Chapter Five: Adrift On Dark Waters

Her hand played with the powder delicately. She would pinch a bit up, rub it between her fingers, and then let the tiny particles drift back down to the table. She didn't know what to do with the rest of it. It felt… wrong to just throw it into the air, but she certainly couldn't deal it to others. She took one last look before picking up the paper that the brown dust-like substance was on, and tipped the whole thing into her mouth. She felt peaceful. She felt loved. She felt quiet. She might finally fall asleep.

As quick as the feeling came, her body undoubtedly washed the sensation away. She glared at the empty paper in disappointment. He washed away, too, and just as quickly. What was one year to her, anyways? A special year—she was more human yet less, restricted by this doll-like body.

Jealousy crumpled the wrappings for the remains of Xan Feng's opium and slinked out of her room.

1692—it was almost a new century. What was eight years to something like her? It felt so tiring to live and her mind always felt heavy. What it would be like to die, she wondered. Jealousy remembered the feeling faintly, as years washed away the true brunt of the sensation. It felt like fading, helpless, slowly slipping down the edge of a sloped cliff and eyeing the bottom the whole time. Once she fell, it felt like the inevitable. Humans were meant to die. Everything was meant to end. Going home, she mused. One goes out, sees the world, but needs a home to come back to.

Jealousy had contemplated dying. The opium had given her a release—a quick one—but it left her wanting. She couldn't exactly find more and she didn't fancy herself a psychological addiction, despite the euphoria. She reasoned that her home might be the Gate. So she tried diving in the Gate. It was stupid, she supposed, as she tried to fight the black, undulating appendages that ripped her mind out of the passageway and threw it right back into her homunculus body. She sighed, back to the floor. It wasn't going to work. And she didn't want to be deconstructed. There was no release to that; only pain. She realized that she didn't want to die. Then what did she want?

Perhaps revenge? Dante was only human—a powerful, almost omniscient, godly human—and Jealousy could slip away, when she was sure that Envy wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. Then it could start there, couldn't it? She could find others, set them against Dante—or why not try to topple the witch's schemes all by herself?

Envy walked into her room. "She wants us. She didn't say when, though." That was all he said. He seemed to have made his mind up to let her come to terms with the past by herself. She was glad for it; Jealousy didn't know what to say to him.

She nodded and watched as Envy slinked out of the room. She gave a passing glance at the documents that lay upon her table. They were all Hohenheim's notes, journals, and manuscripts. She spent the last few weeks, looking futilely for something, but she didn't know what.

"We are moving."

Jealousy and Envy stood mutedly in front of Dante, staring at the point before her feet. That was difficult since Dante kept pacing back and forth. Her form was withered and old, which belied the alchemical prowess inside. Jealousy wondered when she was going to finally switch bodies.

"I am glad that you two can keep your curiosity in check and it would spare me the trouble having to explain myself, but I would like you two to play a part in this." Translation: don't talk, let me talk, and do what I tell you to do next. "Come with me." The twins followed her into her 'dungeon', the cellar.

The floor was dry and free of blood for once. Dante walked briskly towards a dark corner of the room and lit the candles along the way. Jealousy and Envy trailed behind her rigidly, apprehensive of her motives.

The aged crone reached her destination. It was a cage with a dingy cushion and worn blanket inside. Huddled in the corner was a young girl, about fifteen or sixteen years of age. Dante cracked a grin. "Hello, my dear. Are you well rested?"

The doe-eyed girl shuddered in fear and dared not respond. Her hair, clearly possessing sheen and vitality before her imprisonment, was a matted, strawberry-blonde, haystack-tangle clump of hair. Pitiful, wretched… prey—these thoughts echoing in both of the homunculi's mind.

Jealousy raised an eyebrow. A human pet of Dante's?—but no, her mother took out a tiny red stone, clearly the Philosopher's Stone, and with but a thought the stone glowed and covered the room with a soft, blood red light.

Logically, this would be the best time to attack and free herself. She knew Envy would be in a similar state of mind. However… her body tingled in the presence of the stone and the jolts of electricity that she felt prevented her from moving. It was as if she was pumped full of adrenaline but the nerves made her too jittery and too tired to act. Envy collapsed to the floor from the overwhelming power of the stone.

As the light died, a soft giggle made itself clear throughout the cellar. "The procedure was successful, so it seems for now." It was Dante who spoke, but the voice was higher, breathier, and more innocent.

Jealousy looked back intrepidly. The girl's eyes were lacking the fear and pain from a moment before. A sickly sweet smell gave way to the foul fumes of decay from Dante's old body. With a blue jolt of alchemical light, the new Dante freed herself from the cage, walking out as if royalty. The young flesh delighted her, Jealousy could tell.

"Envy… still weak," she sneered. She snapped her eyes to Jealousy, disdain strong within the orbs. "Bring your brother up to the parlor. I will go over details there." She glided out of the room.

Jealousy knew that whatever plans that Dante had been mulling over have finally started to be put into action.

"I don't like this form," Envy complained. Jealousy knew that he hated any form besides the one he always wore. She'd rather wear any form besides the same one. Maybe then, she could pretend that she wasn't a monster. Why did she care?

Both were disguised as two brothers that were the loyal bodyguards to the Hylanchian noble duchess, Asmara Remnoirè. Envy—now called Hesfield—was now tall, burly, and mustached. Heavily armored and armed with a harquebus and huge axe, he seemed the part. Jealousy—known as the younger brother Somende—was taller as well, but much more wiry. She was dressed in black robes with light plates of iron covering vital parts. Instead of a harquebus or an axe, she was equipped with a hidden sword inside a harshly carved cane decorated with the head of a dragon. She was the assassin while Envy was the knight.

Asmara Remnoirè, as Dante was now known as, was the single noble daughter of Judson Remnoirè, a lesser noble of Hylantier. After the fall of the country to the militant Amestris, the dwindling aristocracy in Hylantier tried to cement their futures by tying themselves to the nobility of Amestris. Asmara Remnoirè was but one of the many pawns that fathers used to save themselves and their families (not to mention, fortunes). It just happened that Asmara was picked by a man who had all the status and wealth that her family wanted: Coen Daellenbach, son of the Amestrian Viceroy Cygnus Daellenbach, and the Captain General for the National Army. Asmara's family would have been set for generations to come… if Dante had not ordered her new bodyguards to secretly dispose of every remaining Remnoirè slowly over the next seven years. Jealousy noticed that Dante had a strange preoccupation with the number 'seven', but knew nothing good would come of prematurely unraveling her Master's plan. So she let it rest.

Dante managed to capture the poor chit when her carriage was en route to the Amestrian border, where her fiancé's troops would provide an armed escort the whole way to West City. It was Dante and Company that would meet up with Daellenbach's army now.

"Somende, please fan me; this weather is unbearable!" Dante was perfect for the spoiled princess role.

Jealousy, now Somende (she would have to remember that) graciously picked up a large, ostentatious, jewel-encrusted fan to relive Dante's discomfort. She caught Envy's—Hesfield's—amused gaze until he remembered that he had to pretend to hate Jealousy. Dante-Asmara had roles for them to play.

Don't you know? A family and environment of hate is much easier to manipulate than one of solidarity and love. We can provide the fuel for them.

I applaud you, Master, Jealousy mused. Already plotting ways to break the family apart, and somehow, worm your way into the Amestrian Court. She shook his head, almost forgetting her resolve. Let the witch show herself foolishly. I'll watch.

The somber soldiers led them onwards, only giving Jealousy and Envy suspicious glances every now and then. There were also sparks of irritation that grew with Dante's behavior, but it was as good as she could expect. Even with their journey being relatively peaceful, Jealousy couldn't help but shake at the thick feel of anticipation on her tongue.

In West City, the castle was devoid of any actual royalty. The King and his family resided in Central City, while the surrounding cardinal cities acted as vacation homes and villas for important guests and subjects. The Daellenbach family was proud to be so cherished by the king that West City Castle was practically their own little kingdom. The centerpiece of the castle was General Coen Dallenbach.

Coen Daellenbach was handsome—as handsome as a self-important, elitist child could get. Fiercely sharp facial features (Amestrians especially bred children for such), tall and muscular; intelligent, dark eyes that only gave hints at what their owner aspired to obtain from the world. Jealousy knew a dangerous man when she looked, but Coen was hardly a danger to her. Nor was he a danger to Dante, who had been playing the game of survival and depravity, avarice and manipulation far too long for a novice war hawk to do much damage. No, Coen Daellenbach was only a danger to his fellow human beings.

Not to say Dante's new fiancé had no heart—the man was proven to be human at the very least, for the desire he had for his new fiancée was not dark but soft and fond. Coen found someone he could love and protect (so he thought, Jealousy mused morbidly). Envy communicated with her as often as he could—they had a feud to keep up—and told her that he often witnessed Coen escorting Dante on slow evening strolls, always ending the day with a quick peck on the lady's (witch's) cheek and a flush, de-thorned, red rose in her hair. Sickening, they both agreed.

Jealousy would think herself insane, but she would occasionally find the source of her anger to be…well, her namesake: Jealousy. She wasn't jealous of Dante for Coen, per say, but that she had someone left to woo and be fond of her. What did Jealousy have but a dead lover, and by her own hand? Was she more scared of her Master than she was more in love with Xan Feng? In that case, no one would be safe as long as she was under her Master's thumb, her fear of Dante and the unknown strong and controlling. Then maybe she wanted freedom.

Either way, Jealousy had to put her feelings aside. The two brothers had a feud to keep up, court members to stalk and eliminate. Asmara lent her bodyguards to Coen indefinitely and he used them to his advantage. Envy was to intimidate dissenters in public or military sectors while Jealousy was to stealthily silence opponents that walked the Amestrian Court. Both were slowly and steadily extending Coen's influence and power.

But not all days were spent court-stalking and intimidating the public. Dante told the two brothers to play 'nice' for the moment and pretend to enjoy life. Hesfield hated every human motion he had to go through, confessing his difficulty with controlling his urge to brain anyone who even dared come near him. Jealousy, on the other hand, took Dante's private edict and milked it for all its worth.

A year passed. She initially wandered the neat, winding streets of West City, taking in all the cracks in the stone, the mismatched and lopsided buildings that towered over the narrow streets, and the people—having lived in a nation of unrest for so long, the animated atmosphere that coursed through the air was something she only remembered briefly from the Xingese Moon Festival.

From her wanderings, she managed to find herself in the Underground District of West City. It seemed that the crest of the Royal House that was on the corner of her dark uniform automatically made her unwelcomed in the district. So she shape shifted (something Dante had explicitly forbid them to do while they were in Amestris) and walked back to the secret entrance that was unobtrusively placed behind a dilapidated brick structure. Her eyes expressed amazement that it hadn't felt the need to since centuries. The cobbled stone steps that wound into the shadows led down to the unused sewers of West City. In the twists and tunnels, shady figures set up shop; a wizened alchemist carved his bar out of the cement walls and humans of all races (some didn't even look human, Jealousy noted when she saw a hulking giant amble down the pathway) traded secrets in the shadows. Rather overt underground society—probably grew complacent once they realized how hard it is to find this place.

The bar seemed like a good place to start. Jealousy was now in the form of an androgynous young woman with shaggy hair, deep, heavy eyes and a scar across the right corner of her lip. Her nondescript robes gave away nothing of her identity. She slid into the bar and headed straight for the counter. The old bartender gave her a look askance and the other patrons had smirks hidden behind the shadows of their hoods. "Fresh blood," they hissed.

"What will it be?" The old alchemist was sizing her up.

"Th' strongest swill you got." Jealousy narrowed her eyes and tried to observe the area without looking like she was doing so. It was exciting; a new place without a mission, and purpose. She didn't know why she was here, but only it was not on Dante's schemes—and that was an empowering thought.

"Don' kill yerself," the old man croaked. Everyone was watching her. She didn't betray an emotion besides amusement as she eyed the drink, picked it up delicately, and downed it in one gulp.

She never drank before. No, that wasn't true; she did drink in her actual life—her friends paid her ten dollars to finish their penalty drink, and her mother was okay with it—but the sensation was long forgotten, as well as the taste. Like depression and bitterness. The taste was foul and the sensation burned. But she wanted more.

Jealousy seemed to have passed everyone's silent judgment. The figures seemed to relax and focused back on their activities. She was glad for the lack of scrutiny, for now she could observe her surroundings in peaceful contemplation. The old bartender smirked at her and refilled her dirty glass. "So… th' real deal, eh?" He seemed to be speaking to himself rather than Jealousy.

She had no idea what he was talking about. "Hmm." The old man raised an eyebrow, took a strong sniff, and turned away.

"Next week, we have a hand-to-hand combat tournament here. Free drinks t' ya if ya participate."

It was Jealousy's turn to raise her eyebrow. Cryptic old man, she thought. What is the game that you're trying to make me play, and against whom?

The next week, she returned. The air of the underground seemed different; the atmosphere felt charged with anticipation and something a little darker.

Easily navigating through the tunnels, Jealousy glided into the bar with her hood up and features obscured. The bar was flooded with people, noises, and smoke. The air was burning with sweat and a poisonous undercurrent; Jealousy wouldn't be surprised if the burning of illegal substances were causing the thick haze. It mattered little to her; the faint high she received from the smoke did nothing but boost her mood.

"Drinks draw ya back? Nev'r seen a girlie like you down an Underworld Spitfire with appetite," a wavering, creaky voice spoke to Jealousy's side. "Come t' think of it, not a man, either." It was the old bartender, except the calculating look in his eye made her doubt any fragility due to his age. The old man is after something, but will that something be good for me, too?

"So you would think. Wouldn't mind another," she said blandly in return. He cackled and beckoned her with a gnarled finger towards the counter.

"Here's a free one; liquid courage before ya step into the ring."

Jealousy lazily leaned against her left hand, right fingernails slowly carving the scar on her lip. "I must admit that I am curious; why are you so insistent on the tournament? Did you make a desperate bet on me in exchange for your life and now you are trying to goad me into winning? Or perhaps, you saw me as an interesting prop for the tournament to bring in more customers?"

"Not even close, young one. Now drink up."

Jealousy grimaced at the wizened face with eyes that were boring into her head. "To victory," she murmured, taking the shot glass into her hand. She savored the burn of the drink this time. A malicious smile graced her lips as she lowered the grimy glass.

"Now get in there," the bartender grunted, eyes never abandoning their appraising spark. Jealousy noted that the counter was occupied with two dark figures that were both facing her direction. It cannot be a coincidence. But let the humans try their play; let me see what I can gain.

She walked up to the large congregation situated in the far corner of the bar; the area seemed to be newly transmutated. Jealousy could smell it—there was no other phrase for it—and started to observe her would-be opponents. Many were large, burly men. Some of those men had quick eyes and seemingly clever minds, while the rest where dull and brutish. There were a couple of lithe, acrobatic types hanging about who smirked at their larger adversaries. Of them all, only two women if Jealousy didn't count herself. An interesting set up. There must be some prize beyond bragging rights, Jealousy mused. She just hadn't the faintest idea of what it could be.

"Alrigh', alrighty; settle down, boys!" A tall, sinewy man was at the center of the crowd. His voice was rough, but easy on the ears. His head was bald and his body bare except for worn trousers and bandaged legs. The man slowly scratched the back of his calf with one foot. "Alright, SIDDOWN!" he roared, raising a tattooed arm in anger. The noise quieted and the audience sank lower. "For those who are new, I say welcome. For those who've dunnit 'fore, I say: why the hell did you come back?" There were a couple of chuckles here and there, and Jealousy smiled.

"No, we all know why you'd come back. For many of you, this is your ticket to power—to glory. Nothing to scoff at. For the rare few, this is your test. You know what I'm talkin' 'bout." A couple of dark looks passed around throughout the crowd. "And the rest… you're here because of the fates testin' ya. So let's see how you hold up." The man walked back where the people parted for him, revealing a raised stone floor with two other figures observing. They were the same figures from the counter, Jealousy noted. The Dark Ones, then; they need names.

"Let us brave contact with fists, and in turn, our souls," the combatants chanted together. "Battle will judge and deem the worthy. We are all of the earth, and the earth will cherish our power!" A roar of consent rippled throughout the bar.

"Mathasis, start the damn fight already!"

Mathasis, the bald announcer, stood imposingly between his counterparts who nodded their approval.

"—but Gien only lasted two rounds in there. Decimated," an observer said mournfully.

"There goes my bet," another man groaned into his hand. "The wife'll be after my head for this." Various dark figures exchanged gold with wicked words attached.

Jealousy tuned out the grumbling of the outside and focused her full attention onto the fighters. She had yet to fight; she was waiting for someone fresh to win. It was not a tournament that was designed fairly. The winner of each fight would keep fighting until they lost. No deaths if possible and no cheap shots. Audience members could not get involved. The best time to fight would be as the last person. She had little to lose, though, so she didn't mind fighting whenever. She knew others would think it strange that a mere woman could last so long in the arena, so she was deciding the perfect time to step up: when there wasn't as much people, but enough so that she would get a decent workout.

And there. The clump of contenders was lessening. It wouldn't be too suspicious now if she joined. Mathasis called to the crowd for a new fighter. Jealousy slinked into the center and discarded her robe on a vacant chair. "Lookit here; a little girl. Looks like she's been in a few scrapes, though; Donata needs to watch out for any tricks up her sleeves," Mathasis bellowed enthusiastically to the pumped spectators.

Jealousy caught a few jeering remarks due to her gender but paid no heed to them. Her opponent, Donata, was a well-built man that had a fair amount of scars upon his arms. The man's face was fiercely carved, but the expression upon his face was anything but—he was one of the most level-headed fighters Jealousy witnessed in the arena. Favors his right side now. She eyed the large bruise on his left oblique with slight distaste. Punches… and has a wicked leg sweep. Better not get hurt at all or else I would have to explain why my injuries disappear every time someone blinks.

The man gave her a piercing look and an easy grin, lowering himself into a cautious stance. Jealousy cocked her head to the right and slid her left foot backwards. She saw Mathasis's hand drop and immediately charged Donata. The man expertly shifted his shoulder, causing Jealousy to miss him by just an inch—damnit—and he grappled her by the wrist and swung her down to the ground.

Fortunately, that maneuver allowed Jealousy the opportunity to roll back into a kip up and she instead feinted a kick towards his midsection. The man stood steady and went to grab her leg, but she merely adjusted to step on his knee to propel herself further into a full-force front kick into his face.

The man stumbled backwards from the force of the hit, clearly surprised by the power behind the attack. His nose was broken. "It seems that I was guilty of underestimatin' you, Miss," he said, wiping away the blood from his nose. He barely winced from the pain. Jealousy didn't respond. There was nothing to say.

Donata made the first move this time around. He came at her with a swift palm, intent on stunning her. She wouldn't let him hit her once—she couldn't afford to. Her competitive streak from lives ago suddenly reared its head and she needed to win.

And although it would be impossible for the human to kill her or harm her grievously, it was still nigh impossible to act like she wasn't trying her best to dodge every furious punch that flew her way. Jealousy gritted her teeth angrily when she tipped back from a swift backfist that sailed over her head, and her feet tapped tenuously on the floor to steady her. He kept her on the defensive for the past minute, and it irritated her. Her irritation came out as a burst of frustration, and the ferocity of her counter caught him off guard.

He was fine with taking the brunt of her left kick with his shoulder, but didn't expect her to flip and use the momentum to deliver her right heel into his head. Donata tottered for a few moments before crashing down onto the ground out cold.

"Now there's an outcome you wouldn't expect!" The crowd jeered and pounded with noise. Jealousy let out a large breath in relief, despite not needing the actual action. "The woman's a dragon in disguise!" Mathasis riled up the spectators with his words.

"Then I'll do my duty as a man and put the girl in her place." A sharp voice called out from the other fighters. A lean man stepped out, his mouth in a distasteful frown from Jealousy's victory. She didn't know what to expect from him. He did not take off his shirt like the other men, but kept his dark blue tunic on and made to brush some dust off of his trousers. His sleek, thin hair reminded her of feathers and his hooked nose furthered his impression of a cruel hawk. Jealousy cocked an eyebrow, feeling a spark of irritation at the man. Pretentious fool, I should just transmute you into a pebble.

The man bowed shallowly to her before taking a stance. Nondescript. What do I do? Jealousy let her arms hang in front of her, crouching lower in preparation for sudden movement. The man was swift, and she received many glancing blows from him—but thankfully only glancing blows.

Jealousy growled and let her body get caught by a sweeping kick to the gut. It hurt, but like all injuries, the damage healed immediately and she was able to push his leg up and aim a crippling blow to the back of his knee. The man collapsed on the floor, eyes glaring wrathfully at her. "Do you yield?" she asked quietly.

He spat in her direction and said nothing. Mathasis shook his head. "Perrison, you're done. Get out." At his word, two men walked forward to steady Perrison and bring him out of the circle. Mathasis turned back to the ring. Aside from Jealousy, there were only two women left, and one man. Both females didn't want to fight someone at full strength, but the male didn't care.

Jealousy sighed. This day was turning out to be rather inane.

After Donata and Perrison, her other opponents were easy. She had the confidence to defeat them without a scratch on her, and proceeded to do so. After the loud cry from the specators that followed her victory, Mathasis appeared beside her to hand her a small wooden box. Jealousy was hesitant to take it, but amongst the cheers the Dark Ones faced her and their hoods bobbed, prompting her to receive the box.

"Open it far from here," Mathasis hissed to her before turning back to address the crowd. "People, people—we have ourselves a new champion; at least, for the year! May we present to you the cash prize—" one of the dark figures glided up to her and handed a heavy bag that clinked when jostled, "—and the finest dagger from Aristole's Blacksmith of South City!" The many weapon enthusiasts in the crowd hushed up in awe when the wicked blade was gifted to Jealousy by the second dark figure.

It was a beautiful work. Simple; its tang was unprotected by a hilt and had no guard, and the end of the tang had a hole for those who wanted a retrievable projectile weapon. The blade was smooth and fine; one could immediately tell that much labor and precise effort was put into the forging of the blade.

"Take care of it, Dragon," Mathasis said solemnly, relishing in her new nickname. Jealousy walked out of the bar feeling elated, but the knowing glint from the bartender put uncertainty in her steps.

"Somende! Somend—there you are, sir!" A sharply dressed messenger ran up to her. "The Captain General would like to speak with you. It is of the utmost importance."

"Understood," Jealousy responded in a grave tone. She was polishing her blades in the armory for the Amestrian forces. More precisely, she was polishing her new dagger. "If you are heading back to him, inform the Captain General that I will be along posthaste."

After she was absolutely sure that not a speck of red remained upon the steel, she stalked with purpose towards the grounds. Coen Daellenbach usually enjoyed unusual settings for his informal meetings. That being, Jealousy's unofficial official rendezvous point was at the top of the Polycalthus Dome: a large edifice on the edge of the castle ground with a huge, spiraling dome gilded with real silver that ended at an impressive point. The building was used only for important ceremonies and was never to be entered unless it was for maintenance or an event, so one was guaranteed to be alone around it. Especially at the balcony on top of the Dome, it was nearly impossible to sneak up on the ones observing from the balcony; the surrounding landscape was too flat and had nowhere to hide from the eagle's view point.

"Captain General." Jealousy brought her hand up in a rigid salute.

"At ease." She let her hand drop gracefully to her side and she slid into her place at the far edge of the railing; Coen easily leaned against the opening to the stairwell. "You needn't be so stiff with me; I consider us well-acquainted, if not good friends."

"Propriety, Sir," Jealousy murmured, relaxing her stance and toying with her new blade. "I have yet to show you this new toy I picked up—" she pulled out the dagger and handed it to Coen for inspection.

"Interesting; picked it up, you say? No chance that I can commission the master behind this craftsmanship to forge me a nice blade?" Coen playfully commented.

"Not unless you want to go all the way to South City—so I've heard. I simply bought it off of a desperate man in need of gold," Jealousy replied quietly. "I can search for that man and ask whether he can procure more…"

"But there is no need. I will send men to South City." Coen looked at the blade with approval. He handed it back to Jealousy. "Speaking of blades… you know of that awful business in Hylantier—with the Remnoirè family?"

Jealousy blinked, and cocked his head. "The mistress seldom talks of her family to me… nor have I heard news from my homeland since moving here. Why, is something the matter?"

Coen frowned. "Then this must be a surprise—old Judson Remnoirè was found dead in his garden and bedroom."

"…You mean, in pieces?"

"Clever you are. I'd rather not say it out loud—grizzly sight to even imagine. Clean job—someone took great care with their sword."

Jealousy swallowed and furrowed her brow. "That… is rather frightening to hear. Rather strange, as well—Master Judson had few enemies, and with the takeover of Hylantier, squabbling over nominal political power would be pointless. Most of the nobles rally behind him, anyhow. There should be no reason for this deed."

"Indeed; it is what I thought. But… perhaps, there is just cause." Coen rubbed his stubble. "I suppose I can trust you enough. My cousins have clearly taken Hesfield for their personal soldier." At the sound of 'Hesfield', Jealousy sneered on cue. Coen nodded to himself.

"Yes… well. I think you would have blind and deaf to not know the undercurrents of court. Recently, there has been a section of the court that has expressed more… extreme views on foreign policy."

"But did you not take over Hylantier? I would say that is extreme," Jealousy quipped.

Coen shrugged. "Threaten to take over. You know as well as I do that the political structure of that poor country was on its last legs since a century ago. I can hardly be counted as belligerent."

Jealousy exhaled. "I will agree to disagree. You meant the so-called "Amestrian Loyalist Society". Is it not Jonsten Daellenbach who is the leader?" she added.

Coen grimaced. "That ladder-climbing bastard cousin of mine decided to rally the idiots of Amestrian high society and preach imperialism to them. He's hoping for my position if he can get the King to listen to him."

"Or… if they get rid of the King," Jealousy murmured. Coen raised an eyebrow to her. "Don't tell me you haven't heard them whispering about revolutions and rebellions."

"In any case, Jonsten knows that I'm his biggest opponent on the 'Royalist' side. The Viceroy is ineffectual. My support base can only grow from here on out," Coen said with a smirk. "But if he were to lower the number of my followers… let's say—by killing old Judson Remnoirè to scare them off…"

"What, your followers are that weak-willed?" Jealousy asked, unimpressed. "I would think that he'd do something a little more… devastating."

Coen shrugged. "Maybe he is merely starting this game, trying to slowly work his way up. Asmara was pretty upset with the whole debacle—she said that it was my duty to protect her family; that we were getting married so her family would be safe." He rubbed his forehead. "I just wish she would not say it so bluntly."

Jealousy turned around, eyeing the ground below. "I thought you liked her."

"I do."

"…did her statement bother you?"

"…no—everyone knew it was to be business. I hoped for more—maybe some happiness with that bonus. But right now, I feel damn guilty for not being able to hold up on my end. And all she sees me as is a business partner."

Jealousy cleared her throat. "Women are good at planting guilt bombs and taking what they want from men. Just try not to let it bog you down."

Coen nodded, subdued.

"On the note of Master Remnoirè's death… my brother may be involved. He enjoys grizzly."

Coen frowned. "Does he, now?"

Jealousy gave a well-practiced sneer. "If your conjecture is true, then the one carrying out the order would be brown-nose Hesfield… eager to prove his new ties, so he gives the biggest demonstration possible. I would not have killed the Master; and even if I did, not with the brutality of hacking him into pieces."

"Oh shut up about pieces—I've been having nightmares," Coen moaned. "You owe me a drink now, Somende."

Jealousy grinned. "I'll make good on that—but for now, I have a prior engagement in town."

"The maids will be disappointed," Coen teased. He threw his head back and took a large breath. "I'll see you tonight, then."

"Tonight."

After her conversation with the Captain General, Jealousy took a horse and rode leisurely into town. She left the horse in a stable nearby the Underground entrance and transformed back into the woman from before. She walked carefully into the shadows and observed the activity in the tunnels before heading into the bar once more.

A couple of stragglers recognized her and whistled. "It's the Dragon. Here for another Spitfire?" Strange that Mathasis's nickname stuck. Jealousy nodded in their direction with acknowledgment. She walked over to the counter and waited for the old bartender to finish conversing with other customer.

"Ah, so the Dragon is back in the lair." She realized that the other customer was Mathasis. The man gave a lazy grin and one arm scratched at the other inked forearm. "I'll be back with Circe and Diano." Mathasis slid off his stool and walked out the door.

The old man gave one look at Jealousy's face and hummed. "It seems tha' ya have a long road ahead, accordin' t' fate. Judging by tha' expectant look on yer face, you've read the paper."

The old man was referring to the short note that was enclosed in the wooden box that Mathasis slipped to her. The note read: We have answers. Come back if you would like to hear them.

"Just wondering, barkeep—do all winners receive a box?"

"No. Only those who were in the tournament as a test… and th' ones we've chosen ourselves." The old man seemed to enjoy his job as a cryptic geriatric pest, Jealousy thought.

"So you've chosen me, for I certainly did not decide to take part in this cryptic conspiracy plot. What if I chose to not participate?"

"Then this offer would've disappeared from yer reach forever… or as far as forever can get fer a mere human."

Jealousy had nothing else to ask after that. She waited for Mathasis to return. She also did not like the tone in the old man's voice. He was insinuating something… but Jealousy was confident that only Dante, Envy, and she knew the secret of Homunculi.

The bar door swung open with a loud creak that blended in with the noise and laughter of the establishment. The two Dark Ones were trailing after Mathasis, but not like followers to a leader. There was something powerful about those two, Jealousy realized. It was a certain feel in the air that alerted her to this… fact? Or was it mere speculation from an idle mind?

"Now, Dragon, I would like you to meet Circe and Diano," Mathasis introduced with a flourish. Jealousy cocked her head, but nodded respectfully to both separately.

"If we can now be off… my time is doubly precious today," Diano murmured impatiently. Circe nodded towards her companion and beckoned her to follow. Jealousy walked after the two and Mathasis waved in parting to the bartender. "Ade, Christofs" The old man only shook his head and smirked as the door to his bar closed with an unobtrusive 'thud'.

"I believe it's time for me to part," Mathasis murmured once the group hit the open streets of West City.

Circe had an air of amusement and the head of the hood bobbed in agreement. "Indeed. I wish you well."

"Let's go," Diano muttered. The two led at a brisker pace until they reached the market square. It was a busy day, making it easy for the three women to blend into the crowd. Both lowered their hoods.

Circe had long, thick hair that was a sandy brown shade. The color was dulled. Her skin was an indeterminable tan and pink blend, the tone of one who enjoyed sunlight often. Her eyes were nondescript brown, hanging over an aquiline nose and thin, pale lips. She wasn't beautiful. No one even looked at her. But perhaps that, Jealousy thought, was the beauty of the woman. She was naturally normal.

Diano was much more elegant in comparison. Her hair was kept up in an elaborate braid of inky black locks. Her skin was an unhealthy pale cream tone and she just stared relentlessly with ice blue eyes. Perfect button nose, sculpted lips turned into a frown—she was the total opposite of her companion.

"May I inquire about our… purpose?" Jealousy delicately worded her actual question. Both of them looked at her but looked past her a second later.

"You may. But we will not answer. Not yet," Circe teased. "Now follow."

Jealousy doggedly trailed them as they twisted sinuously through the crowds. There was almost no sense to their movements. Every once in a while, a stall keeper would look over at them and look to the side. And coincidentally, Diano and Circe would lead Jealousy in the same direction. They slowly circled the market area twice before Circe turned sharply down an alleyway.

The road was paved neatly and the ground was clean enough. There were no drunkards or beggars crouching about. No crumbs on the ground for tiny sparrows to peck at. There even wasn't enough wind for the crooked and faded banners to rock in the air. It was a timeless road.

They quietly stepped under the third archway and the musty wooden door swung open for them. Jealousy quickly realized that it didn't matter which door they walked in—all the buildings were actually linked together behind the façade of doorways.

Diano and Circe watched solemnly as Jealousy stepped into the main foyer, a darkly handsome room comprised of wood. There were other cloaked figures here and there, but none of them turned to face the trio of women. Circe walked ahead of the group up a tall, narrow staircase, beckoning Jealousy to follow.

As far as staircases go, Jealousy never trekked up such a winding and ostensibly unstable structure. The stairs up to the Polycalthus Dome were made of stone, not delicate wrought iron and wooden panels. And how it wound around a thin pillar in such a tiny spiral—if she was still human, the ground floor would undoubtedly be graced with Jealousy's sick.

When they finally reached the top, Jealousy noticed that they were on top of an old watch tower. The stone was worn but there was no moss or natural means of erosion. And the air tingled with something…

They sat silently on protruding structures on top of the tower. Diano and Circe seemed to be waiting for Jealousy to make the first move. And so she did.

"What answers?"

"To what questions?" Circe replied in amusement.

"The note promised answers. I am not sure if I even have questions…"

"But to come means that you have questions. Perhaps, you do not know what to ask… but you still seek answers. And answers contain information, knowledge," Diano impatiently explained. "You have curiosity. And despite not having questions, you still sought answers—you sought knowledge."

Jealousy felt annoyed. It was like Diano felt it her right to analyze her, understand her when, really, she did not understand herself! How did she find it proper to see into her?

"Then what, exactly am I looking for?"

Circe smiled kindly and turned away from Jealousy. "Perhaps… Diano, Aquila will be here shortly. You should receive him."

With a curt nod, Diano swept downstairs.

"Now…" Circe's attention was wholly upon Jealousy. "Maybe it is best that I put my cards upon the table for you to feel comfortable enough to do the same."

Jealousy frowned. "I was not aware that I even held any cards." Metaphorical or not.

"You will… in time. Everyone holds cards—some more interesting than others. And I make it a point to collect those interesting cards; but not without trade, of course!"

"Information… for information?" Jealousy bit her lip. "So you are the lead in a chain of informants?"

Circe laughed. "Nothing so mundane."

Informants are mundane?

With a gentle sweep, Circe gestured to the dimming sunset over West City. "Look at the market place. Look at the roads. And look at the capital. Have you ever wondered how it came to be?"

Jealousy was incredulous. "Creation myths?"

"I swear," the other woman smirked. "Each and every one of your guesses becomes more ridiculous."

"I mean… What I mean, Dragon… the subtleties and nuances of human action, and how they carve out histories in this world." Circe looked into the sunset, the light obscuring the expression from her face. "Humans have many things that make them distinct from mere animals. While it seems that there is not a single term that can be used to define our one difference, there is one. We just cannot comprehend it yet.

"But yet… we see all the signs. We have civilizations, much greater than those of the animal kingdom. We have languages, far more expansive than the prowlers of the wild. And our imaginations… thrilling, terrifying, and powerful—human action can leave greater footprints in the sands of time.

"And we know what there is to know. Where each footprint leads." Circe abruptly turned towards Jealousy with a quirky smile. "Mostly, anyhow. But that is what expands this… organization, you may call it. We offer those who have a chance of helping us in this quest for knowledge with free pass into our metaphoric library."

"And now you have me interested." Jealousy leaned forward. There was a strange appeal in the offer. "What is the type of knowledge in possession? Do you deal in fact only?"

"We deal in everything. Most fact is only opinion solidified. You will find that we might even have the most inane of histories, myths, sciences… Of course, all will be offered to you should you accept the price I named."

Jealousy sat back and hummed thoughtfully. She knew what Circe was asking. But would she risk Dante's wrath, maybe even her (and Envy's) existence, over knowledge? What was knowledge to her, anyways? She didn't have a burning desire to know the many dirty secrets of life. It was a curious flame, more like it…

But she knew what she had to give. And there was little that could harm her. She nodded at Circe.

"Sir!" A royal messenger burst into the court session. "Glenn-Anna Remnoirè—de-dead!"

No one made a sound. Viceroy Daellenbach dropped his wine glass. Asmara slapped Coen in the face and ran off. As the tapping of her footsteps faded into the vast halls, the attendees picked up panicked whispers.

"Now they just killed an innocent woman. My thrice-damned by the Fates mother-in-law!" Coen nearly threw his clay smoking pipe off the top of the Polycalthus Dome. He paced around, sat down, and put his hands to his head in frustrated confusion.

"And did they not just send a letter to the King? 'Changes need to be made to the Army' indeed…" Jealousy murmured. "Hesfield had been unceasingly cheerful lately. Quite unnerving."

"Quite."

Jealousy was leaning on the railing, permitting Coen to gather his thoughts. She poured herself a glass of Amestrian Ice Wine. She didn't bother to pour any for Coen because Coen either drank or smoked, but not at the same time—she only drank but didn't smoke, ever.

"Tell me your thoughts," Coen requested quietly as he took a steady breath from his pipe.

"About?"

"What do you think Jonsten is planning?"

"Ah."

Jealousy let the liquid swirl around her cup before she slowly sipped it. Sharp, ephemeral sweetness drifted past her tongue. If she was maudlin, she'd say it represented life.

"Did your supporters try to delay the letter?"

"Most, but not as much as I thought would. I have not been in contact with two key supporters since—well." He took another breath. "They are scaring them away."

Jealousy nodded. "If it is Jonsten… he would be saying, 'I can touch what is under the Captain General's protection. My reach is far greater. Which side will you choose?'"

"It is as I thought." Coen stood up to lean on the railing next to Jealousy. "He wants to start a political civil war with me. He should know that the only way to pry Captain General from me is to do so from my decaying corpse. The King knows he cannot keep Amestris safe if he suddenly switches to someone else. It would only hint at internal turmoil."

Jealousy nodded in agreement. "Drachma has not been too comfortable with Amestris lately. Does his Majesty want—"

"No one knows what the King wants right now beyond stability. Hylantier was a boon—had to be said," he smirked at Jealousy's frown. "—but any more movement from us will be taken as a sign to put us down."

Jealousy softened her expression. "Then you must sniff out everyone involved in this charade before it threatens stability," she intoned softly, drinking the rest of her wine solemnly.

"I see you've replaced me."

"Oh? I'm Jealousy,and you're Envy. You're replacing me if you keep acting like that."

Envy snorted.

Envy and she were standing on the rooftop of the palace. They had to iron out a few details to their plans, alongside enjoying some sibling bonding time.

"I've picked up a dictionary before. Why are you talking politics with our target? Talk with me! Don't you know how bored I am?"

Jealousy smirked. "I don't have enough space in my heart for both of you, let alone even one of you."

Envy scowled and shoved her violently. "Jonsten is pleased with progress. The Witch is, too. But neither of them is really after Coen, I think."

"What makes you think that?"

"Why won't they just kill him and be done with it, then?"

Envy had a good point.

"Because… Dante likes games? And so does Jonsten?"

"No. It's because they're trying to maneuver Coen. It's not like I'll be ruining any plans—I just wonder why Dante has to lord it over us that she's not doing what she told us she was doing."

Jealousy bit her lip thoughtfully. "No, now you have it wrong. She never told us what she wanted. Besides breaking up the Daellenbach Family. But it's already pretty broken, if I do say so myself."

"And you do." Envy raised an eyebrow. "Maybe she wants chaos for the sake of chaos?"

"She's not brain-dead and violent—she's smart and violent. Get it right!"

"Well, I want chaos for the sake of chaos." He sat down on the edge of the shingles.

Jealousy sat down, as well. "That's all that should matter right now."

They watched the world change in minuscule increments from their unchanging eyes.

"—Brentano, the foreign officer… I heard he was executed for treason."

"Was he not Jonsten's friend?"

"The Captain General knew of what proved him a traitor, and few others—"

From a tall balcony on top of a dome, Coen and Jealousy tapped wine glasses together.

It continued for seven years. Escalation of killings until the King announced his royal presence in West City. So the two factions took a break, only for a short while...

Jealousy didn't just do other people's dirty work for seven years; she had her fair share of 'work', too.

Circe's circle of friends, a loose network organization she termed 'the Society on Societies' (Circe liked to be informative. And blunter than most Society members—though this meant that she was too damned cryptic for an average human being) listed several seemingly innocuous men and women throughout the continent who were supposedly geniuses at forbidden alchemy. How Circe knew what Jealousy barely knew what she wanted was a whole mystery within itself, never to be solved.

In return, Jealousy told Circe about the only two alchemists she had ever known personally: Hohenheim and Dante. She spoke of the cornucopia of notes that her father left behind, contacts, and subfields of study. She also spoke of the heinous experiments she witnessed from Dante, the goals, and twisted schemes. Jealousy mentioned the Philosopher's Stone in passing.

Diano returned after the first few times that Circe and Jealousy met up. She did not seem as impatient anymore, only curious and more inquiring than Circe. She opened up about the history of Amestris—the true lineage of the royalty, how one scandal in the royal kitchens actually resulted in a changeling and a false line in today's royalty, and what the Great Purge of Kristian really was. Jealousy learned of the Society's links to the great events in history, in scientific discovery, and in great tragedies.

"One thing you will never learn is why the Society came into existence. That is something no one will ever learn." Jealousy didn't bother to fall prey to the various meanings in that phrase alone.

But Jealousy's personal business with the Society on Societies turned dirty soon enough. She learned that the Society liked to experiment, but their projects were done on actual civilizations. Vast manipulations, assassinations, friendships and ties, betrayals—all done in the name of learning. So when Jealousy sought for one more name, the one man Circe and Diano hinted that knew about and suffered through Human Transmutation, they gave her a deal.

She had to kill the King of Amestris and present Hohenheim's book of contacts to them.

Dante ordered Jealousy to do the same the very next day.

Jealousy took it as a sign, and proceeded to throw country into a state of turmoil and darkness.

What was her next move?

A/N: I haven't touched this story for a good while. I have also reworked a couple parts of the plot and as a result, I feel that this chapter is rather disjointed and rushed. But I really didn't like this chapter either way. It was just one that had to be written. And so, I'm back. :)