Chapter 41: Lovers Reunite

Practically from the moment he'd set out on his mission, Izlude had imagined what it would be like when he finally let the mask of Damien Mitchel slip and revealed himself in full to his beloved Alma.

It had been a long an arduous road, rife with obstacles and replete with twists and turns. Very little of what he had expected had come to fruition. He hadn't expected to live through being swept away by the floods at Fort Besselat, nor discovering a fortune in loot guarded by a band of phantasms. He hadn't expected to be set on the trail to gaining the fortune he'd needed by one of the common folk of Ivalice, whom he'd believed himself to fight for when he knew them but distantly, nor did he expect this vital information to come at the bargain price of a skull splitting hangover and a fair bit of his dignity. Alma apparently having cast a Haste spell on herself and her eventual words of happiness cascading from her lips in an unintelligible deluge of syllables was also quite unexpected, but it was a surprise that Izlude believed he would treasure in years to come.

But, for all that, he had expected Alma to come to his arms, finally happy at the miracle that had brought them back together and the miracle no less wondrous that would soon see them become parents.

He had not expected her to try and run away from him, certainly not after being convinced of his truthfulness.

"Alma! Please wait!" Izlude cried, his voice betraying his shock and alarm as he hastened to catch up with his runaway lover.

While his feet raced of their own accord, his mind burned with confusion and worry, and he dreaded the possibility that she might get away from him, and this time eluding him forever. Or worse, she might trip over her skirts, fall, and hurt herself.

Herself and the baby, the latter of whom might not survive.

It was times like these that the knight blade wished he wasn't being weighed down by his armor. While not as heavy as the suit he normally wore on the battlefield, the ceremonial piece he had donned for this occasion still hindered and restricted Izlude's movements. Even so, he doggedly persisted until he caught up to Alma. After a stretching second of hesitation, he reached out and grabbed her by the arm, half of him railing that he was being too rough with her while the other half screamed that she'd slip and fall if his grip was not secure.

The Beoulve girl let out a gasp and jumped slightly as his grip tightened, and Izlude winced at the sound. Beyond the confusion at why she would act like this when the man she loved and had believed lost had returned to her, this scene brought back some bad memories.

He recalled dragging her from Orbonne Monastery, having seen her as simply a bit of leverage to use against her brother, the heretic Ramza, and never realizing that he would soon be dragging her into a monster's den.

Was it simply shock that provoked this reaction? Or, was it something…worse?

Alma was, indeed, shocked. But, for reasons somewhat removed from what Izlude supposed. Just as she felt Izlude's hand close around her upper arm, Alma felt herself yanked back slightly. And as the knight blade predicted, the train of her skirt found its way beneath her feet and would have sent her toppling over had he not caught her.

If the Beoulve girl still had any doubts that her fiancé was anything other than a phantom, being caught in his firm but gentle arms finally eliminated them.

"Careful, Alma...er Catherine!" Izlude exclaimed as he quickly corrected himself, unsure if any nosy neighbors might be within earshot.

"Oh!" Alma yelped as she struggled to regain her footing with Izlude's help.

Once she had done so and finally caught her breath, the Beoulve girl took a moment to gather her nerve before allowing herself to be turned around. Fortunately, Izlude did so slowly and with care, as if allowing her a bit more time to process what she had just discovered. After all, it wasn't every day a young girl discovered the man she loved, whose death she witnessed with her own eyes, had literally risen from the dead to ask for her hand in marriage.

And for a second time, no less!

Her head was still abuzz with questions, most of whose answers she could barely guess at, but she found one thing to be strangely beyond reproach.

Izlude was alive and standing before her, albeit wearing the face of the knight of Romandan descent who had charmed her guarded, mourning heart but days before.

Perhaps a part of her was still skeptical, or maybe the pain of holding herself together for the sake of her unborn child and her small army of unlikely stepchildren, and the relief of learning her beloved had returned, simply refused to be contained any longer. Whatever the reason, Alma threw her arms around Izlude and buried her face in his shoulder.

"I can't believe it!" she rasped out between happy sobs. "It really is you! How can this be?"

Holding his love tightly, the disguised knight blade gently rocked Alma as he tried to calm her down, lest her excitement give away both of their secrets.

"Shh, please be patient, my love," Izlude urged. "I promise to explain everything, but not here. Will you follow me someplace we can talk in private?"

"Y…yes, of course. Where, though? I mean, can we talk in Tingel Manor?"

"Yes, we can. I'll elaborate when we're behind closed doors, but our secrets will be safe enough here for now. And, I know a good place we can talk."

As Izlude guided her to the rear doors to the manor, however, he suddenly stopped, his expression turning strangely distant and melancholy.

"What's wrong?" Alma asked.

"Oh!" Izlude started, as though roused from deep introspection. "Sorry, my love. I was just thinking. Not long after I asked you to marry me – the first time, that is – I imagined what it would be like to bring you here and carry you over the threshold."

He had imagined a lot more than that, truth be told. Aside from…the consummation, he had wondered at how Meliadoul would get along with her most unlikely sister-in-law, whether the prospect of being a grandfather might've eased what he'd believed to be the pain of old wounds upon his father's heart, and even how Donavan would've reveled at having another Tingel lady to dote upon.

But, through the most unnatural of circumstances, that could not happen.

Maybe Alma guessed at his thoughts, and perhaps even knew the truth of it better than he after having seen his father's possessed shell in its final moments. In either case, the warm touch of her hand upon his cheek, the gentle pressure of her guiding his face to meet her gaze, and the reassuring smile on her face helped to ease the weight of the sad reminder that, however happy their lives would be, his original vision was now gone.

What might take its place, he could not say, not beyond the long-held affirmation that it would be happy nonetheless.

"Well, this isn't quite what I had pictured," he admitted. "But, let's do the best we can."

Whatever questions Alma had about his intent were swallowed by a yelp as he quickly swept her off her feet and carried her back into the manor. And, despite the unorthodoxy of the bride being carried into the groom's (former) residence through the back door – and before the ceremony had even taken place, no less! – she found herself smiling, genuinely, for what seemed the first time in months.

It did waver slightly, however, when she noticed that Izlude was straining with the effort of carrying her. Or jokingly feigning such, perhaps.

"Say," he began coyly, "are we perchance having twins?"

SSSSSS

On the street outside, a burly man in the attire of a craftsman was leading his young son to his shop, having decided his boy was old enough to begin learning the business. He didn't doubt his son would do well in the trade, or any other for that matter, as he'd inherited his father's strong hands and sturdy back as well as his mother's keen wits and winning personality.

That introspection was cut short, however, when he heard an indignant gasp followed by a resounding slap.

"What was that sound, papa?" the boy asked, almost sounding alarmed.

Much to the boy's confusion, his father did not seem alarmed, or even particularly startled. Instead, he let out that booming belly laugh of his and set one brawny hand on his son's shoulder.

"That, my boy," he began, still chuckling, "is a sound us grownups call "Trouble in Paradise"."

The boy blinked in stupefaction, and then blinked in further stupefaction as his father's laugh turned into a curious smile, as though he were savoring something pleasant. But, what was pleasant about somebody slapping somebody else? And, how could something with the word "Trouble" in it be funny? "Trouble", like that time he broke mama's vase while practicing with his toy sword, got him locked in the privy until papa said he could come out. His young mind tied in knots by the incongruity of it all, the boy promptly decided, and not for the first time, that grownups were weird.

SSSSSS

A curious truth about humanity is how, over time, that which is familiar and commonly seen in one's daily life can become less and less remarkable. One who, for instance, has lived by the seaside all his life might find the beauty of the ocean less impactful as years and years of watching the waves roll in continue to roll on by. Similarly, one who lives in the splendor of Lesalia might find its manmade wonders to seem less lustrous as the years pass. Its beautiful architecture, its profusion of fine wares, its seemingly numberless plays and operas, stately museums, and even the lofty spires of the magnificent castle can, day by day, fade into the background until it becomes simply one more thing that can be taken for granted after one has lived amongst such things long enough to look upon them and yet stop truly seeing them.

Agrias Oaks had grown up in Lesalia, and had been brought back to that isle of marble and gold on many an occasion since she'd reached the age of womanhood, so she was long since accustomed to its seemingly bottomless well of gaudiness. But, there was one aspect of the city she suspected she would never, ever, get used to.

It was how, whenever she was in Lesalia, and trying to get somewhere in a hurry, there always seemed to be someone in her way.

"Ouch! My foot! Watch where you're treading!"

"Ooof! I say! I'll not stand for being trampled by a butch woman!"

"Woah! Are you blind?! You nearly made me drop this vase, and it cost more than a pack of chocobos!"

"Owie! Mommy, that mean lady with the ugly braid stepped on my foot!"

"AH! Those flowers you just walked on were five hundred gil worth of merchandise! That's days of labor gone to waste! If you were a man, I'd break your nose for that!"

Agrias swore under her breath, and out loud once or twice, that the next person who got in her way would indeed get trampled. On purpose. Perhaps some of the more perceptive onlookers read the threat in her eyes, for they promptly cleared the corridor, eyeing the irate holy knight nervously as she passed.

One or two of them whispered something that sounded suspiciously like "that time of the month".

A slight whiff of nostalgia tickled at Agrias's mind as she recalled her training days, which seemed like they took place a century ago. On one less-than-auspicious day, a fellow cadet had made a remark very much like the one she'd just heard whispered behind her. Back then, it had led to a fight between the two cadets and nearly resulted in both of them being expelled for conduct unbecoming.

As to whether her letting the remark pass this time was a sign that she'd since tamed her temper or that the urgency of the situation trumped her predisposition towards retaliation, she was only certain of the latter.

She had to find Ramza, and fast.

She had never trusted Delita, not even on the rare occasions when he had aided them due to their survival and his self-interest momentarily aligning. Especially not because of that, in fact.

He had seduced Ovelia, a woman Agrias loved like a sister, only to reveal his true intent to wield her as he would a scepter and leave her trapped in a loveless marriage that could easily end in her untimely death.

He had purposefully stood by, watching as Goltana taxed his people ruinously to finance a war neither side could hope to win, waiting with cold, calculating patience as tens of thousands died and hundreds of thousands were displaced just so he could kill Goltana at the opportune moment and offer himself as a better alternative.

He had conspired with the Church of Glabados to establish a puppet monarchy, only to betray them, kill several of their best, let Ramza and his band deal with the rest, and then commandeer the plot in order to make himself a king.

He had framed Orlandu for treason, and later for a crime Delita himself had committed, forcing a man who should've been allowed to retire honorably after decades of heroic service to instead live out his life in exile.

He had done nothing to expunge the false charge of heresy which Ramza had been cruelly stamped with and, if anything, had even exploited that in order to keep the Church chasing ghosts while he murdered his way to the throne.

He had forced Olan into service as his chancellor under the promise that he would leak information exonerating Orlandu, knowing that Olan's loyalty to his country and his word would shackle him to Delita's service indefinitely, whether the promise was kept or not.

And all of that was while Delita, demon though he might seem, was still very much a man.

How much worse would it be if Delita was now a Lucavi demon? If it were so, and the evidence hinted at that quite strongly, it would mean Ivalice had effectively become a province of hell and all of its people, who adored their peasant king who'd emerged from a fairy tale to guide them to a better future, unknowingly faced damnation on earth.

If it were so then, king or no, Delita had to die.

She was shaken from her ominous reverie when she heard the sound of cooing and giggling nearby. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she followed the sounds to the inner garden of the castle where she found a number of ladies, some richly dressed and others in the livery of servants, their gazes directed towards a grand willow tree that dominated the enclosure of sun dappled grass.

Laying against the ancient, gnarled wood of the trunk, eyes closed and snoring softly, was the object of her search.

Agrias was about to race across the lawn to rouse him, but stopped short when she noticed something else about the sleeping Ramza.

Curled up in his lap, and also asleep, was Rachel.

Agrias stopped dead in her tracks, her breath leaving her lungs as if she had been punched in the guts. The holy knight paused, taking a moment to muster her nerve as she took in the scene before her. Not for the first time, she felt a twinge of amusement at how Ramza, always frustrated by how he still looked like a boy even after he'd crossed the threshold of manhood, thought that growing a bit of facial hair would make him look more his true age.

That notion was, in Agrias's humble opinion, rather stupid.

After all, if those babyish cheeks of his were still round and rosy enough to attract the pinching fingers of cooing matrons, then what difference would some red dyed peach fuzz make?

A grin of rare amusement tugged at Agrias's lips at the thought. The rest of Ramza hardly proved accommodating to his long-held wish to look more the man he was and less the boy he had been. Though well-muscled under his tunic and breaches, his form could easily be mistaken for that of the lanky youth he had been not so long ago. His large eyes, though closed at the moment, likely contributed all the more to that impression, though one with discerning eyes might've seen that the large orbs of the last son of House Beoulve contained little of childhood in their depths.

Either these ladies were less-than-discerning, or they had simply the chance to see that last incongruity, for they were busy cooing over how, before the pair had tired themselves out, the father had been chasing his swiftly crawling daughter about the lawn while belting out some adorable variation an old children's book villain's aria.

"Fee, fie, foe, fon, I smell the blood of Gallione"? Agrias mused. Does that even rhyme?

Even as she rolled her eyes at the image, she could feel her heart, anxious and troubled though it was, grow a bit warmer at the image of Ramza at play with their daughter.

Their daughter.

The holy knight was more than wise enough to know that it would've taken very little for her to have ended up raising Rachel in vastly different circumstances.

The shock of seeing Cardinal Draclau, a man she had admired and respected even as cause to question his motives presented itself, turning into the Zodiac Brave Queklain, who was as far from a hero of divine origin as an Ultima Demon, was one Agrias doubted she would ever forget. Or truly recover from. Yet, that had been preceded by the news that Ovelia, whom she'd loved like a younger sister, had thrown in her lot with Delita, abandoning her loyal guardian in favor of a cadre of men who sought to wield her as they would a scepter. Thus, in the twinkling of an eye, the holy knight had seen her faith in God, or at least the Church she'd served all her life, irreparably shaken and the woman she'd sworn to serve unto death turn her back on the holy knight.

Granted, it was hardly Ovelia's fault that she had been wrested from Agrias's hand, or that accepting Delita's help seemed the only option other than having a noose in place of a crown. Yet, at the time, the blow had very nearly left her shattered, the injury of the Church's betrayal and the insult of losing the girl she had vowed to protect, orders or no, nearly crushing her spirit.

The pain of these unfathomable losses had, one fateful night, driven her to Ramza's tent where she simply asked him "help me forget".

In hindsight, which was as punctual as ever, she could not have possibly made a stupider decision than to make such a request, nor Ramza in having obliged. And, Agrias would not have blamed him if he had turned her away once it became obvious that he had gotten her with child. He was an outcast from his own family, he was a hunted man for killing a cardinal who had been subverted by demonkind, their small band was constantly on the move with enemies seemingly lurking around every corner, and, to even the most generous pair of eyes, their mission to bring an end to the Lucavi's plot seemed suicidal.

Surely the last thing Ramza Beoulve needed was a child, and born out of wedlock by a woman he'd known for only a few weeks, no less.

But, much to both of their astonishment, he had not turned her away. Instead, he wanted to make sure their child would have a better future than the grim past and uncertain present both parents had known. And, over long months of blood and death, he had succeeded.

Though history would never recall the feats of "Ramza Beoulve", the Lucavi had nonetheless been thwarted in their efforts to conquer Ivalice, their Zodiac Demons vanquished and their mortal pawns decimated. And, as if that weren't enough, Ramza, now known as Drake Seymour, had found a home for his unlikely family and even wed the woman whom he could've turned away.

Yet now, all that was in jeopardy.

And, as Agrias spied Rachel, so tiny and so vulnerable as she curled in her father's lap, thumb in mouth, the holy knight knew that time would prove every bit as merciless now as it had back then. So, trying to keep her mutinous eyes from misting as she did so, she made her way to the sleeping pair and gently shook her husband awake.

Ramza roused with a jaw creaking yawn that Agrias half expected to catch a few flies, and he regarded her with a drowsy smile. She returned it, still finding it curious how readily the gesture came when, for some years prior to their meeting, she smiled but rarely. Still, as she bent closer, just in case any of the gawkers had keen ears, her words belied the illusion.

"We need to talk. Privately. Now."

SSSSSS

"Was that really necessary, my dear?" Izlude asked, smiling despite wincing slightly as he studied the red handprint on his face.

"I certainly thought so," Alma answered huffily. "The gall of you to get me pregnant and then call me fat! You're just lucky I didn't react the same way as Agrias."

"Really? Ramza hardly struck me as the sort to let such a…slip of the tongue pass his lips."

"He didn't, as far as a I know. It was one of his old squad mates from the Hokuten Academy. She punched him – where, I shan't repeat – and then she lambasted him quite harshly."

Izlude, almost, laughed at the image. And, when Alma seemed to catch his thought and level a pout in his direction, he could swear his sides hurt holding in his mirth. Still, once Alma was done glowering at him, she regarded her new surroundings with some perplexity.

"Where are we?" Alma asked as she belatedly saw that Izlude had carried her up the stairs and into a room on the far side of the manor's east wing. As soon as he opened the door and ushered her inside, Izlude set her down, thankfully with no more attempts at being humorous, and thrust aside the curtains to allow sunlight into the room.

"This is my childhood room. Or used to be, since I lived here before I left for Murond to begin my training as a templar," he explained, his eyes taking on a nostalgic gleam. "Thankfully, my family's servants maintained it in my absence. Everything is exactly as I left it."

Alma didn't know why, but seeing Izlude's childhood room reminded her of her own at Beoulve Manor. She was still fuzzy on the last time she had seen it, but it must've been before she and Zalbag left for Lesalia, prior to Ramza and his band arriving there. At the time, she had been glad to get away from it for a little while, as it had seemed so empty without Teta. Now, however, having been forced to abandon it as well as her old identity and move into Lionel with Ramza, she could feel the sting of how many memories of the old days were ensconced in that room, and which had been left behind.

Alma had always told herself that it didn't matter, since home was wherever she could be with those she loved. But deep down, the Beoulve girl did miss her old home. Even if her father's death, Teta's death, and Dycedarg's apparent culpability in both had soured her memories of the place, knowing that she could never go back and try to make something better of it stung. More than once, she supposed the manor was now abandoned, shunned by the locals and covered in cobwebs. Or, worse, it might've since been repurposed as a den of thieves, not unlike Fort Zeakden during the War against the Corpse Brigade or the shelter for fisherman south of her home that had become an outpost of the Brigade and, later, for a band of deserters from the Hokuten.

Either was likely, she supposed sadly. Unlike the Tingels, everyone in Ivalice had assumed the entire Beoulve family had perished during the War of the Lions. In fact, between Ramza's status as a heretic and the seeming omen of disaster and death signified by mossfungus growing on her father's grave, it wouldn't surprise her if most believed the Beoulve's ancestral home to be cursed.

She shook off the thought and tried to focus on the room itself. Much like the room they had shared in Riovanes castle, this one had been decorated with masculine but opulent tastes. A sizable four-poster bed dominated one corner while, on the opposite side, an ornate fireplace yawned wide before a highbacked chair and a small table that had been strategically placed to catch the warmth of the fire. Bookshelves of heavy oak lined one section of the wall, the volumes covering subjects ranging from the scholarly to the practical, while an austere desk and writing chair rounded out the package.

"It's beautiful" she breathed. "A bit too hard lined for my tastes, but whoever kept this place up deserves a raise. I can only imagine how my own must look since Beoulve Manor must've been abandoned for good with the passing of my brothers. The servants and guards would have no reason to return and maintain my old home with Dycedarg and Zalbag gone."

Alma had tried to keep her tone even and matter of fact, but she must not have succeeded since Izlude turned concerned eyes onto her.

"You miss the place, then," he said, not a hint of inquiry in his tone.

"It's more the people I miss than the place," she clarified. "I have a lot of memories of living there with Father, Teta, Ramza, and Delita. But, after Father and Teta's deaths, Ramza and Delita's disappearances, the place just didn't seem the same. Too empty, too cold. Well, I miss the memories too, I guess, but there really isn't anything there to go back for. At least, nothing that I can't live without, anyway."

"I know what you mean, Alma," Izlude said gently. "This place is still standing, and Meliadoul is still alive, but it's really no different from yours. There wasn't much warmth left in this place after mother died and father was…changed. And, besides that, I can no longer call this room my own. Not since the day I abandoned the Tingel name and took on the identity of Damien Mitchel."

"About that…"

"Yes?"

"I thought the name sounded familiar when you introduced yourself to me, as Damien, for the first time."

"I'm not surprised you would think so. It was the name of one of the late Duke Barrington's bodyguards. He was slain during Hashmalum's rampage."

"But you were also one of his victims. I remember holding you just before you…you… And, I know that you didn't have a pulse after that. Yet here you are, standing before me without so much as a scratch on your body. And, you're wearing another man's face. Can you tell me how this came to be?"

Knowing that his answer would make for a long story indeed, Izlude decided that the best way to start would be to simply show Alma what made his return to the land of the living possible. Reaching into his pocket, Izlude took out the Pieces Stone.

Alma gasped. She recognized the Stone, not only because she knew what the fabled auracite truly was, but because one of Izlude's last acts before he'd – briefly, so it seemed – departed this earth was to hand that very Stone to her and ask her to keep it safe.

She'd sooner forget the Virgo Stone that had very nearly turned her into the earthly incarnation of the Angel of Blood.

Beyond that, however, she recalled how she had once overheard Ramza mentioning that same Stone to Rad and Beowulf. Though she never confronted her brother about it, Alma strongly suspected that Ramza was not in possession of all the holy stones and had been trying to keep it a secret from her, and even from Agrias as well. Seeing her fiancé holding the Pieces Stone before her now finally confirmed it.

Suffice to say, Alma planned to get in a good workout slapping Ramza for such an omission. Treating her like she was made of glass was bad enough, but doing likewise to Agrias, who could bend the spines of lesser warriors like they were cheap spoons, was just plain idiotic.

"It all started with this," Izlude began, somewhat unnecessarily. "I'm sure you know what happened to Duke Malak Galthana, since you are friends with his twin sister, Duchess Rafa? If not, then Ramza must have said something to you about it."

As the implication sank in, Alma gasped. Though she had not been present when Malak had been raised from the dead by the Scorpio Stone after he'd been fatally shot by Duke Barrington, she had indeed heard about it from Ramza and Rafa. At first, she hadn't believed it, but doubts had begun to creep in when she noticed the scars over Malak's heart from what Mustadio had later identified as an entry and exit wound.

Taking a wound directly through the heart and living to tell about it was not possible, even with the most powerful white magicks. And yet, the evidence was plain to see that Malak had died but had not stayed dead.

Besides which, if the Stones could turn ordinary humans into Lucavi demons, then it wouldn't be too farfetched to assume they could bring back the dead as well. Even so, the power of the Stones could not be used on a whim to fulfil whatever the bearer desired. Just the opposite, in fact. By all accounts, the Stone had chosen to revive Malak, even if it had needed Rafa's consent as well. So, if Malak and Izlude were revived, the Stone must have chosen for...for what, exactly?

Upon reflection, there was no way reviving Malak – or Izlude, for that matter – could benefit the Lucavi. If anything, reviving Malak had done the exact opposite, as had the Cancer Stone turning Reis back into a human, the Aquarius Stone activating Construct 8, and the Cancer Stone summoning Cloud from the Orrery. Further, the Pisces Stone reviving Izlude had, ultimately, had no bearing on the Lucavi's machinations. So, if the Stones had some semblance of a mind, or even a heart, then did they act independently of the Lucavi? If so, that meant…actually, Alma had no idea what that meant.

"He did," she said once she had shaken herself back to attention. "But why did the Stone choose you and Malak? It couldn't have been to help the Lucavi."

"I'm honestly not sure," Izlude admitted. "You're right that the Stones seem to have different motives than the Lucavi, or even from each other. One Stone turned Wiegraf into a demon, another gave me back my life. On paper, it doesn't make sense, and I doubt anyone could riddle it out. What I do know is that when I died, I had many regrets. Not the least of which being that I didn't believe you and Ramza until it was too late. And, even though I knew what would happen to this world once I leave it was no longer my problem, I still wished for a second chance to protect it. And you. At the moment of my death, I made a wish: I wanted to live. Not for myself, but for you, for my sister, and all those who died under my command, as well as to save the world they believed they had died to protect."

Here, he paused, and a deep, sad sigh parted his lips.

"I wasn't holding my breath on getting that wish…figuratively speaking, of course," he continued. "Between letting myself be duped by the Lucavi, dragging you into it, and then not recognizing the second chance you'd offered me by telling me the truth, I figured I'd had my chance and blown it. But, I still made the wish anyway. And to my amazement and wonder, the Pieces Stone heard my wish and granted it. I opened my eyes and found myself in my body once more. But even though I lived and breathed, I could not let it become known, lest Hashmalum find out and come back to finish me off for good. So, I took the armor, dog tag, and identity of the fallen Wyvern knight, Damien Mitchel and made my way out of the castle."

"And let me guess, you swapped your own armor, dog tag, and identity with Sir Damien's?" Alma asked.

"Yes. I had no choice if I wanted to continue my search for you without drawing attention to myself. I am – or rather, I was – the second in command of the Knights Templar, after all. What really startled me was how the Stone…changed me. My face, my hair, my eyes, my skin, even my voice."

"Did Meliadoul know?"

Izlude shook his head. "Not at first. Nobody did. It was imperative that I kept my true identity, as well as the fact that I still walked among the living, a secret. If I had revealed myself to my sister too soon, it would have put both of our lives in danger so long as the Lucavi still walked the earth. Even after your brother destroyed them, I still had to use caution since everyone believed Izlude Tingel perished in the Riovanes Castle Massacre."

"They believed it of Alma Beoulve as well," Alma added dryly. "Or at the very least, that she was missing and presumed dead, since there was no corpse to confirm my death."

"Yes… I know. The same could be said of your brother too. At first, I followed Ramza. I'm…still not sure if this was real or a hallucination but, when I was…gone, I had some sort of vision. I saw Hashmalum taking you into Orbonne and Ramza was chasing after. I decided to follow him, in case I had a chance to rescue you sooner, but decided that, as a backup plan, I could go to Orbonne and wait there for you to arrive. However, I was caught in the flood from Fort Besselat and, by the time I had recovered, I'd heard that Orbonne had been destroyed. I wasn't sure if you'd made it out, but then I heard that a brother and sister had been granted the title of Duke and Duchess of Lionel by the new king. I also heard that, allegedly, the pair were his cousins. I wondered if there might be a connection, so I decided to follow up. When I arrived in Lesalia, I found confirmation."

"How? I mean, that doesn't seem much to go on. Delita's "cousins" could've been anybody."

Knowing that this too would make for a long story, Izlude gestured for Alma to follow him. To her surprise, she saw him pull out what appeared to be a portrait he had hidden behind a curtain. When she got a closer look at it, Alma gasped. It was the very same portrait she posed for as compensation for the painting Agrias had wanted, but which proved to cost more coin than she'd had on her.

"Wh... where did you get that?" she asked, unable to hide her astonishment.

"I bought it when I came across an art studio in Dorter Trade City," Izlude answered. "Before that, it was only speculation on my part that you were still alive, let alone living under the identity of Duchess Seymour. But when I saw this portrait, my suspicions were confirmed, so I had to buy it despite my funds running low at the time. But truthfully, I'd rather go without a few meals than pass up something that reminded me so much of you. Especially since I had little else but my memories. I also wanted to present it to you as a gift."

Alma blushed, both touched by his gift and in amazement that he had managed to find the portrait at all. What were the odds that Izlude would find the portrait she had posed for, let alone recognize and identify her from it, despite the new disguise she had taken as Lionel's new duchess? Unless…

"Was it the holy stone that enabled to find me?" she asked.

"Yes and no," he answered. "The Stone doesn't do everything for me. It can point me in the right direction and even chime in when it thinks I'm on to something, but I also had to use my wits and intuition as well. Not just while I was searching for you but also when I came to Gollund and purged the town of the phantoms that were terrorizing the miners and residents."

"So that story I read about in The Lesalia Times wasn't an exaggeration? Did you really exorcise Gollund?" Alma asked, amazed.

"That… wasn't the original plan. After I'd heard that the Duchess would be making an appearance in Lesalia, I knew had to claim your hand before anyone else did. And though I had made a great effort to do so, I could not have done it without the help of the Pieces Stone. Getting nearly drowned at Besselat wasn't the only brush with death that I'd had, and there were many more obstacles to overcome before reaching Lesalia."

"Really?"

"Yes. In addition to having to keep my true identity secret, I had to amass a new fortune, lest I have nothing to offer you. Especially since my "death" meant that my family's fortune is now forever lost to me."

Curious, Alma pressed Izlude further. "I've been told that 'Damien Mitchell' was a self-made man of humble beginnings who amassed a huge fortune almost overnight. Can you tell me how it came to be?"

Not having any way out of spinning a lengthy yarn this time, Izlude gestured to the chair by the fire, which Alma obligingly lowered herself into. Izlude took his place in the writing chair by his old desk and told how he had learned of the Ivalician Mining and Metalworking Consortium as well as how, after noticing some troubling peculiarities about the site, he had learned that the mines were haunted. Worse, he had learned that the business was hemorrhaging money trying, unsuccessfully for the most part, to keep the workers mining despite the spectral infestation and that, if nothing was done, the business would fail, taking hundreds of jobs with it and dealing a disastrous blow to Ivalice's recovery.

He then told of his resolution to destroy the specters, despite the risks involved, and how his brave gamble had paid off tenfold (minimum) when he found that the ghosts had been guarding a huge cache of gold and jewels, a generous portion of which Aldrich, patriarch of the Consortium, had allowed him to take in gratitude for saving his business and the livelihoods of his workers.

Izlude had barely finished when Alma was on her feet and vaulting over to hug him.

"That was so brave of you!" she gushed, very nearly in tears. "I'm so proud!"

"Yes…but I didn't do it alone," he pointed out, somewhat surprised at his own modesty. "Aside from the Stone lending me the power to destroy the ghosts, I also had the help of some very good people who were willing to put their lives on the line to save the town and their jobs. Thanks to them, I was able to amass a new fortune, one worthy to court even a princess. But I am not seeking the hand of a princess or even a duchess; I seek the woman I love first and foremost. And, thanks to the Stone and everyone else who's helped me along the way, I have succeeded. So, I'll ask again, will you marry me, Alma?"

For the second time in her life, Alma Beoulve didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was simply too good to be true and she could not help but wonder what she ever did to deserve such good fortune, what she did that allowed her to have back the man she loved when so many others had not been so fortunate.

Unable to make up her mind, the Duchess of Lionel found herself laughing and crying at the same time as she threw herself into her fiancé's arms once again.

"Yes, of course, I will!" she squealed.

Eyes misting as well, Izlude drew her in, holding her close and savoring the wonder of having her back after his many travails. He had ventured through haunted mines, through floods, and even a brief sojourn in the realm of the deceased, and it had all been worth it to have a second chance with the woman who had claimed his heart.

Izlude was brought back to reality when he noticed the writing chair creaking, audibly, under their combined weight, and he noticed his fiancée had blushed a bit when she realized that the chair had remained quite silent when the solidly built knight blade had seated himself. And, even with both of them in it, it would've stayed quiet unless she was…heavier.

"By the way, Alma… are you really…?" Izlude asked, unable to keep his gaze from darting warily to her hand.

The Beoulve girl blushed again. "I am. You mentioned it earlier, but how did you guess?"

"I didn't, as such. But, during our first dance at the ball, I thought I felt something pulse against me. It must've been the baby kicking. When I tried to run after you, Ramza and Malak caught me and, when they saw the Stone, I had no choice but to tell them everything. And… they told me everything. So, how far along are you?"

"Almost four months, I think."

"Does anyone else know?"

Alma shook her head. "Just my brother and our closest friends. And of course, the king and queen. That's why Delita arranged all of this. It was his hope, and Ramza's, that I would choose a husband before… well, you know…"

"I do. We should inform them immediately. Under normal circumstances, I'd prefer to take this slow and easy, especially since this whole situation came about by us…rushing things. But, it doesn't look like we're going to have that luxury. Not if you don't want your reputation tainted."

Hearing the hint of self-recrimination in his tone, the Beoulve girl decided to intervene. Izlude may have believed himself responsible for getting her with child before they were married, but she had been a…willing participant.

"I don't care about that…," Alma affirmed, but Izlude cut her off.

"But I do," Izlude said gently, though he brooked no argument. "I'll not have your second life ruined by my impulsiveness, or yours for that matter. And from the looks of it, your brother and friends are of like mind. If you agree, I'll inform Delita and Ramza immediately. We should marry as soon as possible, before you can no longer hide your condition."

Alma nervously rubbed her belly, all too aware that too much had happened in one day and that the next few would offer no reprieve. Although she cared nothing for her own reputation, she knew she also had her child's to consider. Not to mention the feelings of those who cared for her.

The mark of heresy wasn't the only cruel stamp that could affect more than the accused, and the stigma of being born out of wedlock was no less an ignominious brand for child, mother, or close relations.

"Yes, you're right," she admitted.

"I'm glad," Izlude said, with a loud sigh of relief. Then, adjusting his grip on Alma, he gave her belly a gentle rub. "Here's to you, little one. Papa is eager to meet you."

Izlude found himself wondering what their baby might look like. And, for a troubling moment, he wondered if the child might resemble Izlude Tingel rather than Damien Mitchell, and the worrisome questions that might raise. As it often did, the Stone vibrated in his pocket, as though telling him not dwell on his fears and to focus on what he could do…

…but, strangely, the vibration seemed…less insistent than usual. Almost as if the attention of whatever inscrutable will governed the Stone's actions was, at least somewhat, directed elsewhere.

But, what could the Stone's mysterious will be contemplating? What could have attracted its attention?

What this could mean, he had no idea. But, for now, he decided he would simply savor being back with Alma and the child they would soon welcome into the world.

SSSSSS

Once the small family was safely behind closed doors, and Rachel had been put down for her nap, Agrias whirled on Ramza, her expression grim.

"Something is wrong with Delita," she said without preamble. "Very wrong."

The holy knight did not like the way Ramza's brow furrowed at hearing that. She wasn't sure if it was surprise or disbelief that crossed his features, but it nonetheless rankled. Though Agrias loved her husband as she had loved no other, she was not blind to his faults.

How could she be when he'd nearly gotten himself killed by them so often?

Though he was a brave and compassionate man, he'd had a tendency to charge to the rescue of others while being very nearly blind to the risks to himself. Too often, while racing to save one whose fate balanced upon the edge of a knife, he had nearly ended up with a knife in his own back because he had chosen the fastest path by which to make a rescue rather than the most prudent. Though he was a natural leader and a gifted combatant, his lack of self-confidence and his disdain towards needlessly taking lives could overshadow his better judgement. But, chief of all these weaknesses was Delita.

Simply put, Delita was a blind spot for Ramza.

Agrias, and indeed most of the Ramza's other companions – along with Delita's own wife, no less! – had long since accepted the truth that Delita was a devious, manipulative, and treacherous man, who would make a puppet out of whomever he had to in order to achieve his ends and then discard them, usually by killing them or arranging for another puppet to do so for him, once their usefulness had ended. The fear that such a fate might befall her family had caused Agrias more than one sleepless night, as did the possibility that Delita might "coincidentally" become a widower once his line of succession was secure.

And yet, for reasons which Agrias still found baffling, Ramza had not reached the same conclusion.

Whenever Ramza had talked about Delita, he talked of how, seemingly a lifetime ago, they had been brothers in all but blood, of how he blamed himself more than he did Algus Sadalfas for Teta's untimely death, how he regretted how he and his "brother" had parted ways, and how, in spite of everything, he still loved Delita as a brother.

Agrias still remembered how, upon first learning of their relationship following Ovelia's abduction by Delita so long ago, that she'd found herself wondering if the two "brothers" might still be working together. Perhaps Delita abducted Ovelia, and afterward Ramza would help "rescue" her in order to gain the Lionsguard's trust, and then lead them into a trap where Ovelia could be more securely fettered. Even at the time, it had seemed farfetched, but that hadn't stopped her from questioning him about it shortly thereafter.

And, thankfully, neither her pride nor his incredulity had allowed that show of distrust to stay between them for long.

Still, the holy knight could guess at the pain her husband had felt when his best friend and brother in all but blood had vanished amid the consuming flames that used to be Fort Zeakden. She had seen the regret he had felt when he had seen just what had emerged from those flames. And, she could easily guess how he would be wounded all the more when he heard the mounting evidence that even that jaded husk of a man may very well have had what was left of his soul subverted by the Lucavi.

To liken it to reopening old wounds – many of them, in fact – and rubbing salt into them was perhaps too weak an analogy, but she could think of none better. Still, the sad truth remained that she had to do precisely that to her husband. If Delita had been subverted, then Ramza had to be made to see this truth, to finally let go of the memory that so tormented him and take action against the demon who may very well now wear Delita's shell. And crown.

If that could not be done, she shuddered to imagine what the future held for their daughter, for their unborn niece of nephew, and all the others they had fought and bled for behind the curtain of the War of the Lions.

"What…do you mean?" Ramza asked, the hesitation in his voice telling her far more than his words ever would.

The holy knight's eyes narrowed. Ramza's eyes widened in alarm as though he feared a beating. It was a fear Agrias had half a mind to justify.

"Wait, did you already know?!" she demanded, incredulously.

"Wait, wait! Let's calm down and talk about this rationally! What do you mean Delita has been acting strangely? It looked like you'd been avoiding him as best you could the whole time we've been here."

That, Agrias supposed, was a fair point. She had never liked the man who had once shared Ovelia's bed, a fact she disliked at least as much. So, with an effort of will, she calmed herself and continued.

"Earlier today, I had lunch with Queen Ovelia," she began, noting Ramza's expression shift again but not letting it distract her. "She told me a very interesting story about how Delita has been acting lately."

She then laid out the evidence her onetime charge had relayed. How Delita had once been a driving force in the royal court and, to Agrias's admittedly uncharitable eyes, had polished up his angelic image all the more by getting to know his servants and showing human interest (or a very convincing imitation thereof) in their lives and families. How Delita had, in ways subtle and not-so-much, worked to make sure that every last scrap of good news in Ivalice's reconstruction had his stamp upon it, both to secure his own legacy and to stifle any who might seek to challenge his achievements or the legitimacy of his reign. Of how, though presumably to keep up appearances, he had seemed quite attentive and solicitous to the queen he had wed at the end of his seeming fairy tale of a story.

Of course, that was then. According to Ovelia, now was quite different.

Now, Delita was prone to long periods of distraction, punctuated by inexplicable bouts of agitation, when the royal court convened. He'd abruptly stopped his socializing with the servants. Rather than discreetly hoarding the credit for every sign of Ivalice's future brightening, he'd suddenly begun shoving his subordinates into the limelight. He and Ovelia were more estranged than ever they had been.

But, most tellingly of all, he had sent Olan, Balmafula, and his and Ramza's old squad mates from the Hokuten Academy off on some mysterious errand whose nature was unknown to all.

Having seen how Cardinal Draclau's behavior when they'd met his was very much at odds with what others had reported of the man, and having heard how Weigraf Folles, Marquis Elmdor, and Vormav Tingel all showed drastic shifts of character after having been taken by the Zodiac Stones, and knowing that one such Stone had crossed Delita's doorstep several times by now, the holy knight had a most terrible theory about what this all added up to.

Delita was allowing his attention to wander during council meetings and was no longer a social butterfly amongst the help? A Lucavi demon wouldn't care about this month's economic forecasts or that butler's son getting into art school.

Delita had suddenly stopped monopolizing the credit for Ivalice's recovery and was instead letting his subordinates take the bows? A Lucavi demon would regard adulation merely as a means to an end and, upon having enough of it, would want time and distance from the public eye to enact his plans.

Delita had gone for days, if not longer, without sharing a room, let alone a bed with Ovelia? If a Lucavi demon could not even imitate love, why would he undertake something as laborious as mending a deeply troubled marriage?

Delita had sent Olan, Balmafula, and six Chimera Knights who'd known him since he was a humble cadet off on some mysterious errand that no one seemed to know anything about? A Lucavi demon would surely be able to recognize that, of all the people who knew Delita was not to be trusted, those eight were the only ones who were around him all the time. A Lucavi demon might also be able to discern that, if he assumed his true form, those eight would likely be able to vanquish him. So, sending them off to who-knows-where for who-knows-how-long to do who-knows-what would seem a sensible precaution for a Lucavi demon to take.

Add in how Izlude had brought the Pisces Stone into Lesalia Castle several times already, and the evidence painted a picture born of nightmares.

More than likely, Delita had been subverted, his very soul – whatever was left of it – evicted and replaced with the demon who'd resided in the Pisces Stone. And, since the shell the demon wore had the crown of Ivalice upon his brow and the wealth of the kingdom at his fingertips, that made him a far more dangerous host than Draclau, Weigraf, Elmdor, Dycedarg, and Vormav combined.

The case that Delita was beyond salvation was strong, her theory fitting the evidence quite neatly.

So, one can imagine just how badly Agrias wanted to tear her hair out, and someone's head off, when Ramza still seemed unconvinced.

"What is the matter with you?!" Agrias railed, half furious and half despairing. "You've seen how Delita manipulated Ovelia, how he killed Confessor Zalmo simply for seeing you with him, we both know he killed Duke Goltana, and God only knows how many people died on the battlefield or starved to death while he sat by waiting for the nobles to dig themselves a deep enough grave to suit his agenda! How can you still defend him after all that?!"

For a stretching second, Ramza seemed to be struggling with that very question. A part of Agrias felt betrayed that he hadn't seen her logic immediately, but the rest of her was wise enough to know that having a cherished illusion shattered was no trifling matter, and that screaming at him would do nothing to hasten acceptance or to soften the blow.

After several more seconds of indecision, which Agrias tried not to let spark her anger anew, her husband seemed to come to a difficult decision.

"Do you remember how, not long after we first arrived, Delita and I were seen entering his office, sporting quite the collection of bruises?" he asked.

That question caused Agrias's frustration to vanish like a popped bubble, and bewilderment at the seeming non-sequitur quickly crowded in to replace it.

"Wait, what does that have to do with anything?" she asked, too confused to even sound testy.

"Something happened that night that I think you need to know. I should've told you sooner, and I'm sorry I didn't. But, please, hear me out."

Despite no small amount of skepticism, Agrias nodded for him to continue his story.

And, what a story it was.

Apparently, having seen for himself that Delita had been acting strangely, Ramza had slipped away to follow him in hopes of getting answers. And, he had gotten quite a bit more than he'd bargained for. Having followed Delita to the war council chamber, the secret and fortified warren where the royalty of Ivalice would seek refuge should capital and castle alike fall under siege, Ramza had found Delita in the throes of madness. He had been railing wide-eyed at the air around him, calling out the names of Algus Sadalfas, Baron Grimms, Duke Goltana, and others Ramza did not recognize but could guess at. Then, he relayed how, amidst cries of despair and rage, Delita had drawn his blade and began hacking at everything in sight, including Ramza himself whom he had repeatedly addressed as "Algus". Ramza had, of course, tried to get through to the deranged king, but what words he'd said failed to reach his ears until, in desperation, he'd fought back.

Part of Agrias was impressed that, even in the heat of the moment, Ramza had had the wherewithal to see that he was faced with a dangerous foe he had to defend himself against but could not afford to kill, that he had managed to fend off the blows, disarm Delita, who was a skilled combatant in his own right, and then subdue him with fisticuffs. Still, the bizarre tale staggered further and further into strangeness, with Delita neck deep in despair and sinking fast until Ramza, who had even more cause than Agrias or Ovelia to hate him, had arrested his descent through the least expected of means:

Forgiveness.

Not sure whether to be more gobsmacked by Ramza forgiving Delita or the act apparently having an impact on the king, Agrias listened further as Delita promptly matched that astonishment with another by burning the leverage he'd held over Olan and Balmafula (literally, in the case of the latter) and offering to release both of them from his service on the spot. The pair had refused, though the holy knight could guess both had been as confused as she by this turn and would corroborate the story if she could track them down and ask. And, to top it all off, Delita wanted Ramza to become the first Grandmaster of the Order of the Chimera.

Putting Ramza in command of the Chimera Knights would mean, for all intents and purposes, that Ramza would be in command of Ivalice's entire military.

Every Lucavi in every layer of hell had to know who Ramza was and what he had done to their plans and their brethren by now.

If a Lucavi had possessed Delita, it would've had to have nothing in its head but sulfurous gas to have made such a proposition.

"Think about it," Ramza urged, unable to keep a note of pleading from his tone. "You've heard from Meliadoul what Vormav was like before and after the Leo Stone subverted him. And, you know what Draclau had to have been like before and after he became Queklain. If a Lucavi demon can't even imitate love, then how could he imitate grief? Or regret? Or self-loathing? Or guilt? How could something that can't feel love manage to feel pain, or loss, or even feel bad about what he's done?"

To that, Agrias had no reply. She knew that Ramza would argue for Delita, plead for him, try (futilely, she feared) to see the good in him.

Yet, for all that, Ramza would not lie for Delita.

And, admittedly, this did cast the recent evidence in a different, and very much unexpected, light.

Suppose Ramza had seen precisely what he believed he had seen? Though it was a difficult notion to swallow that Delita had a conscience, and that it had emerged from its long dormancy to very nearly strangle him to death with his many sins, could that offer another explanation for his odd behavior?

Was it the ghosts of those he'd killed, either with purposeful blows of his blade or through calculated inaction while biding his time, that distracted him during council meetings? Was it believing that the credit for whatever good came from the legacy he'd built upon treachery and innocent blood should not be his that had him withdraw from the limelight? Was it guilt that kept him from Ovelia's bed? Was it fear that he might fall to deeper evils that made him want to appoint the one person he could trust, perhaps the only person left he had to trust, to the one position that could realistically threaten his power?

"What about Olan and the others?" she asked. "You still haven't explained where they were sent or why."

"I don't know," Ramza admitted. "They were sent out just after Delita…just after he was coherent again. I couldn't see the orders he passed to them. I just know they're out looking for something."

That meant that the absence of Olan and the others, and what they might be looking for, remained a loose thread, and a worrisome one at that. As yet, she could see no way to make it fit into Ramza's interpretation of events and, in light of what Ramza had told her, she was no longer entirely certain of her own theory.

But, she supposed, that was beside the point.

Regardless of where Olan and his band had gone or why, and even if the impossible had happened and Delita's attack of conscience had indeed happened and was the true root of his recent oddities, the danger Agrias feared very much remained.

The Delita she knew and hated had, for all his many faults, been a man she could admit was self-assured and centered in his plots and designs. He had masterminded the downfall of the nobility and the crippling of the Church of Glabados, both of which had seemed to have an unshakable grip on Ivalice for centuries, and he'd humbled both using little more than his wits and cunning. Now, he was the sole power broker of Ivalice, adored by the masses and feared by any who doubted his angelic veneer. He was a man who had everything he wanted and more. He was a man whose enemies were vanquished. And, above all, he was the King of Ivalice, guiding the ship of state to a new future of his own devising and which the once downtrodden commoners were only too happy to embrace.

Simply put, the Stone would've had nothing to offer him that he did not already have or couldn't acquire for himself.

But, that had been then.

Now, if Ramza was correct, some belated wakening of a long, seemingly dead moral center had caused all that to change. Now Delita knew the sheer depth of the evils he had committed to win his crown. And more than that, the knowledge had had an impact upon him. It had stripped away the armor of rationalization he has used to justify what he had done, whom he had harmed, and the depths he had sunk to in order to achieve a world in which there would not be another Teta…and he had also realized how horrified Teta herself would've been had she lived to see any of his bloody legacy.

To a man who could coldly estimate how many impoverished people needed to starve and how many soldiers needed to die in a futile war, all the while coolly calculating how to make himself a hero by hewing the head from the old order of Ivalice and then bringing a decisive end to the cycle of death and misery, the Stone could offer nothing of consequence.

But, to a man who now could not look upon such a legacy of secret infamy, nor even his own reflection, without being overwhelmed by crippling self-loathing? To a man whose mind tottered on the edge of an abyss after the walls of will behind which he'd banked the sheer volume of the blood he'd spilled had shattered, leaving him drowning? To a man who ruled a kingdom enamored with an illusion and what few people knew the truth behind the mask, including his own wife, being terrified of him?

She could practically hear the sibilant voice of the demon intone "I can work with that".

Because now, Delita wanted something that she was quite sure no machination of his could provide him: redemption. In his own eyes, in Ramza's, perhaps even in Ovelia's and Teta's.

Though she had little idea of how the Stones had persuaded their prior hosts to embrace them, or even what the Stones had persuaded them with, it seemed all too plausible that a Stone which "could twist the very weave of nature", as Draclau had put it, would have much it could use to entice a troubled soul. She already knew the Stone could undo death itself and, if it could undo one death, could it undo that of the countless others who had died while the warring dukes clawed at each other and Delita waited with mercurial patience? Perhaps it could undo Teta's death, or prevent it from happening at all, so Delita would never have embarked upon the road to hell he'd paved with good intentions and mortared together with the blood of those he'd professed to be fighting for? The Stone might even offer him the power to win his crusade against the nobility, but this time with no bloodshed.

For a desperate man drowning in a sea of regrets and seemingly with no recourse, a few false but well-worded promises might be all it took to make a king bow before a demon.

Indeed, this might be the very reason the Pisces Stone resurrected Izlude in the first place. The Stone just happened to revive a knight blade who just happened to fall in love with a girl whom Delita professed to care for as a sister. And, the Stone just happened to guide Izlude to his reunion with his love when she just happened to be making her debut on the Ivalician social scene during a ball that just happened to be taking place under the king's own roof? And, this all just happened to occur just after Delita's breakdown?

That was far too many coincidences for Agrias's liking. And, for all either of them knew, the Stone might already be enticing Delita to find some way to "acquire" it from its present owner.

If that happened, Ivalice was doomed.

She said as much to Ramza, warning him that the Stone now had an opening by which it could beguile Delita into accepting the demon within. And, that it might already be setting the bait.

"I'm not going to deny the risk is there," her husband admitted, and Agrias could find no gratification from this slip in his otherwise maddening loyalty to the memory of who Delita used to be. "But, I'm not going to give up on him. I already know he's not beyond all hope. If he were, I wouldn't have been able to get through to him that night."

Here, he paused and glanced towards the door, beyond which lay their slumbering daughter.

"I know you have your doubts about what it will be like for Rachel to grow up with Delita as her king, or for Ovelia to have Delita as her husband," he admitted, and she could tell it was with no small amount of effort. "If we have the chance to change that for the better, shouldn't we?"

If it was uncommon for Agrias to smile, it was rarer still for her to laugh.

But, laugh she did. It started as stifled giggles, then turned into a guffaw, and finally an overpowering, husky belly laugh punctuated by tears of hilarity and less-than-gentle thumping Ramza across his back.

"What the blazes is so funny?!" he asked, and Agrias could swear he was pouting.

"You…," the holy knight began, but needed to get her breath before she could continue. "You really are one of a kind, aren't you? Anybody else would be talking about killing Delita to replace him, or over some grudge or other. Anybody else would look at what's happening to him and see an opportunity to be exploited. But, you? All you see if a fellow man who needs help, in spite of everything he's done."

Not so long ago, Ramza would've looked confused at just what about that had been so…well, confusing. Now, though harsh experience had shown him that the warmth of human kindness was a far rarer commodity than it should've been, and perhaps all the more precious for the scarcity, he replied with the same words he would've then, if not the same tone.

"What's wrong with that?" he asked, though his tone conveying disapproval for those who saw differently than he rather than confusion that other eyes saw other things.

"Nothing," Agrias said simply. "I know I've had a few criticisms about how you do things-"

"A few?"

"Hey, if it was more than a few, that's your fault. Still, that part of you, the part that sees someone who needs help and doesn't think about whether that person deserves it or what you could get in return? That thinks the best way to make the world a bit better is take people who are broken and put them back together instead of just finding a wrongdoer and lobbing his head off? Make sure that part of you doesn't change. And, if you can, see if you can bang it into Delita's skull. Maybe that will make the future better for Rachel. And Ovelia."

A part of her regarded her own words with jaded eyes, believing that nothing short of a right hook to the jaw from God Himself could tame Delita's ego-fueled self-righteousness. And, yes, Ramza had saved many a life, directly and indirectly. But, saving someone from armed assailants, demons, or the fires of war was one thing.

How do you save someone his own inner demons?

How do you save a man from himself?

But, the rest of her knew that Ramza was a force of nature. He had turned onetime enemies into friends, vanquished demons born of the burning hells, bested any challenge set before him, and accomplished the impossible more times than she could count.

Surely, he could achieve one last marvel?

And, more to the point, as Agrias herself had said, Ramza had quite a talent for aiding people who were broken.

When his former squad mates saw, as Ramza had, that the Hokuten they'd aspired to join had been consumed by corruption, Ramza had committed himself to finding a new course for them to follow.

When Rad Phillips decided he couldn't stomach his then-employer Gafgarion leading him in an assassination attempt against Ovelia, he'd joined Ramza, who gave him a new home and purpose.

When Agrias, Alicia, and Lavian's mission to safeguard Ovelia had ended in failure, and the dawn of the War of the Lions, Ramza had offered them a second chance to protect the realm and, when Agrias became pregnant, he offered her love and marriage when anyone else would've turned her away.

When Mustadio was a hunted man, and his father a hostage of the corrupt Bart Trading Company, Ramza hadn't thought twice (perhaps not even once, in Agrias's opinion) before charging to the rescue.

When Rafa had fled her life as a hired blade and plaything of Duke Barrington, and needed help to rescue her brother, and when she and Malak found themselves with neither home nor master afterwards, Ramza took them in and gave them the chance to atone for their past wrongdoings.

When Meliadoul had been forced to face the truth that her father's very soul had been subverted by the Lucavi, that the demon who wore her father's skin had killed her brother, and that the order she'd served all her life was gutted by demonic corruption, Ramza had set aside her prior attempts to kill him and gave her the chance to avenge her family.

When Beowulf lost Reis, first to her transformation into a dragon and then to Celebrant Bredmont, Ramza hadn't hesitated before lending the former templar his aid.

So, yes, perhaps he could accomplish another marvel.

And, if he needed help to do it, he had a small army of people, tempered by the flames of adversity and extraordinary in their own right, who would happily aid him.

"Alright," he said, apparently having discerned her thoughts. "I'll do everything I can to help Delita. As a precaution, we should get in touch with Izlude and Alma. The Stone can't be parted from him but, if he can leave it behind, then he can take it somewhere where it can be hidden."

"That makes sense," the holy knight agreed. "And, if the Stone does get its hooks into Delita?"

For a moment, Agrias regretted asking. But, she also knew that it would be foolish if no one pointed out that such a potentiality needed to be addressed. And, as much as she loved Ramza, she knew that he would not consider it on his own. Sure enough, she saw his brow furrow and his lips compress into a thin grim line. After a long moment, he sighed.

"If it does come to that," he began, "then I guess we won't have a choice but to kill him. I can barely bring myself to think about the consequences, not just losing a friend but what this will do to Ivalice's people. You can say he doesn't deserve it, and maybe he doesn't, but they adore Delita. And, it's not as if there's anyone else around who I'd trust with the crown."

Here Ramza paused and let out a long breath, as though bracing himself for something he dreaded to face.

"But, yes," he finally said. "If he does turn, then I will kill him. I don't want it to come to that but, if it does, I should be the one to do it. I failed to help him save Teta and to spare Delita from what happened after. I want to help him to mend, but if the best I can do for him, as a friend, is to kill him and spare him the horror of being a Lucavi host, then I will."

"Yes, I agree," Agrias said, chuckling.

"Now what's so funny?"

"Something just occurred to me. For all the adoration Delita has, but doesn't deserve, there's no shortage of people who would've run him through on the off chance they could've replaced him. Heck, you could've done it, dressed it up as an accident or suicide, and been crowned since you're his "cousin"."

Seeing Ramza blink dumbly for a moment before his expression screwed up in distaste, the holy knight let out another, louder laugh.

"You didn't even consider that, did you?" she asked, surprised, and not for the first time, by Ramza. "Most people would have."

"I'm not most people," Ramza answered, almost reflexively.

"I know. And, never let that change." After saying these earnest words, Agrias's expression turned coy. "After all, it's why I came to love you."

Something else about Ramza that Agrias doubted would change, and which she privately hoped never would, was how being reminded of that, or any of his other accomplishments, caused a smile of boyish abashment to cross his face. It had become something of a favorite prank amongst some of their companions who would induce him to smile like that while in public and, inevitably, a matronly woman would promptly coo over the "sweet looking lad" and pinch his cheeks like he was still as much a boy as he sometimes looked.

Aside from how cute that smile was, she also admired the humility behind it.

Ramza would accomplish this marvel, she believed. And, he'd try to dump the credit in someone else's lap. And, she looked forward to getting a good laugh at how he'd splutter and protest at the praise he'd quietly receive.

"So, what shall we do before we march into battle?" she intoned huskily.

Whatever Ramza had been about to suggest was promptly forgotten as he noticed the flames of desire dancing in Agrias's eyes and, despite turning as red as a beet at the implication, a nervous smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Chuckling at how his answering smile seemed so incongruous to a man who had faced down man and demon alike – and, more to the point, had already bedded her – she snatched him by his lapels and dragged him in for a kiss. Her tongue lanced across the threshold of their melded lips, and, after half a second's hesitation, his own tongue grappled with hers. Some clumsy probing found the hem of his tunic and her fingers began working their way underneath.

"What happened to "Let's get used to the baby we have before we make any more"?" Ramza panted out, sounding half nervous, half excited.

"Think of this as an added incentive to succeed," Agrias rasped in answer. "Besides, I think you'd like having another little one to chase after while belting out "Fee, fie, foe, fon"."

Ramza, almost, spluttered at hearing this, and Agrias couldn't help but chuckle as embarrassment deepened the redness of his cheeks. But, not one to take such a slight laying down, he swooped in and began to pepper her neck with kisses, which made the holy knight shiver with less-than-holy urges.

"Oh, come now!" he begged between pecks. "I wasn't that bad! Besides, I'd like Rachel to be able to look back at us and say we were there for her instead of being just another pair of nobles who threw money at parenthood and hoped for the best."

"Fine, but I'm still not convinced that rhymes properly with "I smell the blood of Gallione"," she managed to point out as she heaved for air.

Deciding that point wasn't worth the breath it took to argue it, Ramza began fumbling with the straps for the holy knight's shoulder pauldrons while she groped blindly for his belt.

Before much else could happen, a malodorous aroma reached their nostrils and, immediately thereafter, a piercing cry rang out from Rachel's room. The two parents let out of a laugh and shook their heads at their daughter's timing.

"Flip you for it?" Ramza suggested, producing a coin.

Agrias Oaks had not been a mother long, and had been a wife for an even shorter period of time, but she had learned that both entailed many a small sacrifice and countless discomfitures endured for one's family.

This, however, did not stop her from grabbing Ramza by the shoulder and spinning him in the direction of the door and the room which was rapidly becoming more and more pungent.

"After you made me listen through that entire lecture on your best friend without the small courtesy of letting me sit down first? No, you will go change the diapers," she informed him, delivering a firm kick to his backside to punctuate her words.

"Yes, dear," Ramza said with good natured sarcasm, which quickly turned to racking coughs after the door was opened. "But I'll remember this the next time you make me stand and listen to a long spiel."

SSSSSS

For the second time in as many hours, Alma was running.

This time, however, it was not disbelief or confusion or terror that spurred her, but excitement and joy.

Feeling lightheaded from both exertion and ecstasy, Alma wiped her brow as she dashed down the hallway of Tingel Manor. Despite managing a respectable pace for a pregnant woman, she was breathing hard and holding up her skirts so that she would not trip over them made her flight a bit awkward. Still, the Beoulve girl was in raptures at learning that her true love had indeed returned to her and wasn't some cruel hallucination of her wishful imagination.

She felt as though her heart would burst with happiness, and she could swear her unborn child was squirming with delight in her womb as if he, or she, understood that she was happy and why.

Alma's first instinct after she parted ways with Izlude was to find Mustadio so that he could escort her back to Lesalia Castle. Though she knew the list of people who could know the truth about Damien was a short one, she did want to tell Manon and Charlotte that the potential step-father they'd taken a liking to at the balls would be the one whose ring she would accept. Beyond that, while Izlude himself had promised to inform Delita and Ramza of the impending wedding, Alma felt that it was she who ought to inform Ovelia, Agrias, Reis, Rafa, and the Murry twins that she had finally chosen her husband-to-be.

Ideally, Alma would have loved to have Izlude with her when she broke the news to her other lady friends. But since their engagement had not been formally announced to the public yet, who knew what scandalous rumors may start if they were seen together at peculiar hours? And, even though Alma herself had said that she was not concerned with her own reputation, she knew that Izlude was right when he asked her to consider that of her child as well as that of her new family and friends. So lost in her thoughts was Alma that she failed to notice that the one person she was searching for was also in the hallway searching for her.

Only a load "WHOA!" shook her free of her reverie and she skidded to a halt, very nearly crashing into Mustadio and Meliadoul.

"Oh!" the Duchess of Lionel cried out when she found herself, much to her dismay, tripping on her skirts and falling right into Mustadio's arms.

"Careful, my lady!" he gasped, sounding for all the world like he'd dodged a bullet by the narrowest margin.

Her earlier joy wilting slightly under the weight of mortification, Alma inwardly smacked herself for her clumsiness. She didn't want to make a habit out of crashing into people from not paying attention to her surroundings, especially other men in the gossip capital of the kingdom.

Mustadio himself, however, did not seem to mind beyond his brief alarm earlier. Being the hopelessly kind young man he was, the blond machinist was concerned for Alma's well-being first and foremost and, if told that young women falling into his arms could be interpreted in an injurious light, would've likely been baffled.

"Quite the charmer, eh Peashot?" a husky female voice rang out from behind him.

This, by contrast, did not baffle Mustadio, who was now as red as Alma, and stuttering besides.

"Ah, Melia!" he stammered. "I…I mean, she tripped, and-wait, what did you just call me?"

Meliadoul gave another laugh and, once Alma was safely back on her feet, curled a shapely arm around Mustadio's.

"I do realize that, as family, we'll be sharing a few things," she intoned, teasingly. "But he's mine."

Trying hard not to let her imagination run in…unseemly directions at the implications, Alma gave a nervous, but sincere smile. Mustadio's smile, though no less embarrassed, was nonetheless broad and bright. This, plus the divine knight accentuating the point with a lingering kiss to the machinist's cheek, caused Alma's embarrassment to melt like snow in spring.

Though she'd met Meliadoul only once prior to learning that Izlude had returned, she could tell that her would-be sister-in-law – who would be her sister-in-law after all, it seemed – had been in a terribly dark place following Altima's defeat.

Alma had long been taught that the act of taking one's own life was the ultimate mortal sin, but coming perilously close to seeing it happen right in front of her, and to a woman drowning in despair, chilled her every bit as much as recalling her brief demonic possession.

Now, seeing Meliadoul in good spirits, in love, and having her brother back, even under such bizarre circumstances, made Alma's already light heart feel like her ribs alone kept it from floating away.

The divine knight promptly brought her back to earth by asking how Alma "comfortable" was in the arms of another woman's boyfriend.

Between the implications and the title, both of the awkward pair turned redder than an orchard of cherries.

"I'm sorry, forgive me!" Alma blurted while trying to stand up straight, a bit of a challenging feat considering that the extra weight from her pregnancy. It made her movements awkward and clumsy, as well as reinforcing Izlude's point that time was not on her side. She could only imagine how much more difficult it must have been for Agrias, especially with her armor.

"It's all right," Mustadio said gently as he helped Alma to her feet. "You seem to be in quite a hurry."

"Well, yes, you see…," here, Alma trailed off, uncertain how much she ought to say. "Meliadoul, does Mustadio…?"

"If it's about Izlude, Melia told me a few minutes ago," Mustadio replied. "I was so afraid that he might've been trying to blackmail you into marrying him, and extorting Melia too. I can't even remember the last time I was so happy to be wrong. Granted, at first, I thought she was pranking me, but…it is true, isn't it?"

"Yes!" Alma choked out, wanting to scream it at the top of her lungs but knowing better. "I can't put into words how happy I am! And, Meliadoul, I'm so glad you and I will be family after all."

"As if you could stop me, since you're lugging around my niece, or nephew," the divine knight replied and, after Alma gave her consent, placed a hand on Alma's belly. "Hey there, little one. This is your aunt speaking. Once you're big and strong, your daddy and I are going to teach you to be a knight. And, mark my words, you are going to kick your cousin, Rachel's ass!"

"MELIADOUL!" Alma shrieked, aghast. "Language!"

"Whatever you say, mommy."

After a moment's hesitation, Mustadio put his own hand on Alma's belly and told her baby he looked forward to meeting him, or her, too.

"That felt…kinda awkward," he admitted. "Still, I'm very happy for both of you. Anyhow, what had you in such a hurry, Alma?

"About that, I was actually looking for you. I know you'd like to spend a bit more time with Meliadoul, and I really hate to ask, but can you escort me back to Lesalia Castle?" Alma asked, feeling self-conscious. "I have to let Queen Ovelia as well as Agrias know that I've accepted Izlude – or, rather, Sir Damien's – proposal, and that we wish to formally announce our engagement as soon as possible."

"I see… and I take it Sir Damien will inform the king and your brother?"

"Yes."

"Alright. And, saying this may sound kinda pointless now, but I am sorry if I came across as…intrusive earlier. But, well, he did seem pretty suspicious, and that had me worried. For both of you."

Deeply touched by his concern, Alma lay a gently hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Mustadio," she said. "It means a lot that you care so much, and I'm sure the baby will be thrilled to meet you too."

"I am honored," the blonde machinist replied. "But enough of that. We should be heading back to the castle if you want to inform everyone and get the wedding preparation underway as soon as possible."

"Thank you, you don't know how much that means to me!" Alma said excitedly. "I know how much your time with Meliadoul means to you."

"It means a lot, but I can come back here anytime." Here, Mustadio paused and turned to face Meliadoul. "If you like, I can come right back here after I see Alma back to the castle."

"My thought exactly, Peashot," the divine knight replied, extending her hand for him to kiss.

Blushing though he was, Mustadio obliged, smiling in nervous glee all the while. Then, as before, the blond machinist offered Alma his arm again in a gentlemanly fashion.

"Let's go."

"Please lead on."

SSSSSS

Still deep in delight at knowing that Izlude had come back to her, Alma was unaware that Mustadio was trying to talk to her until her prodded her shoulder and caused her to jump.

"Oh!" he blurted. "Sorry about that, my lady."

"No, that's alright," Alma gasped out. "It's just…a lot to take in."

"I can believe it. Anyway, do you wish me to let the servants know that you request an audience with the queen?"

Alma shook her head.

"No, it's all right. There is actually someone else I wish to speak to before I see the queen. You need not worry. Ovelia and I are close friends. It should not be an issue for me to get an audience with her soon enough."

"Yes, that's right. You are also the Duchess of Lionel too. There are often times that I forget that since you and your brother never lorded it over me and our other friends, despite your noble heritage."

"Really? I mean, I never thought of you or the others as being any different than me and my brother. Regardless of our birth, deep down, we are all people."

Mustadio could not help smiling sadly at Alma's innocent words. Ramza was right; she had always been innocent and pure despite everything that had happened to her. Even after all the horrors the Beoulve girl had seen during the War of the Lions and during her captivity, even demonic possession, she still chose to see everyone as people first.

And so did Ramza.

"I thank you for your kind words, my lady," he said softly. "Now that the old order of Ivalice has fallen and a new age has begun, there may yet be hope that more people will realize that all men, and women, are created equal. Regardless of…well, how it happened, maybe the future will be better for it."

"I would like that very much," Alma confessed as she remembered Teta, her dearest friend prior to meeting Ovelia, and the tragic fate she had suffered. Both in how she died and how she had lived a life of being scorned for being born a commoner yet living as the ward of a nobleman.

"Hopefully, having a new king of humble birth is a good start. We can't expect people's attitudes to change overnight, but even having the wheels in motion is more than anybody would've expected."

"I know what you mean," Alma agreed. "Like you said, it's a good start. It still pains me what Delita…did, but maybe I can look past it if there are no more Tetas."

Although she tried to sound as reassuring as possible, deep down, Alma was secretly worried that something might not be right with the young king. Even though he was hers and Ramza's cherished childhood friend, Alma could not brush off Ovelia's discomfort and evasiveness when she brought up the subject of Delita. And, despite having a great deal on her mind at the time, she had also noticed that he hadn't seemed himself at the balls.

If Mustadio sensed Alma's concern, he did not show it. Instead, he simply said.

"I really hope so. From the bottom of my heart, I really do."

SSSSS

After Mustadio dropped her off at the gates of Lesalia Castle, Alma was greeted by the guards who flanked the castle gate. The pair, recognizing her (not that there were many who didn't these days) stepped aside to let her pass, their heads inclined respectfully. As soon as she was inside, Alma inquired of a passing servant about the whereabouts of Reis Kadmus.

"I saw Lady Reis heading back to her guest chambers a few minutes ago, milady," the servant answered. "Would you like me to inform her of your arrival?"

Alma shook her head. "No, it's all right. I will see her myself."

"Understood. Have a good day, my lady."

"You too."

When the young maid left her sight, Alma took a quick glance around to make sure she wasn't being watched before making her way up the stairs to Reis's chambers. Now that the dragonkin was formally married to her long-time love, it was perfectly acceptable for them to share a room, as was the case with Ramza and Agrias. Alma had hoped that it would only be a matter of time before she could freely be seen with Izlude in pubic without having to worry about what others would say or think. And soon, it won't be just the two of them, but their child as well.

As if he, or she, had heard her, the baby kicked.

"You've got quite a few aunts and uncles," Alma remarked quietly, patting her belly. "Not to mention stepbrothers, stepsisters, and your cousin. You're going to be quite popular when you arrive."

Alma's mood did fizzle a mite when she recalled an obstacle that lay between her and Reis, however.

Stairs.

As excited as she was, the Beoulve girl was well aware that going up the steps would be rather taxing, given her pregnancy. She also knew she had to take great care so as not to trip and fall. It was times like these that Alma was glad she was not with Ramza, Agrias, or the Murry twins, since she knew there was no way they'd ever approve of letting her walk up a flight of stairs alone. She still recalled some horror stories from Agrias when, during her pregnancy, Alicia and Lavian would insist on one of them walking ahead of her and another behind, with one leading her upstairs by the hand and the other with a hand on her back. Agrias's insistence on wearing her, resized, armor likely made the already galling process even worse.

The holy knight, being a strong and independent woman, had not enjoyed the motherly pampering she had been subjected to, even if she had been forced to admit she might not have been able to lug her armored, swollen self up the stairs without assistance.

Although Alma was less stubborn than her sister-in-law, she was never one to complain over physical hardships or discomforts when she'd needed to endure them, which she had while traveling for weeks with Ramza's party after her rescue at Orbonne Monastery and before finally settling at Lionel Castle. Despite this, Alma found herself wishing she had asked for an escort after all. With her pregnancy advancing by the day, even mundane things like walking up a flight of stairs took great effort on her part.

Thankfully, the one whom Alma had been searching for spotted her after hearing the exhausted panting of someone from atop the stairs.

"Lady Catherine, are you alright? Please take it easy!" Reis called out before briskly descending the stairs to reach Alma's side. By that point, the Beoulve girl had stopped her climb and was leaning against the wall for support, breathing heavily and flushed from exertion. Without a moment's hesitation, the dragonkin draped one of Alma's arms around her shoulders and slowly helped her up the stairs.

Being the sort of woman who hated being a burden to others, and who still believed she'd been little besides to her brother during his long quest, Alma normally would have politely declined any physical assistance. But she was fast approaching a stage in her pregnancy where even mundane tasks were getting more difficult and she could not afford to place too much strain on her body if she did not wish to miscarry. That reality she felt as coolly as the chill that ran through her arm at the touch of Reis's icy skin.

"I…I'm all right, Lady Reis," she said nonetheless, though it sounded unconvincing even to her own ears. "Just a bit spent. And I haven't even done much."

"Well, that is to be expected for someone in your condition," Reis offered reassuringly. "I know you value your independence but please be more careful, Lady Catherine. At least for the next few months. In any case, did you need someone to escort you to your room?"

"About that…," Alma began. "I was actually looking for you."

"Were you? Is everything all right with, well, you know…"

Although the dragonkin was quite certain she and Alma were alone, she did not want to risk any of the servants and guards learning of Alma's pregnancy, should any of them happen to be within earshot.

"Yes, everything is going well. There was actually something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

"It's about Sir Damian Mitchell."

"You mean that Romandan man you met at the ball? I remember him. Beowulf said he thought you and Sir Damian had gotten quite familiar, judging from how both of you had so quickly taken such a liking to each other. But come, we should discuss that someplace a bit more private. Since Beowulf is with Ramza and Rad at the moment, we can use my room."

Thanking God for her seemingly endless gifts of good luck today, Alma relented and allowed the older woman to help her up the stairs until they approached the guest room of the Kadmuses.

Once they were inside, Reis made sure to close the door behind them and insisted that Alma seat herself. Then, with a huff and puff, she breathed a gout of flame into the hearth and a merry fire crackled.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing that," Alma remarked, as much to give her a bit more time to compose her words as out of truthfulness.

"I could probably make a fortune using my ice breath to keep food from spoiling, but good luck trying to explain how a "normal" woman can breathe out blasts of arctic wind. So, what did you want to tell me, Alma?" the dragonkin asked. Like those closest to the Beoulve siblings, Reis called Alma by her true name when they were well away from eyes and ears of strangers.

And, it was a good thing too. Even the…least bizarre of what Alma wanted to say would be a prime cut of meat for Lesalia's gossipmongers. As for the…more bizarre? That getting out would be vastly worse, even if it wasn't believed.

"I wanted to let you know that I have finally chosen Sir Damian Mitchell as my husband," Alma began.

"I see," Reis said, sounding unsurprised but smiling, nonetheless. "I figured as much. I'm sure your brother and the king would be very relieved to hear that."

"So will Manon and Charlotte. They seem to like him too, and hopefully the other children will as well."

"I hope Sir Damien knows what he's getting into. Even with him, Ramza, and Beowulf all living there, the title of "Man of the House" sounds like it'll be a weighty one."

"Save some sympathy for me, because I'm the one the children actually listen to. Sometimes."

At this, the two women shared a good laugh, though Alma's turned to a sour chuckle as Reis recalled how Manon had first crossed paths with the Beoulve girl."

"So, he tells Charlotte to steal your food after he creates and diversion," Reis said. "And, his idea of a diversion is sneaking up behind you, reaching up your skirt, and grabbing your-"

"Stop," Alma begged, her face turning red as an apple. "Please, please, stop."

"Might be a few years before you can look back on that and laugh? Maybe, but you will sooner or later. Children will misbehave, make mistakes, do things we need to warn them against. It's only natural, especially when a young boy reaches that age where he stops thinking all girls are ugly and gives each and all a second glance."

"And it didn't help that Rad and the Murry twins start teaching him barroom flirting. I mean, seriously!"

"But, you got through to him, didn't you?"

"It wasn't just me, though. Beowulf did a lot of the work."

"Perhaps, but you decided Manon was worth shaping up. Many people wouldn't have, either because he was a street urchin or because he behaved like a miscreant. You not only saw that he had his better angels, but you figured out how to get him to listen to them and worked to make it happen. That didn't just take love, but also patience, understanding, and the ability to work through problems. You'll need plenty of each to be a mother, and I'd say you've made a good start of it."

Here, Alma could not help but feel something she suspected was very close to maternal pride. Though Manon was not her son by blood, she doubted she could've found a better surrogate older brother for her child. Manon had come to her a thief, though by desperation rather than choice, and his eerie resemblance to what Izlude likely looked like as a young boy made simply looking at him hurt her heart.

And, of course, his choice of "diversions" did not offer a rosy picture of what he might grow up to be if nature were allowed to take its course. Still, his decision to stand against his older wardmates offering their younger fellows as playthings to those of sickening proclivities had told her that Manon did have a conscience and, later, Alma caught wind of how he dreamed of being something better than what he was. So, she encouraged him, found him a mentor and role model that could help him make that dream a reality, and Alma could not have been prouder of how he'd become a better young man as a result.

"I just hope I have the same luck with Charlotte," Alma remarked, noting that she didn't sound nearly as daunted by the idea as she might've but a few weeks ago. "I'm sure you've noticed how she's "grown"?"

"Rather difficult not to," Reis remarked, but not unkindly. "Didn't you say she was skin and bones when she first came to you?"

"Yes, "was" being the operative word. And, now? A few hours ago, she was walking with a book balanced on her head. It fell off, landing right at her feet, but she couldn't pick it up. She's gotten so fat she can barely bend at the waist. And, she'd made herself sick a half dozen times by cramming sweets and rich food into her mouth when her system couldn't handle it. I'm starting to wonder if she'll glut herself into an early grave."

"You weren't quite that blunt with your language when you talked to her about it, I hope?"

"No, but I did think it was best I warn her what she was doing was unhealthy. We'll likely need to set some ground rules, and I think I need to make sure she knows, deep down, that she has a home in Lionel and that that isn't going to be taken away from her."

Here, Alma paused and heaved a tired sigh.

"I know what to do," she affirmed. "As for how…still working on it."

"Aren't we all?" Reis asked rhetorically. "Still, I think you're on the right track. Just be ready to redraw your methods if you see the need. But, getting back to Sir Damien? If you don't mind my asking, what was it about that young foreigner that caught your fancy when the others couldn't even hold your attention and interest for more than two minutes apiece?"

Alma blushed, and supposed she should've seen this coming. "Well, about that. Before I tell you, can I ask if you believe the holy stones have the power to work miracles?"

It was a silly question and they both knew it, considering that it was a holy stone that broke the curse on Reis ,which had trapped her in the shape of a dragon, and then restored her to her human form. But Alma wanted to be certain that Reis would not think her insane or deluded when she finally revealed the truth about her fiancé.

"Alma, of course I do," Reis replied, an inquiring glint entering her eyes. "And so does Beowulf. Were it not for the Cancer Stone, I would have been stuck as a dragon forever with no memories of my human life."

"Do you believe that the holy stones can also raise the dead?" Alma asked, daring more dangerous waters.

"I have not seen it with my own eyes, but if your brother says he saw a holy stone revive Duke Malak Galthana after he was shot clean through the heart, then I'm inclined to believe him."

"Then would you believe me if I told you that the man whose proposal I have accepted is actually the same man as my first fiancé?"

Reis was startled at this revelation, and Alma could swear the dragonkin's pupils appeared slitted.

"You mean Sir Izlude Tingel?" she asked, and Alma's nod of confirmation saw her fall silent for a long moment. "Not that I believe you would make up such a fanciful tale, but what makes you believe he and Sir Damien are one and the same? From the way you described Izlude, I don't think he resembles your new love at all."

"But that's where the holy stone comes in."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Ramza told you that Izlude was killed by a Lucavi demon right?"

"Yes, I do recall that. That was quite a ways before I met him and his group, but the tavern tales of that massacre can give even me nightmares."

"Well, would you believe me if I told you that Izlude had been brought back by a holy stone? The Pieces Stone to be exact. I'm sure Beowulf has told you that it was missing from my brother's collection?"

"You know about that? But how?"

"A few weeks ago, I overhead Ramza, Beowulf, and Rad talking about it. I never mentioned it to anyone because I did not want the others to worry, but it made me wonder if the Pieces Stone could have fallen into the another's hands. And it did."

"Are you saying that the stone somehow brought Izlude back from the dead?"

"Yes. And not only that, but he is also still in possession of the stone."

Hearing this, Reis once more fell into a contemplative silence. She steepled her fingers and rested her chin on them, her brow furrowing slightly. Alma was curious as to whether her pupils would slit again, but a lifetime of training in being a proper young lady finally made her stop staring.

"Does your brother know?" Reis finally asked.

"Yes," Alma confirmed. "Izlude mentioned that the Stone wishes to stay in his possession for now, but we don't know why. Still, I trust him to guard it with his life."

"But are you certain that Izlude, or Damian as he now calls himself, is telling the truth? Can you be certain that he is who he claims to be? Forgive my skepticism but I don't want to see you get hurt again."

"I am. Because he knew things, things that only Izlude and I could have known."

She then relayed how, several nights into her harebrained scheme to escape Riovanes on her own, she tried to kill Izlude in his sleep only for her conscience to stop her at the last minute. And, how, to her astonishment, Izlude had known the whole time, but begrudged her not at all, and even found it admirable that she placed her morality over her need to escape. She then pointed out that she and Izlude were the only ones who knew about that incident, neither having told another soul before that moment.

"He knows about… our child too," Alma finished. "He also insists that we be married as soon as possible, before my pregnancy can no longer be hidden."

"Yes, I would agree with him on that score. This is news that defies belief. But, it is indeed wonderful, Alma. It looks like your brother's infamous luck has somehow rubbed off on you as well. Have you informed Agrias and the queen yet?"

Alma shook her head. "I want to, really, I do. But I wouldn't be able to tell Agrias about Izlude without revealing the Pieces Stone was missing from Ramza's collection. Unless he told her himself, but I am not certain of that. Of the pair, Agrias is far scarier, and I'd like Rachel to have her father longer than I did. So, I'd prefer not to take chances. As for Ovelia, well, telling her is not without its risks as well. Not because I don't trust her, but because…"

Although Alma left her sentence unfinished, the dragonkin understood. They were both concerned about Delita. Alma supposed she shouldn't have been surprised, but the astute and empathetic dragonkin had also noticed that the young King of Ivalice had been behaving strangely of late. And, it was anyone's guess if the Pieces Stone was involved, since Izlude had taken it with him right into the castle several times already.

"Have you told your brother yet?" Reis asked. "About the Stone? About your engagement?"

"I haven't," Alma answered. "But Izlude said he had spoken to both Delita and Ramza about the engagement already, and they gave him their approval. Ramza, Malak, Meliadoul, and Mustadio know about the Stone, and all can be trusted. However, I'm still worried about what the Pieces Stone could do to Delita, especially since Izlude is stuck with it."

"What do you mean "stuck with it"?"

"When he tried to give it to Ramza and Malak, it burned them. He can leave it behind, but suppose it gets stolen while he's away? Right now, it seems the safest option, and I use the term loosely, is for him to take it everywhere with him."

"That is troubling. Don't misunderstand me; if you have faith in Izlude, then so do I. But, like you said, the Stone could be stolen from him. It might even arrange such a thing."

"Wha…what do you mean?"

Here, for the first time, Reis fixed Alma with a stern gaze. One that booked no interruption or argument and which, for a strange moment, Alma could easily have pictured being worn on the face of her dragon form.

"The Pisces Stone chose to raise your lover from the dead and guide him here," Reis began. "To practically within arm's length of the king. That might not be a coincidence. And, it might even explain why King Delita has been out of sorts lately."

Seeing Alma blanch, Reis held up one hand.

"Be prepared, not panicked," she advised. "In any case, I think it's best that we speak to your brother and Agrias about this, so we can best decide what to do. I will let Beowulf know as well. This isn't something any of us can resolve alone, especially now that we also have a wedding to plan and will be needing the king and queen's consent."

"Yes, you're right," Alma agreed, feeling dizzy at the worrisome implications of the dragonkin's words. "Thank you for believing me, Lady Reis. I will let my brother know right away."

Alma turned and was about to take her leave when she felt the dragonkin's cold hand close around her arm. Alma gasped at how cold her hands were, and promptly answered Reis's apologetic smile with one of her own.

"Wait, Alma. I think its best if I come with you," she advised. "Especially since I can tell that climb took a lot out of you. You could still have an accident and miscarry, and Agrias has given me quite enough stress staying ready for battle even as she ripened. And what a sight she made, let me tell you. Maybe it happened only when there was need, but she risked Rachel not living to take her first breath too often, and I would not allow you to do likewise over a mere hunch."

Normally, Alma hated being treated like she was delicate flower. Though she'd grudgingly admit that her courage outweighed her contributions to Ramza's mission, she believed she'd at least grown somewhat stronger after surviving Altima's attempt to possess her body and later traveling the land with her brother and his companions after escaping Murond. But this time, Alma did not protest or argue. Much as she disliked admitting it, she knew Reis was right. There was no proof Delita was imperiled, or that the Stone was at the root of her old friend's change in mood, and the well-being of her child was too dear to risk over any amount of pride or impatience. So, she allowed the dragonkin to escort her. Having Reis by her side might even make it easier for Alma to break the news and her concerns about Delita to Ramza, if he didn't know about his suspicious behavior already.

Which, knowing her brother, was highly unlikely. At least as unlikely as Agrias not letting him have it after having been kept in the dark for weeks about the Pisces Stone, if not longer.

Alma smirked despite herself. Despite the gravity of the situation, that sounded like a sight worth the seeing.