There was to be a party that night, a masquerade ball, which could have been anything for all Zero knew of parties. She had received the formal invitation from Varshahn’s smaller form himself by way of a lightly perfumed letter and a pleading gaze. Zero should’ve politely declined. Zero should’ve said that they had better things to do than attend some frivolous event, especially when Azdaja’s life was on the line, especially when Golbez was still plotting to take over the Source. Zero should’ve done anything other than accept the letter with a quiet noise of affirmation, but that was then, and this was now, and she, admittedly, had nothing better to do that evening.
Varshahn had explained the ball as a way to boost morale after the Final Days. Mortals seemed to be dependent on frequent fanciful indulgences such as this. Instead of power or musculature or weapons, they drew their strength from their minds and their willpower, which was fueled through different means than their bodies. Varshahn spoke of balms for the soul and wounds of the heart, which made very little sense to Zero, but she tried to accept it anyway.
Willpower did not exist on the Thirteenth except when it came to the will to survive, but even then, that meant little. One was either strong enough to kill, or weak enough to be killed.
Despite her misgivings, both Varshahn and Estinien had urged her to attend, citing Thavnair’s cultural history of masquerades brought over from an influx of Garlean refugees some hundred years past. It was an important lesson in learning about the people of the Source, according to Varshahn, and it would be an invaluable experience to bond with others, according to Estinien.
“I spent too many years in my own head to notice the world moving on around me,” Estinien had grunted. “Attend the damn party. You don’t want to miss out on everything while you’re too focused on your own goals.”
Which had been the convincing argument in the end. Zero did want to learn more about the Source and its people. She wanted to understand the bonds of men and their desires, what sustained them when they were hopeless, what healed them when they were hurting. If this masquerade was truly the curative measure that Varshahn and Estinien had made it out to be, then Zero would see it with her own eyes.
Zero did not have any clothes other than her armor, so Y’shtola took it upon herself, and only herself, to assist her. Helissent was nowhere to be seen, and Zero couldn’t understand why that made her feel like avoiding the masquerade altogether.
She and Y’shtola toured the markets together, Zero reluctantly following a few steps back. They were surrounded by boutiques, most of which were closed, their stalls empty and the garment racks empty. It didn’t take a lot to surmise that the shop owners had perished in the Final Days. Even so, people traveled up and down the path, trading coins and goods and speaking too quickly for Zero to catch what they were saying.
“Bartering,” Y’shtola said, noticing Zero staring at an Au Ra woman engaged in furious conversation with an unenthused shopkeep. “‘Tis commonplace in Thavnair and the Far East, not so much in Eorzea. She is attempting to get the owner to lower the price of that dress.”
Zero nodded without fully understanding. Surely if she wanted to, the woman could just take it. She had a sword strapped to her back, and the merchant, despite being over a fulm taller than her, had little muscle on his arms and no weapons in sight. When she mentioned as much, Y’shtola gave her a soft smile.
“Remember, us mortals have trivial concepts such as law and order. It is illegal to commit murder in most spaces of commerce and habitation.” Her eyes glittered as she explained it, like she thought that describing the Source to Zero was the highlight of her day.
Law and order. Zero supposed that was another defining difference between the Thirteenth and the Source. Both had gone out the window during the Contramemoria, and sometimes it felt like the world of kill-or-be-killed was the only world that Zero had ever known.
“Here we are,” Y’shtola said, running her hands over a sharp-looking black suit and a soft, cream-colored turtleneck. Her fingers found the edges of the suit, the collar, the lapel, the length of the sleeve. “This feels appropriate. Are the colors to your liking? Perfect. Now, come along. We shall need to get you cleaned up.”
Their errands led them to another series of markets, where Y’shtola picked out a suitable half-mask for Zero: a long and dramatic bejeweled mask that resembled the head of a raven, then to Y’shtola’s inn room, where they remained as Y’shtola pulled and prodded and formed Zero into something masquerade-ready. She had been washed, dried, fluffed, sprayed with a sweet-smelling perfume, and squeezed into the form-fitting suit. Now, she sat in a chair and stayed dutifully still while Y’shtola delicately applied makeup.
She was very close to Zero, almost as close as they’d been when Zero fed from her. Close enough to smell the clean, cedar-and-mint scent of her aether. Zero watched her carefully, her milk-white eyes unfocused as she gently felt out the contours of Zero’s face. “You’re very proportional,” she murmured, tracing the sharp edge of Zero’s cheekbone.
“Thanks, I guess,” Zero replied. She had never paid attention to her appearance. In the Thirteenth, there hadn’t been any reason, time, nor method to do so, and on the Source, it simply hadn’t crossed her mind.
For some reason, her response made Y’shtola flush pink and turn her face away. “Oh, ignore me. My tongue tends to loosen when I’m distracted.” She reached for the collection of makeup palettes and tubes, then hesitated. “I won’t be able to match foundation or contour,” she explained a little apologetically, “but I firmly believe that everyone looks a little better with lipstick. Pick your favorite, and I’ll apply it for you.”
Zero hesitated. For a moment, she wondered about the practicality of allowing a blind woman to do her makeup, then decided to ignore it. This entire day seemed to hold some strange importance to Y’shtola, some unspoken contract of friendship, and it would be easier not to question her. She selected a tube on a whim, a vibrant peach, and handed it off. Y’shtola uncapped it and then, steeling herself, slid onto Zero’s lap.
Zero reflexively gripped her hips to keep her from sliding. This situation felt distinctly un-friendly, but not in a way that made her want to flee the room. Y’shtola was lighter, smaller than her, and her weight was not uncomfortable.
Y’shtola tilted Zero’s chin up with one long finger, then felt out the curvature of her lips. Her hands were warm. Zero felt warm too, warm like she had when she shared the gyoza with Jullus. Warm in her belly and lower, still.
“Hold still,” Y’shtola whispered, face pink and bright, and then she pressed the tube of lipstick to Zero’s mouth.
The lipstick felt waxy and heavy and present on Zero’s lips and she was struck with the urge to wipe it off. Surely people didn’t wear this daily, it would be a death wish to be so distracted in battle. But when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind Y’shtola, and truly saw herself for the first time, that wasn’t just a glimpse in a puddle or a window, she stopped.
She looked like a mortal. Not completely, her skin was still paler than most and downright ghostly next to Y’shtola’s even tan, but the color on her lips brought a certain warmth to her that she’d only seen on members of the Source.
Perhaps this is what she might have looked like if the Thirteenth never fell.
Y’shtola pulled away and capped the lipstick with a pop. “Do you like it?”
“It looks nice,” Zero answered honestly. There must have been something in the way she said it, because Y’shtola gave her another of those soft, secretive smiles.
“I imagine it would be difficult for you to look bad at all,” she said, settling one hand on Zero’s chest. Without the thick padding of her armor, Zero could feel the warmth of her hand through her clothes.
Unbidden, she was reminded of how warm Helissent’s hands had been when she offered her wrist to Zero to feed from. The pulse of her blood, hot and heavy, spilling into Zero’s mouth. Her aether carried the scent of jasmine and leather and left the faint taste of lavender on Zero’s tongue. It was addictive.
She wondered if Helissent would be at the masquerade. The other woman had been avoiding her all day, or at least made herself scarce, and Zero didn’t like that for reasons she wasn’t sure she understood.
“Care to tell me what has made you so lost in thought?” Y’shtola asked, drawing Zero’s attention back to the present and the woman in her lap. She gazed at Zero kindly, both arms now resting loosely on Zero’s shoulders.
“Do you think Helissent will be at the masquerade?” Zero asked. She had only meant it as a question, but Y’shtola’s expression immediately shuttered.
“I believe so. She is, after all, Varshahn’s guest of honor.” Gone was the soft and silky voice and the gentle gaze, now Y’shtola spoke to Zero like she spoke to any of her other friends. Zero was certain she’d made a misstep somewhere.
As if to cement the belief, Y’shtola extricated herself from Zero’s lap and stood, brushing down her dress and gathering up the strewn makeup. She worked with a quiet efficiency, but for all intents and purposes, looked completely fine. Zero hesitated where she was. If she had done something to negatively impact their friendship, then it called into question whether or not Y’shtola could be relied on in battle. Mortals did things for each other all the time without payment, but mostly for those that they liked. Zero needed to know if she needed to begin paying for Y’shtola’s allegiance.
“You’re upset with me,” she hazarded.
“No, I’m not,” Y’shtola said quickly. She finished putting the makeup away, then stood in front of the vanity and began to switch out the feathers in her hair. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry yourself on my account, by all means.”
“But it’s something I’ve done.”
In the mirror, Y’shtola’s eyes caught Zero’s. For a second, they softened, and Zero received yet another one of those mysteriously tender smiles. “...It’s rather what you haven’t done, to be completely transparent.” She set her earrings down and sighed, breaking eye contact. “But rest assured, you needn’t worry yourself over my emotional state. This has no bearing on our professional relationship, nor will it affect your standing with our little group.” She busied herself, no longer paying attention to Zero, who could feel the sudden change in the air even if she didn’t know what it meant.
“Right,” she said, standing up slowly. “I’ll…see you at the ball.” Her farewell sounded half-hearted even to her own ears, but Zero was eager to leave the room and the awkward tension behind. She didn’t look back as she left, but she could feel Y’shtola’s eyes on her until she rounded the corner and went out of sight.
The masquerade took place in the aetheryte plaza, which had been decorated with hanging silks and floating, multi-colored lanterns that drifted lazily by. All of the people attending were wearing masks and their finest clothes, ballgowns and sarees and suits and kurtas, splashes of bold color against even bolder walls. The air hung heavy with the scent of roses and saffron and oud, filling Zero’s head with the sort of dreamy fog that made her half want to stay, half want to leave immediately. She staked out a portion of the wall that was unoccupied and settled with her arms crossed over her chest. The music playing was fast-paced and lively, audible still over the raucous laughter and singing and interpolated with booming drums. Zero could feel it in her chest and the soles of her feet.
It was a lot. Something like this would have no place in the void, where the only music came from the howling of the wind and the only dance occurred when fighting another voidsent. It was almost laughable to imagine trying to throw a party in her old realm. Perhaps the weaker voidsent would have enjoyed it.
Strange or not, it was clear that the mortals were enjoying themselves. The evidence of the Final Days was all around them, in their halved numbers and gaunt faces, yet they smiled and carried on, generous with their joy and even more so with their love. Everywhere she looked, couples were sneaking off into alcoves, some in groups of three or four. Even Varshahn and Estinien had made themselves conspicuously scarce.
While she was not unfamiliar with romance, it had been a very long time since she’d seen anything resembling it. Her only recent passable example had been whatever had gone on between Ciriatto and Farfarello, and somehow, she didn’t think they made a very good one. What would it be like, to have someone she wanted to drag into a dark corner and sneak away with? With whom could she possibly want that?
A woman came up and stood next to her, someone in all black with feathers on her mask. Zero bristled at the closeness of a stranger, up until the stranger spoke.
“Party’s pure class,” Helissent said with a wide grin. “Enjoying yerself?”
Zero was enjoying herself now, though she didn’t see any reason to admit as such. Instead, she nodded, then glanced around the plaza again. “Varshahn said that parties were a good way to raise morale. It certainly seems to be working.”
“Aye, the Hannish know howfor to throw a ball.” Helissent was looking at the rest of the people again, and Zero steadfastly ignored the urge to stare at her.
It was difficult to subdue. Helissent commanded an impressive amount of energy no matter what she looked like or where she was, but it seemed tenfold tonight. In addition to the lacy black half-mask, she was wearing a skin-tight black dress that flared out at the bottom and shimmered like there were stars sewn into the fabric. She had one sleeve and one strap, which made the dress look as though someone had cut a massive hole from the neckline to the opposite sleeve. It was no different from any of the other outfits in terms of extravagance, yet Zero couldn’t look away.
Neither could anyone else, it seemed. Whether it was from her title or her appearance, she was drawing looks from every corner of the room, which subsequently meant that they were staring at Zero, too. Whispers flitted around the plaza from behind gloved hands and elaborate masks.
It only took a second of Helissent standing still before someone approached her. She was a pretty looking Hyur, dressed in a gold and blue saree and covered head to toe in glittering jewelry and a sapphire-studded mask. Her eyes were a deep, soulful brown and her skin was smooth and dark. Zero was suddenly hyper-aware that this woman was beautiful, and that if she was aware that the woman was beautiful, then Helissent might be too. Zero couldn’t explain why that was such a distasteful thought.
“Warrior,” the woman spoke, dipping into a bow. “I thank you for your service to Radz-at-Han. It would be an honor to share the next dance with you.”
Helissent smiled at the woman, then took her hand and kissed the back of it. “The honor is mine, lassie.” Then, before she allowed the woman to take her away, she caught Zero’s eye and winked at her. “Be right back,” she mouthed. And then she was gone. As if the woman had not interrupted their conversation, as if Helissent had not just used the same name for her as she had for Zero not a full day prior. Zero did not like the ugly feeling settling in her chest, nor its sharp teeth.
She was not truly a stranger to envy. In the Thirteenth, it was common, natural, even, for weaker voidsent to envy the power of those who were stronger. If not the power, then the safety those stronger voidsent had accrued within their fortresses and from their loyal followers. Both safety and power were in short supply in the Thirteenth, and Zero had done her fair share of envying both.
But she had never been envious of a person. She should not care what Helissent did or did not do, who she did or didn’t grace with her presence. This did not stop her from watching the woman dance with her friend with cold, critical eyes. It did not stop the ugly feeling from scalding the inside of her ribs.
The dance ended quickly, but not quickly enough for Zero’s liking. Either way, Helissent was returned to her after kissing the woman’s hand again, and Zero could relax. Somewhat.
“I’ve seen enough,” Zero said suddenly. “I understand why parties are useful now.” She wasn’t thinking clearly, she just wanted to become one of those couples sneaking off into a dark corner. She didn’t want anyone else to notice Helissent.
If Helissent was at all surprised by Zero’s outburst, she didn’t mention it. “Ah, ye’ve probably reached yer limit on people, haven’t ye?” She placed her hand on the small of Zero’s back and guided her out of the plaza.
Zero should feel uncomfortable with the unexpected contact. She should’ve reacted instinctually, should’ve jumped away, defended the part of her body that housed the base of her spine and nearly all of her mobility, but all she could feel was a prevailing sense of victory. She allowed Helissent to guide her up the stairs and into the upper levels of the city.
Out here, the air was cool and sweet. It wasn’t quite as heavy as it was down in the plaza, and it smelled like sun-warmed tiles even though the sun had long set. Helissent led her to a bridge overlooking Alzadaal’s Peace; the footbridge that connected the residential area to the rest of the upper city.
Down below, the ball continued, still loud but pleasantly muffled. Zero could no longer feel the drum in her chest or feel the oud in her head. She took a deep breath. She still felt wound up and tight, but the urge to do something about it had lessened.
Next to her, Helissent stood and watched. She was waiting for something, Zero realized.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s quieter up here.”
That seemed to satisfy Helissent. She smiled and turned to rest her arms on the railing, turning her gaze to the party below. “Pay it no mind. My sister, she’s a little different in the head. Always has been. Canny as all get out, but cannae handle loud noises or bright lights.” She threw Zero a knowing look. “Figured taking ye away might help.”
Zero wasn’t sure what to make of the implication that she was “different in the head”, but when Helissent said it it didn’t sound like a bad thing. She shrugged and leaned against one of the columns, facing Helissent.
Though the woman from before was beautiful, she couldn’t hold a candle to Helissent. Helissent’s body was riddled with scars, rippled with muscle, and curved in ways that made Zero want, which was such an unfamiliar and forgotten sensation it nearly made her lose her balance. Helissent’s eyes were a vivid, glittering pink, bright like roses, delicately placed atop a long, straight nose. Her lips were open and full and colored, Zero noted belatedly, with something that made them look dark and well-kissed. The strong jut of her jaw melted into the smooth line of her throat, which led down to defined collarbones and rose into the swell of her full breasts. It was there that Zero finally ripped her gaze away, unwilling to chase that train of thought further.
But what if? What if she continued to strip Helissent bare in her mind, log every scar and mark, learn every contour and groove, memorize the way her skin felt under Zero’s hands? Would it be so bad? Would it be so hard?
A bat flew past them out of nowhere, startling Zero so badly she jumped. It also jolted her out of her reverie, which was ultimately for the best. It would be foolish to continue such a line of thought. If Helissent was able to distract her so fully that she was losing track of her surroundings, then Helissent was more dangerous than she thought, for reasons she didn’t anticipate.
“What is your sister like?” she asked, changing the subject in her mind if not the actual conversation.
Helissent brightened considerably, which made Zero happy in a way she didn’t want to analyze. “Her name is Nina. She’s eleven years younger than me, an’ I love her to bits.” She got a far away look in her eyes, then continued. “Gave our parents trouble ever since she popped out the womb. Quick as a whip with twice the bite, our ma used to say. I lost her once, when I was supposed to be watching on her, and I about lost my head. Come to find, she was just down at the neighbor’s, making friends an’ wrapping them all around her wee finger. I still dunno how she walked all the way there, wasn’t more than three summers at the time.”
Zero tried to imagine a smaller version of Helissent, someone toddling around on fat legs and shrieking happily, with an older version of Helissent chasing after her. “You love her a lot.” It was an echo of their conversation from the day before, but this time, Zero just felt warm, not carefully blank.
“Aye,” Helissent agreed, much in the same way as she had. “More than you know.”
I could know, Zero thought to herself. If you taught me. If you let me. She had no memories of loving anyone or anything, but mortals gave and accepted love as easily as breathing. There was bad love, too. Zero shuddered at the memory of Zenos’s cloying obsession with Helissent, how it had bled into her while she was contracted to him. Maybe that was why Zero was so weak around Helissent.
She meant what she had said to her before they left for Garlemald, that Zenos was a voidsent at heart. His flagrant disregard for life rivaled that of the most powerful voidsent—and yet, he still loved, and it made him act in ways that were fundamentally mortal.
“The more I learn about mortals, the more confusing you are,” she mused. “Loving so easily. Opening yourselves up to such devastation.” Zenos’s love had been the death of him.
“Love makes us weak,” Helissent admitted, “but love makes us strong. Does a bloody well lot of things, if yer getting down to it.” She looked at Zero with those sharp gemstone eyes, and something in her gaze made the hair on the back of Zero’s neck stand up.
The air was charged with something intense and heady, and Zero could feel it swathing her like a blanket. The more time passed, the more it felt like the most intoxicating aether rush Zero had ever experienced. She thought about love, and she thought about death. She thought about Zenos, and she thought about herself. She thought about how she felt a little bit like she did right before she died and was reborn, curled up in a dusty corner somewhere praying to whatever god was left that she didn’t get devoured by something hungrier than her. She glanced at Helissent’s round, full lips.
But then Helissent was turning away, and Zero’s senses started supplying feedback to her brain again, and Helissent opened her mouth—
“Minfilia would’ve loved this,” Helissent said happily, a gleam in her eye. “She never got the chance to go to as many parties as she wanted to, and the ones she did were more politics than party. …I wish she could see how far the realm has come.”
Zero was struck by a sudden bitter, dark feeling that gripped her heart tightly. Why bring up Minfilia now, when they were sharing a moment? It hurt, for some reason, that Helissent was always elsewhere, always thinking about someone else. Even now, when they were alone, she couldn’t keep Helissent’s attention.
“Why do you cling to her?” Zero asked, the irritation building in her stomach. Minfilia was dead, and Zero was here. What could Helissent possibly be holding onto? “Death is a blessing some would kill for. Have killed for.” She thought of Rubicante, forced to be reborn again and again, even when his soul begged for rest.
Helissent went very still beside her. She stared out over the party that sprawled out into Alzadaal’s Peace below them, nothing moving but a small, twitching muscle in her jaw. Her silence was aggravating, her resistance to logic even more so. Death, peace, was the ultimate goal of every being in the void, and Zero couldn’t fathom being so caught up with a ghost. It was selfish. It was foolish.
“Tell me,” she insisted. “Tell me how this benefits you.” Make me understand. It would be difficult to wrap her head around, it already contradicted everything she came to accept as true, but she trusted that Helissent would teach her. At the very least, Helissent would explain her logic in patient terms, always there and ready to distill this strange new world into manageable chunks.
“I think ye should leave,” Helissent said instead. Her voice was steely and cold, and she would not look at Zero. Her arms were tense where they rested on the railing. Zero got the sense that she was commanding an impressive amount of restraint.
Despite this, and her better judgement, she pressed on. “Tell me,” she repeated, quieter this time. “Why does she mean so much to you?”
Helissent squeezed her eyes shut and hunched further over, the muscles in her arms flexing. Her face made a series of contortions, ones Zero had never seen on her before. She took a sharp, hissing breath. “Leave, Zero. Now.”
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It felt wrong. It felt like a dark cell in the Fell Court of Troia. It felt like jaws snapping closed around her head. Zero didn’t understand what happened to make the conversation go so south so quickly, but she knew a dismissal when she saw one. Gathering up all her indignation and hurt and confusion, she did the one thing she was best at: she fled.