fantasyland

This time, they're traveling in a coach with doors and everything, and Lissa is grateful that the sound of the horses' hooves and the wheel rolling across the roads muffles her and Jackal's voices.

"He couldn't possibly--" she began, hands over her mouth in horror, but Jackal wasn't much of a joker.

"It would have been a better bargain for him in every conceivable way," Jackal said, relentlessly honest. "You'd be easier to control than Bunta or I, and it would completely paralyze Yukimura-sama to have you in his power."

"'Cause I couldn't get myself out of it," Lissa said quietly. Her axe was under the coach seat.

"Of course you could," Jackal said. "The uncertainty comes from whether you would. No one thinks you needed to do more, Princess."

"Everything was under control. None of you made this decision with your eyes closed."

"No, we worked hard to give the king exactly what he needed to know to make the choice, and we don't question it. He did what he had to do for everyone who depends on him."

In spite of his seriousness, Jackal smiled.

"What you did was endearing and I'm grateful, but all the--"

The coach lurched to a stop, and Jackal leaned out the door. A few hurried words with the driver, and he quickly stepped out to hold the door for Lissa.


Lissa quickly made sure she could reach both axe and staff in a hurry, before following him out. The Rikkai vanguard was mostly who she expected, Seiichi's most trusted friends and Seiichi himself, looking at Mizuki's entourage like he could read into their souls.

She wanted to throw her arms around him for real, just like she had when she saw the magical projection of him, but something stopped her. He wasn't exactly paying attention to her-- he was entirely focused on Mizuki.

There was no doubt she could command his attention, but perhaps... perhaps she shouldn't interfere with his decisions again.

Yukimura stepped forward.

"Have you received the word of your king, Mizuki-san?"

"Leave me alone," Yukimura said, toneless, once his people finished their explanations.

He waited until the door closed behind the last of them, then counted to ten.

With all of his waning strength, he threw the Trance tome straight into the stone wall, watched it slide down to the floor, and flip open, thin parchment pages rustling from the force.

It took too much out of him. Felicia propped him up in his bed and brushed his hair before his audience with his loyal, hardworking friends, and it took every effort just to keep his head up anymore. His limbs were always heavy, barely able to support his weight. He spent so much time in bed, begging for his strength to return, that he'd memorized every flaw in the ceiling's stonework.

That was the state he returned to now: useless, flat on his back, weak, powerless.

So powerless that the second-rate St. Rudolph thought he was a target. Something they could manipulate.

His pride burned at the thought. Yukimura wanted to refuse. To hold his head up high, to look down and past the audacity of Mizuki, and not give him the courtesy of ever acknowledging his existence again.

But he couldn't even stand!

And so he had to consider it. Because of his own weakness, because his quickly-fading strength was the only thing left between his kingdom and absolute chaos, he had to consider this humiliation, and the attending loss.

Because of course they were willing. Of course Marui and Jackal would subject themselves to uncertainty, give up everything they'd worked for, anything to make this easy for him.

The power he held over his friends was all he had left, Yukimura mused. And it was so strong that he no longer had to use it himself; it worked on its own, turning hearts and framing minds.

What would they say if he refused? If he wasted the risks they'd taken and the work they'd done to bring him this information?

Finally, they'd see his weakness themselves. They would finally give up on him. Turn their prayers from "Let him regain his strength" to "Let him be put out of his misery."

And Mizuki, too, would know the truth of his weakness. If he couldn't have Rikkai in his power one way, he'd do it in another. Seigaku might be the true target (and he spared a grim smile for Fuji), but if Mizuki wanted to sharpen his soldiers on Rikkai, he could do worse than attacking while their king was weak, useless, a pathetic shell that once held great promise.

Mizuki already looked at him and saw weakness. Weakness in body, and weakness in heart. What sort of man sacrificed the friends who held him up, threw their lives away for the sake of his own?

"I want him to pay for this," he murmured. The insult to Yukimura -- the worst kind of insult, the kind that was true -- yes, he'd pay for that. He'd also pay for being the kind of man who'd demand such a price. Yukimura would have never stooped to paying it if he hadn't advertised the price.

The air warmed and the light seemed to fade.

The pages of the Trance tome turned encouragingly, and Yukimura's fingers twitched.

"Weak," he growled. "I don't want to be weak anymore."

Another page flipped.

Yukimura pushed himself off the mattress, groaning with pain at the strain to his arms.

He was always the weakest ruler on the continent, he thought bitterly. Among the youngest, a child compared to Sakaki or Sumire. They'd never respected him anymore than Mizuki did.

He lifted his hands towards the tome on the floor, across the room. His eyes closed against the struggle to stay upright, and then his hands closed over bound leather and the smell of old paper and ink came to him.

How...?

The text was legible, cramped, handwritten, and the spell seemed already to be working. He'd opened his eyes again without realizing, crossed his legs without effort, balanced the book across his knees and read.

Strength is what you seek, the tome read. Power. Vitality. And, most importantly, to have this known throughout the land-- that Yukimura Seiichi and Rikkai are the greatest.

"Yes," he agreed. "I've fallen so far. I will never make up the ground I've lost."

You will, the Trance tome read.

"I will never deserve the sacrifices made on my behalf," he said.

You do, or else no one would sacrifice for you, was the tome's logical response. It couldn't have been already printed there, and yet Yukimura read it fluently. You asked for nothing. You were given this.

"Because my friends would do anything for me," Yukimura answered.

Yes. Because they would do anything, you must match that. You must also be willing to do anything, any possible thing, to prove yourself worthy. Already they treat you like someone great and powerful. Now you must become great and powerful in truth. Once you have done that, once you have become the greatest and most powerful man on this continent, you will be able to protect them, instead of the other way around.

Yukimura's hands tightened on the spellbook.

Here was the power, he thought. He could feel it already.

Is there anything you won't do? the tome prompted.

"Nothing," he breathed.


--


He met Felicia at the door when she returned with tea, and smiled when she dropped the cup in alarm.

"No excuses," he told her, eyes bright. "You drop it even when I don't surprise you!"

"Y-yes, sir! I-I-I mean, no, I won't-- I-- don't touch it, for heaven's sake!"

But he already had the shards of the teacup in his hand, his hand closed into a fist around it, and instead of cutting into his skin, the porcelain was crushed into dust-- unable to hurt him.

"Send Marui and Jackal to me immediately," he commanded, and she curtsied as quickly as she could manage.

"I-I'll bring more cups too!" she called over her shoulder, as Yukimura prepared himself for his audience.