The Mistral Chapter
The Mistral Chapter
The Rutulus family - and Camilla - had dinner in the traditional Mistralian dining hall, but they had breakfast in the Atlesian-style parlour that Turnus had had completely redecorated after his father died and he became head of the family. Very privately, Camilla thought that it was a little bit of a pity, because she had quite liked the parlour the way it had been before, warm and welcoming and rather inviting, but Turnus was the master of the house, and he wanted a room that reflected his affection for the north. That had translated, in Camilla’s opinion, into a rather cold and sterile room, with white tiles upon the floor and walls that were a plain undecorated metallic colour, with no furniture except the high stools that sat around the grey breakfast bar that rose out of the floor. But Turnus seemed to like it, and that was the important thing.
There was room for ten people around the breakfast bar – one at the head, one at the foot, and eight around both sides – but generally, only three of those places were filled on any given morning. Sometimes, Turnus might honour one or two of his huntsmen to break fast with the family, just as he might occasionally ask them to dinner, but generally, it was just the three of them. More recently, Camilla had grown used to Lionheart’s presence at breakfast with them, but that did not mean that she was not surprised to come into the parlour to find that not only had Turnus beaten her and Juturna there, but that Lionheart, Watts, and Chrysalis were all there too, all sat upon the left side of the breakfast bar, with cups or glasses already set in front of them.
It was enough to make Camilla come to a stop in the doorway, so that Juturna, following behind, collided with her.
“Hey!” Juturna said. “What’s up?”
Turnus was set at the head of the breakfast bar, looking at his scroll. He looked up as he heard the commotion. He smiled at her, and even though it was a smile that held only ordinary affection in it and nothing special or unusual that was just for her, nevertheless the sight of it set Camilla’s heart to beating just a little bit faster in spite of all the shadows that lay upon this house.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” Camilla replied. Her gaze flickered towards their new guests. “I was not aware that we had company.”
“I thought it would be for the best if our guests were to join us,” Turnus explained.
After what I told you yesterday? She had revealed everything that she had heard while hiding in Juturna’s wardrobe to Turnus, and to be perfectly honest, she had been a little disappointed that he had not deigned to take her recommendation to cast these people out of the house one way or another. It was true that they hadn’t exactly confessed to anything markedly worse than what Turnus and Camilla already knew – except for their intent to cause the death of Pyrrha Nikos – but Camilla had hoped that he would trust her when she said that they were dangerous, too dangerous to be allowed to remain under the same roof as carefree, thoughtless Juturna.
Turnus might make her swoon with moments of passionate intensity, with declarations of his - unfortunately platonic - feelings that melted her heart, but it was Juturna who had made Camilla feel welcome in this house ever since she was a little girl. From the very day that Lord Rutulus, then Commissioner of Police, had brought an orphan faunus home to foster with his family, Juturna had embraced her as a sister. Camilla loved her for that, but for all that love, she had to admit that Juturna was neither serious nor, and she meant this not as an insult but as unvarnished truth, particularly sensible. She breezed through life as she breezed through objects with her semblance, passing through the world in a cloud of her family’s money and her old name and her bubbly charm that made her very hard to dislike. Juturna was everybody’s friend, even if it sometimes seemed as though she didn’t have any friends apart from Turnus and Camilla herself, and for that reason, no trouble that she might have gotten into ever stuck to her. But this… what she had gotten herself into this time… it wasn’t going to be like that, or at least, Camilla thought that it would not, and it worried her that Juturna seemed incapable of grasping that fact. It worried her even more that Turnus didn’t seem quite able to grasp just how dangerous this situation was either.
He had promised that he would not harm a single hair on Juturna’s head for the crown of Mistral, but he was already doing that by continuing to entertain these people and tolerate their presence in his house and life. Camilla wanted to see Turnus succeed, she wanted to see him happy, but surely, he did not require the crown so much that he would risk those who were most dear to him, and all the wonderful things that he was already possessed of, simply to obtain it?
Juturna darted around Camilla and walked quickly towards the mini-fridge that sat beside the wall. She opened it up with a pop and bent down to pull out the carton of grapefruit juice. It was another function of the Atlesian… affectations – if that didn’t seem like too negative a word – of Turnus that they didn’t have household servants to do this sort of thing. There were a few maids to clean up and dust around the place, but that was it. Juturna held out the juice carton. “You want some?”
“Yes, thank you,” Camilla said softly, to which Juturna grabbed two glasses from off the shelf and set them down on the black sideboard emerging from the wall.
As she began to pour the juice, Juturna said, “You’re looking pretty engrossed in that scroll there, Brother. What’s up?”
Turnus had a thunderous scowl upon his face. “Lady Ming is sounding her mouth off about the incident at Manjushage. She is alleging Atlesian involvement.”
“But it wasn’t them, right?” Juturna asked.
“No,” Turnus said firmly. “No, it most certainly was not. General Ironwood has his faults-”
“Forgive me, my lord, but General Ironwood has more faults than virtues,” Doctor Watts declared. He was dressed in a blue monogrammed dressing gown, with the W picked out in an ornate style upon his breast pocket, and he had a glass of orange juice and a bowl of cherries buried under a healthy serving of thick and creamy yoghurt set in front of him. Although he had not found time to dress, he did appear to have found time to groom his moustache, which was in perfect condition. His tone became lively as he warmed to his theme. “He displays bovine stupidity, porcine close-mindedness, a staggering lack of appreciation for progress, and a rather nauseating belief in nonsense like courage and loyalty. However, all those vices are what makes him incapable of carrying out an attack such as I understand took place at your town. He doesn’t have the imagination to fight a war in such a fashion.”
Turnus regarded the doctor with a curious expression. “I was going to say that, for all his faults, he is too honourable to engage in such tactics,” he said.
Doctor Watts chuckled. “His honour is another of General Ironwood’s vices.”
Camilla picked up her glass of juice from the side. “I do not know where you have been residing, Doctor, but in this city, we do not regard a sense of honour as either fault or vice.”
“No, indeed, you simply contort the definition of the word until leaving villages and towns defenceless before grimm or bandits or both can be considered honourable,” Doctor Watts said, and though his volume was low, there was no mistaking the barbed amusement of his tone.
Camilla frowned, but the worst part was that she couldn’t really respond to the man because… well, because he was right. They had been ignoring the plight of the settlements and doing so entirely for their own personal gain. They had been turning away those who had come asking for their help, except for those who could afford to pay the fees that Rutulian Security demanded. They had paralysed the Kingdom’s response to the perils that surrounded it for the sake of advancing the ambitions of Turnus.
Camilla loved Turnus, she would give her life for him if his cause required it, but she could not help but think that his father would not have behaved in such a way; the man who had personally led the raid on the warehouse where she and the other children were being held would have done something to protect the people of Mistral when they were in need.
She could not help but wish that Turnus had shown a little more of the generosity of spirit displayed by Pyrrha and her comrades, who had gone out to fight for Mistral and asked for no reward. And, as the acclaim that showered like rain on Pyrrha’s head demonstrated, it might have gotten him closer to his goal than inactivity had.
She felt ashamed of herself for not realising that sooner and for not having the courage to put that case to him with enough force to make him accept it.
She sat down on the other side of the breakfast bar from Doctor Watts. “On what grounds does Lady Ming blame Atlas for Manjushage?”
“She alleges that the blasts are the work of Atlesian energy weapons,” Turnus muttered.
“Take it from me, many things can be made to look like Atlesian energy weapons,” Doctor Watts said. “That doesn’t mean that it was the work of Atlas. I understand that you do not want war between Atlas and Mistral, my lord.”
“No,” Turnus said, looking up from his scroll. “I have seen the power of Atlas first-hand. With my own eyes I have observed the shipyards at Atlas, the industry of Mantle; I have seen the dust mines and the fleet in review. What does Mistral have to compare? The Imperial Navy is a handful of ships of dubious quality; our army is a ragbag of feudal entities. What do we have to set against the Atlesian fleet, against the weapons that emerge daily from the Mantle factories, against the innovations of Crystal City? Courage? Ancient tradition? Lionheart, what was it you said Lady Ming’s plan was?”
“Uh,” Lionheart lifted his head up. He had bothered to dress before coming down for breakfast, and a bowl of mandarin segments sat in front of him. “Ah, yes, Lady Ming suggested that a decapitation strike-”
“A decapitation strike by light, fast airships armed with bunker busting missiles could catch the Atlesian fleet at the proverbial anchor and inflict heavy casualties for little loss in return, yes?” Chrysalis asked. She was dressed in a red silk kimono, with a pink towel wrapped around her head. A steaming cup of coffee sat in front of her.
“Y-yes,” Lionheart replied, stammering in surprise. “That is exactly right, how did you-?”
“The White Fang attempted that in the year after Sienna Khan’s rise to leadership,” Chrysalis explained. “The idea was to hit the ships assembled for Fleet Week and cripple the power of Atlas in one smooth stroke.”
“I have not heard of this,” Turnus said, as he leaned forwards. “What happened?”
Chrysalis drained half of her coffee in one go. “It turned out that just because it was Fleet Week didn’t mean that the air defences were down or that the entire fleet was docked, with no ships on patrol. Most of the airships were destroyed before they entered missile range of their targets, and the missiles that were launched were destroyed by anti-missile defences. And you never heard of it because, such was the complete failure of the attack, that the Atlesian authorities were able to cover the whole thing up to prevent the spread of panic.”
“Then how do you know about it?” Camilla demanded.
Chrysalis looked at her, and smiled. “I’m sure you don’t need me to spell it out for you.”
Camilla scowled and got up from her seat. “You’re White Fang.”
“She was White Fang,” Juturna insisted. “We’re all friends here now, right?”
“Of course,” Doctor Watts assured them all. “We are united in a common purpose that has nothing to do with faunus supremacy or terrorist attacks upon the Kingdom of Mistral.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Camilla pressed, her attention still fixed on Chrysalis.
“I seek what I am given to understand Lord Turnus desires,” Chrysalis replied. “The power to save my people from the fools who would ruin them. In your case, it is the idiots who desire a war between Mistral and Atlas; in my case, it is the cravens who desire to place Menagerie under the Atlesian boot.”
“Is this the treaty between Atlas and Menagerie?” Turnus asked.
Chrysalis’ eyebrows rose. “You know of it?”
“There is a woman who works in the Schnee Dust Company, her name is Cala Brown, highly placed,” Turnus explained. “She is kind enough to keep me abreast of developments in the north. I confess that when she told me about the Menagerie treaty, I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe it. It seemed… a little too improbable.”
“I didn’t want to believe it either,” Chrysalis muttered darkly. “I fear it will make Menagerie a mere colony of Atlas.”
“And if the likes of Lady Ming and Timur get their way, we shall be faced with enemies to the north and the south,” Turnus said, “and yet I fear that if word of this were to get out, that same fear of Atlesians on both sides would only strengthen the voices calling for us to act against Atlas now, regardless of how low our chances of success. And for myself… an Atlas that is preoccupied with nation-building in Menagerie would be unlikely to support my plans in Sanus.”
Juturna sat down. “Perhaps when you get to Atlas and present those plans, everyone there will agree they’re a much better bet than Menagerie anyway.”
Turnus chuckled. “We can certainly hope so.”
“And in the meantime, we can do a little more than hope; we can quiet some of these voices calling for war between Atlas and Mistral,” Doctor Watts said. “I understand that you’re going to go Manjushage yourselves to investigate the town. With your permission, my lord, I should like to come with you.”
“Would you?” Turnus asked. “Why?”
“Because your interests are mine, lord,” Doctor Watts said genially. “Because I am intrigued to learn who is actually responsible for this inexplicable event. And because, with all due modesty, you won’t find a scientist more skilled than I. If anyone can discover the truth, I can.”
Turnus stared at him, weighing him with his eyes. “Very well,” he said at last. “You may accompany us. Alone.”
Chrysalis smiled. “Don’t worry, my lord, I have…other plans, here in Mistral. I will not disturb you.”
“Other plans? What kind of plans?” Camilla’s tone was as forceful as a hammer blow.
The smile on Chrysalis’ face turned into a rather ugly smirk. “I may not accompany you to Manjushage; I may not go anywhere else? What can I do?”
“Answer the question,” Camilla growled.
“Camilla,” Juturna murmured. “They’re here to help.”
“Then they won’t mind explaining how they plan to do so,” Camilla said, without taking her eyes off Chrysalis.
“You don’t like me, do you?” Chrysalis asked in bemusement.
“I don’t trust you around this family,” Camilla replied. “Whether I like you or not has nothing to do with it.”
Chrysalis held Camilla’s gaze for a moment. “If it pleases you better, then I shall stay here. I shall remain in my room until you return, and you need not fear me stirring into the streets.”
“What do you intend to do about Pyrrha Nikos?” Turnus asked, as he folded up his scroll and put it away.
Camilla sipped at her grapefruit juice. Amongst the things that she had told Turnus last night was that Watts and Chrysalis meant to see Pyrrha dead, apparently she posed so great a threat to Salem’s plans. Turnus was displeased by that, and to be honest, so was Camilla herself, even if her reasons for that displeasure were quite different.
Silence fell upon their three guests. It was Lionheart who spoke first. “I bear no malice against Pyrrha; I have always been fond of her, for all that she has not been so fond of me lately. I have no wish to see her harmed, but since she seems determined to set her will against us-”
“Against you,” Turnus corrected. “Not against me.”
“She does not stand with you,” Doctor Watts pointed out.
“Nor does she stand against me,” Turnus reminded him in turn. “At present, we are allies in the defence of Mistral against its external threats.”
Doctor Watts looked a little unhappy to hear this. His dark brow furrowed. “And yet, since she is aware that you are aligned with Lionheart, she will perforce regard you as her enemy.”
“And if she comes at me with Miló in her hand then I will deal with her as I would any other enemy,” Turnus replied, “but until then, I will not initiate violence against Pyrrha or the Myrmidons. I will never reach the throne by wading through Pyrrha’s blood to get there, not unless I am clearly the innocent party in our struggle.”
“That could be arranged,” Chrysalis offered.
“Perhaps it could,” Turnus said, “but it will not be.”
“Do you think she would be so indulgent towards you?” Chrysalis asked.
“She is as indulgent,” Camilla declared. “Despite the fact that she knows we have our enemy in her midst, she has made no effort to harm him or any of us.”
“Not yet,” Juturna said.
Turnus and Camilla both looked at her, but it was Turnus who spoke, “Meaning what, sister?”
“Meaning that it sounds as though we’re going to have to deal with her sooner or later,” Juturna said. “So… why not? It’s not as if she’s going to marry you.”
Chrysalis, who had been finishing off her coffee, snorted, causing some of the liquid to leave by her nose. “Is that what this is all about?”
Turnus did not look in the least bit abashed. “What is a king without a queen?”
“What is a man with a wife who hates him?” Juturna shot back.
“Pyrrha doesn’t hate me,” Turnus said.
“She will if you make her a widow,” Juturna insisted. “Or… what’s the word for when you have a fiancé but they die before the wedding?”
“Very unfortunate,” Doctor Watts answered.
“Or delivered, in the nick of time,” Turnus replied.
“Why are you so fixed on this?” Juturna demanded. “She doesn’t want you!”
“She doesn’t need to want me for me to want her,” Turnus responded. “She is a great beauty with an old name, why wouldn’t I want her?”
Juturna was silent for a moment. “There are others more beautiful,” she said. “Though their names be not so old.”
Camilla got up. “If you will excuse us, my lord,” she said formally, as she grabbed Juturna by the arm.
Turnus raised his eyebrows at this, but nodded. “Please, go if you wish.”
“Thank you,” Camilla whispered, as she dragged a protesting Juturna out of the parlour by the arm and down the corridor a good distance so that they could talk without being overheard by anybody still in the parlour.
“What are you doing?” Juturna demanded.
“What are you doing?” Camilla responded, her voice a hiss. “Do you want them to try and kill Pyrrha?”
Juturna shrugged. “He can’t marry a dead woman,” she said.
Camilla’s eyes widened. “Juturna…” she murmured, a touch of horror creeping into her tone. “That… that… you go too far. This isn’t funny anymore.”
“No, it’s not funny,” Juturna replied. “Watching you pine for him isn’t funny. Watching him obsess over someone else isn’t funny. If she were out of the way-“
“And do you think it would be any better to be his second choice?” Camilla demanded. “To live my whole life with the shadow of the woman he really wanted lying between us?” She sighed. “If it will make you feel better, if it will assuage your worrying impulses, then I will win his heart, for myself, after my own fashion. And I will do it without killing anyone to make things easier for me.”
“And if you can’t?” Juturna asked softly.
Camilla looked over Juturna’s head. “What you said to me yesterday,” she said. “About Turnus, about how he would be the King that Mistral needs, did you mean it?”
“I… guess so,” Juturna answered. “Mostly I just want him to succeed because he’s my brother.”
“Nevertheless, you spoke truly, more true than you realised,” Camilla replied. “Mistral needs Turnus for its king, I believe that. He is the man who can lead us into the future. But Mistral also needs Pyrrha Nikos, not as its queen, perhaps, but as the bulwark of its strength. She was the first to step forward to defend the kingdom when it was in need, and she… if I must sacrifice my happiness for the good of this kingdom by yielding place to her, then how can I do less?”
It proved impossible for Pyrrha and Jaune to secure an audience with the Lord Steward himself, but Lady Terri-Belle did consent to receive them in her capacity as the Captain-General.
She met them both in the same room in which they had assembled for the formation of their joint enterprise, with the painting of General Lagune’s sacrifice hanging over them, the army being destroyed out of the corner of Pyrrha’s eye.
Terri-Belle was once more armoured for battle, in case the call came that some town or village was in dire need of her assistance. She cast a shadow over the map table as she walked down it towards Pyrrha and Jaune.
“I am given to understand that my sister had an eventful evening,” Terri-Belle began pointedly. “An eventful evening that I did not authorise.”
“I did not set out to intentionally disobey your commands, my lady,” Pyrrha said softly. “I wasn’t aware of what Swift Foot or the others had done until they returned to my house after their excursion.”
“Have you punished them?”
“No,” Pyrrha replied. “And… if there is to be any punishment for their offence, then it ought to fall on me, as their commander.”
Terri-Belle blinked. “Do you mean that?”
“I am sure my lady does not mean to call me a liar,” Pyrrha said, her voice chilling noticeably.
“You would take their punishment, even a flogging, or worse?”
Jaune gasped. “A flogging? You can’t be-”
“Jaune,” Pyrrha murmured. “That’s enough.” To Terri-Belle she said, “Yes. Or worse.”
Terri-Belle stared into Pyrrha’s eyes. “You really would, wouldn’t you? You are… quite something, I must admit.” She snorted “I’m not actually going to flog your fiancée, Captain Arc; I just wanted to see how you would react to the same.”
“I must confess that I am glad to hear it,” Pyrrha replied.
“I’m not so glad you suggested it,” Jaune muttered.
“Those that my sister and her companions fought were only criminals, after all,” Terri-Belle continued. “As far as I am concerned, there is no harm done.” She paused. “But you requested this meeting, not I. And I doubt you did it so that you could confess to Swift Foot’s faults and bare your back for the whip. So why are you here?”
Pyrrha and Jaune glanced at one another. “We have come,” Pyrrha declared, “because Turnus received two visitors at his house today, whom we believe to be part of the same network of subversives that Leonardo Lionheart is working for.” She was glad that she had practiced that in advance so that she was able to get through it without hesitating.
Terri-Belle’s brow furrowed. “You mean the subversives whose existence you cannot prove.”
“Someone destroyed the Vale Tower, my lady,” Jaune pointed out, “and someone murdered Phoebe Kommenos.”
“But ‘someone’ is not Leonardo Lionheart,” Terri-Belle reminded him. “I have no wish to shield a traitor or a criminal, but nor will I go against one of Mistral’s oldest families upon a mere word. Not even if that word also comes from one of Mistral’s oldest families. How do you know of these visitors?”
“We,” Jaune began, “we have someone watching the house of the Rutulians.”
Terri-Belle’s eyebrows rose until they were concealed beneath her brow-guard. “Indeed? And here I thought we were allies, now.”
“Nothing would please me better than to believe that too,” Pyrrha said. “Unfortunately, the presence of such people in Turnus’ house makes it a little difficult.”
“Who are these people, and how do you know that they are enemies of Mistral?”
“Our agent watching the house recognised them,” Jaune explained. “They’re both wanted criminals from Atlas: Chrysalis, a former White Fang commander, and Arthur Watts, a scientist disgraced for unethical experiments involving removing the aura from live subjects.”
“That sounds ominous; the White Fang would be bad enough,” Terri-Belle growled. “But once more, there is no evidence but your word?”
“No,” Pyrrha admitted.
“So you’re just going to do nothing?” Jaune demanded.
“I did not say that,” Terri-Belle said. “But call off your watcher. I will set my own people to watch the house of the Rutulians, to report to me and not to you. Your agent will supply images or descriptions of these intruders to my own.”
“Are you actually going to do something, or do you just want us to think you’re doing something while you stop us from acting?” Jaune asked.
Terri-Belle’s lip curled in distaste. “If you are to marry into one of our great families and spend your time interacting with the representatives of other great families, then you should learn that there are limits to what we will tolerate. And you are trespassing upon them. I will observe, as you have done; you have my word upon it.”
“Very well, my lady, but please be careful,” Pyrrha urged. “The White Fang commander, Chrysalis, as I understand it, has a semblance which allows her to change shape.”
Terri-Belle cursed under her breath. “I will… speak to Laird McCullen, perhaps there is some technology that will enable us to detect such things. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Now leave it to me.”
“How long must we continue to bend our necks and follow the whims of these children?” Chrysalis demanded.
She and Doctor Watts – there was no point in including Lionheart in this discussion – were closeted together in Watts’ room as the latter packed a few scientific instruments up in his black bag, ready for his trip to Manjushage. Chrysalis supposed that she could see why he was keen to go: he wanted to know if there was any other foe in this region that they should be concerned with; he also seemed to think that this might offer a clue as to the whereabouts of the Spring Maiden they were seeking.
“They are our allies here,” Doctor Watts reminded her.
“They are ridiculous,” Chrysalis declared. “How are we supposed to accomplish our goals here with all of these restrictions that they place upon us?”
“By becoming someone upon whom they cannot place restrictions,” Doctor Watts suggested, his tone soft and rather mild, all things considered. He shut his bag. “Without their assistance, Lionheart would not be in a position to get us to the Vault of the Spring Maiden.”
“Someone could have been found to shelter him,” Chrysalis replied. “Someone less frustrating.” She wanted to strangle both those girls with their own entrails. That pampered princess had dared to speak to her in such a way? To talk down to her, to force Chrysalis to address her in that fashion! There would be a reckoning for that, depend upon it. Chrysalis never forgot, and she never forgave, as Twilight Sparkle and her friends would find out sooner or later.
“Revenge is a dish best served cold,” Doctor Watts reminded her, “and for the moment, their goals align with ours. We both want to prevent conflict between Mistral and Atlas, after all.”
“Actually, Doctor, a conflict between Atlas and Mistral would suit me admirably,” Chrysalis disagreed. “After all, an Atlas that is preoccupied with a Mistralian war would not have the energy or resources to devote to Menagerie.”
“There are better ways to deal with Atlas and Menagerie,” Doctor Watts said. “Better ways by far than starting a war which Atlas will certainly win and, in the winning, strengthen the hands of your real enemies: Ironwood, Cadenza-“
“While you will see them out of office, yes, yes, I am aware of your subtle games,” Chrysalis snapped. “And how will that help my people?”
“If Atlas were to suddenly go away and leave Menagerie alone, then that would leave the island in the hands of those who had misled and misused it, would it not?” Doctor Watts pointed out. “Things must be allowed to continue in order for the opportunity to arise for a visionary to save the faunus from the folly of Sienna Khan and the Belladonna family. Trust me, my dear, an Atlas-Mistral war is not in the interests of Menagerie, Atlas, or Mistral.”
Chrysalis snorted. “Very well, Doctor, I will keep faith with you for now.”
“And we will keep faith with these… children, as you call them,” Doctor Watts said. “Does it not make you feel better, having proof before your eyes of our fidelity? Does it not make you feel less likely to be betrayed?”
“Is that the point of this charade, to mollify me?” Chrysalis asked. She rose to her feet and took a step closer towards him. “Trust me, Doctor Watts, if you were ever to decide to betray me, I would see it coming long before you did.”
The door into the doctor’s guest room was opened by Camilla, the – admittedly rather beautiful – albino fox faunus whom Turnus and his ghastly sister kept as their familiar. She was dressed for battle, with leather armour worn over her outfit, a bow slung across her back and a dust-blade worn in scabbard at her hip. She was very pretty, if a little young for Chrysalis, that combination of fair skin and white hair, features that could be strong or vulnerable by turns.
She looked rather more strong than vulnerable at the moment, her features stony as she said with frigid courtesy. “Doctor Watts, we are ready to depart.”
“Thank you, Miss Volsci,” Doctor Watts said, picking up his black bag, “and so am I.”
Camilla nodded and stepped aside for the Doctor. “My lord and lady are waiting for you in the courtyard with our escort.”
“Very well,” Doctor Watts said as he walked past Camilla. Doctor Watts’ footsteps echoed down the corridor, but Camilla herself made no move to follow him. She stayed where she was, her red eyes fixed on Chrysalis.
“Was there something you wanted?” Chrysalis asked casually.
“I will not allow any harm to come to Juturna,” Camilla said coldly.
Chrysalis assumed an expression of bewilderment. “Why should I intend any harm to come to Juturna, when we are friends and-?“
“You may take off your mask now,” Camilla said. “I see you for what you are.”
“I think that you see only what you wish to see.”
“I do not wish to see my best friend in danger, and yet, I fear she is,” Camilla replied.
“If that were so, what would you do about it?”
“Anything I must,” Camilla growled, her ears flattening on top of her head as a sign of her anger. Her tail was as rigid as a spear-point. “I have no doubt that you are an accomplished warrior, but nevertheless, I advise you not to take me lightly.”
“I do not,” Chrysalis said, though her tone was very light, “but as I intend no harm to dear Lady Juturna, my friend and ally, the question does not arise. Does it?” She smiled. “Now, you wouldn’t want to keep the others waiting, would you?”
Camilla stared at her for a few more long and lingering moments before she shut the door. Chrysalis heard her footsteps, in turn, heading away.
Chrysalis gave them a three minute head start before she changed shape.
She had her faults – if she had been the perfect warrior, then she would never have gotten herself caught and imprisoned by Atlas in the first place; it could not all be blamed on Twilight Sparkle and her friends – but she was not so foolish as her hosts, who seemed to trust in the honour of their enemies not to interfere with them. Even if she accepted that they had not yet attacked the Rutulus house, that was no guarantee that they didn’t have it under surveillance, seeking to learn the plans of Lionheart and any other agents of Salem that might come by. So she would let those observing eyes be drawn away by Watts as he accompanied the others on their largely irrelevant investigation, and then, when there was no one watching – no one including anyone who might remember that she had promised not to leave the house – she would take her own leave.
And she would do it wearing somebody else’s face.
She transformed, her semblance – Changeling – altering her appearance, clothes and all, her sophisticated armour changing just as much as her face and body did. To all appearances, she was now a nondescript Atlesian man, one of her jailers at the prison where she had spent the past three years: a little on the heavily-built side, perhaps, with a bull neck and a crew cut, but otherwise a very ordinary sort of man, the sort of man you wouldn’t pay much attention to if you passed him on the street, especially if he was dressed in nondescript Mistralian robes of a grassy green.
Thus disguised beyond all recognition, Chrysalis slipped out of the house, dodging the handful of serving staff – a larger staff would have posed more difficulties; she supposed she should be grateful for the austerity of her hosts – and the men that Turnus had under arms outside, although she aided in that deception by transforming her attire briefly into the Atlesian-inspired black armour that the men were wearing. In any event, none of them challenged her as she circled around the house, found a secluded spot where she would not be seen, and vaulted over the compound wall. It was not a difficult feat for someone with aura; she had no need to use her wings to help her clear the height or distance.
Assuming, as seemed likely, that Pyrrha’s watch was focussed on the front gate, then even if there were watchers who had not been drawn off, then they would still not see her leave.
Chrysalis switched her disguise back into Mistralian robes as she began to search the streets of Mistral.
She had not been here in quite some time, and not just because she’d been in prison for the last three years. Chrysalis had been born in Mistral – or rather in Windy Path, although her family had moved to Mistral when she had been young – but she herself had moved to Atlas a couple of years before Sienna Khan rose to leadership of the White Fang. Her last visit to Mistral had been a flying one, shortly after Ghira Belladonna stepped down from his position, when the new High Leader had gathered her lieutenants together, appointed her chapter masters, and set out the way that things were going to be from now on. After that, Chrysalis had returned to Atlas, never to leave Solitas again until Doctor Watts had assisted in her escape from captivity.
There were a lot of things that Chrysalis had not known about the way things stood in Mistral now until she got back here. There were a lot of things that she still didn’t know about Mistral. But she remembered these streets, the streets that she had grown up in, the streets that she had run through, the streets that had taught her the way of the world, and as she moved anonymously through those streets, she found that she also remembered how to find a White Fang safehouse.
The markings hadn’t changed since she had been here last.
And so, Chrysalis wandered down an alleyway that ran behind a fishmarket, the smell of rotting pilchards and tuna guts assailing her nostrils as she followed the markings – barely visible unless you knew to look for them – towards what looked to be a dingy dive of a bar.
A dingy dive of a bar with an armed guard outside.
A particularly incompetent armed guard, but still.
“Thorax,” Chrysalis hailed him in a cheerful tone, “I’m surprised to see you here in Mistral.”
Thorax was a rhinoceros beetle faunus, with a deceptively majestic-looking horn sprouting out of his forehead. He was dressed in civilian clothes, but he had a chunky machine pistol thrust into his belt, which he fingered nervously as Chrysalis approached.
“Th-thorax,” he stammered. “I-I don’t know who you’re talking about, Mister. My name is, uh, Crystal Hoof. Yeah, that’s me. Crystal Hoof, just a regular-“
“Member of the White Fang?” Chrysalis finished.
“Y-no!” Thorax yelped, as he pulled out his pistol and pointed it into Chrysalis’ face. “I don’t know what you think you know, but you need to forget everything about the White Fang and just… just get out of here, okay?”
“Or what?” Chrysalis asked. “You’ll shoot me?”
“I don’t want to,” Thorax said, his voice high-pitched with nervousness, “but I will.”
Chrysalis chuckled. “Not with the safety catch on, you won’t.”
The moment of shock on Thorax’s face was all she needed to wrest the gun out of his hands, shove him up against the wall, and point the pistol into his face. “Thorax, Thorax, Thorax,” she said, as her disguise fell away in a burst of green light. “You continue to disappoint me.”
Thorax swallowed. “Ch-Chrysalis?”
“In the flesh,” Chrysalis declared. “Now, I know that Sienna Khan wouldn’t hold court in a dump like this, so who are you supposed to be protecting out here?”
“Sienna Khan… isn’t here,” Thorax replied. “She went back to Menagerie after the Battle of Vale. She sent a messenger, told Pharynx that he was in charge of the Mistral chapter. He’s supposed to keep his head down and not make waves until… until we hear anything else. At least, that’s the last I’ve heard. My brother doesn’t tell me everything.”
“I’m not surprised,” Chrysalis muttered. Pharynx was an uninspired choice for head of the Mistral chapter in many ways: not a daring warrior, nor an imaginative one. On the other hand, he was a solid fighter, respected by his fellow fighters, and he could be trusted to hold the fort quietly if he was left unsupervised. No doubt, that, as much as any other quality of his, had served as his recommendation. “I am a little surprised that he left you on lookout.”
“I know,” Thorax said dispiritedly, “but there aren’t many of us left in the city, so…”
“So Pharynx makes do with what he has,” Chrysalis finished for him. “Why is he short-handed?”
“All of the attacks!” Thorax cried. “You know: the grimm, the bandits?”
“I thought that everyone’s darling Pyrrha Nikos was taking care of that?”
“She is, but some faunus communes don’t trust her,” Thorax said. “You know, because she’s human.”
“I’m aware,” Chrysalis said sharply. Mistral was large and spacious enough that a few faunus-only communities had sprung up here and there, places where their kind could live untroubled by humans and their prejudices. Like Menagerie, for people who thought that Kuo Kuana was too crowded or who didn’t like the sea. Since they rejected all contact with humans and their works, they tended to be very poor and rather backwards. “So, Pharynx has dispersed his strength defending the communes?”
“They are faunus,” Thorax protested. “We can’t just leave them.”
Why not? They’re of no help to us, Chrysalis thought. “It appears that I have arrived just in time,” she said. “Is Pharynx inside?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then come with me,” Chrysalis said, lowering her pistol and shoving him forward.
“I’m not supposed to-”
“Considering what a bad job you were doing as a guard, it will be better for the White Fang if you’re not here,” Chrysalis insisted, shoving him again.
Thorax led her up the shallow flight of steps towards the door, with its fading green paint that was peeling off in places. He pushed open the door, and Chrysalis quickly followed him inside.
The inside of the bar was badly lit, with only a few torches casting a soft orange glow and many shadows across the common room. At round wooden tables sat a few dispirited warriors, scarred in their bodies but, more importantly, with defeated looks in their eyes. This was not a stronghold of the White Fang; this was a group that had given up already.
Perhaps Pharynx sent most of his warriors out to defend the communes simply to give them something to do that they could take pride in.
“I see that I am back not a moment too soon,” Chrysalis declared as she strode in, her boots tapping like a drumbeat upon the wooden floor. She made her way to the centre of the inn and stopped, letting all eyes turn to her like flowers towards the sun.
Pharynx was sitting at a table near the back. He, like his brother, was a rhino beetle faunus, with a horn rising out of his forehead. He was much larger than his brother, though, and more muscular in build. He rose to his feet, his voice gruff as he said, “Chrysalis? Is that-? But you were-“
“Did you really believe that Atlesian chains could hold me captive while my people cried out in desperation?” Chrysalis asked. She smiled. “It is good to see you, Pharynx, although I had not looked to find you so far from Atlas.”
“The Atlas chapter isn’t what it was,” Pharynx replied. “After… after the wedding, the High Leader pretty much gave up on Atlas; there’s nothing there now but a recruiting party.”
“I see,” Chrysalis said, as much to herself as to him. I see the rot set in earlier than I thought. “Then it is a good thing that I came here, where I hope that I can still find warriors of courage, nerve, and daring.” She looked around the room, catching the eye of each man that she found there. “Some of you know me already. For those of you who do not, I am Chrysalis, former commander of the Atlas chapter of the White Fang. For three long years, the Atlesians have held me captive, but though they could brutalise me and humiliate me, though they could chain my body, they could neither chain nor break my spirit. For it is our spirit, the indomitable will of faunuskind, that will enable us to triumph over all of Atlas’s ships and armies, over police and huntsmen and all else besides. I am Chrysalis, and I return to you now at the hour of direst need. How many of you know of the treaty between Atlas and Menagerie? How many of you know just how Sienna Khan has betrayed us?”
The bar was silent for a moment before Pharynx said, “We know. We had a message from the High Leader-“
“The moment that the High Leader permits Atlesian soldiers to set foot upon the soil of Menagerie is the moment she ceases to be High Leader!” Chrysalis snarled, making Pharynx draw back as though her wrath was meant for him.
Chrysalis continued. “I know that the days have been dark for the White Fang since I was taken prisoner. Adam Taurus, the great hope of our cause, has fallen in battle; Blake Belladonna, whom many had looked to lead us in the years to come, has betrayed us all and sided with the Atlesian tyranny to put its boot upon our neck. Sienna Khan has surrendered Menagerie unfought and given up the refuge of our people to our enemies. We have had losses, we have had failures. But that is over now. Over and passed. I have returned. I have returned, and I say that the White Fang is not yet defeated, not while there is a warrior yet with the courage to draw steel for the cause of our people. Can such a fighter be found?”
“There’s one right here!” Pharynx declared, thumping his chest with one fist.
“And here!”
“Here!”
“I’m ready to fight!”
“We’re all ready!”
“I delight to hear it,” Chrysalis said. “I am glad to hear that there is still some courage left in you, for we will need our courage if we are to prevail. My brothers of the White Fang, the night is dark, but we stand upon the edge of dawn. I have returned, and I promise you that victory is within our grasp if only we will reach out and take it! If you will but follow me, I promise you the liberation of Menagerie and the downfall of Atlas that once we dreamed of. Our counterattack begins today, provided you answer one question: are you with me?”
Pharynx stared at her. Chrysalis stared at him. Their eyes met, and in that moment, Chrysalis felt as though she could see into his heart.
She knew that he would kneel before he knelt, perhaps before he even knew that he would kneel.
She was the queen, after all. What could he possibly do but kneel before her?
“We are the White Fang,” he declared, “and we are always ready to fight, and as the High Leader has abandoned us and our cause, we will follow you into battle. Command us, for we are yours.”
“I rejoice to hear you say so,” Chrysalis said. “For together, we will shake the pillars of the world. Recall your warriors from the outlying settlements. Inform the faunus there that they must put their trust in Mistral’s council and its warriors for the time being. We will require our strength closer at hand.”
“Why?” Pharynx asked. “The strength of the whole chapter is not enough to overcome the Myrmidons, the Imperial Guard, Rutulian-“
“Let me worry about Rutulian Security,” Chrysalis assured him. “As for the rest, as for what I intend to do once you have recalled your warriors, why, Pharynx, I will have them become soldiers of Mistral.”
Chrysalis was leaving the meeting, feeling well-satisfied with what she had accomplished in a very short space of time, when she found the Mistralian girl waiting for her outside.
She was out of place, too finely dressed to be standing in this low part of the city: a pretty girl, almost as beautiful as Cadance to look upon, with long blue-green hair curling down to fall over her shoulder and down her back. She wore a sword at her hip but was otherwise dressed in a two-shouldered chiton with a scandalously low and revealing cut of neckline. Golden hairclips shaped like laurel leaves glistened amongst her curls, while the belt she wore around her waist was likewise gold. Bracelets of purple amethysts, matching her eyes, gleamed upon her wrists.
She smiled. “Do I have the pleasure of addressing Chrysalis of the White Fang?”
Chrysalis’ eyes narrowed. She placed one hand upon the jagged hilt of her sword as she began to descend the steps into the street.
The Mistralian confronting her raised one bejewelled hand. “Please, there is no need for that. I am not here to fight, but rather, to offer you a proposition.”
Chrysalis’ eyes remained as narrow as before. “Indeed. What proposition does a lady of Mistral-?”
“Blonn Di,” she said. “Blonn Di Thrax, daughter of Lord Diomedes.”
“A daughter of the Steward,” Chrysalis remarked, in an even tone. “Should I be honoured by your presence to deal with a White Fang ruffian like myself?” She chuckled. “If you are here to speak, not fight, then perhaps you won’t mind telling me how you found me?”
“Pyrrha Nikos had an agent watching the house of Turnus Rutulus,” Blonn Di explained. “She noticed your arrival and, Pyrrha being a good girl, reported it to my sister Terri-Belle, Warden of the Mistral Tower. Terri-Belle, being just a little bit of a control freak, ordered Pyrrha’s agent replaced with some of our own trusted fellows. They followed you and Doctor Watts away from the house.”
“I am not the easiest person to follow,” Chrysalis replied.
“Once you know there’s a shapeshifter in the house it’s simple enough to follow everyone who leaves,” Blonn Di said. “Just in case.” Her smile was thin. “But the Warden of the Tower has many responsibilities that press upon her shoulders.”
“And so, she delegates the task that she has taken from Pyrrha Nikos and bestows it on the sister whom she trusts,” Chrysalis concluded. “More fool the Lady Terri-Belle, I presume.”
“Our agents watching the house of Rutulus report to me,” Blonn Di answered. “I can ensure that your comings and goings are not reported any further.”
“Very generous of you,” Chrysalis said. “And what would you have of me in return?”
“I have heard that you are a great menace to the stability of our kingdom,” Blonn Di said. “I have heard that you can topple cities and set whole kingdoms tilting on their axis.”
“Is that what you desire? To set Mistral tilting?”
“My father is an old man,” Blonn Di declared, “and his rule is failing. It is time for some new blood at the head of our kingdom. Whatever Turnus Rutulus thinks that he can offer you in return for your service, I promise that when I am Steward of Mistral, I will be more generous than he could dream of.”
Chrysalis wanted to laugh out loud. Ah, Mistral. She had lived here, in the kingdom of her birth, and she had lived in Atlas, and the contrast was so very instructive. Here in Mistral, these grand old families of Thrax and Rutulus and Nikos prated of their history and their honour, but the truth was that any of them would sell their nearest and dearest for the mere whiff of an advantage. If this girl had any honour at all, or any care for the wellbeing of her kingdom, then she would have had armed soldiers waiting to confront Chrysalis and force her surrender. Instead, she was willing to betray her father and the sister who trusted her, and all for a lordly seat and title. Meanwhile, in Atlas… much as she loathed the place, she was forced to concede that there was more honour in the wretchedly righteous Twilight Sparkle than in all of these old Mistralian families.
Of course, the Atlesian honour would be their downfall no less than the Mistralian treachery, but at least Twilight and her friends could take comfort in knowing that they had done the right thing as they died painfully, begging Chrysalis for mercy.
What would these Mistralians think, as they died?
Chrysalis found she didn’t really care. Mistral was just a stepping stone to what she really wanted. Menagerie, and her revenge.
A stepping stone that had just been gift-wrapped for her.
Chrysalis smirked. “My lady,” she said, as she offered a low, sweeping bow, “I am at your service.”
“Excellent,” Blonn Di said. “Because you know I will be watching you, and if you displease me, then-”
“Please, my lady, there is no need for threats,” Chrysalis implored her. “Nothing could be further from my mind than treachery. I swear to you upon my honour that I have never failed to keep faith with those who placed their faith in me. I swear upon the woods and streams of Mistral that my lady shall receive exactly what she deserves.”
"Okay," Nora said. "Let me get this straight. We have two princesses-"
"Technically speaking, neither of us are actual princesses," Swift Foot pointed out. "'How many years does it take to make a Steward a king?' A lot more than eighty, in this part of the world."
"And I wish you wouldn't refer to me in that way, Nora, even if it is only hyperbolic," Pyrrha added.
Nora continued on as though neither of them had spoken. "-two celebrity tournament fighters-"
Arslan slapped the table. "Guilty as charged."
"That I will not deny," Pyrrha acknowledged. "Much as there have been times when I wished I could do so."
"-an award-winning playwright-"
"And comedian, and writer, and… you know, I can do so many things, it's terrible that I'm less well known than those of you here whose only accomplishment is hitting things," Autumn declared, with laughter ringing in her voice.
"And Ditzy… Ditzy!" Nora finished.
Ditzy raised one hand. "Thanks for inviting me!"
"So my question is," Nora finished, "with all of this… what in Remnant are we doing in a place like this?" She leapt to her feet – it didn't make her seem much taller – and spread her arms out wide on either side of her to encompass not only the booth into which they were crowded but also the entire bar.
Coming to this place – Swift Foot hadn't caught the name of it as they arrived – had been the idea of Autumn Blaze, and to be perfectly honest, Swift Foot could understand Nora's point. It didn't exactly look low or dingy, but that might be because the lights were kept so dim – and so red everything had a crimson glow to it, and everybody looked as though they were blushing furiously – that they could hide a multitude of sins. The tables were wood and slightly sticky to the touch, which was why Swift Foot had her hands on her knees instead of on the table. The upholstery was as red as the lighting and didn't stand out much, although the cushions in the booth were soft enough for Swift Foot's taste, making her slightly worried that there was something hiding in them. It wasn't packed out, but it was reasonably full, with plenty of patrons filling up the booths and tables.
"Hey!" Autumn Blaze protested. "This place is great, I wrote the first draft of Down the Slope here."
"That explains why it's one of your lesser works," Swift Foot remarked.
Autumn Blaze guffawed. "You may think that, but every theatre critic in Mistral would disagree with you, and so would the box office, so… yeah."
"And who am I to argue with critical and popular consensus?" Swift Foot asked, "but, all the same, I have to agree with Nora – and not just because she scares me, although that is part of it –"
"Are you this cheeky around your sisters? Because no wonder they don't want you back," Nora cried.
"I thought that we were going to go somewhere a little nicer than this," Swift Foot finished. "I mean, look at Pyrrha!"
Everyone looked at Pyrrha. Even Pyrrha looked at Pyrrha, or at least, she looked down at herself. Pyrrha was dressed in a red quipao with a modest boob window and delicate golden scrollwork adorning the bodice and shoulders. One of her arms was concealed beneath a black opera glove, while her golden armband reclaimed its old station around her left arm, and her gleaming circlet kept its familiar place upon her brow. "I do feel rather overdressed," Pyrrha admitted.
In fairness, she wasn't the only one. As much as Nora had been the one to complain about the location, she was dressed pretty appropriately for it in a black t-shirt with 'BOOP' emblazoned across the chest and a pink skirt that stopped just above her knees. Ditzy, on the other hand, was wearing a lacy white mini-dress with a floral print, while Swift Foot was garbed in a traditional two-shouldered chiton of green, with turquoise broaches securing the shoulders and a belt of spun silver. Arslan hadn't bothered to change clothes.
"Nobody cares," Autumn assured her. "So long as we're having fun, does it matter what we're wearing? That's why I brought you guys here, so that we could have fun in a nice place and not have to mind our manners like we would in a classy joint."
"Makes sense to me," Arslan agreed.
"Okay, so we're here," Swift Foot said. "What are going to do?" She glanced at Pyrrha.
Pyrrha herself looked a little uncertain about that. "Swift Foot, why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because you invited me," Swift Foot reminded her.
"You invited all of us," Arslan clarified.
"Yes, but…" Pyrrha hesitated, "I just thought that it might be nice for us all to go out like this somewhere. I didn't… I don't really have a plan. I thought that one of you might… I've never done anything like this before."
"Really?" Arslan demanded sceptically. "Never."
"You say that like it's so strange," Swift Foot said.
"It is a little strange," Ditzy admitted.
"Not for people like us," Swift Foot protested. "This isn't our world; we don't do… whatever this is."
"Because you're poor, sheltered, rich girls, yes, we know," Arslan said, "but even so."
"You seriously never did anything like this in Vale with Ruby and Sunset?" cried Nora.
"I think I would have tried to keep Ruby away from places like this," Pyrrha declared, with just a touch of severity entering her voice. "No offence, Autumn, but we are talking about a fifteen-year-old girl."
"None taken," Autumn said genially. "That is a little young."
"And as for Sunset," Pyrrha continued. "Sunset… Sunset might have been able to enjoy a place like this if she'd been with someone else who genuinely liked it here… but I'm not certain that this is the kind of place that she would have sought out on her own initiative and not the kind of place she would have tried to take me or Ruby." She smiled slightly, but it was a smile that was touched by melancholy, like a rose touched by a sudden frost. "I think that… she might have been embarrassed to try or else not wanted to have embarrassed me." She bowed her head, and a sigh escaped her.
Ditzy reached out across the table and took Pyrrha's hand. "You miss her, don't you?"
Pyrrha nodded. "Very much so," she admitted. "I… no offence to you, to any of you girls, but Sunset and Ruby… they were like my family. I didn't know that it was possible to have such dear friends in the world until I came to Beacon and joined Team Sapphire. And now… I don't even know if they're alive or dead." She looked around the table and seemed to make an effort to smile. "I apologise; I'm bringing down the mood horrendously, aren't I?"
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Nora told her. "We get it." She glanced around at her companions. "Okay, I get it."
"We all get it," Ditzy corrected. "Even those of us who didn't have a team that we loved, we still understand what it's like to have people like that, right?"
Swift Foot shrugged. "If I was to say that someone was like my family, it wouldn't be as much of a compliment." She recoiled – as much as the booth allowed – as everyone stared at her. "What?"
"You can't drop a bomb like that and then just stop!" Autumn said. "Share with the group!"
Swift Foot snorted. "Share with all the readers on your blog, you mean, Miss Blaze? Thank you, but I'd rather not."
Autumn shook her head. "I give you my word," she swore, "that none of what you say will leave this booth." She paused. "Although a character bearing similarities to you might end up somewhere, depending on what you say."
"I don't know what you expect me to say," Swift Foot replied. "My father… let's not talk about my father, because that's not what this was about; it's just that… Shining Light and Blonn Di… like I said, if I were to say that you were like my sisters, I wouldn't be paying you a compliment. Terri-Belle is brave and noble… but she's also eleven years older than I am, so…" Swift Foot took a deep breath. "Pyrrha, I am sorry about your friends and your parting from them… but at least you had to experience that companionship, that togetherness. Is that not a thing to treasure? For all the pain that you feel now, is not the belonging that you felt then still something of which we should be envious, we who have not felt such a thing?"
"What are you talking about?" Nora demanded. "How can you not feel it? You've got us now!"
Swift Foot's eyes widened. "I… what?"
Pyrrha smiled, gently and with kindness in her eyes. "You are still new to our ranks, Swift Foot Thrax," she declared, "but you are one of us now, and we are with you not only in battle, but in all things."
Swift Foot looked at them all. All smiling at her, all so earnest, without a trace of falsehood or deception in their faces. She ought to have despised them. She ought to have mocked them all as naïve and gullible fools, for they were naïve, and they were gullible, and that naïveté did make them foolish.
But she could not mock them for it, nor could she hold them in contempt. Not even inwardly could she scorn their words, for their words had touched her.
How can something so stupid also be the nicest thing that anyone's ever said to me?
"You… you…" Swift Foot shook her head. "You are the noblest company in Mistral, beyond doubt. Your virtue deserves the renown your skill in battle has brought upon you. And I… I am proud to stand alongside you all."
“Aww, we love you too, New Girl,” Nora cooed – prompting a mutter of ‘my name is Swift Foot’ from Swift Foot – before she said, “Now stop bringing down the mood, and let’s get to the girls’ night stuff!”
“Didn’t we just establish that these two don’t have any idea what girls’ night is?” Arslan said.
Nora rolled her eyes. “You know: where we get drunk, laugh a lot, talk about boys, and confess our undying sisterhood!”
“We’ve done the last one already,” Arslan pointed out.
“Then we’d better get started on the rest, hadn’t we?” Nora demanded.
That was a little difficult, considering that Pyrrha and Arslan didn’t drink, and Swift Foot was too young, but Nora seemed determined to give it the Academy try by drinking enough for all the rest of them put together. She whooped with increasingly inebriated glee with every shot she downed, her face getting redder and redder as the night wore on.
Eventually, the talk turned to boys.
“I just don’t get it,” she muttered, her words becoming a little slurred as she rested her head against the table. “We’ve been together such a long long long loooooong time. So what do I have to do, huh?” She let out a moaning sigh. “What am I supposed to do?” Ditzy gave her a kindly but ultimately ineffectual pat on the shoulder, in lieu of the fact that none of them knew what she was supposed to do. None of them even knew what to say.
And in the end, they had to carry Nora home. Which certainly wasn’t something that Swift Foot had imagined herself ever doing when her father ordered her to enter the house of Pyrrha Nikos, find out her plans, and destabilise her company.
But as she helped carry the barely conscious Nora Valkyrie back to the house of Pyrrha Nikos, Swift Foot felt as though there was nowhere that she’d rather be.
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If the kingdom somehow survives the idiots trying to take it over, Pyrrha is going to be crowned against her will, just to save what is left of it.
And the pieces continue to move. It will get all the more interesting once Sunset's company reaches Mistral. New players, new perspectives, and one Kingdon about to become Three
Medic! Someone apply cold water to that burn! Oh, I love the way villains take subtle jabs at each other!
Quick question, Scipio? Chrysalis doesn't seem to know that Sunset Shimmer was the one who felled Adam, and seems to think Blake was the culprit. Did Dr. Watts not tell her, or does most of the world not know? It honestly wouldn't surprise me if the Vale Council happily wiped that from her record.
I bet Sunset will be taking Starlight Glimmer's place as the target of Chrysalis' fury when she arrives in Mistral.
10348728
I don't think the specifics of who killed who would be widely reported on - this isn't actually a heroic world, for all that certain characters act like it is; Vale isn't the kind of place where the minutia of combat between champions is noteworth (outside of the Vytal tournament). It's just known that Adam died and that the traitor Blake was part of the mission where he died, thus she gets the blame.
10348740
True. Though I still imagine she will do her usual vows of vengeance when she finds out in place of Starlight. Both for Sunset's actions against the White Fang and for being a 'race traitor'.
Honestly getting tired of the nobility...
10348771
Agreed, there is a reason why Lord Of the Rings did only expend some time with that stuff.
I am almost rooting for the Bad Guys to appear already.
10349072
Personally, I like both the world-building and letting us see both Watts and Chrysalis at work which shows us how Salem adapted and used her proxies to slowly attack and undermine the post-Great War world order and system Ozma/Ozpin created. It makes Remnant a wider and more lived in world and story setting. Plus, the earlier Valish, and now Mistralian and Atlesian political and racial intrigue involved shows us the little cracks and holes Salem used to recruit her proxies and servants to use to her advantage.
And the Mistral betray-a-thon 9000 continues! Seriously, this city is kind of full of terrible leaders.
I am curious what Chrysalis plans to do... And she hasn't told Watts about it.
At this point the story is literally just screaming “Pyrrha is the True Empress of Minstral and everyone else in charge will literally kill us all!!!”
10350281
Yep, so I guess Neptune is going to be stuck with it in th end.
*comes back from break ready to binge catch up*
*notices chapters have been added to first portion of story*
... well guess it’s time for a reread...
Can’t wait for Sunset to enter and just clean house because at this point I think that’s the way that they’re going to be able to save the mistrilian government it’s a sad truth but they’re all assholes
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The entire story. There's stuff going up in future chapters (that only the author and beta readers like myself have seen) where there's discussion about stuff that might need to get rewritten because of stuff that might change dramatically in intervening chapters but which we don't know how it needs to be changed because what influences the scene hasn't been retconned in or out yet. Scipio's said similar a few times now already in response to questions just like yours, so you don't have to worry about this being a spoiler.