𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

“Right,” Ivy says quietly, suddenly finding the paneling of her desk very, very interesting. It should not be so difficult, she thinks. It is just lecturing. Teaching. In theory, it really is no different than her classes on magic or her lessons in flying.

It does not seem Alear knows very much about this either, or perhaps she is just playing the ingénue for Ivy’s sake. 

“Is there—” A faint pinkness dusts Ivy’s cheeks. Divinity, this is exceedingly difficult. She racks her head, wondering when this conversation was had with her. It came by ways of nursemaids and midwives, and later in more detail with her teachers in anatomy at the academy. It hadn’t been so difficult then, had it? She thinks of trying to do this with Hortensia before immediately banishing that line of thought.

“Before we begin in proper, is there anything you know already?” she asks. “Things that I, er, would not need to tell you.”

When the chance had come to go on an early scouting mission, to see where the den of filth these pirates originated from may be, he had lept at the opportunity. Perhaps he would get lucky and even get to see some combat against them.

Yet what he had been less prepared for was the fact that apparently they would be flying to the destination. Not only that, but that he would be riding with someone who already had a mount. Wyverns and Pegasi were utter rarities back home. He had heard about the beasts of course, learned about them on the off chance that they would have gone to war with the nations of Archanea. Yet he had never personally been on one.

Still how different could it be from a horse?

As he made his way to the meeting point, Berkut could already see the beast. It did look quite impressive. The dark scales coating it's body, the armour its owner must have put on it. With a smirk he got closer, looking around for said owner before spotting her. For a moment he blinked... wait hadn't he seen her before? Some brief encounter during the ball right? Ah yes, the woman that had dragged him into that grotto before the weather had turned.

Recalling her position, he gave a respectful nod towards her. "Greetings Queen Ivy. It appears I have been assigned to join you in this scouting mission. I take it this impressive creature here is yours? I must admit we don't have these back in my homeland. Though they remind me of a few terrors."

It was supposed to be a simple scouting mission, nothing more. An excursion to learn the position of the pirates who had been terrorizing the crews that sailed these waters. Her fingers curl around the spine of the tome tucked into a satchel at her waist. Just in case. She’d like to avoid fighting altogether, if she could.

“Lord Berkut,” she greets. She strokes Petal’s maw, earning a pleased rumble from the wyvern. “Indeed, she is a stunning beast. I never thought she’d grow into something so beautiful—she was quite the vicious whelp.”

She glances up at him. She nods, withdrawing her hand, gesturing for him to give it a try. “Have you ridden a wyvern before? It is no different than riding a horse in my experience, though perhaps you ought to hold on a bit tighter than you would when riding a steed.”

From the same satchel whence she keeps her tome, she produces the map the sailors had drawn up, detailing the locations of the where the pirates are hiding.

“We’d best leave swiftly,” she muses, tucking the parchment away. “While the winds are favorable and the clouds are high in the sky, so that it may conceal us as we fly.”

Her mention of headaches puts him in pause, however. He balks, curiosity arising with questions pertaining to them, but finds time to avoid meeting her gaze with surprise wrought over his expression. A quick scoop to pick up the textbook from the ground, and he returns standing with a dismal nod.

"I have been having the same headaches as well," he admits, turmoil evident through pressed lips. "It is unrelenting pain that ebbs and flows — but I have yet to find any treatment that has worked. If someone else has found one," assuming they were hearing these damned voices too, "I hope to hear of it soon."

kill.

The book in his arms burns against his sleeves, and with it, a sharp pain. His shoulders tense; crimson stings the back of his eyes as they flutter shut; and it is clear that the command granted to him pertains to the woman standing ahead. Hands trembling with the realization that their time is limited — and dependent on fickle willpower — he rushes to his next question.

“...yes,” she says after a couple beats of silence. “Yes, they have. Have you…”

Her eyes trail over his face, the way he carries himself. There is a tension coiled there that Ivy knows he must see in her too. She tries to force herself to relax, but she feels it only makes her bring her shoulders up higher.

“It appears we may be suffering similar ailments,” she says wryly. “I had thought mine hereditary and I must say, I am more than relieved to find another suffering as I am.”

She winces. “...not that it is a good thing. I was going to make my way to the infirmary, but I doubt there is any common remedy for… this?”

She gestures to her head. A sharp, piercing pain burrows its way between her eyes.

On Rafal's wrist sits a watch that has long since stopped ticking. In Rafal's hand is a gun with no bullets. In Rafal's belly is a near total absence of food, with yowling insistence to be otherwise. He's running on fumes; sips of the last water, bites of the last food. But what comes after last? Everyone knows what comes after last.

"No point?" Rafal laughs unpleasantly. "I'll be the judge of that. Just drop it and go." He gestures with his gun toward his feet; the eyes above the barrel of his revolver are cold and unforgiving but there's a desperation to them, too. Perceptible if barely.

Desperation compels a man to go to any length, sometimes it's even healthy. Desperation fills out his skinny frame, turns the cogs of his mind even when there's no oil left to them, an inspiration and a dosage of liquid means that goes hand-in-hand with adrenaline. While a desperate Rafal still has his strength, he thinks of ways to make more of it; he thinks, he'll kill whoever he needs to if it means he can live. Do whatever he needs to. He tracks the gradual descent of that backpack to the ground and, despite himself, relaxes ever so slightly.

( but he's wrong to do that; it occurs to him, in the moment of windup,

. . .that there are others who think the same. )

"—Shit!" he hisses, leaping backward at the throw of the backpack. It doesn't make contact with his body at all. That's not important. The heavy weight glances off his gun and its element of surprise launches the weapon from his hand. It clatters against the wall and drops as loudly as a corpse.

She knows she is not very strong. She knows she is hungry and it makes her hands shake and her legs hesitate. But she knows he is hungry too and weak for it—why else would they be scrabbling over this stupid pack?

It all comes down to who wants it more.

His fingertips ghost over the handle. Ivy doesn’t bother to follow—she crouches low and pounces, springing at him as if she were leaping off a diving board. She drives her shoulder into his sternum, the momentum taking her down with him.

But the village is pleasant, at least; even 'pretty', as Ivy calls it, and while he declines to reply he finds the greenness of it all quite nice. Though...

"...The wind is still," he answers eventually, equal in tone. After all, it could very well mean nothing, but Wolf -- truant son of his motherland -- holds some small affection for all places the wind touches.

His heart beats in heavy silence here. No matter; he'd accepted the Academy's request, and he intends to fulfill it. Clever company isn't the worst stipulation, though. His gaze follows Ivy's as it rolls over the hills and bounces over the brooks, and finally, back to her.

"The villagers could give us a way in," Wolf begins. "They might also try to stop us. It depends on if they feel an obligation to him, or think we can best him." He'd seen plenty of doors open to Marth's army during the War of Heroes. It doesn't bear thinking about. "That's if they figure us out."

A pause. Remembering that they're dealing with a man who presumes to keep a living person, his voice darkens.

She nods. “Let us tread carefully, then.”

They make their way to the center of the hamlet, where nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. Everything seems too ordinary even, at least to Ivy. Children play with wooden hoops, women hung linens that were blindingly white, men bustled about, looking busy and yet doing nothing at all. She feels the weight of half a dozen stares on them, boring into their backs.

“Charming little place,” she says mildly to Wolf, speaking loud enough to be overheard. “Just the place to rest for a few days, don’t you think?”

Her eyes flit about the square, across the faces of those gathered there, gauging who looked like they’d be the most receptive to speaking to outsiders. No one seems eager to meet her gaze; Ivy settles for a wizened old woman lingering perhaps a touch too close to her fence.

“Hello,” Ivy says, dipping her head in greeting. “My friend and I are travellers. We’d heard about a healer in the village and were hoping to see—”

The woman, her fingers stained green from crushing herbs, glared balefully up at Ivy.

“The Master sees no one without an appointment,” she says brusquely, cutting Ivy off. "And the Lady... the Lady is resting. She has given much of her spirit today to keep our wells full and our lungs clear. You would do well to move on."

Ivy turns to look back at Wolf, an expression of mild alarm upon her mien. She turns back to the herbwoman. “...the Lady?”

The woman sets her mouth in a tightline. Ivy hovers there for a moment more before she sighs, returning to Wolf. “They seem intent on protecting him.”

She looks up at the imposing manor house. She catches a flicker of motion in one of the windows, a curtain snapping shut. “What now then?” she murmurs. “I suppose we have little other choice but to try and get into the house ourselves and see this Lady…”

Spa trips were not the sort of thing the old man had bothered to take her to, and she doesn't remember her parents ever taking her to one either. Not that she knows what a kid would even do at a spa anyway. From what she's seen on TV of them, they don't exactly give off the impression of being kid friendly zones. "I'm down for whatever though. Miss Ivy's the expert, I'm just happy to be here for the trip!"

Just like she expects, the shuttle doesn't take long at all. The passing sights outside the windows are gorgeous, even if they never really leave the touristy area they've been dropped off in. Anything is beautiful after being stuck in the city for so long. When the shuttle pulls to a stop, Yunaka is the first to hop up to her feet and happily skip her way down the path, giving the driver a quick thanks on her way out.

The spa is bigger than she expected too. There's a little fenced off area off to the side where she thinks she can see a pool and people lounging, among other things, but it's blocked off just enough that she can't get a clear look, even when hopping up on her toes. Ah well.

Stepping inside leads them to an overly fancy lobby. A few quick conversations later, and they're ushered into a changing room with a set of the fluffiest robes Yunaka has ever gotten her hands on in her life.

"There as sooo nice." She announces to the other two, pulling up the robe to bury her face in it. She leans in with a playful grin and a whisper. "Do you think they'll notice if it goes missing?"

“They’re made for you to take,” she says, untying the silk tie of her dress to slip into her own robe. “Since the hot tub has two votes, shall we make that our first port of call? Come then, let’s see if there are more goodies for us to fill our pockets with.”

She sets of briskly down the hall; the ever-present tension knotted between her shoulders feels like it’s unraveling already. She cannot help but be giddy—though she’d certainly never admit it—about having Nel and Yunaka here with her. She’s been out and about with Hortensia before, of course, and nothing could ever replace her darlingest little sister, but there is something to be said about friends her age…

God, she needs to get out more.

“The water will help loosen our muscles before we decide on doing anything more tactile,” Ivy prattles off, gesturing towards the large wooden doors that lead to the thermal circuits. “We can peruse the menu while we’re there too, if any of you are feeling peckish. I, for one, could go for an glass of infused tea…”

Stepping into the heat of the thermal suite is like a warm embrace; the air is fragrant with the scent of eucalyptus, the heavy humidity making Ivy’s skin feel supple. She discards her robe with the practiced ease of someone who had grown up with assistants, but she lingers, waiting for Nel and Yunaka, before she eases herself into the bubbling water with a groan that seems to carry with it a week’s worth of tensions and burdens.

“Oh… this is exactly what I needed,” she mumbles, sinking down to her chin. She leans back heavily against the stippled stone wall, looking between Nel and Yunaka. “I am curious. Since we are officially on our 'sleepover'... tell me, what is the most 'normal' thing you’ve both always wanted to do on a trip like this? Beyond the fancy treatments, I mean. For me..." Ivy pauses, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. "I’ve always wanted to try one of those overly-decorated tropical drinks. The ones with the tiny umbrellas and far too much fruit. A bit moreish, but we’re here to have fun, no?”

He wouldn't normally care if one or two strands were out of place, but his company for the night was a rather sharp and stylish woman, and the least she deserved was a companion who could meet her high standard.

...Not that Ivy really cared about that. Image was important to her, as it was to him, but the simple comfort in being together was enough to make one forget the burdens of royal decorum for a fleeting moment.

Even so, this was their first proper outing since the ball that wasn't a night in a dark cave, a short lunch or dinner, or an impromptu spot of tea between mountains of work. He wanted the occasion to be special... to feel special.

Diamant sighs, glancing up at the opera house that loomed before him. He supposes it didn't help that this would all be wrapped up in a mission, either.

The sound of steps on the pavement pulls him from his thoughts, and Diamant turns his gaze from the walkway of the opera house to the woman who approaches him on Enbarr's streets, breath hitching in his throat as he takes her in. She was stunning as ever—a vision more reverential than even the height of divinity.

"Well, well..." Lips curve into a smile, his arm offered for Ivy to take. Part of him hoped she would be impressed with his red suit; pressed to perfection and accentuated with Brodian gold leaf. "If it isn't my lovely wife, Lady Viola. Do you suppose this opera house is ready for the entrance of the Lord and Lady of Harsey?"

In other words, their cover for the night: Lord Ruben and Lady Viola Briarwood. A young wealthy couple from a small, nondescript foreign territory, their fortune procured through the trade of foodstuffs and medicinal herbs.

"What do you suppose the ship captain frequents this place for?" Diamant murmurs to Ivy as they walk up the stairs, "A fan of opera, coming to visit a songstress he fancies, perhaps...?"

Or, of course, something far more sinister. The man hasn't been seen by his crew for a day now.

Their job would be to find out why.

She looks impeccable as ever herself—really, it is more common for her to look like this than not. She has opted for a fur-trimmed thing this evening, the fabric so red it looks purple in the light, the drop waist embellished with a belt of gold. Her hair is pulled up and back, piled high on her head in a rather elaborate hairdo that bares the elegant slope of her neck for all to see.

She allows her gloved hand to settle onto Diamant’s arm, pulling him closer than she perhaps ought. “Well, they’ll have to be. I do not intend to dawdle any longer, lord husband.”

Ivy bites the inside of her cheek at that. For the briefest, most fleeting of moments, she toys with the idea of it—a pretty dream, for another time.

“A ship captain with a sudden taste for the fine arts,” she muses. “Perhaps there is a songstress he’s sweet on. A charming notion, isn’t it?”

They ascend the steps and walk into the grand lobby; crystal chandeliers overhead glow a warm amber, the air thick and heady with the mingling scents of perfume and smoke.

“Stay close,” she murmurs. “These halls are made to carry every whisper.”

Ivy scans the room with a look of practiced bored detachment, eyes roving over every face.

“You’d think a ship captain’d be easy to spot in all this glamor,” she mutters. “I don’t rightly expect he was sailing the seas in a frock coat and pointed leather shoes.”