Chapter Seventeen

Basch's eyes flicker toward the soldiers behind him. "We shouldn't speak here," he says in his quiet, measured voice.

"No kidding." Vaan scowls. He's learned a lot in the past two years, and he's given up his hatred of the Empire. Really, he has. But it's still hard, sometimes, to push back the surge of resentment he feels when he sees those suits of armor, particularly now, with Balthier and Fran trapped in Draklor.

He stands, grimacing, and Basch's ever-watchful eyes sharpen. Vaan shrugs, then tilts his head toward the palace. Explanations will have to wait until they're away from listening ears. After a moment, Basch dons his helmet again—a gaudy thing with curving silver horns and an eternally stern face—and gestures for him to follow.

The guards at the gate let him pass without a word. Vaan resists the impulse to stick his tongue out at them while their backs are turned.

Basch leads him through an ornate doorway, which opens up into a long hallway draped in banners bearing the sigil of House Solidor. It's the only Archadian family sigil Vaan recognizes on sight, and even though Larsa's on the throne now, the profusion of flags sets him ill at ease. Thankfully, the next hallway they enter is less stately than comfortable, lit with warmly glowing magicite lamps. They proceed halfway down the corridor, then enter a small sitting room centered around a table etched with an intricate map of the city. "It should be safe to talk here, so long as we keep our voices down."

Vaan nods absently, but checks the window and closet to make sure no one's eavesdropping. Whoever trapped them in Draklor knew they were coming, and that means they'll expect another visit soon. Even the tiniest scrap of information in the enemy's hands could be catastrophic.

"I've never seen you so wary," Basch says quietly. "What's happened?"

"Balthier and Fran have been captured. They're in Draklor, and I need your help getting them out."

"Captured? You mean to say they're alive?"

Oh. Right. Quickly, Vaan summarizes the past few days, starting with waking up to find the Strahl in midair and his dead mentor not quite as dead as he thought. After the initial look of shock, Basch's face settles into a serious expression, and by the time Vaan explains how they infiltrated Draklor, the man's face is stony.

"This isn't good," Basch says when Vaan finishes.

"Exactly! That's why we need to go in there and get them out."

"I will speak on this with Lord Larsa." Basch starts for the door. "He will be able to order them released."

Vaan hesitates. "Actually, I kinda figured the two of us would just go in and bust 'em out." When Basch only stares at him, he fidgets, casting his eyes about. "I mean, it's not like it would be the first time we've broken into Draklor. Besides, Larsa's probably busy running an empire and stuff."

"I'm sure he can spare a few minutes to send an inquiry."

"An inquiry," he repeats. "You don't really believe that whoever's in charge of Draklor is going to admit they have him—them—prisoner. Come on, Basch, they're corrupt and you know it."

Doubt flickers in the captain's eyes. "Very well," he says at last. "We will leave a missive explaining the situation, to be delivered if we do not return by tomorrow morning. As for today, I will visit the laboratory on the pretext of an inspection. If I find anything, we can discuss it tonight. In the meantime, you should rest. I can send someone to take care of your injuries."

"You're leaving me behind?" Unthinking, he jumps to his feet, only for javelins of pain to shoot up his legs. He stumbles, bashing his hip against the table as he tries to right himself. He's spent too much of his life hiding his pain to cry out, but a glance at Basch's face is all it takes to know that his wince hasn't gone unnoticed.

"Sometimes tenacity must yield to wisdom," Basch says, resting an armored hand on Vaan's shoulder. "They may recognize you. Better that I go—I have the authority to bypass even their most rigorous security features."

Vaan seethes. Why does everyone treat him like a child? He's used to it from Balthier, but he thought Basch, at least, had stopped thinking of him as some reckless adolescent. He wants to demand he be allowed to go, but what good will it do, except prove he really is childish? "Fine," he says, sitting down and crossing his arms. "But if this doesn't work out, we do it my way."

"Aye." With a final nod, Basch steps out, leaving Vaan to wait.

A healer arrives a few minutes later, towing a cart of potions, antidotes, bandages, and other tinctures and tonics behind her. Vaan regards her suspiciously as she tends to his wounds and refuses the painkillers she offers. He almost refuses the potion as well—for all he knows, she is an agent of Draklor—except that he really does need it. Still, as soon as she leaves, he uses what little magick he has left for a Poisona spell, purging any undetected toxins from his body.

Legs healed, he paces the length of the small room. He hates being left behind, but this isn't the first time. In hindsight, it's easy to see that the older members of their group always saw him and Penelo as kids. Included but not often informed, or sent off to resupply and "gather information" from the locals while the others met with dignitaries and leaders. Always an afterthought. Now it's happening again, except this time it's worse, because he has nothing to distract him—no tasks, no excuse to wander around and explore. Nothing but this cramped room with its fine furniture that no one ever uses.

Keep it together, he tells himself and continues pacing.

"Sir, a judge just arrived in the lobby."

Balthier stills, though his hands continue to tremble slightly, an effect of the blood he's lost and the sharp pains of his battered body. How long has he been here? A few hours? A day? The steady light of the panels keeps him from judging time properly, and his pocketwatch was taken along with his weapons and lock-picking tools. Not that it really matters how long he's been in here. Only Fran and Vaan know he's been captured, and they're both in cells of their own. With luck, they have not received as much personal attention as he has.

"A judge?" Lucen turns toward the soldier in the doorway, annoyance glimmering in his cool eyes. "Whatever for?"

"He says he's here to conduct an inspection on behalf of Emperor Larsa."

This piques Balthier's interest. "Emperor Larsa, you say? And here I thought this place hadn't any oversight whatsoever."

His brother flicks a disdainful glance in his direction, but otherwise ignores him. "I shall be down shortly. In the meantime, ensure that our dutiful inspector is comfortable."

"Sir." The guard salutes and marches off to carry out his appointed task.

Lucen closes the door, turning to look down at Balthier. "I must say, I'm impressed. I hadn't anticipated you leaving a fuse behind in the event you got yourself captured. I'd assumed you'd cut all ties with this city after you abandoned it to become a criminal. Who else is working with you?"

No one. "Perhaps the Emperor has decided to clear the rats out of his city at last." He can use this, he thinks. Make enough noise at the right time, alert the judge, whoever he is, to his presence. True, he will most likely end up in another cell, but with luck, it will not be as inescapable as the one he currently inhabits. If he handles himself deftly, he might even get this place shut down for a time.

"You still believe providence will save you," Lucen remarked. "I knew you were a fool, but I never knew how much. That said, you can set aside any hope of being discovered here. This is a large complex. It is a simple enough matter to redirect any attention away from this wing, should it be necessary."

"Go on, then. Entertain your guests. I'm sure they'll be much more interested in your drivel than I." He hears his voice shaking and tells himself it's merely a result of the toll these past hours have taken on his body, rather than the stresses upon his mind. Pain, he can endure—considering the life he has lived, it is largely inconsequential. But there is something about being trapped, restrained to the small radius allowed by his chains, that pushes past his defenses to chafe against something deeper. A bird should not be confined to a cage.

Lucen regards him a moment more, then turns and presses several buttons on the keypad, opening the door. Balthier has, of course, already memorized the code, but that will be of little avail if he can't get these damned manacles off. As soon as Lucen is gone, he continues his work, twisting his wrists in their restraints, testing whether or not he'll be able to slip them. Perhaps if he dislocates his thumbs. It's an unpleasant thought, and it may not even work, but if he can make it out of this cell, he may yet be able to quit this place.

He tries not to entertain the notion that he might never make it that far, but the thought lurks at the edges of his mind. Vaan and Fran are still in peril, and he has no doubt that Lucen will hurt them to punish him. Escape is not merely important—it is vital. Because if he cannot find his way out of here, his companions will likely fare no better.

There is no such thing as an inescapable cell, he tells himself, eyes flicking to the cart his brother left behind. Like the keypad, it is beyond his reach, but the various implements on it will make for suitable tools if he can get to them. The longer he spends here, the more his condition deteriorates. Not only does he need to escape; he needs to do it soon, and this surprise inspection may be the only time he is left alone long enough to do so.

His plan, in the end, is risky but simple. He kneels on the bloodied pallet, closing his eyes and breathing slow and deep. It takes a great deal of concentration to relax his shoulders and arms, more than he'd been able to manage under Lucen's torture, but he manages to loosen strained muscles and ligaments. When his arms are suitably limp, he folds one thumb just so, pressing it against the edge of the cuffs, trying not to think about what he's about to do.

Then, as calmly as any man of impeccable breeding ought to be, he wrenches his hand through the manacles, dislocating his thumb and slipping free with a truncated grunt of agony. It's not quite enough to make him faint (though his vision does go spotty for a moment), and with one hand free, he is able to extend his reach far enough to wrap his fingertips around the base of the cart and drag it closer.

From there, it is a simple matter of selecting an appropriate tool (he goes with a pointy silver implement with a wickedly sharp hook at the end, ignoring the fact that said hook is crusted with his blood from Lucen's ministrations), and within a bare handful of seconds, he unlocks the other manacle and revels briefly in having both hands free before standing up—and then sitting down hard when a wave of dizziness threatens to topple him.

Perhaps this is not as wise a plan as it first appeared.

It takes him two more tries before he is confident in his ability to stand without fainting, and even then, his hands tremble in weakness as he rifles through the cart's contents until coming up with a knife as long as his hand. It is not an ideal weapon—minimal reach, without the heft to pierce the armor of Draklor's guards—but it is better than the rest (the rest being pliers, hooks, salt, torches, and other implements which are quite suited for inflicting tiny, agonizing wounds, but have little place in an actual fight).

Armed, he staggers over to the keypad, typing in the code with trembling fingers. The door opens with a hiss, alerting the guards outside, but Balthier is ready for them. The first guard dies when Balthier slides the knife through the tiny gap connecting the man's helmet to the rest of his armor. The second approaches more cautiously, moving to block the doorway, but Balthier throws his full weight at the man, as if he were breaking down a door, and manages to shove his way past as the guard bellows for backup.

Balthier sprints down the corridor, bypassing the rows of other cells (without knowing which cells are holding his companions, he cannot afford to waste time opening them one by one), in favor of a triangle-shaped door rimmed with blue phosphor. Several men and women in dusky coats cry out as he flings himself through the door, but these are researchers, not soldiers, and none of them have the presence of mind to intercept him as he pushes through their ranks and rakes his fingers across the control panel at the back of the room, opening not only the cell doors, but jamming the elevators and the bulkheads so his escape route cannot easily be cut off.

By then, the guards have arrived in the control room. Before they can advance, Balthier seizes the nearest researcher, spinning her around and pressing his knife against her throat. "Not a step closer," he says in a voice like steel and thunder.

"Hold your fire," the lead guard says to the pair of crossbowmen behind him. For the first time since his frantic race to the control room, Balthier feels a flash of fear at how near he is to dying from a crossbow bolt through the eye. There's a fair chance at least one of them will miss and hit his hostage, which is likely the only reason he hasn't been shot yet, but he still isn't particularly fond of his odds. There's also the little detail that if they do shoot his hostage, he'll have lost what little leverage he has, not to mention being responsible for indirectly causing the death of an (arguably) innocent woman.

"Release her, and we will escort you back to your cell unharmed," the lead soldier says. "Resist, and we will shoot."

The woman in his arms lets out a soft whimper. "P-please," she whispers, on the edge of a sob, and in that moment she is not merely leverage—she is a person, a person who he has terrified and made powerless in his desperation to improve his own circumstances—and Balthier cannot help but think that this is exactly what his father would have done in his position.

Balthier releases the woman, letting the knife clatter to the floor as she scurries to the edge of the room, weeping. As soon as she is out of the way, the guards advance, seizing his hands and cuffing them once more before hauling him back into the hallway to return to his cell. This time, when they chain him to the wall, they leave only enough slack for him to kneel awkwardly on his pallet and pray that this disturbance has drawn the attention of today's surprise inspector.

Author's Notes:

Hey, everyone. Long time no see, huh? Like, more than a year. Yeah . . . I'm really sorry about how long this took. It's been a bit of a rough year for me. The coffee shop where I worked closed due to a dispute with corporate, and a couple months later, after I followed my bosses to another restaurant they owned, that place closed down, too, due to legal fees related to the aforementioned coffee shop dispute. Even so, I really should have had this chapter up sooner. I know you guys have been waiting on it for a long time, and I will try to do better in the future, but for now it's probably best that I don't make any promises.

In slightly happier news, I recently beta'ed an original novel. It's a male/male romance about a man who gets stuck in a magical snowglobe and falls in love with the wizard inside, only to realize that he's carrying a secret that could change their relationship forever. The title is The Wizard's Desire, and you can find it on Amazon. At the time of this posting, you can get it for $0.99 as an ebook, but this is a limited-time offer, so I recommend downloading it within the next couple days, before the price goes up. If ebooks aren't your thing, it will also be available in paperback within the next few weeks, though these will be a little pricier, due to printing costs. I've included a short blurb below for those of you who are interested, and I hope you'll enjoy the story as much as I did.

Blurb for The Wizard's Desire

Kei has had enough of wizards and magic interfering with his life. A terrible accident in his childhood left his parents' memories ruined: they no longer remember him. In the years since, Kei has lived a normal life as a firefighter, keeping his relationships distant so he can't be hurt again.

But magic destroys and injures. On the run from his mistakes, Orion will do anything to escape his past—even isolate himself in a magical snow globe. When a desperate situation arises and Orion uses his magic to alter the walls of his snow globe, he accidentally opens a pathway to the outside world. Orion can't risk anyone entering... but he can't risk using his magic again, either.

Orion isn't prepared for the firefighter who falls into his snow globe. Kei is a balm to Orion's loneliness, and despite Kei's distrust of wizards, he begins to see the real person behind Orion's flirting—a brave man who protects those he loves. Unable to help himself, Kei falls in love... until he discovers that Orion's secrets may have everything to do with his own difficult past.