Actions

Work Header

Stormblood: A Hero's Burden

Chapter 43: The Lady in Red

Chapter Text

The voices were silent for the first time in...forever. The weight of the past no longer drove his body and soul into an early grave, and his heart felt so at ease.  

Castor van Entialpoh stared across the white, salt-covered expanse of the Lochs, taking in the ruins of the Saltery, the massive bridges and statues that wound across the salt-filled lake. He breathed in the heavy scent radiating from the Lochs, recalling the dangerous creatures that roamed over white sand and red stone. 

He could see the scars of war, of violent occupation etched into the very cliffs and mountains, and he took a moment to wonder how much had changed. He could see his own memories in the landscape, too, towering above him just as the glorious walls of the city of Ala Mhigo lorded over the landscape.  

It looked just as he remembered, down to the plethora of massive ivory banners depicting the eye of Garlemald, draping over walls and buildings enough so that the Ala Mhigans held captive within could always see a reminder of their bitter occupation, no matter where they went. The towers and walls of sturdy brown and red stone were all the same, but they were somehow different...foreign.  

Or maybe it was just him: the last time he’d been in Ala Mhigo, proper, he’d been Castor rem Entialpoh of the Fourteenth Imperial Legion, serving at the whim of Lord van Baelsar to enforce order on the subjugated population. He’d simply been another Miqo’te legionnaire wearing black and crimson, another gear in the machine of the legion as it ground down resistance and freedom.  

 And now he was Castor van Entialpoh of the Fourteenth Legion, bringing soldiers of black, red, and gold to liberate the city and the people that they’d once oppressed. They would atone for their sins as much as they possibly could, even if it took them their entire lives to do so.  

Castor looked down at his titanic body, gifted to him by two deities that he’d never even heard of until the day they claimed him as their own, granting him their own Light in place of Hydaelyn’s.  

This was a body built for war, a body created to destroy all that opposed it on the field of battle. A god amongst men, and yet a mere man amongst gods.  

It was fitting, then, that the man had been stripped of his connection to the gods he’d imprisoned within his soul, separated from the insurmountable power that they had given him. All because Midgardsormr had decided to butt his scaly nose into where it didn’t belong.  

As he had before, aboard the wreckage of the  Agrius , the Father of Dragons had reached into Castor’s very soul and silenced its bond with his eikonic captives, severing the reactor of power that they had poured into him.  

“I will destroy him, mine master,” Odin’s whisper, weakened by their tentative link, cruised through the warm winds as a twilit chill. “I have sworn to thee my service and mine soul as proof of thy victory over me. Mine oath is not so easily forsaken, even by the lord of dragons.”  

Ravana’s voice could no longer reach him, but Castor could faintly feel the Lord of the Hive’s agreement with his dark companion.  

Castor laid a hand over his heart, over where the eikons slumbered, and again found himself thankful that Midgardsormr hadn’t unintentionally released the terrible beings locked within him.  

If any of the eikons had gotten loose...if Bahamut had broken free... 

“My lord,” Arya’s voice made him turn his head to face his Tribunus, whose armor was freshly polished and gleaming. “The Flame General and the others are requesting a strategy meeting with us.”  

The battle for Ala Mhigo was drawing nearer and nearer, but the Alliance couldn’t just simply attack the city and hope for the best. The Ala Mhigan Quarter, similar to the Doman Enclave, housed the entire captive population of the city, save for the few noble families that took up residence in the districts, always beneath the watchful eyes of the Twelfth Legion.  

 The Ala Mhigan Quarter would need to be liberated and fortified, first, before any real attack could begin on the city, proper, lest the civilians be taken hostage or used as living shields by their treacherous overseers. 

“Then let’s not keep them waiting,” Castor rumbled, turning away from the great loch to face the back of Castrum Abania.  

The porta decumana was a storage house, for better or worse, situated in the rear of the fortress and nestled among beautiful Ala Mhigan architecture that was dwarfed by a cage of ugly, jarring Imperial steel.  

Perhaps that was the point: to take something that the natives had made beautiful and morph it into a complete monstrosity.  

“Look at what we did to your home, to your nation,” the Empire seemed to be saying. “You belong to us, now. You cannot stop us from tearing you down.”  

It was meant to mollify the conquered, to show them that nothing they held sacred would be safe. It was meant to break them down, to make them see that the Empire could change anything and everything it wanted and nothing could stop it.  

And it worked: not even the anthem of Ala Mhigo was safe from Imperial bastardization. Castor had heard the original song only once before, sung at the top of a young woman’s lungs as cohort after cohort of the Fourteenth Imperial Legion marched through the city’s streets, bringing with them ivory banners, black steel, and oppression disguised as a celebration of the anniversary of Ala Mhigo’s ‘salvation’.   

The singer had been quickly caught and dragged away by legionnaires, her voice piercing the grim atmosphere with hope and longing before it had been cruelly silenced by a black blade. Her body had been displayed in the Ala Mhigan Quarter afterwards, stripped naked and lashed to a crucifix of black steel in the markets, where all could see her. Where all could see that her vocal cords had been ripped out by a surgeon’s blade and hands.  

The eye of Garlemald had been carved into her bare abdomen, a bloody reminder that anyone resisting the Empire would be hunted down without mercy.  

The memory still made Castor sick to this day.  

 The body had vanished after four days of hanging undisturbed, but the legionnaires made little effort to find who’d taken it down. They’d been sick of looking at it, too, of being reminded of the horrors they had to inflict on their conquests.  

Castor tore himself from the past and strode into the present, where the leaders of the Eorzean Alliance stood under a raised pavilion in deep conversation with one another, gesturing at a map spread out on a table before them.  

Hanbei and Makoto were also with them, the poor samurai fanning themselves as they sweltered in the unfamiliar clime baking the red stones around them.  

“Legatus,” Raubahn rumbled as Castor joined them, nodding to the towering Xaela warrior.  

“Are we ready?” Lyse was standing next to the Bull of Ala Mhigo, looking small and almost insignificant compared to the massive former gladiator.  

Nods all around, followed by a cough from Hanbei before he swallowed another mouthful of water from his canteen.  

“Forgive us, but we aren’t quite accustomed to this type of environment,” the samurai general bowed his head in embarrassment. “It will not diminish our fighting skill, however! I promise you that!”  

“I believe you, my friend,” Castor nodded. “Rest your people well, for the upcoming battle will be quite a difficult one.”  

“Agreed! The dogs of Garlemald will find that we samurai are more than their match!” Hanbei declared before coughing again. “Curse this dry air!”  

Makoto nodded empathetically, but she seemed to have adjusted far easier than her older companion had.  

“The Immortal Flames will form the vanguard for this assault,” Raubahn declared. “Supported by the archers and conjurers of the Serpents, by the Seedseer’s leave.” Kan-E nodded, giving Castor a reassuring smile as their eyes met. “Good. Once we’ve cleared a path, the artillery of the Maelstrom and Temple Knights will pound the gates until we’ve blasted a path through.”  

“What of us?” Makoto asked, as Hanbei was still swallowing water to ease his suffering throat.  

“If you would, I would like the samurai and troops from Hingashi to join the vanguard. We’ll need every able body and sword to carve a path to the gates,” Raubahn said, at which both samurai nodded their agreement.  

“And the Resistance?” Lyse spoke up, perhaps still unsure of her new role as leader.  

“I would have you take the civilian district in the Ala Mhigan Quarter,” came the response. “I reckon that the people there would feel safest with their own.”  

“I know a way we can sneak in,” Castor spoke up, and every eye fell on him. “There’s an underwater tunnel in the Loch, goes right under the walls to an abandoned well in town.” 

“Wha? How did you know about that?!” an Ala Mhigan fighter in Resistance colors spluttered. “Only my grandpa and a few others used that tunnel!”  

“We knew of it back when the Fourteenth was here,” Castor told him. “Many of the officers wanted to shut it down since it was being used to smuggle goods into the district, but the rest of us convinced them to leave it. We’d sneak in supplies every now and then: medicine and foodstuffs that would normally be considered contraband. Every little thing helped.”  

Kan-E nodded her approval, and Castor directed a small smile at his dear friend.  

“I... what do you want them to do?” the Ala Mhigan youth stammered, gesturing vaguely at Castor. “The ba-er, the legion?”  

“I’m going with the Resistance into the city,” Castor said in a tone that brooked no arguments. “Whatever happened to Fordola has empowered her beyond normal limits, what with the way she easily took down Alisaie.”  

Alisaie was currently in the infirmary, resting from her wounds despite sorely wanting to partake in the final battle for Ala Mhigo’s liberation.  

Alphinaud flinched at the mention of his wounded sister, but a grim expression settled across his face.  

“Midgardsormr has weakened me, without a doubt, but I can still fight Fordola,” Castor continued. “I will go.”  

“M-me too, my lord!” Rute, the deserter from the Twelfth, stumbled forward, performing the Fourteenth’s salute. “I would like to join you!”  

“As will I,” Thancred said as he and Urianger appeared from a nearby arch. “They have Krile, and I’ve seen where they’re holding her.”  

Curious. 

“Then let’s not waste time,” Castor said.  

“Prithee wait a moment,” Urianger stepped forward, holding out some strange device. “Perhaps this will aid thee in thy battle with thine enhanced foe.” 

Castor shrugged and took the device-some sort of siphon, judging by the shape –and tucked it into his satchel. “We shall see. For now, let’s get ready to sneak in, open the doors for the Resistance, and then get Krile out of there.”  

“It’s a plan, then,” Raubahn murmured. “We strike as soon as everyone is ready.”  

Lyse fidgeted. “I, uh, have to return to the Reach to meet some recruits that Naago brought. She wanted me to look at them, personally, but... I’m not the most discerning person.” To Castor’s surprise, she turned to face him with a glint in her eyes. “Castor, will you join me? I get the feeling you have a better eye for this type of thing.”  

“If you feel I might help, then I will not turn you down,” Castor nodded. “The aetheryte in the Reach?”  

Lyse nodded. “Race you there!”  

And then she levitated before vanishing in a burst of aether.  

“Not fair,” Castor sighed as he looked at Arya. “Keep the legionaries ready for combat. Once those doors are blasted open, I want the Fourteenth to be the first into Ala Mhigo. Move fast and hit hard.”  

She nodded. “Yes, my lord!” 

Castor nodded, warping into the currents of the Lifestream until it spat him out into Rhalgr’s Reach.  

“Looks like I win,” Lyse said cheekily from nearby in the cavern where the aetheryte had been erected. 

“I don’t recall agreeing on a prize, but if you want something, I’ll oblige,” Castor shrugged, looking for those recruits that she had been speaking of.  

Lyse actually laughed at that. “Just wait here for a moment, okay?”  

Castor watched her until she vanished into the camps, confusion rippling through him.  

“But...I thought you needed my help?”  

Oh, whatever. Nothing for it but to wait.  

 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

Kurenai awoke once again in an unfamiliar place, and the sheer brightness of her surroundings made her eyes scream in agony before she clenched them shut for a brief respite against the searing light. 

“What is this place?” she dared to peek out and found the light much more forgiving.  

Everything was made of a light blue type of crystal, from the walls to the ceiling and the floor she was standing on. Her pale nightgown had, thankfully, not changed into the glassy substance, but the crystal was cold and rough against her bare feet.  

“Ah, I appear to have missed my mark,” a wry male’s voice chuckled, making Kurenai jump as her heart shot into her throat. “My apologies, Lady Kurenai: you just felt too similar to him.”  

She spun and a gasp escaped her lips at the sight that awaited her.  

A young Miqo’te man was sitting against the wall, dressed in heavy silver armor of a foreign make, with a brilliant gold and blue surcoat nestled beneath the plate. A golden coronet rested on his jet-black hair, gleaming brilliantly as his mismatched black and white eyes bore into his guest.  

Kurenai didn’t think it was possible, but he looked like an older version of that child from before; the son of that Doryn man. “Are you...” 

“You’ve seen me when I was a child, or at least the child that my memories created,” the man chuckled, and Kurenai balked at the realization that his entire lower body and almost half his torso had been consumed by blue crystals alongside his left arm.  

“Your body!” she knelt before him, reaching out and placing a hand on the cold, rough crystal. “What is happening to you?”  

“I was forgotten, and my link to this Soul fractured,” the Miqo’te chuckled. “I could have given up a long time ago, let myself be absorbed, but I refuse to give up on my oaths so easily.”  

Yet again, Kurenai was struck was a near-overwhelming sense of familiarity, as if this soul was one that she knew, one that she cared deeply for. As she looked over this slowly fading warrior, she found herself reaching out and clasping his remaining metal-covered hand.  

“Who are you?” she finally pushed her voice from her throat. “I feel as if I know you, yet I do not recognize you.”  

The man gave her a warm smile and chuckled. “Because you do know me, or rather, you know who I became after this body was destroyed.”  

What? That body?  

A small burst of warmth went through their conjoined hands; a spark of Azim’s power lighting up the crystalline prison.  

“I am Castor Entialpoh,” his words drew another gasp from Kurenai. “This was my body before Azim and Nhaama gave me a new life after my...untimely demise in Zenith.”  

“You’re...Castor?” the Ruby Princess murmured, the name making more sunlight ripple through the unusual cave.  

The presence of the Dawn Father didn’t lie: this was indeed Castor Entialpoh, the warrior that had so utterly captured her heart.  

“What is this place? Why are you fading like this?” she asked, reaching out with her other hand to cup his grey cheek with her palm.  

He was so warm...and there was that gentle smile of his. Castor’s smile. 

“This is Castor’s soul- our soul – although I am what was forgotten and lost. What he cast aside after he was betrayed over a year ago,” the Miqo’te said.  

Kurenai swallowed her nerves and nodded, almost feeling the truth emanating from this man’s every word. “Why am I here? You said that you’d missed your mark?”  

“I was trying to call Castor here, to reunite with him now that the rift in his soul has finally been healed,” the lost one explained, hope fluttering through Kurenai’s chest.  

“He has been healed?” she asked, warm joy buzzing within her. “By whom?”  

Castor Entialpoh smiled at her again. “By himself. He has finally let go of the weight of our sins and shaken off the past. We can move forward, now, to wrest a brighter future from those who seek to destroy it.” 

“Has the battle ended?” a thousand questions surged through Kurenai, brawling with one another to escape her lips. “Is he safe?”  

“It’s not over yet, but it will be soon. We will face Zenos and either emerge triumphant...” he paused, his brow furrowing and his lips curving into a frown.  

“You will win, I know it,” Kurenai insisted. “With the Dawn Father and Dusk Mother watching over you, nothing is beyond your grasp.”  

Castor nodded sagely, but there was something bothering him, something that he had yet to voice. “I am glad that you believe in us.” 

There was a ripple in the crystal, a feeling of warmth and familiarity that whispered through in the space of a heartbeat before vanishing. Kurenai sighed as peace kissed her nerves, her muscles relaxing and all her worries fading on the breeze.  

“He senses you,” Castor mused. “He feels your presence.”  

Kurenai smiled and rubbed her thumb against the cheek she was still cupping in her slender hand. “May it bring a small measure of peace to him.”  

“Heh, it is no small measure, I assure you,” he replied. “You are kind, gentle, and utterly captivating, so it is easy to see why he adores you so much.”  

Kurenai’s cheeks burned, and she was certain that she likely resembled a Ruby Princess now more than ever. “I, um, thank you.”  

Azim curse her stumbling tongue! The way her heart was flipping in her chest made her head spin!  

“He cares for you more than you think,” the Miqo’te said softly. “Your offer of a home and a potential future in Sui-no-Sato lingers in the back of his mind every day.”  

Kurenai’s heart did another flip in her chest, and her breath caught in her throat for a moment. “I...am far too happy to hear that.”  

“My gods, you are just plain adorable,” Castor chuckled. “Why are you so damn cute?”  

“C-Castor!” Kurenai yelped, holding a hand over her now-racing heart.  

“Absolutely precious,” the warrior continued. “Now, I should probably let you-”  

“Wait,” Kurenai coughed and tried to recollect herself. “Could you tell me about what happened to you? I’d like to hear more about your adventures, to understand what you’ve endured.”  

She backed away to let him have more space before sitting down across from the ensnared warrior, making herself as comfortable as possible on the rough surface. At least the crystal floor felt warmer than it had earlier.  

Castor hesitated, but Kurenai made the face that he knew she couldn’t resist, complete with puppy eyes and a quivering lower lip.  

“Gods damn it,” he whispered, but he was smiling. “Alright, alright.”  

“Yes!” Kurenai celebrated with a triumphant fist pump, making Castor laugh. “So, talk about this betrayal.”  

“Very well,” the knight nodded. “It started with a nation to the north of Eorzea, called Ishgard...”  

 

------------------------------------------------------------------ 

 

What the hell was going on here? Castor frowned down at the warmth that was coursing through his heart, swearing once again that he could feel Kurenai... somewhere. Before he could reach into his bond with the Auri princess, approaching footsteps drew his attention back to- 

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” Lyse called as she strode up to him, obviously trying to hype herself up as all the eyes of those in the Reach fell on her.  

The brawler was dressed in a gorgeous, form-fitting red dress that left her midriff bare and trailed around her legs. It was definitely a traditional Ala Mhigan dancer’s dress, Castor had seen them a few times before, but why was Lyse wearing one?  

“What do you think, Castor?” she asked, doing a little twirl.  

Castor smiled in spite of himself. “It suits you, Lyse. You look beautiful.” 

She flushed almost as red as the dress she now wore and averted her gaze. “That’s very sweet. Aaaaand more than a little embarrassing.”  

“Sorry,” Castor shook his head. “I know you probably don’t want to hear that. Where did it come from?” 

“It’s Yda’s. N-not that I’m pretending to be her, not again!” Lyse said while fanning herself with her hand.   

Ah, that explained it.  

“I think I see what you mean,” Castor nodded. “You wanted to bring her with you for the final battle, in a way.”  

Lyse nodded. “A-anyway! The real reason I asked you here was to get in a quick warm up before the final battle. I know just the perfect spot.” She pointed up at the statue of Rhalgr, or more so at his outstretched hand. “The monks used to train there to hone their bodies and fighting spirit.”  

Castor nodded, feeling another surge of gentle warmth from within. “Lead the way.”  

“Come on!” Lyse grinned and raised her fist, making a blade shoot out of the dress’s sleeve. “Ah! I need to get better control over that...”  

These Ala Mhigans really thought of everything, huh... they even armed their dancers. Well, a hidden blade would certainly be useful against unwanted admirers getting handsy.  

A short trek through a temple and a climb on the most venerated statue of Rhalgr later, and the duo were standing on the god’s palm as the sun shone through his fingers, bathing them both in gold.  

Lyse bounced on the balls of her feet before crouching into a battle stance, her sleeve-hidden blade extending with a metallic  shing . Castor unsheathed Odenta and bent low, holding the heavy weapon before his body.  

They locked gazes, the grin on Lyse’s lips drawing one onto Castor’s own.  

“Don’t go easy on me, got it?” she demanded, her innocent grin curving into something wicked. “Not after what I saw back there with Myste.”  

Castor tried to ignore the jab, but his cheeks colored against his will. “Don’t count on it.”  

Ye gods, why did Myste have to do that to him?  

Lyse giggled, and then she lunged. Castor rushed forward to meet her, swinging Odenta in a horizontal swipe at her abdomen. Lyse leaped over the curved blade, her fists a blur that he could barely block with his own arm.  

Her attacks were much stronger than before, and Castor’s next swing made her flip backwards with entrancing grace. She landed lightly several feet away from him, her smile still on her lips as their gazes locked once more.  

“Don’t hold back,” he told her, closing the distance between them with his own weapon. 

Lyse danced around his strike, her laugh in his ears as a fist slammed into his shoulder. He ignored the blow, letting his heavy armor take each attack that rained down upon him. Castor lashed out with his left arm, catching Lyse’s fist against his forearm before swinging Odenta in a one-handed sweep.  

Lyse ducked beneath the gleaming blade, then lunged at Castor while his guard was open.  

“Eh?!” Castor spluttered as her foot slammed into his face and pushed down as she launched herself into the air above him, instincts flaring as he brought Odenta back up in time to deflect Lyse’s blade with a clash of metal on metal.  

Lyse landed behind him, but Castor whirled and caught her lightning-fast kick on his gauntlet, the force behind the blow sending a tremor through his very bones.  

“Very good!” she commented, bouncing out of his reach. “But I’m not done yet!” 

She twisted her body into a monk’s pose, and red aether condensed around her, rippling with energy.  

Castor let dark power resonate within him, reaching into the Soul of the Dark Knight for the reactor of power resting within. Lyse lunged, and Castor lashed out with a weaker torrent of shadows.  

She punched through the attack, right as Castor had hoped she would, and her eyes widened upon realizing that she was in his sights. His wrist cannon fired, the resulting blast sending Lyse careening backwards into one of Rhalgr’s fingers.  

Castor pounced before she could recover, jamming his right elbow against her throat and pinning her against the rough stone. “Got you.”  

She tried to kick him, but her foot bounced off against the unnatural strength of his breastplate. “Ow! That armor is ridiculous!”  

“Good ol’ legion engineering,” Castor chuckled. “Do you yield?”  

Lyse scowled at him as her hands gripped his arm, and Castor could feel her gathering her strength for a last-ditch attempt at freedom.  

“Lyse, need I remind you that I have a cannon?” he lifted his left arm and aimed said cannon right at her face.  

She slumped, defeat etched across her face as she sighed. “I yield. That was pretty fun!”  

Castor grinned and released her, hoping he hadn’t been pinning her throat too hard. “It was an enjoyable warm up. Is your throat okay?”  

He leaned closer to examine her, finding a bit of redness against her fair skin but nothing concerning.  

“Castor, what are you doing?” Lyse spluttered, trying to lean away from him while her face reddened.  

“What? I just wanted to make sure I didn’t damage your throat,” Castor stopped invading her personal space and backed up, reaching up to hook Odenta back into its spot between his shoulder blades. “Can you breathe alright?”  

Lyse reached up and rubbed her neck, nodding as she did so. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m good.”  

There was an obvious marid betwixt them that needed to be addressed, one that Lyse had commented on before their little bout. 

Castor exhaled slowly, wrestling with his nerves as he sought to find the right words.  

“Lyse, I-” 

“Castor, I-”  

They both clammed up, not wanting to interrupt the other.  

Silence, then Lyse laughed in a short huff.  

“Looks like we both had the same idea,” she said. “I... think we need to talk. About what we saw earlier.”  

Castor coughed, averting his gaze from the Ala Mhigan. “Yeah... I wasn’t quite myself, as you probably guessed.”  

“Castor, I may not be the smartest of the Scions, but I can tell when someone is trying to avoid something,” Lyse skirted into his vision, her face stern despite the coloring of her cheeks. “Myste said that...I was one of the people that you love most.”  

Next to Yugiri and a few others: those who truly remained in his heart, one way or another.  

“You are,” he admitted.  

No point in denying it, not after what had happened.  

Lyse’s face remained crimson, but there was no mistaking that hesitant smile that tugged at the corners of her frown. “I’m not going to lie: when I saw that I wasn’t among our friends, I thought that you hated me. And...it really hurt. Until you killed them, that is.” 

“I knew they were copies, not the real people!” Castor spluttered, but Lyse raised a hand to silence him. 

“I know. And when Myste demanded to know if you would kill the people you love and I saw myself...I...” she shook her head, making her flowing blonde hair sway. “I didn’t know what to feel. I know how much you loathed yourself for what you’ve done as an Imperial, and I know how much you hated killing the people that you did. That I know you so well is the only reason I can’t bring myself to hate you for it.”  

Castor swallowed with a throat as dusty as the Sagolii desert. “Lyse, I know I can-”  

Her finger pressed against his lips to silence him again. “Castor, please be quiet. You’re making it hard to talk. 

“We’ve worked together for so long that I can’t bring myself to see you as anything other than someone important to me, someone I really care about,” Lyse continued, exhaling slowly as she lifted her eyes to the stern face of the Destroyer lording over the Reach. “You didn’t want to hurt me anymore than you already had, and I think I know how much that had to be tearing you apart. Despite everything, I still love you, too.”  

Gods...what did he ever do to deserve such an incredible woman as a friend? As someone he loved?  

“I know things might not be the same, between us, I mean, but I want you to know that I don’t hate you, Castor,” Lyse strode forward and wrapped him in a tight embrace, her strong arms holding them together.  

He reached out and draped his own metal-covered arms around her powerful shoulders. “I thought you did hate me, what with the way you and Yugiri have been avoiding me, and I wouldn’t have blamed you.” 

“I was staying away from you so I could think,” Lyse sighed into his chest. “I’m sure Yugiri has been doing the same. I still want to be your friend, to be close to you. It would be stupid to just turn my back on you like everyone else did a year ago.”  

The banquet... 

“You have no idea how grateful I am to be your friend,” Castor rumbled, letting that peace surge through him.  

“We should probably get back to the others,” Lyse finally said after several moments of comfortable silence. “We still have Imperials that need to be punched.”  

“Or stabbed,” Castor said helpfully.  

Lyse pushed away from him and he let his arms fall back to his sides. “Or stabbed. That works, too. We’ll figure everything out once Ala Mhigo is freed. Deal?”  

Figure what out? Oh, whatever.  

“Deal,” Castor nodded.  

“Good,” Lyse held her hand out. “To a free Ala Mhigo?”  

Castor grinned and clasped her tough yet slender hand in his own. “To a free Ala Mhigo.”