• Published 31st Aug 2018
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SAPR - Scipio Smith



Sunset, Jaune, Pyrrha and Ruby are Team SAPR, and together they fight to defeat the malice of Salem, uncover the truth about Ruby's past and fill the emptiness within their souls.

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The Heart of Mistral, Part Two (New)

The Heart of Mistral, Part Two

"You want a lollipop, kid?"

Ruby's eyes narrowed as she glanced sideways at Tarpeia, who had spoken. "I'm fifteen, not six."

Tarpeia grinned. She was a tall, muscular woman with visible muscles defined upon her bare arms, with a grey tail — a wolf's tail, maybe, or a dog's; Ruby couldn't work it out for certain — sticking out through a hole cut in the back of her pants. Her hair was black but shaved off on one side of her head and brushed entirely over onto the left side where it fell down across her face to the shoulder. Her left ear was hidden beneath her straight hair, but her right ear was covered in piercings practically from top to bottom. She wore a plain and slightly dented and beaten metal cuirass strapped across her upper chest, over a black halter top, and a dark purple skirt over black leather pants and boots with steel toecaps and bands of metal running around them. She was wearing black fingerless gloves on her hands, but little of them could be seen beneath metal vambraces that covered the backs of her hands and forearms. Her upper arms were covered in tattoos, as well as the purple bandana tied around her right arm.

She was festooned with axes, with two thrust into the tiger stripe sash she wore around her waist, two slung across her back — the handles were visible sticking out above her shoulders — and two more worn at the back of her waist, their handles also emerging from behind her so that she could grab them.

In addition, various pouches also dangled from her sash, into one of which she was reaching now, opening it up to reveal that it was full of lollipops in a riot of colours.

"I don't carry these around in case I run into children," she said, plucking a red one out of the pouch and begin to unpeel the plastic wrapper. "But it's your loss," she added, as she stuck the lollipop into her mouth, the white straw sticking out from between her lips, bouncing up and down slightly as she sucked on the sweet.

Ruby hesitated for a moment. "Okay, I'll have one. Do you have any lemon ones?"

Tarpeia's grin broadened as she grabbed a yellow lollipop out of the pouch and tossed it to Ruby, who caught it one-handed.

"Thank you," she said.

"Tulla?" Tarpeia asked, taking the lollipop out of her mouth. "You want one?"

Tulla gave the slightest shake of her head, not taking her eyes away from the grounds around the embassy as she stood at the edge of the roof, one hand resting upon the stone wall that stood between her and the drop. She was only a little taller than Ruby, with black bear ears emerging from out of her blue-black hair, which she wore in a bowl-cut, longer at the back than the front. She was dressed in white robes, trimmed with red and clinched with an orange belt around her waist, and baggy black trousers. Her sleeves were cut back, so that they left her forearms free and didn't get in the way of the bow that she held lightly in her left hand, while on her right hand — the one resting upon the wall — she wore one of those archer's gloves that probably had a name which Ruby didn't know, that covered her first two fingers but left the others bare.

"Do you see anything?" Ruby asked as she unwrapped the lollipop that she had just caught.

"No," Tulla murmured. "Nothing yet. Of course…"

"Of course what?" Tarpeia asked.

"I was just thinking," Tulla said. "If you wanted to cause trouble … you might want to get inside before we showed up."

There was a moment of silence up on the roof.

"That … makes sense," Ruby said. "Depending on what kind of trouble you wanted to cause."

She still wasn't sure who would want to disrupt an event like this; Valish who were unhappy about giving the Heart of Mistral back? It seemed unlikely, but then, Ruby would have said that the ways in which Vale was descending into cruelty and bitterness seemed unlikely if you'd told her about it before it started happening.

Still, that was the only motive she could come up with for attacking this event; the White Fang didn't like Mistral very much, true, but the White Fang in Vale was pretty much gone after what had happened in Mountain Glenn, and Cinder had no reason to make a move here.

It seemed strange to think that the return of an old gemstone could provoke strong feelings in anybody.

"But," she added, "I think Valish police are on guard here normally."

"If you trust cops," Tarpeia muttered. She got out her scroll, opening it up and running her thumb over the screen.

Turnus' face appeared on the screen. "Tarpeia? Is something wrong?"

"Not up here, my lord," Tarpeia said, "but Tulla just had a thought: what if trouble was already in the building when we arrived?"

Turnus was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was raised louder. "Tulla, can you hold the fort up on the roof by yourself?"

"Yes, my lord," Tulla said.

"Good," Turnus said. "Tarpeia, come inside; you can help Lausus search the building. There's probably nothing here, at least I hope so, but it is a possibility. Well done, Tulla."

"Thank you, my lord," Tulla said.

"We'll be right there, my lord," Tarpeia added.

"'We'?"

"Ufens sent Ruby up here too, my lord," Tarpeia explained. "And you did say for Tulla to hold the fort alone."

"Yes, yes, I did, didn't I?" Turnus said. "Very well, I look forward to seeing you again soon, Ruby."

"We'll be there," Ruby said, as Tarpeia hung up. "Thank you," she added.

"If Tulla's right, then she's going to be very bored," Tarpeia said. "And you seem like the kind of girl who appreciates some excitement."

Ruby chuckled. "You could say that."

Tarpeia stuck the lollipop back into her mouth as she walked briskly, almost jogging, loping with her long legs, across the roof of the embassy. Most of said roof was flat, complete with space to land an airship on the roof — although there wasn't one there now — but there was a little structure jutting out on top of the roof, with a door leading to some stairs down into the embassy itself, and it was towards that door that Tarpeia moved, with Ruby following.

Ruby was right behind Tarpeia as the latter reached the door, taking the metallic handle and turning it.

Nothing happened.

Tarpeia frowned, pushing against the door, rattling the handle.

The door did not open. It didn't even move.

"Must be locked," Tarpeia grunted out of her half her mouth.

Ruby licked at her lollipop. "I guess they didn't want anyone coming in that way during the party. Or else they keep it locked more often than not."

"Either way, we don't want to go kicking it down," Tarpeia said. "We're supposed to be the security, not the damage. We'll have to go down the ladder and get in by the front door."

That was how Ruby had got up to them in the first place: by climbing the grey metal ladder that ran all the way from the ground to the roof, passing by the many rows of windows as it went. Again, Tarpeia took the lead, her boots rattling upon every metal rung as she descended methodically downwards towards the well-kept lawn of the embassy.

Ruby would have slid down with her hands and legs on the outside of the ladder, but with Tarpeia between her and the bottom, that wasn't really feasible, so she, too, climbed down one rung at a time, her cloak rustling behind her as it bounced lightly up and down.

"Do you really think there's anything in there?" she asked.

"Likely not," Tarpeia replied, calling up to her, "but we get paid to consider it. I mean, technically, we're paid to protect Lord Kiro, not the embassy, but since he's in the embassy, you know."

"Yeah," Ruby said. "I think so. Can I ask, are you a huntress?"

"Nah," Tarpeia said. "I never went to any school or passed any exams. I'm … just a bit of a thug, really. Why?"

"I just wondered," Ruby explained. "How many huntsmen are there in Rutulian Security?"

The only sound as Tarpeia thought was the sound of her boots on the ladder. "Five … I think. I know Lausus graduated from Haven, but I don't know if his old man ever did; I don't know everything about everyone's past. Sorry."

"It's okay," Ruby assured. "It doesn't really matter; I was just a little curious."

"Nothing wrong with that," Tarpeia said. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What do you get out of going to that school?" Tarpeia asked. "Like I said, Lausus graduated, but Camilla never did, and she'd rip him apart if it came to a fight, and the same for my lord, too. Even I … I don't know if I'd win, but I'd be willing to give it a shot. And from the sounds of it, you're pretty damn handy already, and you're only … first year?"

"Yep."

"So what are you learning that makes it worthwhile? Because it doesn't seem like you learn how to fight," Tarpeia said.

"No, I guess we aren't," Ruby admitted. "Although we do get to see how a range of opponents fight in combat class, sparring with our classmates. Different weapons, different styles and techniques, so that if we run into something like them in the field, we aren't caught by surprise, I suppose. But mostly—"

"Book learning?"

"Some of that, yeah," Ruby said. "But … Professor Ozpin says that most of the students have already arrived at Beacon knowing how to fight, but that school teaches them how to be heroes."

Tarpeia reached the bottom of the ladder, leaping the last few feet onto the grass. "You mean like a mindset thing?"

Ruby slid down the ladder the last bit of the way. "I think so, yeah."

"Is it working?"

"Um … for some people," Ruby replied diplomatically.

Tarpeia didn't reply. She just sucked on her lollipop, pushing it from one side to the other around her mouth, and smiled.

The two of them walked around to the front of the embassy. Ufens spotted them, lumbering over even as they came closer to him.

"Something up?" he asked.

Tarpeia took the lollipop out of her mouth. "I hope not, but my lord asked us to come inside, help Lausus search the place, in case someone got here or something was done before we arrived."

Ufens grunted. "Makes sense, I suppose. Does Tulla need anyone up there with her?"

"She says not," Tarpeia replied.

"Hmm," Ufens murmured. "I might send Catillus up there anyway. Good luck in there; I hope you find nothing."

"I hope so too," Tarpeia replied, turning away from Ufens and approaching the door.

The door which, as they walked towards it, was covered from outside by a green barrier, a lattice of hexagons making up a wall that covered up the doors and windows and surrounded the whole embassy, rising upwards toward the roof.

"What the—?" Tarpeia muttered.

"Is that hard light?" Ruby asked.

Tarpeia didn't answer, except to pull one of the axes from her sash and throw it at the door. The weapon spun through the air, before striking the barrier, where it simply stopped, dead, the blade biting nothing, before the axe flopped down to the steps with a thump and a rattle.

Tarpeia twisted her wrist, and a small purple stone — or not a stone, a gravity dust crystal — began to glow, along with a second crystal set in the shaft of the axe itself as the axe flew back into her outstretched hand. "Ufens!" she yelled. "We've got a problem here!"

It was not just Ufens; from the corners of Ruby's eyes, she could see all the Rutulians who had been scattered across the grounds moving towards them.

"I guess it's a security measure," Ruby said. "Something to protect the embassy against attack. Although that doesn't feel very Mistralian, no offence."

"None taken," Ufens said. "But this is Vale, not Mistral, after all."

"Sure, but why is it up?" Tarpeia demanded. "If there was anything out here to be worried about, we'd know about it before anyone inside."

Ufens got out his scroll, his fingers moving with surprising deftness. "Euryalus, do you see anything?"

"Other than the shield that just went up? No, nothing."

"I'll see what my lord has to say about it; maybe something happened inside," Ufens muttered. He frowned. "I can't get a signal. How can there be no signal? He's right there."

"Could something be jamming it?" asked Tarpeia.

"But why?" demanded Ufens.

Ruby got out her own scroll, flicking through her call lists until she found Jaune's name. She pressed the call button, but an error message flashed up on the screen — no signal, just like Ufens said. "I'm not getting anything either," she said.

Jaune, Pyrrha, what's going on in there?


“Pyrrha Nikos!”

Pyrrha stopped, inhaling through her nostrils, and ever so slightly tightened her grip upon Jaune’s forearm as she turned, her skirt rustling as it swooshed around her, to face the woman who had called her name.

She was a reporter; Pyrrha had seen her on television, and her name was … Merope, Merope Plei, a woman about Professor Goodwitch’s age, with brown hair worn in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She was dressed in an all-white jacket, blouse, and pencil skirt, with sparkling silver sandals on her feet. A necklace of seven diamonds, sparkling amidst a string of black pearls, hung moderately loosely around her neck. She held a microphone in one hand, and a cameraman followed her, the camera fixed upon his subject.

Pyrrha affected not to notice the camera. This was something at which she had had no small amount of practice: keep your attention on the interviewer, don’t look into the camera unless you’re being invited to speak directly to camera: it looks nervous and rude to the interviewer.

“Yes?” she said, in a tone that was calm and polite. “Hello.”

“Pyrrha Nikos, I’m Merope Plei of MBC In the Evening, may I ask you a few questions?”

“Of course,” Pyrrha said, because there were times when refusing to answer a question was worse than the worst answer you could possibly give. She loosened her grip upon Jaune’s arm so that he could step away from her if he chose to.

He didn’t, for which she was quite grateful.

Merope held the microphone out towards her. “Would you agree that this is a proud and historic day for Mistral?”

Pyrrha felt gratified that they were starting with something actually relevant to tonight’s event. “I’m sure that many people will be glad to see this part of our heritage returned to Mistral, where it can be enjoyed by all Mistralians in the Mistral Museum,” she said.

“That isn’t exactly the question I asked: do you think this is a proud moment for Mistral?”

“I think … that those who negotiated the return of the Heart of Mistral have reason to be proud of their accomplishment.”

“You’re like a politician, Miss Nikos; you’re not answering the question.”

Pyrrha hesitated for a moment. “I think… I think that there are many things of which Mistral can be proud, but I must say I’m not sure that getting a ruby back, however much history it possesses, is one of them.”

“So you don’t think that this is a historic moment?”

“It is … of historical significance,” Pyrrha replied.

“I see,” Merope murmured. “Are you proud of yourself?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve had a bit of a tough time of it lately with the allegations made against you, but you’ve clawed back some of that support with your recent actions, your duel against this mysterious Cinder Fall, are you proud of yourself for that?”

Yes, I am. I’m proud because I won, because I proved that I could win, that I could triumph over her. I am proud because I proved to myself that I am not doomed to irrelevance. “I wish that I had finished her,” she said.

Merope’s eyebrows rose. “You wish that you’d killed her?”

“She was my enemy,” Pyrrha said. “She is an enemy of the world.”

“How so?” Merope asked. “We know so little about this woman, except that she’s been declared an outlaw.”

“She worked with the White Fang to cause the Breach here in Vale,” Pyrrha said. “Is that not enough to name her an enemy?”

“Do you know more?”

“No,” Pyrrha lied.

“Even though she was friends with your team leader, Sunset Shimmer,” Merope said. “That’s been substantiated by witnesses; they were frequently seen together.”

“Sunset was deceived by Cinder,” Pyrrha declared. “As many others were.”

“Such as Professor Lionheart?” Merope asked. “Do you think he has questions to answer?”

“I would not presume to say,” Pyrrha replied.

“But you were not and are not associated with Cinder Fall in any way?”

“No,” Pyrrha said firmly. “As I believe I proved.”

“So you deny the rumours that the fight between you was staged.”

“I would invite anyone who thinks that fight was staged to put their name to that accusation,” Pyrrha said, her voice sharpening like the edges of Miló. “They may get the opportunity to see for themselves that I do not stage fights.”

“Are you saying you would fight more duels?”

“If I must,” Pyrrha said, “to protect the integrity of my name.”

“To the death?”

“No, of course not,” Pyrrha replied. “I would never try and kill anyone merely for the sake of my pride or my reputation.”

“Unless their name was Cinder Fall?”

“Unless they deserved death for other reasons,” Pyrrha corrected her.

“So will you be challenging those who are petitioning to have you stripped of your honours in the temple?”

“I will challenge anyone who is trained to fight,” Pyrrha said. “I will not attack anyone who does not know how to defend themselves.”

“I see,” Merope said evenly. “And are you worried about losing your temple honours?”

Pyrrha wasn’t sure if she was being asked if she was afraid it would happen or if she would mind if it did. “I would rather it didn’t happen,” she said, “but I don’t think it will.”

“You don’t think you’ll lose your honours in the temple?”

“No,” Pyrrha said. “I think that I’ve shown these accusations for the nonsense they are.”

“You are willing to state, here, categorically, on camera, that there is no truth to the allegations about your relationship with Cinder Fall.”

“I am,” Pyrrha said. “Absolutely and without hesitation.”

“Then where do these allegations come from, and why do so many people believe them?”

Pyrrha hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts, assembling her reply, mustering it like a lord raising an army beneath their manner. How much ought she to say, how cautious ought she to be, how mild and modest, how conciliatory, how…?

Except that that hasn’t actually helped me, has it? It has not stopped the breeding of these people who seek to tear me down.

Well then, so much for them.

“I,” she said, “am Pyrrha Nikos. I was trained by the great Chiron himself, I am descended from the Emperors of Mistral past, and I have four times ridden in triumph through the streets and dedicated my spoils to Victory. And I am … blessed in the love of the people who have taken me into their hearts and raised me up with their unfailing support.”

That was not entirely how she saw it, certainly not all of the time, but this was not time to get into the particulars of how, exactly, she felt about being an object of celebrity and adoration.

“But that support, those triumphs, the honours which I have done by Mistral have bred envy in others, and I have no doubt that that envy, and the desire to see me humbled, the belief that I am made too proud and set too high, is behind these scurrilous and wholly untrue accusations against me. Those who could not defeat me in the arena wish instead to see me stripped of all those things which I earned by my own skill and effort. Very well. Let them take them, if they can. I hope, and I believe, that the people of Mistral whose support has always strengthened me and driven me to victory will see through this ridiculous defamation of my name, but if not, then let it be so.

“For I am Pyrrha Nikos, and someday, I will become a huntress, and whether I am a huntress as I will be or a student as I am now or something completely different, my sword and shield will always be at the service of Mistral, whether Mistral admires me or reviles me or is completely indifferent to my existence, then I will ever be at her service. That is my vow, upon my honour and before the gods of home, and I mean to hold to that vow such that one day men will look at my life and say it was impossible to believe that I was ever other than what I appear to be: someone who loved her city and was as she was to herself. Can my slanderers say the same?”

Merope stared. “I … think we’ll leave it there,” she said. “Thank you, Lady Pyrrha.”

She started to bow her head, then seemed to think better of it and stop herself before it could be proven to be anything more than a particularly deep nod, then backed away, then turned away and disappeared into the crowd, her cameraman following after.

Pyrrha let out a sigh of relief she hadn’t known was building up inside her. She looked at Jaune. “How did I do?”

Jaune smiled, although his smile had a slightly nervous tint about it. “You really went for it at the end there. Pulled out all the stops. Are you sure that was the smart thing to do?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Pyrrha admitted. “But it was how I felt, and I … hiding how I feel did not really help me at all, did it?”

“No,” Jaune replied. “No, I guess not. It was … impressive. I’m not sure how people in Mistral will react, but from where I was standing, it was impressive. They certainly weren’t able to say you hadn’t answered the question on that one.”

“Indeed,” Pyrrha said, a touch of amusement entering her voice. “I take comfort from the fact that she stopped asking afterwards; with luck, she had no more questions to ask.”

Jaune nodded. “And for what it’s worth, even without knowing everything I know, I don’t know anyone who could look at what you’ve done and think that you could be in league with Cinder. Although…”

“'Although'?”

“Although you might not have wanted to be so clear about the extra duels,” Jaune suggested. “You don’t want to get yourself so backed up with challenges you don’t have time for anything else.”

Pyrrha chuckled, covering her mouth with one green-gloved hand. “Well, I hope that it won’t come to that,” she replied. “If I have that many challengers, or those whom I must challenge, then things are bad indeed.”

Jaune smiled. “And you’re fine calling everyone out like that?”

“I’m not looking to enter politics,” Pyrrha said. “I didn’t like the thought of giving up my reputation unfought, but at the end of the day, I don’t need the good opinion of anyone. Well … not of most people. Especially,” — she took a step closer to him — “especially if I’m going to be working in the shadows for the foreseeable future. In which case, I must admit, it might be better if I were regarded with indifference, but—”

“But you’re allowed to like being liked,” Jaune assured her. “For all the trouble that your life, your status, everything about it has caused you, I think it’s okay for you to admit that, actually, being admired for something you’re good at isn’t all bad.”

Pyrrha bowed her head for a moment. “If I had never been an object of admiration, then that would be one thing, but … to have it, frustrating as it has sometimes been, only to lose it for reasons that are not my fault, which are completely unfounded and untrue … that would be a stinging blow indeed.”

“Good thing it won’t happen then, huh?” Jaune said. “I mean, look at the ambassador’s daughter. Look at—”

“The reactions to my fight,” Pyrrha added. “One of many reasons I’m glad I fought that night.”

Jaune nodded. “You have had more of a spring in your step since that night.”

Pyrrha’s eyebrows rose. “Really? A spring in my step?”

“Uh-huh,” Jaune said. “More confident, more sure of yourself. You don’t hesitate as much when you speak.”

“I don’t?” Pyrrha asked. “I had no idea. But I suppose I do feel more certain of myself. I haven’t felt this confident in who I am since before the dance.”

“You’re Pyrrha Nikos,” Jaune told her.

“Yes, I am,” Pyrrha said. “But now I feel as though I know better, or know once more, what that means.”

Anything else they might have said to one another was interrupted by the sound of Lord Wong clinking the side of his champagne glass. Gradually, all the chatter in the ballroom fell silent, and the eyes and faces turned to the ambassador.

“Ladies and gentlemen, honoured guests,” Lord Wong said, his voice raised to carry across the room — not that he needed to raise it far, for he spoke loudly already. “We are gathered here for a moment of restitution. A moment when a ghost of the past is finally laid to rest. The Heart of Mistral, that most brilliant and precious gem, was not the only thing that Mistral lost at the Battle of the Four Sovereigns, or in the wider Great War.”

Indeed not, Pyrrha thought, thinking for a moment of all the men and women who had marched from small villages and quiet towns across Anima, answering the summons of their lords and of their Emperor, shouldering spears and staves and sharpened hoes because they could not let the Valish challenge pass them by.

We’ll show them all, whate’er befall,

Old Mistral counts for something still.

They had not won the war, they might not even have proved that Mistral counted for anything in the modern world, yet Pyrrha did wonder if those men and women who had fought the war, who had marched from their small villages and quiet towns, and the petty lords who had led them on, taking their ancestral blades from off the walls and girding their ancient armour on, might not have displayed more of the famous Mistralian valour than all the heroes of The Mistraliad.

“But this is at least a loss we may bring home again,” Lord Wong went on, “and for that, Vale has our gratitude. And so, it is my pleasure to welcome tonight, the First Councillor of Vale, Aspen Emerald.”

A round of polite applause, in which Pyrrha and Jaune joined, greeted Councillor Emerald as he stepped out of the crowd, the light from the chandelier shining upon his proud antlers. In his hands, he held a wooden casket, a carved box which no doubt contained the Heart of Mistral within it.

But first, he turned to the crowd.

“My grandfather fought in the Great War,” he said, “and he was proud to have done so. He was proud to have fought for Vale and for the freedom of the faunus. No doubt, there were many who fought for Mistral who were equally proud to have fought for their kingdom, its pride, its flag, its honour. After the war, I fear that there were many who did not heed the words of the Last King of Vale: with malice towards none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as we are given to see the right, let us bind up the wounds of all our kingdoms. Nowhere, I fear, is this more apparent than in the matter of the Heart of Mistral: an item taken from a slain enemy and kept as a trophy; a symbol of victory for Vale, but for Mistral, a sore wound that refused to heal.

“No more. Today, at last, we bind up that wound. Today, we leave the injury of the past behind and look towards a new, bright future of Valish and Mistralian cooperation. Tonight, it is with both humility and pleasure that I return the Heart of Mistral to the descendant of its rightful owner, Lord Elagabalus Kiro, on behalf of the Council and the People of Mistral.”

More applause, a little louder this time, as Lord Kiro stepped out of the crowd, his boots squeaking on the floor.

Pyrrha noticed Turnus edging towards the front of the crowd, with Lord Lau— no, he wasn’t a lord any longer, was he? His family had been stripped of that rank — with Lausus Agylla, then, by his side. Their eyes were fixed upon Lord Kiro.

Pyrrha had met Lord Kiro himself a few times before, although not very often. She could admit to herself that he had not impressed her greatly; he was like many of the men she had met before Jaune; he saw her name, her reputation, but not herself. And though she could now admit that she was not wholly indifferent to that same reputation, that still did not mean that she liked it to be taken as the sum total of all she was.

Plus his breath frequently smelled of drink to an uncomfortable extent, at least when Pyrrha had encountered him.

Judging by the slight roll to his gait, like a sailor, as he walked forwards, Pyrrha thought that that might be the case now, if she had been close enough to smell his breath.

“Thank you, First Councillor,” he said, plucking the wooden cask from Councillor Emerald’s unprotesting hands. “Thank you so much indeed for your warm words. Yes, we are most fortunate, most blessed, to have with us the highest representative of the Kingdom of Vale, the kingdom which killed my ancestor and stole his property, here to finally give back what is rightfully mine.” He laughed. “Except that it is not mine, is it? This gem, this precious jewel,” — he opened the box and took out the Heart, holding it up so that the light from the chandelier caught it, making it sparkle beautifully — “this was bestowed upon my house by the Emperor himself upon his daughter’s wedding day, and if it had not been looted from a corpse in war, it would be with my family still. But, because there has been a ghoulish intermission in my family’s custody, I am told that I may not take back what is mine, but only carry it homeward, to be placed in a museum for the common people to gawk at.”

“This is not what I expected him to say,” Jaune whispered into her ear.

“I don’t think this is what anyone expected him to say,” Pyrrha replied, equally quietly.

Lord Wong looked as though he was determined to look anywhere but at Lord Kiro, with the result that he was examining the mosaic on the floor as if he was seeing it for the very first time. Councillor Emerald was looking straight ahead, a rictus smile set on his face as though it had been painted there.

Merope Plei’s cameraman was filming all of it, as whispers ran through the crowd.

“Of course, the esteemed Valish councillor is not the only guest we are fortunate enough to have amongst us tonight,” Lord Kiro went on. “We are also graced by Lady Pyrrha Nikos, the Princess Without a Crown, whose great-grandfather ordered my ancestor, and many other valiant Mistralians, to their deaths in the Great War, and specifically in the Battle of the Four Sovereigns. All hail to the butcher’s descendant, let us all thrill to her beauty and her grace. Although if the rumours are true, it seems that butchery may run in the family.”

Gasps of shock ran all through the crowd, although Pyrrha guessed that at least some of those who gasped did so in shock that he had been so gauche as to say aloud what others merely thought in private.

“Wait here, Jaune,” she murmured as she took her hand from his arm.

“What happened to not challenging those who couldn’t fight?” Jaune said softly.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Pyrrha said. “But I need to make my position clear.”

She could not fight Lord Kiro — he had never trained in arms, at least not to her level; if she fought him, she would look like as much of a mere bully as if she had challenged Jaune’s former brother-in-law to single combat — but she could make it clear that she had no intention of suffering in silence to be insulted.

She stepped forward, just past the edge of the crowd, so that she could be seen without seeming to seek to grab all attention.

“Lord Kiro,” she said, “if you were a warrior, then I would call you out. As you are not, for which you may be thankful, I ask if there is a warrior here willing to champion you and defend your lies.” She looked at Turnus. “Perhaps you, Lord Rutulus?”

Turnus’ eyebrows rose, and it seemed to take him a moment to realise that she was sincere. When he did, he let out a sort of cough laugh before he said, “That would be a rare sparring match, I have no doubt, Lady Pyrrha, but I fear that I cannot champion words that I know to be false. I do not doubt your honour, I will not question it, I will not fight in defence of one who questions it.” He stepped forwards, taking Lord Kiro firmly by the arm with his free hand. “However, I ask you all to pardon Lord Kiro, he is … unwell, and would not speak thus if he were in health. With your leave, Lord Wong, I will take him to the bathroom to … recover his composure.”

“I am not unwell—”

“Come along, you,” Turnus muttered, effortlessly manhandling Lord Kiro, in spite of his squirming struggles and his protestations, towards one of the exits from the ballroom. Lausus followed after them.

The silence that followed Lord Kiro’s departure could only be described as 'embarrassed.'

It only felt moreso the longer it was given to settle into the room, like a guest who, though uninvited, proceeds to sit down on the window seat and make themselves very comfortable indeed, so that with each passing moment, it becomes harder and harder to bid them go without seeming rude.

“Perhaps,” Lord Wong said, “Lady Pyrrha, scion of the House of Nikos, who once held the Heart of Mistral in their possession, might say a few words upon this occasion.”

Thank you very much, my lord, Pyrrha thought, as eyes began to turn in her direction.

Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking…

She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to gather thoughts she had not known she needed until a moment ago.

“This,” she said, “is a proud and historic moment.” Thank you, Ms Plei. “A moment of gratitude and celebration.”

She spoke slowly, enunciating each word with immense precision, practically drawling her words as much as she could, giving herself time as she slowly spoke each word to think about the words that would come after without seeming to hesitate or break up her sentences. It was not something that she did in private conversation, because it sounded incredibly artificial to her own ears — or worse, made her sound stupid — but it was a technique she had been taught for getting through interviews after matches, which was really the worst time to be interviewed, when you were tired, coming down off the adrenaline rush, with the roar of the crowd still ringing in your ears.

Although this situation is giving it competition. “We celebrate the return of this beautiful jewel to Mistral, where it belongs not to my family or any family, but to the whole kingdom to see and enjoy. And we are grateful to Vale for returning it to us.” She bowed her head, and her speech quickened to something closer to normal as she said, “Thank you, First Councillor, thank you, if I may be so bold, from all of Mistral, with all of our hearts.”

Fortunately, everyone understood that she had finished — Lord Wong had only asked for some brief words, after all — and began to applaud, clapping their hands together lightly, fingers to palms.

Councillor Emerald smiled and nodded to her as the musicians began to play once more.

Pyrrha’s lips twitched in a smile. “How was that?” she asked Jaune in a hushed whisper.

“You sounded a little … odd, at times, the way you were stringing out your words,” Jaune said.

“I know,” Pyrrha muttered. “That’s why I prefer to hesitate when I’m unsure what to say.”

“But there was nothing wrong with the sentiment,” Jaune assured her. “I’m sure that with practice, you’d be great at that.”

“I do not really desire practice,” Pyrrha replied. “I rather hope that I never have to do anything like that again.”


“Get your hands off me,” Elagabalus protested weakly as Turnus half steered, half-dragged him towards the nearest bathroom. “I am paying you to protect me—”

“I am protecting you,” Turnus said, “from embarrassing yourself any more than you have already.”

“Is it embarrassing to speak the truth?” Elagabalus asked.

“Sometimes, yes,” Turnus replied. Even when it isn’t dangerous.

There was a bathroom not too far from the ballroom, marked by the illuminated sign lit up in green beside the two doors for men and women.

Turnus pushed open the door into the men’s toilet and dragged Elagabalus inside, Lausus following behind them. The mossy green carpeted floor of the corridor outside was changed at once to magnolia tiles, slightly slippery as though they had not long been mopped, with a row of sinks — or rather, one continuous sink-trough with a row of taps running along it — taking up one entire wall. The other wall was occupied half by cubicles and half by urinals.

“Hold my spear a second, won’t you, Lausus?”

“Of course, my lord,” Lausus said, taking Turnus’ spear, Actor, from his hand.

Turnus guided Elagabalus towards the back of the room, leading him along the rows of taps, while Lausus remained close to the door, keeping a respectful distance.

“What are we doing?” Elagabalus asked sourly.

Turnus turned on one of the taps, sticking his free hand under it; with his glove on, he could not feel the water, but he could see it pooling a little in his hand regardless.

Until he flicked it into Elagabalus’ face. And then he did it again.

“Gah!” Elagabalus growled, flinching away from the water, raising his arm to shield himself. “Stop that! What are you doing?”

“Trying to recall you to your senses a little,” Turnus said flatly. “How much did you have to drink, or don’t I want to know?”

“I had a little aperitif in the hotel bar before we came here,” Elagabalus said. “It was nothing, really, just something to steady my nerves.”

“Your nerves?” Turnus repeated. “What did you have to be nervous about? All you had to do was take the Heart from the First Councillor and say a few pleasant nothings. Instead … what were you thinking?”

Elagabalus put down the box containing the Heart of Mistral, resting the wooden cask down in the trough that served as a communal sink for anyone who wanted to use the bathroom. He bowed his head, and Turnus thought for a moment that he didn’t want any more water thrown in his face, but then a bitter laugh escaped his mouth, causing his shoulders to shake.

“What am I thinking?” Elagabalus muttered. “What am I thinking? Perhaps I have thought too much, or perhaps you have thought too little. Perhaps I am thinking clearly for the first time in my life.”

Turnus did not reply. He wasn’t sure how to even begin. Elagabalus wasn’t making any sense to him, but he trusted — he hoped — that there was more to come that would make sense of it.

Elagabalus looked up at him. “Look at us, Turnus; look at us.” He gestured to the mirror fitted to the wall above the taps, and to their reflections looking back at them. “Look at us.” He jabbed at his own reflection with one finger. “Men bred to rule the world.” He laughed again. “Men bred to rule a world that does not exist. Born, bred, fashioned, taught, suited by blood and upbringing to command armies, provinces, kingdoms. To have our names lay all of Mistral at our feet.” He sighed. “We are raised on stories of a world that was, but the world that is has no room for us. Look at us, Turnus, and Lausus too; look at us. Would not our ancestors weep to see us brought so low?”

Turnus looked at his reflection in the mirror, dressed in Atlesian armour, standing in a bathroom whence he had just brought a somewhat inebriated man to get a grip on himself.

My ancestors would have had a slave do this.

My ancestors would have put Camilla in chains and taken her to bed for their pleasure every night until they were tired of her.

Let us not pretend that the past was a golden age from which we have declined immeasurably in all things.

“Times change,” he said, “and so does the world we live in.”

“Especially when change is forced at swordpoint,” Elagabalus said. “Vale did this to us. Vale and the House of Nikos, whose incompetence led us to ruin. How can the people cheer her, acclaim her, praise her, when it is her family that is the present cause of all of Mistral’s woes and sorrows? Is not the Great War the reason behind everything?”

“Eighty years ago,” Turnus replied. “I doubt most people care.”

“No,” Elagabalus agreed. “Of course they don’t care. Shortsighted peasants who don’t care about anything earlier than this morning and later than tonight. That is why … but it is their fault, the fault of that family. That is why … I can believe that she is all that they say she is; after all, her family has been destroying Mistral for generations back, why not her?” He paused a moment. “You wouldn’t defend me. I’m rather hurt. Were you scared of her?” He chuckled. “Is the great duellist afraid?”

Turnus snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered. “But as I said, I cannot defend a position that I do not believe in, and I do not believe that Pyrrha Nikos is a traitor.”

“Why not?”

“Because if the most notable champion our kingdom has had in years, our greatest warrior, has turned upon us, then we are truly lost,” Turnus said. “Woe unto Mistral if even our best believe that we are beyond saving.”

“What if we are?” Elagabalus asked.

Turnus frowned. “I do not believe it. Our ancestors rose from nothing once; we are not so badly placed we cannot rise again.”

Elagabalus was silent for a moment. “Perhaps,” he murmured. “Perhaps…” He fell silent for a moment. “We could have had everything, you know.”

“Let’s not wallow too much in self-pity,” Turnus said. “We have a great deal, still.”

“Mmm,” Elagabalus said, “Perhaps. Perhaps you’re right.” He straightened up. “I feel better now, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Turnus asked.

“Quite sure,” Elagabalus said, picking up the wooden casket with the Heart of Mistral inside, with one hand scooping it out of the trough. “I am ready to return to the ballroom.”

“Perhaps going back to the hotel would be better,” Turnus suggested. “Certainly, it would be less embarrassing.”

“I can handle embarrassment,” Elagabalus assured him. “Besides, I think that I owe Lord Wong an apology, don’t you?”

“He’s not the only one,” Turnus said. “But very well, if that is what you wish.”

“Then lead the way,” Elagabalus told him.

Turnus did as was bade, sidling past Elagabalus — who made way for him — and retrieving his spear from Lausus as the two of them stepped out of the bathroom first, with Elagabalus behind.

They were about to start making their way back to the ballroom when Turnus’ scroll went off.

“Hang on a moment,” he said.

“Of course,” Elagabalus said, taking a few steps backwards to give Turnus some space.

Turnus leaned his spear up against the wall, got out his scroll, and answered it. It was Tarpeia.

"Tarpeia?” Turnus said. “Is something wrong?" He hadn’t heard anything from outside to indicate that there was, but he didn’t know how well insulated the embassy was against that sort of thing.

"Not up here, my lord," Tarpeia replied, "but Tulla just had a thought: what if trouble was already in the building when we arrived?"

Turnus pursed his lips together as he considered that. He should, he realised, have considered it sooner, but he had trusted that the Valish police would do their jobs and ensure that there was nothing amiss at the embassy before the reception.

Careless of me. Of course it is possible for someone to slip through and into the embassy if they wished. He confessed that he could not immediately think of who would wish to do such a thing — one of the reasons he had been … complacent was that it was hard to imagine who would want to disrupt this handover; he had been more concerned about the possibility or pirates trying to steal the ruby on its way back to Mistral than anyone attempting to attack the embassy while it was being given to Elagabalus.

Of course, some people don’t need a reason. And for others, the fact that a theft is less likely here would be all the more reason to attempt it. He raised his voice so that he could be heard across the embassy roof. "Tulla, can you hold the fort up on the roof by yourself?"

Although he could not see Tulla, he could hear her reply clearly. “Yes, my lord.”

"Good," Turnus said. "Tarpeia, come inside; you can help Lausus search the building. There's probably nothing here, at least I hope so, but it is a possibility. Well done, Tulla."

"Thank you, my lord," Tulla said.

"We'll be right there, my lord," Tarpeia added.

"'We'?"

"Ufens sent Ruby up here too, my lord," Tarpeia explained. "And you did say for Tulla to hold the fort alone."

"Yes, yes, I did, didn't I?" Turnus said. "Very well, I look forward to seeing you again soon, Ruby."

"We'll be there," Ruby said, before Tarpeia hung up.

Turnus snapped his scroll shut and put his scroll. “Lausus,” he said, “start searching the embassy, check all the corridors, all the rooms that are unlocked; I’ll speak to Lord Wong about having the locked rooms unlocked. Tarpeia and Ruby will be joining you soon. Lord Ki—”

Turnus turned around, and as he did so, a barrier of green hard light, such as they had in Atlas for use in prisons, shields, that sort of thing, descended from the ceiling, planting a see-through wall down the middle of the corridor between himself and Elagabalus.

“What the—?” Turnus said. “What is this?”

Elagabalus did not look ruffled by this at all; in fact, there was a smirk playing upon the edges of his mouth as he looked up and down. “This? This is a hard light shield, I think, although you would be more familiar with the like than I would from your time in Atlas. I understand that these things were installed all over the embassy recently, when the White Fang attacks began.”

Turnus frowned. “What’s going on?”

Elagabalus was silent for a moment. “We could have had everything,” he said. “You and I. I would have given you everything, you could have been my right hand, I would have made you my Steward, given you whatever you wished. All you had to do was help me.”

“Help you?” Turnus repeated. The conversation from yesterday? “What have you done?”

“You told me that there was an heir to the throne with a better claim than me,” Elagabalus said. “And that is true, but it won’t be true for very much longer. You told me that nobody would want me to assume the throne, but the minds of the people will change once I have struck a blow against Vale and avenged the injuries done to us in the Great War, when I bring home not only the Heart of Mistral but also Mistral’s pride and glory too. And you told me you would not help me, but when you are gone, it strikes me that your pet dogs will be looking for a new master.”

“When I…” Turnus’ mouth hung open for a moment. “If you kill me, then Camilla will take your head the moment you set foot back in Mistral, you absolute idiot!”

“I’m not so sure.”

“That’s because you’re a moron,” Turnus snapped. “Take this barrier down right now—”

“Or what?” Elagabalus demanded. “You’re in no position to dictate terms to me.”

“I’m the only person who can keep you alive!”

“I will be Emperor of Mistral by the time this year is out!” Elagabalus declared. “And you … you will not even be a footnote in the history of my rise.” He turned away without another word and stomped off with what Turnus could only think to be a degree of petulance in his gait, his steps thumping despite the way the carpet muffled them.

“With respect, my lord,” Lausus said, “he was always a bit of a little twat, even when we were at school.”

Turnus snorted. “Harsh, Lausus. Not necessarily wrong, but harsh.”

“What do you think he meant about killing us, my lord?” asked Lausus.

“I don’t know for sure,” Turnus said, “but I don’t intend to hang around to find out.”


Tempest and Bon Bon stepped out in front of the brightly dressed man with the ludicrous hair who came down the corridor towards them, appearing out of the shadows to bar his way.

“Lord Elagabalus Kiro, I presume?” Tempest asked.

He straightened out his bright yellow coat, tugging on the lapels. “I am,” he said, “and you are?”

“Our names aren’t important,” Bon Bon said. “What’s important is that we are your chauffeurs for tonight, and your car is waiting, if you’d care to follow us.”

“Of course,” Lord Kiro said. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

And so they led him out of the embassy and down into the underground parking garage; no sooner had they stepped out of the building proper and into the car park than a hard light barrier rose behind them, sealing off the way and ensuring that they could not be pursued — and that nobody could escape the embassy that way.

Bon Bon jogged ahead, reaching the cleaning company van that they had used to get down here in the first place, unlocking it and climbing into the driver’s seat.

“This?” Lord Kiro demanded. “A cleaner’s van?”

“I am sure that you can arrange to arrive in Mistral in a style suitable to your exalted station, my lord,” Tempest said as she opened the rear doors for him to climb in. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Lord Kiro groaned. “Very well, if I must. What about the bomb?”

Tempest grinned. “My lord, what with all signals into or out of the embassy being jammed, there is no way that we could activate the bomb from here. So we started the timer before we even left.”


“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” Turnus said, his voice loud enough to strike the ceiling as he strode briskly into the ballroom, accompanied by Lausus but with no sign of Lord Kiro, “I am sorry to inform you that Lord Kiro has betrayed us. I think it would be best if everyone were to evacuate the building immediately.”

“'Betrayed'?” Councillor Emerald repeated. “What do you mean, 'betrayed'?”

“He talked about wanting to kill you, me … and Lady Pyrrha,” Turnus said, glancing in Pyrrha’s direction.

She felt Jaune’s hand tighten on her arm.

Me? But why would he … surely not because of the allegations? No, no, if that were so, then he would hardly want to kill Lord Rutulus and Councillor Emerald too.

“His scheme is absurd,” Turnus went on, “but that doesn’t mean the danger isn’t real. I don’t know what he means to do, but I advise that everyone get out now.”

“And if this is a trap?” Lord Wong asked, placing his free hand upon his daughter’s head. “If Lord Kiro means to frighten us outside, where—”

“I don’t think he’s that clever, my lord,” Turnus said, “and even if that is so, my men are outside; we will protect you.”

Lord Wong hesitated for a moment. “Very well; everyone, please make your way towards the exit; there is no need to panic.”

He might as well have commanded the winds to blow, but not too strongly; at once, the whole assembly — the guests in gowns and suits and togas and sparkling gems, the wait staff, the musicians, Councillor Emerald, Lord Wong — all began to move up the steps out of the ballroom and towards the front door in a great rush, pushing and shoving, all distance between people collapsing as everyone fought to be ahead of everyone else.

Pyrrha and Jaune were jostled by the crowd, but able to keep their feet; others were not, or might not, be so lucky. Pyrrha saw an older lady shoved down in front of her and stopped to help her up. She and Jaune held back; she felt it right that they should be the last to leave, being huntsman and huntress, and if Jaune disagreed with her, he did not say so, nor show it in any way. Rather than joining the press moving towards the door, they moved sideways along the back of the crowd, joining Lord and Lady Wong — Lord Wong’s stick slowed his progress — and little Soojin, and Arslan too.

“Do you need any help, my lord?” Pyrrha asked.

Lord Wong shook his head. “I’m fine, Lady Pyrrha, but if you could take our daughter, make sure that she doesn’t get hurt in all this madness. Calm down!” he shouted, which had as much effect as shouting at the clouds.

“Of course, my lord,” Pyrrha said. She smiled for the young girl and bent her knees and back alike so that she was closer to Soojin’s height. She held out her arms. “May I hold you?”

Lady Wong nodded eagerly. “Go with Pyrrha.”

Pyrrha kept on smiling as Soojin ran forward, and Pyrrha swept her up in her arms, holding her close, feeling the little girl's hands moving through her hair and touching her neck above her golden necklace.

“That’s right,” she said. “Hold onto me. Everything is going to be fine.”

“We can’t reach the door!” someone screamed from up ahead, at the front of the crowd.

“Let us out!”

“We’re trapped!”

“What?” Arslan demanded. “What are they saying? Pyrrha, you’re a stork; can you see what’s going on up there?”

“I’m afraid not,” Pyrrha murmured. For one thing, she was standing at a long angle, beneath those ahead, which severely limited her ability to see over their heads; for another, it was always difficult to see over a large crowd in any case. “Jaune?”

Jaune shook his head. “No, nothing.”

“Can you lift me up on your shoulders?” Arslan asked.

“Like a kid?” Jaune asked.

“I’m not asking you to give me a piggyback ride,” Arslan said. “Just let me jump on you.”

“Okay,” Jaune said, presenting his back to her and holding out his hands.

Arslan didn’t use his hands — she didn’t need the boost — she simply jumped up and put her hands on his shoulders, wrapping her arms around his neck as she dug her knees into Jaune’s side like he was a horse.

“Thank you,” she said. “Good thing I wore a gown with room to spread my legs. Right, what have we here?” She frowned. “The door’s blocked by a barrier, it’s … is that hard light?”

“Yes,” Lord Wong said. “We had barriers installed in case of a White Fang attack.”

“Okay,” Arslan said, “but who turned them on?”

“I don’t know,” Lord Wong replied. “I can, but I didn’t.”

“More importantly, can we turn them off?” asked Jaune.

“How, when I didn’t even know they were turned on?” snapped Lord Wong.

“What about the windows?” said Arslan, slipping down off Jaune’s back. “Can we get out through the windows?”

Lord Wong shook his head. “The barrier covers the whole building.”

“The whole building?” Pyrrha repeated.

Lord Wong nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“I’ll call Ruby,” Jaune said, getting out his scroll. His eyes widened. “No signal? Does this barrier of yours block CCT signals as well?”

“It shouldn’t,” Lord Wong murmured.

“EVERYONE CALM DOWN!” Turnus bellowed, his voice cutting through the cries of those trying futilely to escape via the door. “There is no need to panic! My men are on the other side of that barrier, and I have no doubt that as we speak they are trying to find a way to rescue us.”


“What are we going to do?” Tarpeia asked.

“I—” Ufens was cut off by the sound of his scroll buzzing. He ignored it.

“That could be the lord,” Tarpeia murmured.

“We couldn’t reach him a moment ago,” Ufens said.

“Maybe he can reach us; see if it’s him,” Tarpeia urged.

Ufens got out his scroll. “It’s Lichas.”

“Who?” asked Ruby.

“He’s guarding the entrance to the parking lot,” Ufens explained. “Maybe he can get in that way.” He answered the incessant call. “Lichas, we—”

“Are you seeing anything strange up there?” Lichas demanded. “Because first, I get run over by a cleaning van roaring out of the car park, then I go down to find that there’s some kind of barrier cutting off the way into the building, and I can’t get hold of my lord or Lausus either.”

“'A cleaning van'?” Tarpeia repeated.

“Never mind that now,” Ufens said. “Lichas, the barrier is up here too, and it’s blocking out scrolls. Get up here; we need to come up with a plan.” He snapped his scroll shut.

“Do you think there really was something or someone in there?” Ruby asked.

“I can’t think why else anyone would want to trap them inside,” Ufens muttered.

“But … don’t worry,” Tarpeia said, and it seemed like she was trying to smile reassuringly, although it didn’t come out like much of a smile, really. She put a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “While everyone here wishes that they were inside instead of Lausus, my lord’s good. He’ll keep everyone safe, if there’s danger within.”

“So will Pyrrha,” Ruby replied, “but even so, I wish we could find out what was going on. I wish we could get them out of there.”

“We all wish that,” Tarpeia said, “but how? Do you think we could attack it? If we damage it enough, maybe it’ll drop?”

“Maybe,” Ufens said, “but how long would it take, and do we have time for that?”

“What about if I call General Ironwood?” Ruby suggested. “A shot from the main cannon of one of his ships should be enough to bring down that barrier, right?”

“You know General Ironwood?” Tarpeia asked.

“Uh, a little,” Ruby said.

“That probably would drop the shield,” Ufens admitted, “but what if it brings down the embassy as well?”

“Do we have a choice?” Tarpeia demanded.

“I think we should give it a second before we maybe blow up our lord and our client,” Ufens said. “Let me think.” He turned his gaze upwards, up the building, up the barrier that surrounded the building, covering it all the way to the wall that surrounded the roof.

“The roof,” Ruby murmured. “What if it doesn’t cover the roof?”

Ufens’ eyes widened. He tapped on his scroll. “Tulla?” he said. “Is there a barrier on the roof, are you standing on it?”

“There’s something covering the stairs down into the building, and something outside, but no, nothing on the roof.”

“Okay, we’re coming up,” Ufens said, hanging up and snapping his scroll shut. He nodded to Ruby. “Thank you, Ruby Rose.” He turned to Tarpeia and the other members of Rutulian Security. “Right, boys and girls, here is what we’re going to do: we’re going to break through the roof down into the embassy, and then we are going to get everybody out the same way nice and easy, and we’re going to see our lord safe home to Lady Juturna. Any questions?”

There were none, only silence and determined faces.

“Then let’s get it done,” Ufens said. “Eulalia!”

“Eulalia!” they cried, and it must have meant something to them, even though it didn’t mean anything at all to Ruby. Maybe Pyrrha would know.

Once they got her out.

Ruby thought about that ladder, that single narrow ladder and everyone who might have to climb down it, some in the choice between high heels or bare feet.

That could take a while. Unless…

And so, as the Rutulians moved towards that very same ladder, Ruby hung back and got out her scroll.

“Ruby?” Tarpeia asked.

“I’m calling Professor Ozpin,” Ruby explained. “I’ve got an idea that will speed things up.”


There was a loud bang, still loud for all that it was muffled by distance, coming from somewhere above them.

“Was that an explosion?” Arslan asked.

“It sounded like it certainly could be,” Pyrrha replied as the guests of the reception murmured and wailed in shock and alarm. “Jaune, would you mind holding Soojin for a moment?”

“I want you to hold onto me, Pyrrha,” Soojin protested, tightening her grip around Pyrrha’s neck.

“I know, I know,” Pyrrha said, in what she devoutly hoped was a reassuring tone, “but if I’m holding onto you, then I can’t protect everyone else if … if I have to.”

“You don’t have your weapons,” Arslan pointed out.

“Neither do you.”

“My weapons are on the end of my arms.”

Jaune sniffed the air. “Can … can anyone else smell that?”

“Smell what?” asked Arslan.

“It smells like … rosepetals.”

Ruby burst into the ballroom, her red cloak flying, rosepetals trailing behind her, dropping on the floor.

“Ruby!” Jaune and Pyrrha cried almost simultaneously.

“Hey guys,” Ruby said, grinning broadly.

“How did you—?” Turnus began.

“We got in through the roof,” Ruby said. “The barrier didn’t cover it up.”

“It was supposed to,” Lord Wong muttered.

“Thank your contractor they did a half-baked job,” Arslan told him.

“We’re going to get everyone out,” Ruby declared. “Everyone, just follow me!”

“Lausus, take the lead,” Turnus ordered. “Everyone, go, go! Follow her!”

Nobody needed telling twice, not even Jaune and Pyrrha — she couldn’t hang back when she had been given responsibility for Soojin Wong by her mother — they all moved forward, a river of humanity flowing in Ruby’s wake.

“I’m sorry about this, my lord, but this is no time for dignity,” Arslan said, a moment before she picked up Lord Wong in her arms, carrying him at a pace that he would never have achieved by himself, with his wife following alongside them.

They river flowed up the stairs, up several flights of stairs, climbing upwards, upwards, with some of Turnus’ men at intervals to make sure nobody got lost or wandered away from the group, moving upwards, ever upwards until they came to a landing, with several doors closed on either side of it and one open door, leading to a bedroom with a brand new hole blasted in the ceiling.

The Rutulians had made a crude ramp leading from floor to ceiling out of a bed, a chest of draws, a wardrobe at a slanted angle, and various other bits and pieces to provide a semblance of stability, and it was up that ramp, shepherded by the Rutulians, that everyone climbed, one at a time, squeezing a little through the whole in the roof — it was not especially large, although Pyrrha couldn’t blame them for fearing to blow the whole roof off or simply for not having enough dust to make a larger hole — out into the open air.

Airships buzzed all around the roof, Atlesian Skyrays, but also Bullheads as well, all of them with their side hatches open, and people — Professor Goodwitch and Doctor Oobleck aboard two of the Bullheads, and Atlesian soldiers aboard their airships, chivvying or helping people to climb aboard, filling each airship up before it began to pull away from the Mistralian embassy.

And Sunset, waiting with Ruby as Pyrrha and Jaune climbed up onto the roof.

“Sunset?” Pyrrha asked. “What are you—?”

“When Professor Ozpin told me that you needed airships to evacuate after you’d been trapped in here, I was hardly going to stay in our room and wait for you, was I?” Sunset demanded. She reached out and placed a hand on Pyrrha’s and Jaune’s shoulders. “Clearly, I can’t let you out of my sight.”

They got on board a waiting Bullhead, along with Soojin, Arslan, Lord and Lady Wong, along with a few others. The airship was full, everyone slightly crammed in, a forest of hands raised to clutch the bars that ran along the ceiling.

As the airship began to pull away, Jaune said, “You know what’s weird?”

“What?” Pyrrha asked.

“We didn’t get attacked or … anything really,” Jaune said. “Apparently Lord Kiro wanted to kill you, but… how? What was the point of trapping us all in the embassy if—”

The embassy exploded. Sunset raised her hands — Jaune grabbed her by the collar of her jacket in case she fell — conjuring a shield around the Bullhead as fire burst from every window in the building, as stonework shattered, as debris erupted like a mountain bursting forth when the volcano beneath roars; where a moment before had been a building, there was now a burning husk, flames ripping through the insides, the outsides falling where they had not burst outwards to litter the expertly tended grounds with debris. A pillar of flame, a beacon amidst Vale’s night sky.

“Okay,” Jaune said. “I guess now we know what the point of trapping us all in the embassy was.”


As the Valish Fire Department battled to put out the fire that was consuming the remains of the embassy — there was a row of fire trucks parked outside, with their sirens blaring, and cops keeping the gawking crowd at bay — Ruby found Turnus slumped against the wall that surrounded the grounds.

“Are … are you okay?” she asked.

Turnus did not reply for a moment. “I pride myself on running a successful organisation,” he said. “Sometimes, a job does not go entirely the way that I expect, and sometimes … sometimes, with the best will in the world and the most courageous people, things go wrong. But I have never before had a job where the client turned out to be the danger.”

“That’s not your fault,” Ruby said. “You couldn’t have known.”

“No?” Turnus asked. “He was my friend; I knew him. Or not, evidently.”

“What was his plan?” Ruby asked. “I mean, if you know…”

“He wants to become Emperor of Mistral,” Turnus explained, “and so, he planned to kill the heir to the throne, eliminating the line of Nikos, or at least its future, and he planned to kill the First Councillor of Vale to show that he had something to offer.”

“And you?”

“And me, because I wouldn’t lend him my swords to take the throne by force.”

“Right,” Ruby murmured. “I mean … honestly, that sounds kinda stupid.”

“It’s not just you; it is stupid,” Turnus replied.

“Then I don’t think you should blame yourself for not seeing this coming,” Ruby told him. “Who would have predicted … that? And besides, everyone got out safely. Nobody died.”

“But I lost the Heart of Mistral,” Turnus said.

“So?” Ruby asked. “What’s some stupid ruby compared to human lives?”

Turnus looked up at her. “That is an admirable way to look at it, perhaps,” he admitted, “but I’m not sure the Lord Steward will see things in quite the same way.”

Ruby didn’t reply to that, because she wasn’t sure that telling Turnus that if the Lord Steward didn’t agree with her then he was a callous idiot would really help. Instead, she asked, “What’s going to happen to Lord Kiro?”

“He’ll be arrested as soon as he returns to Mistral,” Turnus said, “and even if he realises just what he’s done, with warrants out for him across Remnant, I’m afraid there’s really no escape for him now.”


Doctor Watts opened the doors of the van.

The corpse of Lord Elagabalus Kiro confronted him, lifeless eyes staring upwards, a look of shock fixed upon his face.

“You might have closed his eyes,” he murmured.

“My apologies, Doctor,” Tempest replied, bowing her head as she closed his eyes with one hand.

“He didn’t give you any trouble, I suppose.”

“Of course not, Doctor.”

“What now, Doctor?” Bon Bon asked, climbing out of the driver’s seat.

“Dispose of this vehicle and the body,” Doctor Watts said. “I recommend incinerating them both. And then you both return to school as though nothing happened, or at least, nothing involving the two of you. Now, he did have the jewel, did he not?”

“Here,” Tempest said, holding out a very well-carved wooden box that Doctor Watts took from her hands. “And now, Doctor? Where will you go?”

“I,” Doctor Watts said, “will make haste to Mistral and deliver this precious gem into the right hands.”

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