All things considered, it’s not a good idea. The Ikarani must know he survived, and will have contingencies in place to finish him off. If she goes wandering, instead of staying put, she will almost certainly get caught up in the first disaster she comes across, and likely will not survive the encounter. None of this is wisdom. Apollo would not tell her to do any of this.

And on some level? She has to know it too. The fear that she’s spent her entire life breathing in now hangs thick around her, so thick she can hardly breathe, much less see, but somewhere in her heart she must know all this to be true. So what good would it do him to tell her it too?

Instead, he lies back. Closes his eyes. Gathers up what little strength he has, and uses it to carry his weak, stumbling voice all the way to her. Through the fear, and through the pain. Let her hear him just one, last time.

“The princess…wants to sail to Gaia.”

“We’re going to have to cross the Rift. I don’t know how we’re going to manage it. Just looking at it…it terrifies me. Even if we get past it, there are only stories of what lies on the other side of the universe. It will be to the gods if we find Gaia at all. But if we do? If we deliver what Lord Hades entrusted to us? Each of us, four of us, will be granted a wish. The princess wishes for a world where her mother steps down peacefully. She wishes for a world where the stars will be open to all. And the Empire of today will just be a bad memory.”

“Bella…I don’t know what Bella wants, exactly. But the ones Bella works for, they want to kill the Princess. They will then, most likely, organize a coup against the Empress, bringing forth whatever allies and plans they have had lying in wait for just such an occasion. But when the dust settles, they wish to sit on the throne, with no one to challenge them ever again. The Empire of today will be no more. And, I think a new Empire, born of blood and silence, will take its place.”

“Both sound at least a little impossible to me.” And yet, a chef had become a Captain, so perhaps that wasn’t as large a barrier as advertised.  “So what impossible do [i]you[/i] want, miss?”

[Rolling to Talk Sense with Wisdom: 6 + 6 + 1 = [b]13[/b]]

***************************************

This distraction is less enjoyable. Perhaps it is the point of the lesson. She will not think it so until later, if she ever does.

At once she is hackles and pinned ears, hissing and surging adrenaline. Her glaive whistles through the open air. Her fangs find no targets. Still she swings. Still she bites. Still she strains for some scrap of control as strength, overwhelming strength entraps her. She is pulled apart. She is crushed. She cannot breathe. Not like this! Not like this!

She is on her back, gasping for air. The Furnace Knight lands, well out of reach, completely untouched. He waits patiently for her to flex her fingers, to feel her arm moving under her own power again. To peel the glaive from a white-knuckle grip, one finger at a time. To rise, to return to the Underworld from someplace much worse. Then does he continue, in a slow and measured tone, free of threat and abounding in calm. There is the sky. There is the sun. There is his voice. None are going anywhere. Breathe, student.

She finds deep breaths filling her lungs. She finds nerves abating, retreating to an uncomfortable buzz that threatens to squeeze her chest tight again. She finds a voice, pulled taut and words nocked, and only by slow, steady strain can they be removed without violence. “I would appreciate. A warning, if that is going to happen again.” She shivers. She needs a drink. She won’t drink again. She takes her seat, and it is something she can do, and something she needs, and it is a start. She has to start somewhere.

“You’re right. Of course.” And she settles back into the comforting embrace of the storyteller. “I was a young, headstrong, fool of a girl wearing a Senator’s robes. I knew stagecraft, I knew fighting, I knew diplomacy, but I knew nothing of the long game of politics. Where all my opponents had decades of practice and fewer morals. Once, I sought to secure broader access to fresh water for those working in the scrapyards. It was all mine, for the low, low price of a shipment of plating. Said plating had been intended for additional solar shielding on the worker’s barracks, and yes, thousands would surely suffer terrible solar burns in the summer months, but they’d have water! They’d be alive! Dehydration or sunstroke, how would I care to let them die? Another time, I traded a run-down slum for bigger and better housing elsewhere. Within a month, the residents had been forced out, and a new luxury theater was underway. Meanwhile, my new housing project was still in the early stages of planning, materials would be double-claimed and take months to resolve, the builders were ‘accidentally’ promised their pay in advance, more funds would have to be raised, and all this time the people slept on the streets. So it was, everywhere, with everything I touched. Maybe you’re right, and maybe a more adept hand could have made a difference. But at what cost, when the vultures would devour everything they could get their claws into?”

“But if I’m being honest, it’s the wrong question to ask. In the late days of my rule, I noticed the tenor of my public appearances change for the worse. Where once I had only enjoyed broad, fervent support, the public of those days presented an unbearable tension. A clear marking line, between my wild-eyed fans, and...other, less ecstatic gazes. Desperation. Battered hope. Flickering embers of resentment. The same I would see in Alethea’s face, when she would come to demand an explanation for my latest dealings. More than the continued setbacks to my causes, this, I found the most intolerable. I doubled my efforts, not in statecraft, but in performance, seeking to bring them grander and more magnificent displays, anything to win back their adoration. No, the question is not if a different approach could have worked, sir Knight. It is if I was capable of playing my cards so close to my chest, playing the long game for the greatest good, if it meant giving up the praise and glory that catapulted me to fame in the first place.”

“I have thought on that question often, in this new life of mine.” Her eyes fall to the royal blue robes, draped over her motley frame. “I told you; I do not wear an honor higher than Captain, these days.”

“But where was I? Yes: An endless spiral of compromise, and a wavering public. This went on for years, and would have continued for many more, if a wild card had not upended everything. Lakkos’ military specialty was in the plover, I’d mentioned. We’d had no interest in spacefaring, as the Armada - when it returned - would surely be enough for the war to come. So when a Starsong cruiser cut through the atmosphere and opened broadsides against Senator Demetris’ household, there was no defense against it. His personal plover, the pride and joy of his household, was laid to ruin, and his security force scattered to the winds. The Starsong could’ve left just as easily; we had no way to stop them. But against all self-interest, they stayed behind to evacuate citizens who wished to flee with them.”

“The call came down from the chief of the Senate; all were called forth to punish the invaders. We would crush them with the full might of Lakkos. A storm of plovers, armed with the best scraps of the Empire, would crash down upon them before they could get airborne again. Any who refused would be thrown out of the Senate, their material assets seized, and divided up amongst more deserving statesmen.”

“Later, I would learn that the Starsong had, through some misadventure of theirs, stumbled onto our planet, and learned the plight of our people. One of their agents went undercover, sought out the lay of the land, crashed a wedding, might have stolen the bride? I can’t remember. Whatever the case may have been, they could not turn a blind eye to the misery they saw, and thus, their sudden assault. But all that, I would only learn later. That day, there was only one thought on my mind.”

“One hour. One hour, and one of my greatest foes had been rendered a nonentity. And if I did not fight to destroy the ones who did this, I would be destroyed myself.”

“One hour. One hour, and they had done more to tangibly help these people than I had done in my entire life. Everything I had ever worked for, revealed to be ash and dust by comparison. Hypocrisy, failure, laid bare in an instant.”

“Alethea found me pacing my rooms, the orders crumpled uselessly in my hand. Dear, loyal Alethea, she said what was on my heart, that I hadn’t the courage to say aloud: I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t live this life another day longer. And together, we devised a plan.”

“It was simple, really. If I was to no longer be a statesmen, I would need to leave. If the invaders were to survive, and the evacuees to survive, they would also need to leave. Our interests aligned perfectly. I would collect my plover, and the biggest shuttle I owned. To my vast household, I would offer the same as the Starsong; the chance to leave with me, and escape this wretched planet. Then, while Alethea handled the ensuing logistics, I would pay a brief visit to the temple of Zeus, and offer up everything I owned for my victory that day. Blessed by the gods, I would strike the Lakkos nobility a devastating blow from the rear while they were occupied with the Starsong, thus proving my own loyalties to my would-be allies. We take off, never look back, everyone lives happily ever after.”

Dear little Vasilia. Dear, stupid, silly, sun-eyed Vasilia.

“It was...it was such a simple plan. I’d already had my great epiphany. I knew I’d done wrong, and wished only to make it right again. Shouldn’t that have been enough?”

How can you still hurt her, years after your passing?