by E. C. Jarvis
“You’d run for President just for a chance to finish dealing with the people on my list?” he said after a time.
“Not just for that. What did you say earlier?”
“Earlier when? I can’t keep up with your thought process, Larissa.”
“Well, try harder.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“What did you say, before I said I’d run for President. Did you ask a question?”
“I asked if you would like to go on a date…with me.”
“A date?”
“Yes, I believe that’s what normal people call it.”
Larissa sat dumbstruck for a moment as she processed his request. A date. Her mind tried to conjure up an image of them sitting in a quiet nook in a restaurant, him dressed in his usual monotone black fatigues, her in her grubby and ripped dress with a pair of Cid’s goggles perched on her head. The waiter asking what they’d like to order and Holt insisting he would only eat proteins and vegetables to keep his body in peak physical condition and refusing to drink a glass of wine. Somehow, the vision just would not meld into something coherent.
“Will it involve target practice or training?” she asked.
“I’m sure that can be arranged, if you would like. Although, I thought...”
“You thought I would want flowers and chocolates, to be whisked off my feet and treated like a princess, then taken home to a warm apartment adorned with rose petals and scented candles and listen to you whispering sweet nothings in my ear until we got ourselves so worked up that we had to retire to the bedroom?”
“Something along those lines. Is that what you’ve had in mind?”
“No, not at all. I haven’t imagined that sort of thing in detail.” She felt the heat rushing to her cheeks, and the slight upturn in the corner of Holt’s mouth reminded her that lying was not one of her skills.
“I don’t have a warm apartment,” he said, slipping his arm around her shoulder. “Or scented candles…or a bed.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sure we can find a suitable alternative. Do you have a desk?” she asked without looking him in the eye. She didn’t try to hide the grin spreading so wide it made her cheeks hurt.
“Not even a desk, I’m afraid. Though I believe the President does have one.”
“I’m not sure that’s an acceptable act of state to perform upon the Presidential desk.”
“I can think of far worse things to do in there. Waging war, plotting horrific crimes, signing death warrants.”
“Oh, charming. Now I really don’t fancy using the desk,” she said, scrunching her nose up.
“For horizontal exercises or for running the country?”
“Either.”
“Perhaps you could commission a new one.”
“Perhaps I could. Holt?”
“Yes?”
“What will you do? I mean, besides picking off the last few names on your list and taking me on a date?”
“I’m not sure. I hadn’t expected to survive this long. I didn’t make any plans.”
“Perhaps you should run for President.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then what else?”
“I like the sound of you reinstating me as Captain.”
“You want a commission aboard a Sky Force airship?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m afraid my days of running around and fighting battles are behind me. I could only command a ship provided a certain person remained in close proximity to me at all times,” he said, turning to face her, slipping his hand into hers.
“Ah, the Anthonium poisoning,” she said, understanding his point.
“And the only cure.” He squeezed her hand gently.
“You need me,” she said with a smirk.
“I need you,” he replied as he bent forward with a kiss.
EPILOGUE
A gust of wind swirled around, rustling the leaves of the oak trees nearby, pulling a few orangey-brown leaves from the branches and sending them fluttering to the ground. The pale blue sky was clear, not a single cloud dusting the expanse above. Larissa climbed down from the carriage and adjusted her pillbox hat. The wind wasn’t quite strong enough to pick it off her head and send it flying, but she checked the pin holding it in place just to be sure.
“You look fine,” Holt whispered into her ear, his voice low.
She shuddered a little. She hadn’t seen or heard him climb down from the carriage to join her; his unique knack for stealth prevailed. She doubted if she would ever get used to it, although there was no denying the fact that she was on edge today. She would probably jump out of her skin at the meekest sound.
Three months had passed since the death of the President and the attack on the Capital. Three months had passed since the death of her father, her cat, and Cid. It seemed odd now—after having spent a considerable portion of those three months locked in a prison cell—to be walking around freely, to feel the wind in her hair, to wear nice clothes and have a clean smell to her body. She could have been any other woman in the world, dressed in fine black silks, smoothed down the muscular lines of her torso, her skirts swishing with every step, her high-heeled boots clacking down the paved path. She could have been no one—a store clerk, perhaps. But today, she was Larissa Markus. Pirate. Criminal. Murderer. Assassin. Daughter of the Empirical Dynasty of Daltonia. Presidential Candidate. She had so many accolades and accusations stacked up beside her name that no one really knew what to do with her. It helped that she had two high-ranking military men in Kerrigan and Vries, singing her praises and extolling her virtues. Even Friar Narry had provided a useful character reference. It was thanks to them that she had been allowed out, a fact she wasn’t going to forget any time soon.
Today, she tried her best to put all of those things to one side. Today was not about politics or her troubles.
Holt walked by her side along the path, his broad shoulders in the peripheral of her vision. Dressed all in black, as per usual, though today it was entirely appropriate, he had appointed himself the role of her bodyguard, but in truth, he needed to be close. The time they had both spent in prison cells had taken its toll on him, bringing him close to death more than once. It had taken a significant amount of pleading with the guards to let him move to the cell directly beside her own, giving him the chance to draw energy from her healing ability and keeping him alive. She had no idea how long that mysterious link between them would last. It felt as though an axe loomed overhead, threatening to come plummeting down and end it all at any moment.
Larissa reached up and looped her arm through Holt’s elbow. He glanced down at her, a slight frown of confusion on his brow. “I am not in need of physical contact at this moment,” he said.
“You may not be, but I am.”
His face softened with understanding, and they continued on together.
The path turned into a steady ascent up a hillside. The green grasses at the path’s side reached waist height, hiding the base of the oak trees covering the hill. Up ahead, where the hill reached a plateau, a group of people had gathered. A collection of mostly men in smart, dark suits stood around conversing with one another. Here, the grass was cut neatly and arranged in blocks of deep green around small pathways. Nearby, a collection of headstones was nestled beneath a tree. The light refracted oddly at the top of the hill, where the smog cloud from the city spread over the atmosphere, causing yellowish streaks of light to show in the air.
Butterflies tumbled around inside Larissa’s chest, though there was no reason to feel nervous. It wasn’t as if they were heading into battle or a courtroom. She glanced backward to the road. Their carriage had disappeared already, but another horse-drawn carriage came into view, heading towards them. It was covered completely, lacking windows out of which its occupant might see. Another flutter danced around her stomach.
“I have weapons,” Holt whispered down to her; he too had noticed the carriag
e.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said, lying to herself as much as to him.
“If you say so.”
Kerrigan turned to face them as they approached. He wore a darker version of Army dress uniform. His black hair had been cut short and slicked back. A line of medals pinned on his breast glinted in the light. His back straightened as he saw Larissa, and he dipped his head in a nod of greeting. His comrade, Lieutenant Saunders, turned as well, revealing a short and slim woman by his side—his fiancé, Larissa presumed. The rotund General Gott cast his beady eye over Larissa as he spotted them. One by one, the other people noticed their approach and parted to let them through.
As they reached the hilltop, Friar Narry greeted them with a hearty handshake and a broad smile. He wore dark red robes with golden tassels at the edges of his sleeves. Larissa had never really believed in the Gods or followed any of the religious practices besides celebrating Saints Day. Once again, she had to remind herself that today was not about her or her beliefs. The Friar’s attendance was wholly appropriate to the circumstance.
The hilltop plateau led to a sharp drop on the other side. The rocky face hidden by a bank of trees, a forest covered the land below, and in the distance, the Capital city dominated the horizon. A great cloud of smog hung over the vast buildings, shrouding the residents no doubt carrying on with their lives. At the edge of the grass, an empty pyre lay in wait. Larissa glanced at it briefly, and then turned her gaze to the horizon, resolving to avoid looking at the pyre until etiquette required her to do so.
“I believe,” Friar Narry said, bringing the hushed conversations in the group to a silence, “that we are awaiting only one more attendee.”
“Who?” Larissa asked as she looked around. Everyone she expected had turned up already, and she couldn’t think who else would come. Some long-lost family member?
Narry responded with a smile and approached to speak to her directly. “I haven’t seen you for a long time, child,” he said.
“I’ve been otherwise detained,” she said with a smirk. Holt subtly untangled himself from her grasp and took a few steps away to give them some privacy, though she didn’t know why. He would no doubt hear every word.
“Yes. My apologies. We were trying to get you out sooner, but the situation was somewhat complex.”
“I know. I’m just happy to be alive and free. Thank you, Friar.”
“It wasn’t really my effort that helped. I was wondering if you would wish me to include your father in the ceremony?”
Larissa twitched, wishing she was still holding onto Holt for support. She hadn’t considered that as an option—she hadn’t even thought of her father, at least not so far today.
“No,” she said forcibly, “this is for Cid. I don’t want that man clouding the moment.”
“I understand. He wasn’t always that way, you know,” Narry said.
“How would you know?”
“Because I remember him as a child.”
An odd silence fell between them. Larissa could feel the frown tugging her eyebrows low, and the flutter moved from her stomach to her chest. “Explain?”
“In my younger days, I was a Priest to the former Emperor. A group of other priests and I helped his young son escape when the military enacted a coup. I was fortunate to be an unknown priest at the time and didn’t face retribution for my part in what was deemed a crime after the fact. My elders did, though, poor souls. The young boy was passed on beyond my care, and I never knew what happened to him. I’m sad to say I was frightened to ask for fear of being reported to the authorities as one who helped him escape.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I wasn’t aware that he’d chosen the identity of Solomon Covelle or Professor Markus. It wasn’t until we were in the midst of chaos that I realised who he claimed to be, and that you were his daughter. I thought to mention it on several occasions, but there never seemed to be an appropriate moment. Besides, you had enough to worry about. I didn’t want to add another story from your past to your troubles. The weights on your shoulders have grown heavier with each day.”
Larissa shook her head slightly. She didn’t want to think of her father as a young boy, frightened for his life, escaping death and seeing his family torn down by politics. It must have been heart-breaking. A pain settled in her chest. It didn’t excuse his actions, but it did explain them, she supposed.
“Being sympathetic to his plight doesn’t make you weak or mean you accept his actions. You are nothing like him,” Narry said, offering some form of consolation. “I imagine you must be like your mother.”
“The woman who easily fell for the charms of a liar?” she said. Another pain struck her chest. Yes, she was just like her mother. How easily had she herself fallen for the charms of her own Professor—a man who had just as many secret plans and ambitions as her own father?
“Your mother would have achieved all you have achieved?” Holt asked. Larissa knew he’d be listening, despite his attempt at discretion. Their eyes met. He had a serious and determined expression on his face, the hardness of his jawline showing with the freshly shaved chin.
“She wasn’t fortunate enough to have a wily Ex-Captain hop onto her airship…or a Cid.” She turned to face the pyre, and then looked away again, refocusing on the Friar.
“Leave my father out of today, please. I will reconcile with who he was and who he was not some other time.”
“You don’t even want to know his name? To know what your true family name is?”
“I’ll check the history books when I’m ready.”
“As you wish.” Narry moved off to speak with Sandy, who had also donned a dark robe of her own, her hair pulled back into long plaits. Larissa made a mental note to thank her for all she’d done later.
Beside her, Holt shifted his stance. The hairs on the back of Larissa’s neck stood up as she noticed his movement, his feet planted firmly on the ground, legs bent slightly. Most of all, she noted that his hands had slipped to the back of his belt, where he had no doubt concealed a blade…or several. His attention had shifted to the path, and she followed his gaze, not knowing what to expect.
The dark carriage had stopped at the bottom of the hill, the horses pulling it standing ready to leave. Two figures had emerged from the carriage, along with several large men. Larissa knew who they were the moment she laid eyes upon them. Their dark skin stood as a stark contrast to the bright sky and colours of autumn surrounding them. Long locks of dark hair flowed freely in the breeze on the taller of the two women; the other had pulled her hair into a braid. Larissa’s knees went weak, and she felt like a skittish rabbit as her eyes darted around, checking for signs of the military or enforcers bearing down upon them. The road leading to the hill was empty in both directions. No one seemed to care that the Eptoran Empress and her sister were causally wandering about on a hillside a few miles out of the Daltonian Capital.
“It seems she received your letter,” Holt said quietly. He relaxed his stance one iota but kept his hands at his back.
“I sent a letter to Elena to tell her about Cid. I didn’t extend an invite to them. I’m pretty sure nothing I said in that letter could have been interpreted as such.”
“I sent a letter of my own with yours,” Kerrigan said as he joined Larissa at her other side. “The Admiral lent his assistance in the wording of the invitation.”
Admiral Vries appeared at Larissa’s shoulder just behind Kerrigan. For some reason, the men surrounding her kept their distance a few inches behind her. Even Holt. They had all placed her squarely in front of the group. If they had been anyone else, she might have questioned their integrity or bravery; no man—especially military men—would use a woman as a shield. It didn’t take long for her brain to figure out the subtle meaning of the act.
“Empress,” she said as the women approached. She faltered, having not had the time to figure out the protocol. Should she bow? Curtsey? Grovel on the floor and beg the Gods
for help?
“Miss…Markus,” the Empress said with a quirky upturn in her eyebrow. The two women settled on a mutual nod of greeting. The men at Larissa’s back all dipped into stiff bows. The show of respect to their enemy was both wonderful and confusing. “I’m sure you can appreciate the gravity of my presence in your land.”
“I can. I would like to assure you that you will be treated well and allowed to leave unharmed, but I’m not in a position to make such a promise.”
“Assurances have been given on your behalf. My sister insisted upon attendance at this affair. It is right, I suppose, that you follow your Daltonian rituals for honouring the dead, considering the man was of this land. I’m not sure I will ever understand the need to burn an empty pyre, though.”
“It’s symbolic,” Larissa said. She had no idea what the Eptorans did at funerals. She wasn’t sure she cared, either.
Beside the Empress, Elena said nothing. The tears in her eyes were unmistakable. She stepped up to the pyre, clutching something in her hands. Silently, she reached out and placed an object on one of the jutting pieces of wood. She muttered a few silent words, clutching at the wood as if it were Cid’s body, perhaps saying a final farewell.
Larissa attempted to swallow the lump in her throat only to find that it remained no matter how hard she swallowed. When Elena stepped away from the pyre, the item left behind caught Larissa’s eye. Tears burst free, and she stopped trying to deny them. A lone pair of goggles swung in the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees behind them.
“Though we have no body to burn, we burn this pyre as a symbol, committing the spirit of Cid Mendle to the afterlife. May he find whatever he was looking for in this life in the next.” Friar Narry had already lit a torch, the flame burning steadily in his hand. He reached out and presented the torch to Larissa. She’d assumed he would be the one to light the pyre and didn’t know what was expected of her when taking the torch, her ignorance in the ways of the world striking at her once again. Was she supposed to say something? She had planned on saying nothing, on simply letting the Friar do all the work and trying not to snort and snivel through the entire afternoon.
