfortunate thing, something she would not wish upon her greatest foe.
She approached him and made no trouble to hide her approach; she did not muffle her footsteps on the wooden floor. Nevertheless, he did not heed her coming. He didn’t look at her. He paid her no mind at all as he reached for a flask of liquor.
Lady Nikos lashed out with her cane, striking the flask out of his hand and knocking it away into the darkness of the garden.
“Hey!” Qrow exclaimed, and now he looked at her. “What’s the big idea, lady?”
“Have you not drunk enough?” Lady Nikos demanded. “Or are you determined to preserve us all from the demon by drinking all the city dry? I am sure your sacrifice will be long remembered here in Mistral. We will write a ballad in your honour.”
Qrow snorted. “You do that. Or don’t. I don’t care. But I don’t need some hoity-toity Mistral jerk telling me what to do.”
“Clearly, you need someone to tell you what to do, on the evidence of your behaviour unsupervised,” Lady Nikos observed.
Qrow laughed sardonically. “Go to hell, lady,” he muttered. He rose to his feet, swaying slightly. “Or should that be: go to hell, m’lady?” He took a step into the garden.
“You are a coward,” Lady Nikos said in a voice as cold as ice and as sharp as a dagger.
Qrow rounded on her, eyes blazing. “What did you say?”
“I named you coward and spoke true,” Lady Nikos declared, her voice ringing. “My daughter fights to defend this city against its enemies; she risks her life near everyday alongside her companions, children all or near enough. Meanwhile, you, a grown man and a warrior of some repute, waste away the treasure of your time in drunken idleness, shirking the struggle to be waged by those half your age or less, though ten times your betters in courage.”
“Get off my back,” Qrow snapped. “I don’t see you out on the battlefield.”
“A fact which grieves me every single day!” Lady Nikos cried. “Or do you think I send my only daughter, the hope of our house, out to battle against the terrors of the world with a glad heart while I sit idle, my body failing?”
Qrow glowered at her. “It’s not my body that’s failing,” he muttered. “It’s something worse than that.”
“Because of your grief?” Lady Nikos asked. She did not wait for his reply. “I have buried a husband before his time, Mister Branwen; I know a little of grief and its effects. I found work a surer cure for them than brooding.”
Qrow was silent for a moment, nodding his head in mute agreement. “I’ve seen that for myself.”
“Perhaps you should have recalled the sight sooner,” Lady Nikos suggested acidly. She paused. “You are a very lucky man, Mister Branwen.”
Qrow let out a harsh bark of laughter. “'Lucky'? I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”
Lady Nikos pursed her lips before she let a sigh escape them. “If you tell anyone this, I shall be forced to deny it, but I would give up all the wealth of my house and all its ancient dignity to have my husband returned from the embrace of death. To have him embrace me. To have Pyrrha’s father be present on her wedding day. Fate has granted you a gift that is denied to most of us.”
“Fate, huh?” Qrow snorted. “That’s a funny name to call my sister.” He ran one hand through his hair. “She wants nothin' to do with me.” He glanced at her. “Is this where you tell me that you’re not surprised?”
“If I wish to verbally spar, Mister Branwen, I will find an opponent of my own class,” Lady Nikos said dryly. “I came here because my daughter has need of you: your experience, your knowledge.”
“If this is supposed to be some kind of motivational pep talk, you’re doing one hell of a job,” Qrow muttered. “With all due respect, you have no idea of the things that I’ve seen, what I’ve gone up against-”
“I know exactly what you are up against, Mister Branwen,” Lady Nikos declared. “Just as I know that Pyrrha and her companions face it too.”
Qrow stared at her. “Pyrrha told you, didn’t she?”
Lady Nikos nodded.
Qrow groaned. “I remember when our secret society was actually secret.” He shook his head. “How does it make you feel?”
“Proud,” Lady Nikos answered. “Terrified, for Pyrrha and for Mistral.”
“But especially for your kid, right?” Qrow asked.
“Even so,” Lady Nikos agreed. “Knowing that every battle might be her last, that every time she leaves may be the journey from which she does not return.”
“That’s the life of a huntress,” Qrow reminded her.
“I did not wish for Pyrrha the life of a huntress,” Lady Nikos admitted. “She chose that destiny, not I. The glories of the Vytal Festival glimmered brightly in my imagination, true, but there was a part of me that would have preferred for Pyrrha to remain a tournament fighter, as I was.”
“But you let her go to Beacon anyway?”
“Had I defied her will in that, I would have lost her,” Lady Nikos said candidly. “Her heart was set upon it, and I could not deny her something that meant so much and was so fitting to her heritage and skill.” She chuckled. “Pyrrha no doubt believes that I have been a stern mother, and it is true that I have ruled her life in some respects, but she is mine, and being mine, I may dispose of her… a power of which I have made use less than I might have done. And yet, I fancy that, in the judicial exercise of my authority, I have never quite given her cause to hate me.
“I am proud of all that Pyrrha has achieved and that her great gifts were recognised as important for the defence of all mankind… but at the same time, I will make another confession to you, Mister Branwen, which I will again deny if you repeat in public: there are times when I wish I had allowed Pyrrha to train in the ballet.”
Qrow stared at her for a moment, his expression suggesting he wasn’t sure if she was serious.
Lady Nikos stared back at him, her look declaring that she was never anything less than serious.
Qrow chuckled. “Yeah, that might have been the safer option. Although I hear that sometimes, the audience can get pretty scary.” He paused, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “I never had any kids,” he said, looking up at the broken moon above them. “I’m not likely to now. Not sure any woman would want a man like me. But I have two nieces, and I love them both just like they were my own. I taught Ruby how to fight because it was what she wanted – like you said, her heart was set on it – but I guess there was a part of me that… when I found out that Oz had brought them in, I was… I told myself that I was doing these things to keep the girls safe, but they found a way to put themselves in danger after all. Now, Yang is a bandit, and Ruby… I don’t even know where Ruby is.”
“According to Miss Xiao Long, she is somewhere in Sanus, upon the borders of Vale,” Lady Nikos said. “Or at least she was, when last observed.” She trifled with the walking cane in her hands. “My daughter leads a force of warriors while my future son-in-law serves as their strategist; one of your nieces is remaking a tribe of brigands into something approaching respectability, while the other is a warrior shielding mankind from nightmares. Our children have grown up, Mister Branwen, to do us credit by what fine young people they are… and to shame us, by how inadequate they make us seem by comparison to their accomplishments.”
Qrow chuckled. “Yeah. Old folks like you and me, we do seem pretty unnecessary these days, don’t we?”
“Yet we must play our part all the same,” Lady Nikos declared, “or we truly shall have cause to feel shame.”
Qrow smirked. “So we’re back to ‘get off your ass,’ right?”
“Work is a great salve for grief, Mister Branwen,” Lady Nikos reminded him, “but I have found that it can also be a great distraction from worry. I have no authority over you, Mister Branwen, but I can tell you that I envy you.”
“Me?” Qrow repeated.
“Our children are fighting in the front line of a great battle,” Lady Nikos said. “You have the opportunity to fight alongside them, if you wish to take it. Good night, Mister Branwen.” She turned to go.
“Qrow.”
Lady Nikos paused. “Mister Branwen?”
“Qrow,” Qrow repeated. “Mister Branwen… there never was any Mister Branwen when I was growing up.”
Lady Nikos hesitated for a moment. “Good night, Qrow.”
Qrow bowed with a flourish that would have seemed mocking from him just a moment before. “Good night, m’lady; and thank you.”
Camilla kept her eyes upon the bandits once she returned from talking to Jaune Arc. There were quite a few of them at the party, some of them looking uncomfortable and some of them looking as though they would rather rob the palace than make an honest agreement to act as servants of the Kingdom of Mistral. Were these the people who would make up Turnus’ army? Were these the warlords who would bend the knee and pledge their swords to claim the prize of victory for Mistral? She wished she could be sure. She wished she could believe in Turnus the way that Juturna did, so confidently, so wholeheartedly… so blithely.
Camilla found it very hard to be blithe, especially when those she loved insisted on putting themselves into such danger.
She… she loved him. She loved his eyes, his body, but she loved his spirit too: his pride, his resolve, his determination, his desire to order all things as he would. She had meant what she said to Jaune: Turnus would be a great king if he were put on the throne. But he need only take the rule in Mistral to be a great king. He did not need to conquer foreign lands to prove himself, he did not need to stir up armies of brigands loyal to his standard, he did not… he did not need to marry Pyrrha Nikos, or at least, she hoped that he did not.
Camilla sensed Turnus returning before he made it to her; she had turned to face him before he made it through the press of revellers to stand before her. She wasn’t entirely sure where he had been, but his face was… troubled. There was confusion in his eyes, which was something Camilla so very rarely saw there.
He stood in front of her, with an absent air about him, as though he were there but at the same time not.
“Turnus?” Camilla murmured, reaching out to place one hand upon his muscular arm. “Are you alright?”
“Hmm?” Turnus said, looking at her as though he saw her for the first time. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, I am… we should go.”
“Already?” Camilla asked. “Why so soon?”
“Do you wish to remain?”
“I thought that you wished to speak to the brigand chiefs, to sound them out upon your plans for Sanus.”
“Later,” Turnus said, as if his plans were a mere distraction from… from whatever had actually distracted him. “Later,” he repeated. “Later, I will send word to them, or… I will have the arrangements made, but not now. Now, I wish to go.” He paused, seeming hesitant. “Unless you wish to stay. I will not drag you away from here against your will.”
Camilla herself would have welcomed an opportunity to observe the bandit chiefs at greater length and take the measure of them, but she would not keep Turnus here against his will any more, it seemed, than he would drag her out the door against her own. “No,” Camilla said. “I am ready and content to return.” She had already done the most important task which she had come here to perform, by warning Jaune Arc, after all.
She only hoped that he would find some way to make good use of what she told him.
“Excellent,” Turnus said, and he smiled uncertainly at her. “Will you… will you take my arm, Camilla?”
Camilla blinked in surprise. “Turnus?”
Turnus offered her the crook of his arm. “If you will?”
Camilla stared at it. He had never done anything quite like this before, or at least not with her. “I… I don’t understand.”
“Humour me,” he urged.
Camilla’s gaze flickered from the crook of his arm to his face, his noble face looking down at her. A slight smile graced her fair, albino features as she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and placed it around his elbow. She stepped towards him, practically leaning on him as, arm in arm, they departed from the palace and into the cool night air.
The path leading down from the palace was illuminated by lanterns placed along the ground, their golden glow dispelling the darkness around them as they walked between the lights, with darkness on either side of them.
“Did you have a pleasant evening?” Turnus asked.
Camilla was silent for a moment. “It was… not unpleasant,” she answered.
Turnus nodded. “For myself… it was quite enlightening.” He paused, and his steps slowed. “There are some who would call what you have done tonight a betrayal.”
Camilla gasped. He knew. He had seen her, and he had guessed. There was no point denying it, no point in asking what he thought she had done. “And you?” she asked softly.
Turnus stopped and looked down at her. “I know that you could no more betray me than I could betray myself… unless it is because I have betrayed myself that you betrayed me.”
“All I have done has been for you,” Camilla declared, “and for Juturna. All I have done has been what your safety motivated me to do. I told Jaune Arc that his enemies lurked beneath the walls of our house because I fear…” she trailed off.
“You fear that they may be our enemies too,” Turnus finished.
“And we may have need of the assistance of the Myrmidons to be rid of them,” Camilla added.
“I am not so certain of that,” Turnus said. But then, he turned to face her and took her by the hands so tenderly. “But I have been wrong before.”
He was looking at her… why was he looking at her that way? He had never looked at her that way before, with that… what did it mean? “Turnus?” Camilla murmured.
Camilla squeaked in surprise as Turnus grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up into the air.
And then he kissed her.
Camilla’s tail stiffened in shock; her ears went rigid with surprise; and then his tongue was in her mouth, and there was no room for anything but the sheer ecstatic pleasure of it. She put her arms around his neck and felt his hands tighten around her waist, drawing her closer to him. She felt as if the world was turning around them, and even if it was really the fact that he was spinning in place, it still felt absolutely wonderful.
She was breathless when he set her down. “That… you… how… why…?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Turnus replied. “Always?”
Camilla nodded. “Always.”
Turnus smiled down upon her like the sun. “Juturna knew, didn’t she?”
Camilla let out a little giggle. “Yes, she knew.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid,” Camilla admitted. “Afraid that you didn’t… that you couldn’t… of what it would mean for us if…” She sighed. “There are some in this city who will not accept a faunus for their queen.”
“Then they will answer to me,” Turnus declared. “As all those who slight or slander you have done.”
Camilla sighed again, but this time, it was a sigh of pleasure. “Turnus,” she whispered.
Turnus cupped her cheek with one hand. “Did I… if I hurt you, making you watch as I pursued Pyrrha… all I can do is apologise. It was never my intent to cause you pain.”
Camilla placed her pale hand on top of his and leaned into his palm as though she could melt into his touch. Her red eyes closed as she felt his rough and calloused hand stroke her skin. “I know,” she said, “and for that reason… you have nothing to apologise for.”
For a moment, there was silence between them, a comfortable silence, a silence out of affection and familiarity. There was no need to speak. They could feel each other’s hearts without the need for words.
For a moment, all was well. All was right with the world; Salem and her creatures were forgotten, and so was the disappearance of Manjushage. The menace of the grimm, the bandits, the plans and ambitions of Turnus, Pyrrha and her Myrmidons, all gone. In all the world, there were just the two of them, together.
It was wonderful, but it could not endure.
When Turnus did speak, it was to say, “I have been a fool. My eyes were fixed upon a woman who had turned her back on me, ignoring the more lustrous gem right by my side. I have been a fool in this… and in so much else. I ought to have defended the people to win the throne, I ought to have made Pyrrha a friend to my ambitions by cooperating with her, I ought to have… is it too late?”
Camilla opened her eyes. “Too late for what?”
“To make it right,” Turnus said. “All of it. What should I do? What should we do?”
Camilla pulled his hand down from her face – reluctantly, but she could not afford the distraction now. “You ask me for our course.”
“You wanted to defend the settlements,” Turnus reminded her. “You… your instincts have been more correct than my own, if only you had possessed the courage to give them voice. Speak now, I beg you, and be not silent. What is our course? The power of the House of Rutulus is yours to command…” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “My lady.”
Camilla beamed and allowed herself to soak in the pleasure of how wonderful it felt for him to treat her this way, before she shook her head free of such fancies and wonders and devoted herself to business. “We should call on Pyrrha,” she said, “and make things right between us. I do not say give up your plans for Sanus or your ambitions for the throne, but once it is made clear that we have forsaken any connection to Salem, then… even if she will not look with favour on your intentions, she may not stand in their way.”
Turnus nodded, even as he said, “Do you think that all connection to Salem will be so easily set aside?”
“I think that once we have put to death her envoys here in Mistral, then we can snap our fingers at her, and she will be powerless to do more than rage at it,” Camilla replied.
“'Put to death'?” Turnus repeated. “They are guests beneath my roof.”
“Then give them guest gifts,” Camilla urged. “As of old a host would do on the day their guest took leave of them.” She let the meaning of that hang in the air for a moment. It was, perhaps, not in the spirit of the hospitality, but it was true to the letter of it, and to be frank, Camilla did not think that this was the time to stand on principle, not when Juturna’s life was at stake.
Understanding showed in Turnus’ eyes. “What then?”
“Then we send our envoys to Atlas and see what response they return with,” Camilla replied. “Then we sound out the bandit lords. Then you do as you meant to do. But with no enemies at your back, nor Pyrrha nor Salem’s minions to disturb you.”
Turnus chuckled. “You should speak up more often,” he said. “You are very wise.”
Camilla bowed her head. “I did not think it was for a servant, however honoured, to address the lord-”
“You are no servant,” Turnus said. “You have never been a servant. You are-”
“Your lady,” Camilla whispered.
“If you will,” Turnus said softly. “Juturna has our mother’s ring in her jewellery box. I am sure that she would give it up if asked… and it would suit you very well.”
Camilla gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. “Turnus! So soon?”
“Have we not wasted time enough already?” Turnus asked.
“Even… even though I am-”
“If Pyrrha can marry a Valish nobody, why should I not marry my best friend and good right hand?” inquired Turnus tenderly.
A sob of happiness escaped Camilla’s mouth, and she wiped at the tear that descended her cheek. “If… if I had known that speaking to Jaune Arc was all it would take to assure my happiness, I would have sought him out long ago.”
Turnus threw back his head and laughed, the sound of it rising up towards the moon. “He may be an impertinent boy, sprung out of no place that can be named with honour, but he has some rough wisdom in him, I confess. And now… shall we go speak with him again?”
Camilla nodded. “To Pyrrha’s.”
“To Pyrrha’s,” Turnus agreed.
Pyrrha and Jaune descended the stairs into the hall, there to receive Turnus and Camilla as they walked through the doors.
The two pairs stood facing one another, Pyrrha and Jaune stood upon the lower stairs of the grand staircase, Turnus and Camilla looking up at them.
It did not escape Jaune’s notice that Turnus and Camilla were hand in hand, even as Jaune and Pyrrha were. He could not help but raise an eyebrow at it.
Camilla’s smile was slight, but grateful, or at least he thought it was.
Did he take my advice after all?
“Pyrrha,” Turnus said, bowing his head to her. He glanced at Jaune, and hesitated for a moment. He had trouble meeting Jaune’s eyes. “May I call you Jaune, Mister Arc?”
Now it was Jaune’s turn to hesitate. “You may,” he conceded, “my lord.”
“Turnus, please,” the Lord Rutulus said quickly. “We are not enemies, but friends. At least I would have it so.”
“Would you?” Pyrrha asked, her tone uncertain. “That has not always seemed the case.”
Turnus clenched his jaw. “You… you speak the truth, and yet…” he trailed off. His voice was very gruff. “Apologies do not come easily to a man such as myself, and yet… I have cause to express regret about my conduct. It has been… unbecoming of my position.”
“Indeed,” Pyrrha said, her voice soft and even and ever so slightly suspicious. “In what way?”
“In the way that I have failed to match your virtue,” Turnus confessed. “You have been… a shepherd of the people, and in so doing, you have demonstrated how a lord of Mistral should behave, even in these debased times. When you came to my door, I told you that it was for those who presumed to lead to defend the land, yet I forgot my own advice and thought more of my presumptions to leadership than of my duty to defend the realm. You have shown no such presumptions, but you deserve the acclaim they give you in the street, for you have behaved… as a princess of Mistral ought, in these perilous days. I was too slow to learn from you, and I regret it.”
“I see,” Pyrrha replied, after a moment. “Fortunately, I have some experience with the proud, and if that were all for which you need apologise, I could accept it and gladly so. But I fear it is hard for me to let bygones be bygones while you shelter in your house not only Lionheart but Salem’s more dangerous servants, Chrysalis and Doctor Watts.”
“You need not fear them,” Camilla said, her voice quiet but nevertheless as firm as steel. “They will present no difficulty after tonight.”
Jaune’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
“I suppose I ask if our word that they have had their lives will be sufficient or if you would like to see the heads of these three foes of yours?” Camilla asked.
Jaune and Pyrrha looked at each other, and Jaune for his part found the surprise that he felt mirrored upon Pyrrha’s face. “You’re going to kill them?”
“Do they not deserve death?” Camilla replied.
“Probably. I’m just a little surprised,” Jaune said. “What about… honour and stuff?”
“There are ways around such things,” Camilla informed him.
Remind me not to get on her bad side, Jaune thought.
“What of Juturna?” Pyrrha asked.
“Juturna is harmless,” Turnus assured them. “Nor will I permit any harm to come to her.”
Pyrrha hesitated for a moment, before she bowed her head. “Very well. This is welcome news, Turnus. May I ask what has caused this change of your mind?”
Turnus glanced at Camilla. “I must credit… Jaune,” Turnus said, still sounding a little reluctant to actually credit Jaune with anything. “He invited me to pay a little more attention to one who has been so close to me that I have, to my shame, overlooked her up until now.”
Pyrrha’s lips turned upwards in a smile, “Does that mean… congratulations are in order?”
“And… another apology,” Turnus muttered. “I should have congratulated you upon your engagement… a lapse I should probably rectify now.” Nevertheless, he did not congratulate them upon their engagement, not for a little while anyway; he stood in the hallway silently, while everyone – even Camilla – looked at him. “Congratulations upon your engagement,” he said, eventually. “A suitable gift will be forthcoming in due course.”
Pyrrha chuckled as she descended the last few stairs into the hall, so that she stood only level with the two Rutulians. Jaune did likewise. “Thank you, Turnus,” Pyrrha said. “I have never desired your enmity, and I am glad to hear that I do not have it.”
“And even gladder to hear that you're coming to your senses about Salem,” Jaune added.
“I have never sought the downfall of Mistral,” Turnus insisted. “Though it may appear as though I have not worked towards its benefit as I ought to have done.” He paused. “May we talk more comfortably? There is more I would discuss with you.”
“Of course,” Pyrrha said. “Would you care for some refreshment?”
“That would be most appreciated,” Turnus said courteously.
Pyrrha led them into the drawing room, where Turnus rearranged the chairs so that he and Camilla were sat side by side, facing Jaune and Pyrrha upon the settee. A maid, Hestia, brought tea and a selection of very small cakes. Camilla poured for the others.
Turnus raised his china teacup. “Dare I hope that this is the start of a new beginning?”
Pyrrha raised her cup in turn. “That would please me very well,” she agreed. She drank from her teacup. “How do you intend to deal with Lionheart?”
“He will die alongside the others,” Camilla said firmly. “He has led Juturna into this present mire. Nothing can excuse the fact that he has placed her in jeopardy.”
Wasn’t that her choice? Jaune thought, but kept such a thought to himself. It was clear that harm coming to Juturna was an absolute deal-breaker for Turnus and Camilla, just as it seemed that – perhaps in part to justify that stance on their part – they preferred to see her as a naïve innocent led astray by bad company. And, to be fair, Jaune had never met the girl, so that might be accurate. Or it might not. Either way, it was something that they would have to bear for the greater prize of having Turnus on their side and not having to worry about Chrysalis or Watts or any enemies within the walls of Mistral.
There was a more pressing concern, however. “Doctor Watts and Chrysalis could be made to disappear, I’m sure,” Jaune said. “But Lionheart? People know that he is with you. If you kill him, isn’t that murder?”
Turnus and Camilla glanced at one another. “There are… things that can be said to mitigate such charges, and there are still some men in the police who remember my father fondly,” Turnus declared. “If I were to say that I came home and found Lionheart... behaving improperly with my beloved sister, no one would call me a murderer if, in the heat of my passion, I ran him through with my sword.”
“Unless Juturna contradicted you,” Jaune pointed out.
Turnus’ eyes narrowed. “My sister is no concern of yours,” he said emphatically. “I have told you: she is not a servant of Salem, she is not your enemy. Put her from your mind.”
“Of course,” Pyrrha said mildly, reaching across to put a hand upon Jaune’s knee. “She is your family, within your house; she is your concern, not ours.”
So keep your mouth shut, Jaune, he interpreted. Even after three months, he was still finding his feet here.
“Although that does leave the question,” Pyrrha continued. “Of a new Headmaster of Haven Academy.”
“Indeed,” Turnus said. “That will be for the Council to decide, which is why I would take it as a favour if you were to support the election of someone… pliable.”
“‘Pliable,’” Jaune repeated. “You mean somebody who will do as you say?”
“I have enjoyed having influence upon the Council, I will not deny it,” Turnus replied. “I am prepared to share the vote with you, if we can agree on someone.”
“I… am finding it hard to think of suitable candidates,” Pyrrha confessed. “There are the other teachers-”
“I would rather not have Lionheart replaced with one of the Steward’s creatures,” Turnus said. “Is there no one who would support us both?”
“I’m not sure,” Pyrrha said. “Do we not have diverging interests?”
“Need that be so?” Camilla asked. “With the shadow of Salem no longer lying between us, can we not find common ground? Are you so proud or so committed to our present state of affairs that you could not bend the knee to a King Turnus?”
“That depends on how you wish to gain the throne,” Pyrrha replied. “I will not stand by and watch you seize power by force… but, if the Council were to invite you to take the throne or the people acclaim you king in general assembly as was the ancient custom, then what right would I have to stand in your way?”
“Although I’m not sure Swift Foot would see it the same way,” Jaune added. She might have renounced her family and joined the Myrmidons, but depending on what Turnus planned to do with the Steward, she might find it difficult or impossible to stand aside from their fate.
“That is fair enough,” Turnus conceded. “I do not seek to be a dictator or a blood-stained tyrant, but to rule Mistral for the good of Mistral, to improve this country until it can once again hold up its head high amongst the realms of men. So you see, there is no reason why we cannot have a Headmaster at Haven who is of like mind with us or who supports the idea of an alliance with Atlas, not a conflict with it.”
“An alliance with Atlas?” Jaune said. “You mean… you’re talking about something specific, aren’t you? More specific than the order that prevailed before the CCT went down.”
“That system collapsed with Beacon Tower,” Turnus declared. “The world is changing, and we must change with it. Clinging to the old order will accomplish nothing.”
“So you would look further back, to the alliance of Mistral and Mantle before the Great War?” Pyrrha asked.
“Why not? It brought great advantages to both kingdoms,” Turnus explained. “If we take Atlas as a model, then it will help to have them by our side. If we do not reach out, we may make them nervous, especially with our designs in Sanus.”
“Sanus?” Jaune said. “What designs in Sanus?”
“The empty lands east of Vale,” Turnus said. “The lands that were rightfully ours, lost after the Great War-”
“You mean the lands that were disputed by Vale?” Jaune corrected.
“Vale can hardly be said to be using them now,” Turnus replied, as though Jaune were merely nitpicking. “One cannot retain a claim on something that one does not use.”
“And yet you call them Mistral’s lands,” Jaune said softly.
“Because Mistral will make use of them, once they are ours,” Turnus informed him impatiently. “With an army raised from amongst our new bandit allies, we can take Sanus as far as the mountains for ourselves and be strong enough to resist any attempt by Vale to deny us what is rightfully ours.”
“To what end?” Pyrrha demanded. “The territory of Mistral is vast already, so vast that we cannot properly police it all; our huntsmen are reduced in numbers, our population is not so swollen that it is crying out for new lands to settle on, so, Turnus, to what end would we expand our dominion by so much?”
“For the glory,” Turnus declared, as though it were obvious. “When we retake what should have been ours, it will send the rest of the world a signal that Mistral has returned, its glory restored and its strength renewed.”
“And you want Atlas to help with that?” Jaune said.
“We will require their acquiescence, if not their assistance, in return for which they will be granted the north of Sanus for their own,” Turnus accepted. “And with Atlas allied with us upon their northern flank, Vale is even less likely to cause difficulties.”
Jaune shook his head. “General Ironwood is never going to go for that.”
“Why not?” Camilla responded. “They are not his lands. They are nobody’s lands.”
“That doesn’t mean that Vale will like them suddenly belonging to Mistral,” Jaune pointed out. “General Ironwood won’t risk war with Vale so that Mistral can expand to make a statement.”
“General Ironwood is not the whole of Atlas,” Turnus reminded him.
“Not, but he has two seats on the Atlas Council, and Councillor Cadenza has another,” Jaune said. “I don’t think she’ll go for this either.”
“Nevertheless, I would make the attempt,” Turnus said. “Leaving aside your views on how Atlas will answer, what say you to my plan? I have sounded out the Lord Steward upon the question of diplomatic relations with Atlas; I would know if I have the support of Councillor Ward also.”
“Councillor Ward has a mind of his own,” Pyrrha replied.
“But your word carries great weight with him,” Turnus said. “Come, Pyrrha, what say you?”
“The Steward is in favour of reopening relations with Atlas,” Pyrrha said. “But is he in favour of expansion, too?”
“Lord Diomedes agrees that we must take steps to show the world that we are back on our feet.”
“Even though we are not, yet?” Pyrrha replied. “I am sorry, Turnus, but I can have no part in this. Even if it is the will of the Council, I would have to stand aside. I cannot turn away from the problems we face here at home and go to war on the other side of the ocean.”
“You have left Mistral once before,” Camilla pointed out.
“To hone my skills during an era of peace,” Pyrrha responded.
“That’s alright, Camilla,” Turnus said. “As I have said, and as I hope that I make clear, I do not wish to be your enemy. We can at least send word to Atlas and see what they have to say?”
Pyrrha was silent a moment. “Of course, if that is the will of the Council.”
“With the right Headmaster ensconced at Haven, how can it not be?” Turnus replied. He got to his feet. “We will take our leave of you now.”
“Good night, both of you,” Pyrrha said.
“And congratulations,” Jaune added, “and good luck.”
Camilla smiled. “Thank you, Jaune,” she said. “For everything.”
They were about to leave when both their scrolls rang. They both answered them, their expression puzzled.
“Big Brother,” Juturna groaned from out of her scroll. “I… I need you to come home right now. I… I need you.”
“Juturna?” Camilla cried. “Juturna, what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry.”
Lady Ming was surprised to learn, when she returned from the Steward’s gala, that Juturna Rutulus had arrived at her home in her absence and was waiting for her.
Nevertheless, despite the fact that she had been looking forward to a very long and relaxing bath and possibly an evening spent with a glass of wine and some quality television, Lady Ming composed herself as a Councillor of Mistral ought. “Very well,” she said. “Thank you for informing me, Kurt.”
The captain of her company bowed to her, her face temporarily obscured by the wolf-pelt helmet that she wore. “Of course, my lady. Do you want a guard to accompany you?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lady Ming assured her. Lady Juturna would hardly try anything untoward in Lady Ming’s own house, and in any case, said house was full of cameras. Everything that happened in every room was observed, so Juturna Rutulus would have to be mad or stupid to think that she could get away with anything.
And so, Lady Ming walked down the corridor towards the sitting room alone. As she approached, she could hear the sounds of a piano playing on the other side of the door. The sounds were being made, as Lady Ming discovered when she opened the door, by Juturna Rutulus herself, who was sitting at the piano playing rather well.
Lady Ming closed the door loudly. “I wasn’t aware that you played, Lady Juturna.”
Juturna smiled at her, continuing to play the piano without needing to look at the keys. “I took some lessons when I was younger,” she explained, although she was hardly more than ‘young’ now, so it wasn’t entirely clear what she meant by that. “I was told that I had a gift for it, but I had to stop. I didn’t get on with the other children.”
Lady Ming walked towards the piano. “That’s… an Atlesian composition, is it not?”
Juturna chuckled. “Surely you’re not such a chauvinist, Lady Ming, as to refuse to hear Atlesian music in your house.”
“Of course not,” Lady Ming replied, “but it is a curious choice, you will agree.”
“It’s an excellent piece, one of my favourites,” Juturna replied. “The entry of the Gods into Heaven.”
“It sounds a little anemic to me,” Lady Ming remarked.
Juturna was silent for a moment, silent in words at least; she continued playing. “It does lose something without the orchestra.”
Lady Ming leaned on the piano. “This piano is not actually an antique, although it looks like one from the outside. Rather, it is a novelty toy from MARS, capable of not only playing itself but producing all of the orchestral sounds and effects.”
Juturna looked up at her. “Fancy that,” she said. “What a marvellous modern age we live in.”
Lady Ming waited for Juturna to tell her what she was doing there. When she showed no inclination to do so, Lady Ming said, “You must not think me rude, Lady Juturna-”
“But what am I doing in your house?” Juturna asked brightly.
“Indeed,” Lady Ming said. “Your presence here is a most unexpected… pleasure.”
Juturna chuckled. She stopped playing the piano. The instrument was silent for a moment. Then it began playing itself, the same tune as before, only this time, it needed no hands to guide it, no fingers to touch the keys.
Lady Ming’s eyebrows rose. “You knew how it worked all along?”
“No,” Juturna replied, as she got up off the piano stool. “But my friend does.”
Lady Ming frowned. “Your friend?”
“The one outside,” Juturna explained, as the sounds of the piano were joined by a full orchestra. “Hacking your security cameras.”
The volume of the orchestra rose dramatically. Lady Ming’s eyes widened in horror. Juturna smirked viciously. Lady Ming opened her mouth to cry out, but her words turned to a cry of pain – a cry drowned out by the sound of the orchestra coming from the piano – as Juturna shoved a knife into her gut.
Lady Ming gasped, she gurgled. She felt blood filling her throat. She tried to call out, but she couldn’t even hear herself over that Atlesian racket, let alone be heard by her servants.
The last thing she saw as she sank to the floor was Juturna Rutulus standing over her, smiling cruelly down as Lady Ming’s life ebbed away.
Chrysalis waited until Lady Ming was dead, and – still wearing Juturna’s form – carried her body over to a large wooden trunk set against the back of the room. It was nearly empty, with only a couple of bolts of blue silk there, and Chrysalis laid the body of the late Lady Ming inside and slammed the lid down, locking the chest up.
Only then did the piano and its attendant orchestra fall silent.
“Thank goodness,” Chrysalis groaned. “I like the tune, but the bombast of a full orchestra makes it impossible to hear oneself think.”
Doctor Watts chuckled through her earpiece. “The late Lady Ming was right in one respect, my dear: you do play very well.”
Chrysalis chuckled. “Thank you, Doctor. Imagine what might have been if only Mistral had been willing to grant equal rights to the faunus?”
“You would have dazzled the audiences at every great concert hall in Remnant, I’m sure, but equally, you would have been wasted there.”
“Quite,” Chrysalis agreed. “When you get in, you’ll have your androids dispose of the body? Saving some blood and hair samples, of course, to fool the curious.”
“I will,” Doctor Watts acknowledged. “What are you going to do about that bloodstain on the floor?”
“Call it a wine stain and have it cleaned up.” Chrysalis moved one of the carpets to cover up said stain in the meantime. She transformed, and the blood of Lady Ming that stained her hands and arms disappeared as, in a bust of green fire, she sloughed off the appearance of Juturna Rutulus and became instead Lady Ming, Councillor of Mistral, dressed as she had last been in life.
In this new guise, Chrysalis rang for her servants. A man in the livery of the House of Ming entered and bowed to her.
“What do you wish, my lady?”
“Lady Juturna had to powder her nose,” Chrysalis said. “If she is lost, then have her shown out, will you?”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Meanwhile, I shall retire to bed,” Chrysalis said. “I am very weary and am not to be disturbed for any reason.”
“No, my lady.”
“A few guests shall be arriving soon,” Chrysalis added. “It is unfortunate that I cannot greet them personally, but as I said, I am weary. See that guest rooms are set up for them and all their needs attended to; they shall be with us for some time.”
“At once, my lady.”
Juturna hadn’t bothered to go to the party at the Palace. She wanted Camilla and Turnus to go alone so that Camilla wouldn’t have any excuse not to spend time with him and make a move already. Despite having the run of the house in her brother’s absence, Juturna mostly stayed in her room that night, especially as it got later. She lay on the bed, holding her scroll up above her head, playing otome games. A servant brought her something to drink, and then later on, another servant brought her dinner, which clearly didn’t agree with her, because she started to get a funny feeling in her stomach. She felt bloated, but at the same time, when she tried to go to the lavatory there was… nothing. Then she started to get a sore throat, and phlegm started coating it, so that she had to keep swallowing it down because it was getting thicker and thicker, coating her throat until she felt as though she could hardly breathe. Juturna couldn’t concentrate on her games; she could barely see the screen of her scroll sometimes because her eyes kept watering. She coughed, and spluttered, and then coughed until she sounded as though she was about to hurl, but it did her no good at all. She wiped her eyes and saw that she had gotten a notification of an email… from Doctor Watts?
That was a little weird. Why did he need to send her emails when he was still in the house? Nevertheless, Juturna - after coughing into the back of her hand - opened up the email.
There was no message, just a video attachment.
Juturna played the video. She saw… herself? Yes, it was her, and it was in a room… was that Lady Ming’s house? Juturna saw herself sit down at the piano and start to play, which was odd, because Juturna didn’t know how to play the piano. Dad had wanted her to learn, like Mom, but Juturna had wanted to learn how to play the guitar, and she had gotten her way. She’d always been able to wrap her father around her little finger. She was his precious princess, after all; he’d never been able to deny her anything she wanted.
Juturna frowned as she blinked back the water in her eyes, wondering when this was supposed to have happened. She looked just like herself, so it couldn’t have been long ago, so why didn’t she remember it? And when had she learned to play the piano?
Lady Ming walked in, and Juturna gasped in shock as she… she stabbed Lady Ming? To death? Was she dead? Had she killed Lady Ming?
No. No, that hadn’t happened. Juturna would have remembered that. And it wasn’t as if she was losing her memory, because there weren’t any long gaps of time that she couldn’t remember, and that was how it was supposed to work, right?
Why had Doctor Watts sent this to her? How had he sent this to her? And why had it just deleted itself off her scroll now that it had finished playing, what was going on here? Juturna rolled off the bed and strode to the door. Even if she felt like crap right now, she still meant to get some answers out of her guest.
She flung open the door… to behold herself on the other side.
Herself, but covered in blood, staining her hands, her shirt, her jacket. This other Juturna was a mess of blood; it even stained her face and had gotten into her hair until the blue streaks looked more like the fiery red in Turnus’ hair.
Juturna gasped, covering her face with both hands. “What… who are you?”
The other Juturna cocked her head. “Who am I? I’m you, after you murdered Lady Ming.”
“But… but I didn’t-”
“It looks like you did it,” the other Juturna said. She took a step forward, forcing Juturna to retreat backwards into her room. “The footage shows that you did it.”
“But I didn’t!” Juturna exclaimed.
“No?” the other Juturna said. Green flames flickered up and down the other Juturna’s body, and she was transformed into Chrysalis of the White Fang, seeming taller now and more commanding, looming over Juturna as she smirked cruelly. “Well, then perhaps I did it? Wearing your face.” The flames consumed her once again, and in her place stood Lady Ming herself. “Or perhaps I am Lady Ming, Councillor of Mistral?” She transformed again, into one of the Rutulus’ maids; Juturna didn’t know her name. “Or perhaps I’m the girl who brought you a drink and whom you didn’t even look at. Did you enjoy it? How are you feeling, my lady?”
Juturna stared at her, eyes wide. “What the hell is this?” She coughed, doubling over, clutching at her stomach. “What did you do to me?”
Chrysalis laughed as she transformed once more into her true form, armoured and imposing. “This is the bargain that you made when you involved yourself with Salem.” She took another step forward, forcing Juturna to retreat a pace. “Did you think that it would be easy? Did you think it would be painless?” She advanced a step, and Juturna retreated. “Did you think that you would get everything you wanted without having to suffer for it?” She took another step forward, and Juturna backed into the wardrobe door and found herself wishing that Camilla was inside like she’d been the last time. “Did you think that you were in command?” Chrysalis leaned with one hand against the wardrobe, leaning in against Juturna, their faces so close that she could have licked Juturna’s face had she wished to do. Chrysalis chuckled, and Juturna felt the latter’s breath upon her face, Chrysalis’ spittle flying onto her cheek as she turned away.
“Look at me,” Chrysalis growled. When Juturna did not look, that growl became a snarl. “I said 'look at me!'”
Juturna found herself whimpering as she turned her face to look into the eyes of Chrysalis, green eyes, large and full of malice.
“Of course you did,” Chrysalis said. “You thought all of those things, you poor, deluded, sheltered little girl. Because that’s how the world works for you, isn’t it? You’ve been given everything you want just because you asked for it, and if ever you get into difficulty, you just call for your brother to make it all go away.” She reached out and stroked Juturna’s cheek with her other hand. “Your brother isn’t going to make this go away, my lady. Well, not without some suffering of his own, even if it is only his pride that suffers. Call him and bid him return.”
Juturna swallowed. Her throat felt as though it was filled with daggers. “What if I don’t?”
Chrysalis grabbed her by the neck, not squeezing tight but holding onto her forcefully. “Then you will die, in considerable pain. Is that what you want?”
Juturna shook her head. It’s not what I wanted at all.
None of this is what I wanted.
“Then call your brother,” Chrysalis said. “I need to explain to him how things are going to be from now on.”
Juturna and Camilla knelt upon the floor, and Camilla cradled Juturna in her arms as Juturna sobbed into her lap.
“They… he… Daddy’s gone?” Juturna asked in between sobs.
Camilla closed her eyes, her face contorting in a snarl of anger she was very glad that Juturna could not see. “We… we will need to find a stone carver skilled at producing likenesses.” That… that would be something for Turnus to see to, when he returned. It was not for her to decide upon the arrangements for Lord Rutulus' rest.
“Why?” Juturna asked.
“Because the world is a cruel place, and those who live in it are often lacking kindness,” Camilla murmured. She stroked Juturna’s head. “But don’t… I’m so sorry, Juturna. I’m so sorry this had to happen to you.”
“Did… did you speak to Big Brother?”
“Turnus is flying home immediately; he’ll be back soon, and he can... “ Camilla hesitated. “He can pick up the pieces. Juturna… I don’t know what’s to come, but… but I promise it will be alright. No matter how cruel the world is, you never need to be afraid. I will always protect you.”
For her part, she waited for Juturna to cry herself to sleep and then put her to bed amongst her stuffed animals.
Then she took her bow and her dust blade and went to war.
“Juturna?!” Camilla cried as she flew down the corridor, the words of her vow echoing inside her head. She had promised to always protect Juturna, she had promised Juturna that she need never be afraid, and now… now fear stalked them in their very home.
“Juturna!” Turnus shouted.
Their footsteps grew closer until Camilla flew through the doorway to find Chrysalis holding Juturna by the shoulders as the latter coughed so hard that she was doubled up on herself. “Get your hands off her!” Camilla snarled.
Chrysalis chuckled as she threw Juturna across the room, or rather, pushed her so hard that she staggered into Camilla’s arms, which enfolded protectively around her. Camilla barely noticed the coughing; she was focussed on keeping Juturna safe from their enemy, and she had no more doubts remaining that Chrysalis was anything but their enemy.
She dragged Juturna backwards while Turnus placed himself between the two women and Chrysalis.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
“Lady Ming is dead,” Chrysalis declared. “Murdered, by me. Or by Juturna Rutulus, depending on how you look at it. That’s certainly what the footage presents. Of course, nobody need know that Lady Ming is dead because… well.” She was consumed by green fire, until Lady Ming stood in Juturna’s room. “As you can see, I am alive and well and ready to continue my duties leading this country to a better tomorrow. I don’t want you to worry too much about that. In fact, you should be happy; you’ll have another ally on the Council who agrees with you about an alliance with Atlas. No, what you ought to worry about is that your sister is gravely ill.”
“What have you done?” Camilla demanded.
“Poisoned her,” Chrysalis answered with blunt honesty. “Doctor Watts - who has already taken up new lodgings with Lady Ming, by the way, in case you had any ideas - has medicine that will slow the effects of the poison-”
“'Slow,'” Turnus repeated. “Not 'antidote'?”
“Of course not, we wouldn’t want her cured too quickly, would we?” Chrysalis asked. She laughed. “The antidote will be dispensed to you once your usefulness has come to an end. Until then, you will be given medicine of the good doctor’s own devising so that your sister will not die, although I don’t guarantee that she’ll have an altogether pleasant time of things.”
Juturna’s whole body shuddered as she coughed. “I’m sorry, Big Brother; I didn’t think-”
“No,” Chrysalis agreed. “You didn’t think, did you? None of you thought that you could ever encounter something greater than yourselves. None of you thought that there would ever come a time when your money and your old blood would count for nought. I am in command now, my lord and ladies, and you will do as I instruct you. When we have found the key we seek, you will place your troops at my disposal for its retrieval. When the time comes to occupy Haven Academy, you will place your troops at my disposal a second time. When the Council votes to send an embassy to Atlas, you, proud Lord Rutulus, will go as Mistral’s representative and deliver messages that Doctor Watts will supply to those whom Doctor Watts will instruct you to give them.”
Turnus growled but did not argue. What was the point of arguing? There was a noose around his neck unless… unless he was willing to abandon Juturna, and that… that, he wouldn’t do.
Chrysalis laughed. “Don’t look so angry, Lord Turnus. You’re not about to learn this lesson nearly as painfully as Pyrrha Nikos will, after all. She is going to die for her pretensions, for daring to think that she is able to stand as an equal against the power of Salem. All that you are going to have to do… is kneel.”
“What?!” Turnus demanded.
“Kneel!” Chrysalis snapped. “Bow to me! All of you, on your knees, as a lesser power before the greater.”
For a moment, all was silent. The only sound was Turnus’ heavy breathing, which verged on grunted anger.
Then, slowly, reluctantly, he knelt. He descended to his knees upon the floor of Juturna’s bedroom and knelt at the feet of Chrysalis.
Camilla did likewise, gently pulling Juturna down with her, until they were all abased upon their knees, head bowed, Chrysalis standing over them like a queen.
Once more, she knelt, as she had knelt before, cradling Juturna with water in her eyes.
But now, she was powerless, helpless, unable to protect the two people she loved most in all the world.
She glared up at Chrysalis, with swords and spears and daggers in her eyes. If it costs me my last breath, I will take yours.
Chrysalis seemed blind to Camilla’s fury. Or else, she felt herself totally beyond its reach. She laughed, terrible, gleeful laughter that echoed in their ears.
And there was nothing they could do.
Pyrrha had gathered her inner circle, with the addition of Aska Koryu and Swift Foot; for all that she had been sent as a spy into Pyrrha’s house, she had pledged herself anew now to Pyrrha’s cause, and even if she was yet a spy, these were things of which, perhaps, the Council should be kept informed.
Pyrrha herself was trying to reach Turnus on his scroll. He had given her his number shortly before leaving for his own home in a great hurry. He was not responding. Nor was Camilla.
“They’re not answering,” she said, looking up and around the circle of her friends and advisors.
“He sent you a message?” Neptune asked.
“One message, yes,” Pyrrha replied. “It seems that was all he dared to send. ‘Lady Ming killed by Chrysalis. Juturna poisoned. They have me in a vice.’”
“He fears that Doctor Watts is monitoring his communications,” Aska muttered. “He is right to fear it. If Lady Ming is dead, then it is a reasonable assumption that Chrysalis, having killed her, means to impersonate her on the Council.”
“Are you sure?” Sun asked.
“She has tried it before, in Atlas,” Aska explained. “She did not kill the Councillor then, but kept her alive for information. This allowed for Councillor Cadenza to be rescued by Twilight Sparkle, who had noticed that her behaviour was out of character. I fear that Chrysalis will have learned from her mistake… her mistake in allowing the councillor to live, at least.”
“And Turnus and Camilla are not responding,” Jaune said, “because they’re having Juturna’s life held over them to get them to cooperate. It’s clear to me they’d do anything for her.”
“They saw the truth too late, alas,” Pyrrha whispered.
"How did she get away with this?" Swift Foot asked. "Terri-Belle was supposed to have someone watching the house in place of Aska. Surely, they would have seen Chrysalis – even disguised as someone else – calling on Lady Ming?" She frowned. "Lady Pyrrha, with your permission, I will speak to my sister, see what she knows of this and warn her if she knows nothing."
"Of course," Pyrrha said. "Go, as quickly as you can."
Swift Foot bowed her head and strode rapidly from the room.
Swift Foot left the room as quickly as she could, barely restraining herself from running as her feet carried her through the corridors. Her footsteps were a drumbeat on the wooden floor as she made her way to the small guest room that she shared with Ditzy Doo.
"Hey, Swift Foot," the other girl said, looking up at her – probably – as she came in. "What's going on? Things seem… a little weird tonight. And I heard some loud noises."
Swift Foot sighed. "It… has been a rough night for a lot of people, Ditzy," she admitted.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Not really," Swift Foot murmured, as she sat down on her bed. "Except… I'm going to be using my semblance now. I'll be… travelling outside of my body, which is going to stay here, asleep, but not. Can you keep an eye on it for me? Not that I think anyone here would do anything, but-"
"Sure," Ditzy said. "You're safe with me, Swift Foot."
Swift Foot believed her. How was it she believed an Atlesian girl of no family, whom she had only known for a brief amount of time, more readily than she would have believed certain of her own family in that position?
Because she's kind and honest, came the slightly uncomfortable answer.
"Thank you," Swift Foot said as she rested her hands upon her knees and projected herself outwards.
She could move herself more swiftly if the occasion demanded, she could burn her aura at a faster rate to push herself, and she did so now. She soared swiftly over the streets of Mistral, the streets that were unaware that chaos was erupting in the city and that an agent of the White Fang was poised to seize a voice in the government.
Swift Foot flew through the alleyways and up the hill, returning in spirit to the palace that she had so recently departed in body, slipping spectrally through the gilded corridors until she arrived in Terri-Belle's chambers.
Fortunately, her sister was there, getting undressed after the party.
"Lady Terri-Belle," Swift Foot said, remembering the state in which they had left matters.
Terri-Belle turned, tossing her bow tie onto the bed. She stared at Swift Foot's astral form as she undid her collar. "Judging by your formality, you remember the manner in which we left our last conversation."
"I do," Swift Foot assured her. "Believe me, I would not have returned here if it were not urgent. Lady Ming is dead."
Terri-Belle's eyes widened. "Dead? How, and how do you know this?"
"Murdered, by Chrysalis of the White Fang," Swift Foot said, "who is probably impersonating Lady Ming even now."
"Gods and ancestors," Terri-Belle murmured. "Hang on." She strode to the door of her chambers, flinging it open and addressing the guard outside. "Find Lady Blonn Di and tell her that I wish to see her here, at once."
"Yes, my lady," the guard murmured. Swift Foot heard his footsteps as Terri-Belle shut the door.
"I tasked Blonn Di with overseeing the surveillance on Turnus' house," Terri-Belle muttered. "What is Turnus doing?"
"We don't think that this is his initiative," Swift Foot replied. "Turnus texted Pyrrha to tell her that Lady Ming was dead at the hands of Chrysalis and his sister poisoned, we think he is being forced to comply with her agenda."
"What agenda?"
"I… don't know," Swift Foot admitted. "Pyrrha might know, but she has not told me."
“You haven’t really tried to find out, have you?” Terri-Belle asked pointedly.
“Pyrrha isn’t the one you should be worrying about,” Swift Foot insisted. “Pyrrha isn’t the one who just murdered a member of the Mistral Council and took her place.”
“Allegedly.”
“You can’t mean to just do nothing about this!”
“No, I do not,” Terri-Belle replied. “I have asked Laird McCullen for some means to detect infiltrators… and now I have its first test subject.” She paused. “Thank you, sister, for bringing me this news.”
“We would never withhold information that places Mistral in jeopardy,” Swift Foot declared.
Terri-Belle did not reply to that; she simply said, “You’d better go before Blonn Di arrives, considering your relationship.”
Swift Foot nodded slightly. “Very well. Good luck, Lady Terri-Belle… big sister.”
Terri-Belle watched as her little sister’s astral shade disappeared.
Lady Ming, dead and replaced. Ancestors preserve us.
She wasn’t sure what would be worse: having an enemy agent on the council or elections in the midst of all this palaver.
She was granted but a moment’s peace before Blonn Di arrived, her gown trailing behind her as she walked into the room. She inclined her head. “You summoned me, sister?”
"What do your agents watching the house of the Rutulians report?" Terri-Belle asked.
Blonn Di shrugged. "Nothing. Their watch has been supremely uneventful."
“Swift Foot would say they have not been watching carefully enough,” Terri-Belle said.
Blonn Di smiled at her. "Has little sister been in here, spreading stories about me? Will you take the word of a traitor over your faithful sister? What is Swiftie saying about me? Or should I ask what she’s saying that I’ve missed?”
"The death of Lady Ming," Terri-Belle replied. "And her replacement by a shapeshifter."
"A shapeshifter," Blonn Di cried. "How terrible! Fortunately, MARS have just delivered a… science machine with a very long name that can take blood tests to prove that people are who they say they are. I am willing to go to Lady Ming's house this very night to test her, if it will ease your anxiety." The smile did not move from her face. "Or we could ask if there was any reason, any reason at all, why the great Pyrrha Nikos might have put our naive, self-righteous little sister up to this.” She chuckled. “Or perhaps not, I'm sure Pyrrha’s far too honourable to attempt to sow discord amongst the Council, to make us suspicious of one another, to distract us from the real threats that we face," Blonn Di said. "Why, we don't even know that there really is a shapeshifter in the house of Turnus Rutulus, only that-"
"Enough," Terri-Belle said, wearily. "That's enough, Blonn Di. Swift Foot came to me in good faith, I will respond in kind"
"Swift Foot has sided with our enemies," Blonn Di insisted. "Why should we consider her to be anything more than a pawn, or a traitor?"
"Because she is our sister," Terri-Belle snapped. "Fashioned of our father’s seed, sprung out of our mother’s womb, blood of our blood, scion of the Thracian line. That yet has meaning, at least to me. Question your men again, make sure they have found nothing. We will both call upon Lady Ming and test her blood with this contraption Laird McCullen has provided. And we shall question Lord Rutulus about this alleged text Pyrrha claims to have recieved."
"And if Lady Ming is, in fact, Lady Ming?" Blonn Di asked.
Terri-Belle's eyes hardened. "Then I will wonder what motive Pyrrha had for sending Swift Foot to try and deceive me in this way." Or what motive Turnus had for attempting to deceive Pyrrha in this; it is not as if House Thrax could be turned against her more.
Blonn Di curtsied. “Very well, I will go muster men… and get the machine.”
She retired from the room, and once more, Terri-Belle was left alone.
She sat down heavily upon the bed and put her head in her hands.
Everything is falling apart.
What are we to do?
What is Mistral to do?
Everyone was still waiting for Swift Foot when she returned. “I’m not entirely sure if Terri-Belle believed me,” she admitted, “but she and Blonn Di are going to use MARS tech to determine if it is the real Lady Ming.”
“It will not work,” Aska said pessimistically. “Such tests can be fooled with sufficient wit and intellect. Or do you think there is no such security in Atlas? As I told you, it was only by observation of her behaviour that Chrysalis was detected last time.”
“Now that we know the truth, if nothing else, we can watch for similar slip ups from ‘Lady Ming,’” Pyrrha said. “Assuming she does fool the blood test.”
“But until Chrysalis makes a misstep, Salem has two councillors, whatever she wants to do with them,” Arslan growled. “She has the votes for an attack on Atlas now.”
“Arslan,” Pyrrha said, “talk to your friend Kurt; tell her… tell her as much as you dare; maybe she can find Lady Ming’s body or… expose Lady Ming somehow, I’m not sure, but tell her and tell her that any aid that she can render would be appreciated.”
Arslan nodded. “I’ll go call her right now.”
“Thank you,” Pyrrha said, as Arslan dashed out of the room.
“There must be something else that we can do,” Sun said. “I mean, if Arslan’s friend can’t help, there must be something else, right?”
Pyrrha hesitated for a moment. “I think - I fear - that we… that I have made a mistake in attempting to stand alone. We must send word to Atlas, to warn General Ironwood of a possible attack by Mistral and, just as importantly, to warn him of the danger posed by Salem’s agents here in Mistral and to ask for his aid.”
“You think he’s going to show up with a fleet like he did at Vale?” Jaune asked.
“I certainly wouldn’t mind if he did,” Pyrrha said with a nervous laugh in her voice. “But even if he sends but one specialist and some wise council borne out of his greater experience, I would welcome it.” She looked around her companions, wondering who she could send. She needed Jaune here with her, not only for his skills as a strategist but also because she feared she would be lost without him. Ren, Nora, Neptune, Swift Foot… who could she send? Who would command the respect of General Ironwood? Who would he listen to?
“Mother,” she said, “I must ask you to go to Atlas and speak to the General on our behalf.”
Lady Nikos looked a little surprised. “Me? You would not rather send someone known to him as a servant of Professor Ozpin?”
“That would be either me or Jaune, and I cannot go myself or spare Jaune from my side,” Pyrrha replied. “You have served on the Mistral Council, which might help you secure an audience with General Ironwood in the first place, and when you meet him, he will not be able to deny that you are connected with me. You speak well and without fear; you are the best person I can think of, if you are willing.”
Lady Nikos’s back straightened with pride. “Of course I will go. I will do whatever I must for Mistral.”
“Thank you, Mother, I will not forget this,” Pyrrha vowed. “Sun, I need you to go with her. Keep my mother safe, and if General Ironwood will not see her, then you will have to find Blake, Rainbow Dash, Twilight, any one of our friends who will listen to you and convince them that our need is real and so is the danger.”
“Understood,” Sun said, his face brightening at the prospect of a trip to Atlas and to Blake. “You’ll be safe with me, my lady!”
“I hope so, Mister Wukong, for Mistral’s sake.”
“Please make the arrangements to leave as soon as you can,” Pyrrha said. “And good luck, to both of you.”