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Clorinde knows it the instant she has dealt Callas a fatal wound. The point of no return. The way his uncovered blue eye - so much like Navia’s own - widens with shock. He had wanted it like this, this is entirely on him, but still she can see the shock of death in his eye. There is no way to truly prepare for death; and there is no peace in Callas’ eyes. No relief, no acceptance of this fate. Her best friend's father dies in agony, the faint echo of panic in his gaze.
Clorinde never wanted any of this, but she has had little choice. This is her job, it is important work, and she does not get to retreat the second she faces off against someone she knows personally.
And Callas has forced her hand.
She does not know all of it, but most of the situation she can piece together. Callas must have gotten into some serious trouble with someone - presumably someone with a great many resources at hand. Someone who has managed to frame him so well, Callas would not have left the Opera Epiclese for anything but the elevator down to the Fortress, had he accepted the trial.
It is not merely that Clorinde wants to believe Callas could never do such a thing - she does, but people can always surprise you. Moreso would she say, if ever questioned, that she has been doing this job for long enough to tell when she's killing an innocent person.
The eyes, the body language, there are noticeable differences. Not all of it can be faked.
But none of it would hold up in court, and nobody would ask Clorinde for her opinion on Callas’ guilt in this case. She is a weapon, defending the right of everyone to refuse a trial. To judge is Monsieur Neuvillette’s responsibility, not hers.
Callas likely has been a dead man walking ever since his encounter with whomever is behind all of this.
Clorinde just brought his slow death to finality.
The Opera Epiclese is quiet, for once. It is packed full, of course, with people who want to see Callas the Unfaithful get what they think he deserves, with people who want to be there for him, with gawking onlookers who have nothing better to do in their lives than sensationalise the justice of Fontaine.
But right now, they all are holding their breaths - it is rare that someone accepts a trial with her. It is certain death, after all, if seen through to the very end.
Callas sinks to his knees before her, gasping and coughing up blood as life slowly drains from his body. His last breaths are unbearably loud in the silence.
Naturally, it is Lady Furina who breaks the silence, because of course she does, because she is not one for the quiet, and what is death to a god?
“Rejoice, my dear citizens, as justice has been served once more. By the hands of my faithful subject Clorinde, a murderer has fought his final duel. He has not cleared his honour but found justice in death - so may the victim of Monsieur Callas find peace knowing that justice has been dealt for the deed that ended his life!”
With her words, the slight horror in the eyes of the audience clears away. As always, Lady Furina’s confident words sway the minds and hearts of the people into whichever direction she wants them to. It is difficult to listen to a deity and not be in awe - even Clorinde herself, who has spent so much time in her Lady's presence, sometimes finds it all too easy to get caught up in the spell the words of their god can cast upon an admiring audience. And indeed, people are applauding her, are applauding Clorinde, yelling out praise for the most efficient Champion Duelist the Court of Fontaine has seen in a long time. It is as if they have already forgotten that they just witnessed a man’s death.
“Order!”, the Chief Justice sternly calls out through the noise of the audience, and people quiet down once more. “The court hereby accepts Monsieur Caspar’s defeat in duel as both judgement and sentence in the matter of the Court of Fontaine v. Callas Caspar. Thank you for your service, Champion Duelist Clorinde.”
It is only by years of courtly etiquette drilled into her, long grown instinctual, that Clorinde remembers to bow to the court before she stalks off the stage. Her departure is, perhaps, more hasty than usual, but she cannot stay standing by Callas’ corpse a moment longer. Nobody comments on it.
In one of the many small rooms allocated to preparation and breaks, Clorinde finally drops the bloodied sword.
Her skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat - Callas had been a formidable opponent despite his age. Not for nothing had he survived as President of the Spina Di Rosula for so long. But exhaustion from the duel is not the reason Clorinde’s mind feels foggy and anxious.
The Spina…dear Focalors, Navia would have to take the lead now.
Navia.
There is little doubt in Clorinde's mind that her best friend will hate her after this. Navia has always been kept away from Spina business, always uninformed about the worst and shadiest corners of Fontaine’s dark underbelly. She is Callas' greatest treasure, and he would not have told her anything about his plans.
Outside, the sounds of chatter grow loud. Undoubtedly, the Court has wrapped up its business and people are clearing out, now that the show is over.
A part of Clorinde wants to wait here until the crowd is gone. Until everyone has left, including Navia and the rest of the Spina. But she has promised Callas that she would protect Navia. If that meant watching over her from afar, Clorinde would do so without complaint. Still, she owes it to Callas to try and explain the situation to Navia.
If she can get Navia to listen…
Clorinde perfunctorily cleans and sheathes her sword before she steps outside. The people, as expected, are still crowded in the entrance hall of the Opera. Large groups are excitedly discussing the more intricate details of the trial, arguing about Callas' guilt, Callas' motives, Callas' past - everything is dissected by the vultures with little regard for Callas' memory or Navia's presence.
Her friend stands off to the side, sobbing into Melus’ shoulder. They are surrounded by members of the Spina Di Rosula, all of them alternating between offering words of comfort to Navia and glaring passionately at the crowds.
Some of them notice Clorinde approaching. Their gazes are full of scorn, nothing like the warmth they had to offer her in her childhood days. It hurts, but Clorinde understands. She is not the girl they have watched growing up by Navia's side anymore. To them, she is the Duelist who has just executed their beloved boss. In the span of one trial, she has changed from practically one of their own to an enemy of their organisation.
One of them bends down to Navia and whispers into her ear. Likely warning her of Clorinde's approach, because Navia's head shoots upright in an instant.
Swollen blue eyes watery with tears find Clorinde's own immediately, but the eyes are nothing like those of her vibrant best friend, the leader of their childhood exploits, the Princess in Clorinde's games.
Clorinde had known it, she had known, but the sheer hatred in Navia's eyes still makes her physically recoil. Those big blue eyes have always considered her with such warmth that they have felt like sunlight upon her very soul. Now, all the light has receded behind heavy rain clouds.
“Navia, I -”
All her words have left her. What can she say that will fix any of this? She can try to explain what Callas has asked of her, the situation she suspects is going on beneath the surface, but why would Navia listen? Much less believe her, as though Clorinde has not just wiped her father's blood off her blade mere minutes ago?
“Don't.”
Navia spits the word out in a tone she has never heard come out of her friend's mouth.
“Don’t bother, Miss Clorinde. We have nothing to say to each other, never again.”
The members of the Spina close ranks around her, effectively pushing Clorinde away from where Navia stands. Their cold gazes bore into Clorinde, as if daring her to attempt to approach their Boss’ daughter again.
An icy cold hand grips her heart at the sight of those bright blue eyes vanishing behind their backs. This is not just clouds blocking the sun - the betrayal in Navia's voice tells her that the sun will never rise again in Clorinde's world.
It is as Clorinde feared: Navia would not listen to her. In the Nation of Justice, all are given a fair trial, a chance to defend themselves. But Navia does not grant Clorinde the same, and Clorinde does not beg before the Court. It is not in her nature to desire that which is impossible, yet there is some fragment of her being that wants to throw herself to her knees before Navia and plead for her to listen. The attempt would be futile, and Clorinde silences this whispering insanity.
She will have to defend Navia from the shadows - she can still fulfill her promise to Callas that way. If the sun never rises again, then she will hide beneath the cover of darkness. But the thought does nothing to quell the ache in Clorinde's chest as she watches the Spina Di Rosula escort its new leader out of the Opera.
Instead, Clorinde feels a strange burning pain spread through her chest. It is gone as fast as it appeared, but it leaves a strange itch in her throat.
Perhaps she is coming down with a cold. No matter, she has been taught how to work through sickness as a child. A cold means nothing to Clorinde. Certainly not right now, when Navia is walking away from her, more distant than ever.
The first time it happens, Clorinde is in her Lady's office after a theater performance.
The playwright behind this particular work has been one of Furina's favoured artists for years, and their Archon’s appreciation has done wonders for the reputation of the once little known writer. These days, there is not a single play of his that Lady Furina misses - and likewise, not a single play of his fails to sell well to the public.
Clorinde finds his plays tolerable enough, and usually does not mind accompanying her Lady as security detail to any performance of his plays. Today, however, Clorinde would have preferred a calm, quiet time devoid of plays or duels. She has been feeling slightly under the weather for weeks now, but it is particularly bad today. Her throat burns terribly, and her chest feels strange in a way she struggles to put words to. It makes it difficult to follow the ever so constant flow of Lady Furina's words - which is quite a shame because Clorinde does enjoy listening to her Archon talk. Furina is an amazing storyteller. Storytelling, acting, dancing, her Lady is as much a performance artist herself as her favoured protégés. But no amount of entertainment skill can soothe the odd pains that have been plaguing Clorinde recently.
At least currently she is not missing out on a story of the many ridiculous shenanigans Fontainian high society often gets up to - those are Clorinde's favourite stories out of everything her Lady tells her. Nor is Furina telling a fictional story. Rather, her Archon is busy enthusing over an upcoming trial concerning a series of fraudulent activities.
“- and the investigation has stalled a bit, admittedly, but the Phantom has just found some leads in Fleuve Cendre - not that Neuvillette told me as much but a little birdie has informed me the Phantom reached out to the Spina Di Rosula for some questioning and it was not that difficult to discover the nature of their collaboration after that -”
That reaches Clorinde through the uncharacteristic fog that has beset her mind since the start of this strange, off-putting condition.
Fleuve Cendre.
Due to the heightened activity of the Spina, Clorinde hasn't visited Fleuve Cendre since that day. She has been watching over Navia on the rare occasion that she visited the Court, but in Fleuve Cendre and in Poisson, Navia is safe with the Spina. If Clorinde were to follow her to either place, she would be more likely to get into trouble than Navia.
Navia.
Clorinde misses her shining eyes and the warmth in her smile. The way she leans forward subconsciously whenever she sees someone she loves dearly. Archons, Clorinde even misses the way Navia bites into a macaron.
The burning sensation in her chest gets worse and worse all of a sudden, traveling up her throat. There is something blocking her airway.
Clorinde starts coughing. It gets more and more desperate as she tries to dislodge the object caught in her throat. Tears begin to well up in her eyes. She gasps for air. Distantly, she is aware that her Lady has stopped talking, that Furina's hands are gripping her shoulders in panic - how disgraceful, after years of loyally guarding her Archon, that she would force her Lady to put her hands on a mere mortal, a part of her thinks, almost hysterically - and she can feel her face turning red with the effort and the lack of air, but then the object slides up into her mouth and falls into her hands, and, Archons, she can finally breathe again.
A petal.
Clorinde stares at it in disbelief as she tries to get her ragged breathing to calm down.
It remains a petal even as Clorinde blinks in confusion. A pretty Lumidouce Bell petal, all soft blue and purple.
Slender fingers wipe away the tears from her cheeks, and Clorinde finally, ashamedly, peeks at her Archon. Lady Furina still clings to her shoulders, sitting closer to her than she has ever been before. This close up, Clorinde can see every detail of the tear shaped pupils that have been depicted so many times in Fontainian art and literature as the pinnacle of Focalors’ divine beauty. But her Lady’s strange inhuman eyes are not looking back at her.
Furina is staring at the petal as Clorinde had just seconds earlier. But the Archon does not look confused.
No, Clorinde realises in cold dread, Lady Furina looks horrified.
“You…you know…what this is”, Clorinde gasps. Her throat aches as she talks. Yet, she needs to know - if her Archon is this worried, then there is hardly a new variant of the common cold that has evolved to include flower petals.
It still feels difficult to properly take breaths so Clorinde ends up loosening the jabot on her uniform. Just this once, she thinks wryly, she must risk this slight impropriety around her Lady.
Furina's eyes are huge and watery.
There should be some sort of law against making one’s Archon cry, right?
“The only disease I know of that involves coughing up flowers is called Hanahaki”, Furina starts to explain, her tone uncharacteristically quiet and hesitant. “Although the name was coined in Inazuma, the disease itself originated in Sumeru. I do not know much about its exact origin - only that it is believed to have involved the Goddess of Flowers herself, as well as her beloved. It is unclear how much of that is merely legend, but what we do know is that the disease stems from a certain type of emotional distress. It causes an elemental imbalance that manifests as flowers growing in the victim’s lungs.”
Clorinde raises her eyebrows.
“A certain type of emotional distress?”
To her surprise, her Lady's cheeks flush slightly.
“That is - unrequited love. Or believed to be unrequited, at least.”
Clorinde reels back at that, her thoughts a wild mess.
It has to be some poorly thought out jape on her Lady’s part. But no - Furina would not do such a thing. Her Lady is flighty and dramatic, but she also always knows the right words to say to people. And she loves drama, but she is not cruel - harsh, perhaps, when it concerns the crimes of her subjects, but never one to make needlessly cruel jokes like this. And Clorinde is not on trial. She has caused no offense to the justice her Lady embodies. Therefore, the only possible conclusion is that Lady Furina is telling the truth.
Still…
“Unrequited love can cause sickness?”
It just seems so utterly ridiculous, like something out of a fairytale.
“You know very well that elemental energy responds best to strong emotions”, Furina answers.
Clorinde nods.
“Love is one of the strongest emotions in existence. Even outside of drastic consequences such as Hanahaki, unrequited love can cause physical pain. Naturally, it is also strong enough to influence the elements.”
That…does make sense.
“So how is Hanahaki treated?”, Clorinde asks, and witnesses, from this close up, as Lady Furina's face falls.
Right. Not good.
“Someone did develop a surgery once to remove the flowers, but it also removed all feelings and memories the patients associated with their beloved. After multiple such results, the healer responsible for the invention of the surgery destroyed all their notes. There has been no other successful man-made cure. The only true cure that exists is to remove the stressor - meaning to have your feelings be reciprocated.”
Essentially, Clorinde has to confess her feelings.
That…is not feasible. Clorinde knows exactly who is causing her such distress - after all, she has loved Navia since they were both teenagers. For a time she has even considered confessing, considered that Navia might reciprocate her feelings - but that is all impossible now?
Who would love the person whose hands are stained with their father’s blood?
It does not matter to Navia that Clorinde was just doing her job, that there was something more going on that Callas hasn't told anybody. What is happening to Clorinde won't matter, either.
Worst of all, maybe Navia, kind as she is, would try to assume responsibility for Clorinde's condition. Clorinde would never forgive herself if Navia were to pretend to love her father's murderer out of some misplaced sense of obligation. The thought alone makes Clorinde's stomach turn unpleasantly.
“What were to happen if the victim's feelings were not reciprocated? Or if they never tried?”
Resignation crosses Lady Furina's eyes, as if she has already expected the question.
“The flowers will keep growing and growing until the victim suffocates.”
Clorinde nods.
“How long?”, she demands to know.
“If this was the first time…a few years. Three, four years, perhaps. Maybe five if you strictly avoid the person you are enamored with.”
A grim prognosis, indeed. And with the promise she has made to Callas, avoiding Navia entirely is out of the question. Perhaps this is Clorinde's trial after all - she has killed Callas, knowing he was innocent. And here she is, dying because his daughter would, understandably, never again feel anything but hatred for her.
Furina lays a hand on her arm. Her goddess’ grip is weak, yet the look with which she fixes Clorinde is anything but.
“Please, believe me - I know this is difficult, especially given the situation between the two of you, but you should at least try”, she whispers.
You have already witnessed so many humans die over the centuries. What is one more, when sooner or later you will attend my funeral? When my death is inevitable?
Clorinde does not voice these awful thoughts to her Lady - Furina is merely trying to help. It is hardly her fault that she is a goddess who will long outlive Clorinde and all her small, inconsequential, human problems.
So, Clorinde just nods and stays silent for the rest of her shift.
It does not take long for the Iudex to notice.
“Miss Clorinde”, Neuvillette calls out to her after a meeting. “Will you truly not tell the truth to the person whom you adore so?”
His eyes are nothing but kind and earnest. The Chief Justice usually is, outside of court, but many people struggle to see beyond his position. Clorinde, for all that she has never been close to the man, has never had that problem.
Still, she thinks he is somewhat of a hypocrite to ask her that question. After all, Clorinde has eyes. She has seen the way the Iudex looks at the Duke. How his eyes always linger a bit longer whenever coordinance at the highest level is required between Meropide and the Palais Mermonia. And if the Iudex were to tell the truth as he suggests she does, then Clorinde would not have to listen to Wriothesley mooning over the Judge.
“I will not”, she answers, knowing the Iudex won't pry.
As expected, Neuvillette simply nods with unfaltering composure.
“Then, at least visit Miss Sigewinne for one of her milkshakes - I am sure she can make something that will lessen the symptoms. Or perhaps His Grace has a tea that could help with the pain. Although I myself do not share his enthusiasm for it, I know that his collection of different teas would be considered quite impressive by the standards of connoisseurs.”
Clorinde almost laughs. Neuvillette's feelings for Wriothesley are one of Fontaine's most ill-kept secrets. Even those that believe Neuvillette to be a cold, unfeeling Master of the Law in almost all aspects are well aware of his fondness for both the Melusines and Wriothesley - after all, Neuvillette will passionately defend them to anyone who even so much as thinks a single unkind thought about them. It is rare that Clorinde has a conversation with the Chief Justice in which he does not mention either, and today is not one of those rare cases.
Even in the face of my personal crisis, the world still remains the same.
It is comforting to think that everything will continue on as it is now when she is gone.
Wriothesley does not mention her condition at all. He simply hands her a box of tea.
“This one is good for sore throats”, he tells her, his eyes unreadable.
Neuvillette would not have told him - even with Wriothesley, he is not the sort of person to share others’ secrets - and Lady Furina tends to actively avoid him.
He must have found out on his own, no matter how careful Clorinde has been to hide her pesky coughs. It truly is a testament to Wriothesley’s skills. But she does not ask how he knows of her situation, or of Hanahaki. She has never once asked about his methods before, and it would be a poor way to repay his kindness if she were to start now.
At least the tea tastes good. Medicine rarely does, and from what Clorinde is able to tell based on Wriothesley’s complaints she has been spared a particularly unpleasant taste by not having to resort to Sigewinne’s milkshakes.
For three years, this becomes Clorinde's life: following Navia from out of sight, trying desperately to muffle coughs and choke back petals until she is back home or at the Palais. Wriothesley sends her boxes of tea, Neuvillette stares at her with furrowed brows, and Lady Furina keeps asking her to tell Navia the truth with that uncharacteristically grave expression on the capricious Archon's face.
It is hardly the life she once imagined, or the life her Master intended for her. Clorinde used to believe she would die in service of Fontaine, in a battle once she gets too slow or inattentive. Instead, she will die because she won a battle. Because she has been foolish enough to give her heart to the one person in Fontaine who despises her most.
And in the end, all of her training cannot save her from the inevitable.
Still, Clorinde never misses a training session, never turns down an offer to spar against one of her fellow duelists, never refuses a challenge in Court. If she loses her edge, she cannot protect Navia. Clorinde cannot let that happen, she needs to be able to do this at least for Callas and for Navia. So she trains as though nothing has changed, illness be damned.
As time goes by, the ache in her chest gets worse. It accompanies her everywhere like a persistent admirer - the irony of the comparison is not lost on her. The petals, likewise, grow in size. They get more and more difficult to cough up, and recently Clorinde has trouble breathing even before an attack happens. Sometimes, she thinks she can almost feel the flowers growing inside of her - a twisting, tightening sensation that causes her whole body to shudder in revulsion.
It gets to a point where Clorinde sometimes starts gasping for air just from observing Navia from afar. Still, she does not approach her, does not force her unwanted presence onto the person she has hurt the most.
The blonde traveller and their companion arrive in Fontaine. Clorinde takes the opportunity to observe them while her Lady amuses herself by unleashing her precise knowledge of Fontaine's laws on the two famous foreigners.
The traveller has the stance of a seasoned swordsman, despite appearing twenty at most. But there are plenty of immortal beings other than the Archons who exist on Teyvat, the Iudex for one. Clorinde sets her curiosity aside - the traveller might indulge a dying woman but Clorinde hates the thought of disturbing their privacy - and hopes she can survive long enough to get the chance to talk sword techniques with the traveller. The Fatui operatives intervene and save the traveller a trip down to Coupon Town.
But her Lady is not one to accept defeat easily. The moment the corpse is discovered underneath the rubble, Clorinde already knows what Furina is going to do. After all, something like this happening after the magicians openly challenged her - if it is some sort of trap, another Fatui scheme, they have chosen the perfect bait.
Clorinde watches as Navia offers her help to the traveller - the Spina has always condemned the way trials are conducted, but it has gotten much worse ever since Callas' trial. Navia has nothing but utter contempt to offer for the Court system, for Monsieur Neuvillette and Lady Furina, for Clorinde. And it is entirely Clorinde's fault. The traveller eats Navia's macarons and chats with her, and with Melus and Silver, and Clorinde's chest burns fiercely.
It is only a short while after that Clorinde encounters Navia and her new friends surrounded by a small army of Gardemeks, and intervenes. She blocks shots and slices through metal, fighting her way to the trapped group. Suddenly, Navia is at her back, dispatching three approaching Gardemeks, and for a moment, it is just like old times. The ache in Clorinde's chest eases slightly.
Then, Navia questions her and it all comes crashing down once more. Asked directly, Clorinde sees no point in keeping Callas' wishes a secret from his daughter - which turns out to be a mistake.
“Do not…speak of my father!”, Navia tells her, voice trembling with anger.
Once their conversation is finished, Clorinde just barely makes it to one of the private bathrooms in the Opera in time before vomiting up a whole bouquet worth of bloodstained petals.
She only hopes that Navia will be careful, even if she is not willing to listen to Clorinde.
The devastated look on Navia's face as she leaves Monsieur Neuvillette's office, the traveller and Paimon in tow, nearly breaks Clorinde's heart all over again. Once upon a time, this would have been her cue to take Navia out for lunch, or hole up with her somewhere to cuddle and read one of those badly written murder mystery novels that are so popular here in the Court of Fontaine. But these days, her presence would only make Navia more upset.
Still, Clorinde walks over to a window and watches as the three of them exit the Palais. She frowns at the sudden rain. Navia's little investigation group halts, as well, glancing at the cloudy sky and talking - first with looks of confusion, then something akin to excitement. Navia smiles at her two new friends, and Clorinde’s breath stutters. For once, not because of the flowers growing stubbornly inside of her chest. It has been so long since she has last seen Navia smile like that.
A small, shameful part of her wants to hate these outlanders for taking over the friendship she once had with Navia so easily. Once, Navia would have smiled at her like that. Once, Clorinde would have been the one to cheer her up. Back then, nobody but Clorinde would have even been able to do so.
But to think like this is hardly fair. The traveller and Paimon are not responsible for Clorinde's past deeds, after all. If anything, Clorinde is glad that Navia has found someone who can be there for her, can assist and comfort her. Someone who, hopefully, will not let her down the way Clorinde did when she chose her duty over the truth.
“Miss Clorinde.”
Clorinde turns slightly from the window at the sound of the Chief Justice’s voice. He must have come down the hallway while she was lost in thought, and now he joins her in staring at the little group outside.
“Your Honour”, she bows her head before turning back to the window.
Navia and her friends walk off together as Clorinde and Monsieur Neuvillette watch in silence. The rain only gets worse in the meantime. Sudden rain in Fontaine is a regular occurrence, if more likely to happen during trials, and the people outside are unbothered by the drastic change in weather. Neither is Navia, her skirt swinging gracefully in the distance even as the fabric grows wet and heavy. Clorinde’s eyes follow her until she disappears from view entirely.
“Do you ever think…I made a mistake during Sir Callas' trial?”, Monsieur Neuvillette asks her.
His face gives away little, but there is a quiet ache in his voice, and his body is even more tense than usual.
If you had voiced those doubts three years ago, Navia would not hate me and I would not be dying, that secret part from earlier retorts, emerging from the depths of her mind. Callas might still be alive, and everything would be fine.
Clorinde does not voice these sudden thoughts. None of it is true, after all. Monsieur Neuvillette could not have kept Callas from standing trial based on doubts alone, and it is not fair of Clorinde to let her bitterness cause her to lash out at the Iudex. Certainly not after Navia already did - Navia, who, unlike Clorinde, actually has the right to be upset.
“Your Honour…you merely did your job that day. I will not deny that there is more to the situation than either of us knows. But Callas chose to take the truth to the grave with him. That is not something you could have changed. And I am certain a part of Navia understands that, as well.”
She understands I just did my job. But that won't ever change that my hands ended her father's life.
The Chief Justice hummed thoughtfully.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Clorinde”, he nods at her, ever polite, before excusing himself.
“My second question has to do with the ensuing duel”, Lady Furina continues.
Clorinde tenses up.
“If the truth is indeed as you described, then why didn't Mr. Callas explain himself in court? If he had testified that a person had been dissolved, he could have at least mounted a defense.”
They never would have believed such a thing back then. But it is true - he could have tried. Clorinde has spent these three years wondering, again and again, what made Callas throw his life away that day. What made him burden Clorinde with such a terrible deed, knowing fully well that Navia would despise her afterwards. Clorinde has never been close to Callas despite all the time she spent at his house as a child, but she knows he would not have done that to her, certainly not to Navia, without a good reason.
Clorinde remains tense, frozen at the thought of finally discovering the truth. Within her chest, her lungs burn terribly as she stares at Navia. Yet, she cannot look away from her. The whole Opera hall is silent with anticipation as Navia continues to speak.
And…of course. How could Clorinde not have realised this herself? Callas may have entrusted his daughter's safety to Clorinde, but he never would have trusted the court with it. If he could keep Navia from being targeted this way…
Next to Clorinde, Lady Furina is clearly shocked by Callas' sacrifice. Naturally, it must be difficult for a Goddess to comprehend a human being willing to trade their life away.
“Do you have any proof?”
“Of course. All you have to do is to ask his opponent, Clorinde.”
A stray petal itches in Clorinde's throat as Navia says her name. She desperately attempts to swallow it back down, ignoring the faint taste of blood in her mouth.
“I don't need your apology, your guilt, or your support from the shadows”, Navia tells her, and oh, that hurts more than all the flowers Clorinde could cough up for her. Navia truly does not wish for her help. She despises Clorinde so much that she would turn even her support down. “But since he entrusted his will to you, Clorinde, you should tell us the truth about his sacrifice.”
The truth.
How many times has she attempted to tell Navia the truth?
Only now that Navia has realised the truth about her own value as a bargaining chip, is she willing to hear out the truth. Clorinde's attempts have never been enough. Still, she would never deny Navia the truth. She would never deny Navia anything.
Clorinde answers truthfully - she knows how to read the eyes of an opponent. Callas' eyes never lied that day.
For the rest of the trial, Clorinde slinks further back into the shadows beside her Archon's seat as she tries to choke down the flowers which her body forces up her throat. She fails miserably, and settles for stifling her coughing fits with the sleeves of her uniform. Every now and then, Lady Furina shoots her a concerned glance. Clorinde avoids her Archon's mismatched eyes. Today, they stare too deeply into her soul.
Fortunately for Clorinde, the chaos at the end of the trial and Lady Furina's inability to explain the malfunction of the Oratrice mean that she manages to escape another impassioned plea to confess her feelings.
Navia reaches out to her after the trial, inviting her out for a meal. Clorinde considers declining - any close interaction will only accelerate her approaching death - but finds that she cannot bring herself to so, not even to prolong her own life. It has been three years of Navia offering nothing but hate. If the revelations at the trial are enough for her to give their friendship another chance, how can Clorinde possibly say no?
The dinner goes well - her and Navia fall quickly back into the easy rhythm of their friendship. It is not entirely the same as it once was, but remarkably less awkward than it should have been.
Still, there are notable differences to their past friendship. Clorinde's heart races the entire time throughout the meal, and she spends half the night vomiting flowers drenched in blood into her toilet. And yet, she is happier than she has been in years.
“She has forgiven you. Why have you still not told her?”, Lady Furina demands to know, her eyes wild and a bit teary.
Wriothesley does not ask her outright, but she can see the question in his eyes whenever she mentions Navia.
The answer is rather simple - Navia has only just forgiven her, for killing her father, no less. The fact that Navia is even willing to rebuild their friendship in the wake of everything that has happened is a testimony to how incredibly kind she truly is. But Clorinde does not even deserve this much, not from Navia. How can she ask for more? And how can she burden Navia with her death if her friend does not reciprocate her feelings? Navia would consider herself responsible for Clorinde's death. She may have forgiven Clorinde, but she would never forgive herself. Clorinde cannot possibly put her through that horror, not after Navia already has had to learn about the true reason Callas died. Better that she goes quietly one day, without Navia ever learning of the cause.
The time that Clorinde spends with Navia brings about another issue. Navia, for all that she has spent much of her life remaining oblivious to her father's actions and intentions, has grown into a formidable and sharp leader. She had to. Anything less than that, and she never would have been able to uncover the truth behind Callas' death. But for Clorinde, it means that her condition is at a constant risk of discovery. With each minute that she spends in Navia's company, those attentive blue eyes could catch onto the flicker of purple as Clorinde quickly coughs into her elbow.
She learns how to hide her situation - how to shuffle her elbow discreetly towards her pockets after coughing, ensuring that no petals are left to fall onto the ground. Some days, she excuses her coughs with a cold; others, she forces down the reflex to expel the flowers stuck in her throat until it is time for her to leave and hide in empty alleys where she can throw up the Lumidouce petals as quietly as possible. If she tires more easily these days, she merely has a lot of work to do. And if she is particularly pale, then that same work has kept her from enjoying the sunlight more often.
Clorinde hates lying to her, especially now that their friendship is still so fragile, but it is better than the alternative.
So much happens in a short span of time that Clorinde barely gets to pay any attention to the way the burning in her chest grows worse as the roots of the flowers spread. She knows she doesn't have much longer left, but if they do not learn of what Lady Furina is keeping from them, all of Fontaine may soon be lost. A part of Clorinde still finds it distasteful to consider - Lady Furina is dramatic, a performer instead of a powerful fighter, but she is their Goddess. The thought that she may have been lying to them upsets her greatly, and so does the alternative of trialing their own Archon. Still, Clorinde has seen the aftermath of Poisson. And she, like Navia, has known Melus and Silver for so many years…she can hardly believe they're gone.
But the trial happens, and more truths come to light. Fontaine survives the prophecy - in no small part thanks to Lady Furina, as Clorinde later learns. She feels somewhat ashamed of herself. The plan to coerce Furina came from her...even though she is, was her Lady's bodyguard. Clorinde had been supposed to be Furina’s shield, but instead she ended up pointing a sword at her Lady.
She is among the last of their group to send a message to Furina's new residence.
Clorinde would understand it if her Lady declined her invitation to lunch after everything that has happened, but Furina readily accepts. Outside of her role as the Archon, Furina is very different. Quiet, thoughtful. Her theatrics still occur but they're not at the forefront of her personality any longer. It is quite pleasant to spend time with the real Furina, Clorinde decides.
“So, how are things going with Navia?”, Furina eventually asks.
Clorinde has known she would ask, yet somehow it still catches her slightly off guard.
“It has been nice being friends with her again.”
Furina pulls a face.
“That is not what I mean, and you know it. Your time is almost up. You don't look well - I imagine you are having trouble breathing. And Neuvillette mentioned that the Duke said you've used up almost all of the tea for your throat. You know, Navia is starting to notice that something is wrong. Not only has she asked Neuvillette about it, she even sent me a letter asking if I know anything. So far I have gotten by with telling her that it is not my place to disclose any private information about you, but that won't deter her forever - she's the President of the Spina, she has her ways of getting that information!”
Furina gets louder and more impassioned towards the end of her tirade, gesturing wildly. It is fortunate that they chose a more secluded table inside the restaurant instead of sitting outside.
“I have been doing well at hiding it. She can't find out. She can't. If she ends up being responsible for my death after what happened to her father, to Melus, to Silver - it would be too much for her.”
Clorinde’s voice breaks as another coughing fit builds up in her chest. Furina jumps up from her chair and presses a handkerchief against Clorinde's mouth. The coughs get loud and strained, and Clorinde struggles to get any air as petals continue to spill forth. She can barely hear Furina's desperate pleas for her to breathe over the retching sounds and the static noise in her ears. This time, it takes several minutes for the coughing to stop, and Clorinde's breathing remains ragged.
Furina drops the soiled handkerchief to the ground, blue silk now a red mess with wet petals stuck everywhere. The next moment, Clorinde finds herself pulled into a tight embrace as Furina remains standing next to her chair. Her Lady - she will always remain Clorinde's Lady, Archon or not - is a warm, comforting presence. The soft hug soothes the ache in her lungs a bit.
“Why-”, Clorinde gasps, her voice a hoarse whisper that burns her throat with each word. “Why…do you care…so much?”
“You're my friend”, Furina's own voice is shaky, wet with tears. “I may have been playing a role but you were always there for me, even if you thought I was someone I'm not. And I - I was supposed to save everyone...you, too.”
“Oh, Furina”, Clorinde's heart breaks for her Lady.
For centuries she has carried this burden, unable to share her true self with anyone. All with the thought that it would be worth it if everyone survived.
“This isn't on you. You saved all of us. I will die soon, but that is no failure on your part. This is my decision, and I only still get to make it because I have not been dissolved into Primordial Sea water. Because you succeeded.”
The words still hurt to say, but Furina needs to hear them. And Clorinde knows she is right as her Lady clutches her tighter. There is a wetness spreading out in Clorinde's hair moments before she starts to hear the quiet sobs. Clorinde rarely expresses herself through physical affection, but her arms still come up and wrap around Furina's waist.
She is with Navia when it becomes too much to handle. Of course, it has to happen when she is out on a picnic with Navia, not at home, or with Furina or Wriothesley, or even with Monsieur Neuvillette.
One moment they're talking, laughing, Navia is recounting how the Spina caught a guy running scams in Poisson in an effort to profit off the people desperately trying to rebuild the area after the disaster, the next Clorinde doubles over and starts coughing violently. She claps her hands over her mouth but it is too late and too much. Blood sprays all over the nice blanket Navia brought, and flowers are falling to the ground. Her hands cannot catch all of them, there are far too many spilling forth, and she cannot stop coughing, it keeps going on and on, and her peripheral vision is graying at the edges as she fails to breathe.
“Clorinde? Clorinde!”
A scream is the last thing Clorinde hears before everything goes black.
The pain in Clorinde's chest is blinding. It is the first thing she notices as awareness floods her mind once more. The next is that she is lying in a soft bed that is also decidedly not her own.
Not dead yet, then.
Good. She would have hated dying in front of Navia.
Navia!
As expected, when Clorinde forces her eyes open, her friend is right next to her in a chair, her face red with tears.
“Clorinde!”
Navia leans forward as Clorinde blinks rapidly.
“Where…”
She hisses in agony as her throat erupts with burning pain.
“Don't talk”, Navia pleads, sobs punctuating her words. “L-let me do the talking.”
Clorinde snaps her mouth shut immediately.
“I know what this is.”
Furina had been right - of course Navia would somehow manage to discover the information she has been looking for. Clorinde had hoped that, just this once, Navia's networks would fail her. A fool’s endeavour, in retrospect.
“Why would you not tell me? I - I thought we were doing fine, after the trial, you…you have to know I would help you if you need it, right? Whoever…whoever it is that is causing this, surely they wouldn't possibly reject you. I mean you're you - everyone in Fontaine admires you. Anyone who has eyes for women would be lucky to have you…it's not Wriothesley, is it?”
Clorinde nearly laughs at the thought.
Talk about barking up the wrong gardemek - Wriothesley would indeed not be interested in a woman, much less her. They have never been anything more than friends, although Navia wouldn't be the first person to suspect otherwise. In fact, Monsieur Neuvillette once asked her, clearly flustered, if there was anything going on between her and His Grace. Clorinde made sure to disabuse him of that notion quite thoroughly - and to slip in that Wriothesley has only ever been interested in the company of men. Someday, surely, these two would get their shit together.
To ensure Navia, too, gets that impression out of her pretty head, Clorinde shakes her own head wildly - talking still seems like a categorically bad idea.
“Who is it then - who could possibly reject you so certainly that you would rather…die…”, Navia's voice breaks and a fresh wave of tears rolls down her cheeks.
“Is it Monsieur Neuvillette?”
Clorinde pulls a face. She is rather glad she has never had feelings for her own boss - not to mention the fact that Neuvillette would never consider anyone but Wriothesley in such a way.
“Right, got it…Chevreuse? Chiori? Lyney? Lynette? Emilie? Charlotte? Wait…it's Furina, is it? That's why you hesitated to contact her after the trial! And you won't tell her because you feel bad about your own role in our plan!”
Navia sounds so proud of herself - even though there is the slightest dimming of the light in her eyes.
Clorinde cannot help it this time, she starts laughing. Immediately her throat flares up with fierce pain and her laugh turns into coughing. No flowers this time, fortunately.
“Clorinde! Don't - hey, shhh…it's going to be fine…”
Navia sits down on the bed and starts rubbing her back gently as she waits for Clorinde's coughs to cease.
“Not Furina, then?”
Clorinde shakes her head again.
“Who can it possibly be…? You don't spend much time with most people, that was pretty much everyone we know…”
Then, Navia freezes completely. Her back rubs halt. Clorinde misses the soothing motion desperately.
For a moment, everything is silent.
Then, Navia scoots back and turns Clorinde's face to her. Clorinde tenses as she lays eyes on her friend - Navia's face is bright red again, but not with tears. She seems oddly…flushed.
“It's…me...isn't it?”
It's Clorinde's turn to freeze. Her immediate thought is to deny it, but she has never been good at lying to Navia. It would be pointless to try.
She nods, shutting her eyes tight and preparing herself for the worst - Navia yelling at her, Navia leaving, Navia breaking down in despair at the idea of causing Clorinde’s death.
Either way, this marks the end of their friendship, even more so than Callas' trial. They can never come back from this - this is going to break Navia or their relationship, but their friendship is over, regardless. This is the end of Clorinde's time with the best person she has ever known, and she only has herself to blame.
What Clorinde is not prepared for is the sensation of soft lips against her own.
She exhales in surprise.
The next moment, the gentle press of Navia's lips against her own is gone and arms wrap around Clorinde's body.
“I love you, too”, Navia sobs wetly into her neck. “I love you so much, please, don't leave me.”
The ache in Clorinde's chest, in Clorinde's throat, recedes abruptly - it is not gone entirely, but she can breathe easier.
“I won't”, she promises, hugging Navia back tightly.
She has never denied Navia anything, after all.
Later:
“This went on for the entire time in which I wasn't talking to you? Oh, Rin, you should have told me regardless - I may have been mad at you, but I didn't want you dead -”
Much later:
“I told you, didn't I? I told you!”
Furina's tone is triumphant but her eyes shimmer with tears. Clorinde simply smiles at her gently.
“That you did.”