Wings of Diablos, how she hated being pregnant.

The ascension had gone off perfectly. Garrett had indeed celebrated his marriage by taking a good many women to his bed, under the guise of a 'bachelor party'. Daear wasn't concerned about diseases; Garrett might catch a few or he might not - Detmer's notes were unclear as to how immune someone who was temporarily gifted became to disease - but Daear herself would never catch anything. If her moronic husband chose to give himself something incurable and die from it, her only real feeling on the matter would be to drop a 'thank-you' card in his coffin.

She managed his affairs carefully - both political and personal, and she kept a watchful eye on the sprawling beast that was Deling City. The nation had been powerful once, had been the heart of the Galbadian Empire with Dollet and Timber at its feet. Now...now its strength was spent, in the way of lovers who were too energetic to pace themselves, gasping and panting on the mattress. No matter. She would see it strong, powerful again. Would set it at the throat of the world to drink it dry. Garrett was a fool - but she'd known that going in, had counted on it. Her hand rested on the growing swell of her belly. Her child would not be a fool. Whatever her power - and by now the doctors well knew the child was female - she would be above the human cattle, the mindless thousands who tottered to meaningless jobs to earn the money to eat bland food and lead uneventful, boring lives.

As long as they paid their taxes, Daear would leave them alone. The city would be hers, its coffers hers. Garrett's father had seen in her an heir worthy of the name - a woman intelligent enough to both set and avoid traps, and ruthless enough to keep the less desirable elements of the city at bay. Organized crime was a fact of life in Deling, the buying of politicians an equally indisputable fact. In Daear, Mayor Alton Deling had seen a valuable tool - one that would allow him to escape the control of the crime syndicates and rule as he pleased.

Daear smiled pleasantly and placed herself at the Mayor's disposal - in all things save one. When he made overtures indicating desire, her face became entirely unreadable. Quietly, softly, as if offering directions to a café, Daear told Alton in no uncertain terms how small his corpse would be if he ever laid a finger upon her. Serve him as executioner, in any way at all that brought the city more firmly under his control - this she would willingly do in exchange for privacy and a little power of her own. Sex was not a tool she would use, nor offer. In this Alton proved more intelligent than his son - he took the hint the first time, and kept the relationship professional.

Daear was a capable and untraceable assassin. Once she knew where her target was, she could crush him into the ground - or crush a nearby building or other architectural piece and drop it on him. She was more than willing to serve as Alton's assassin - to strengthen her father-in-law's grip on the city was to strengthen her own eventual position. She intended Alton to live only as long as it took her to bear the politically expedient pair of children she was aiming for, and wean them. In the meantime, her pregnancy was something of a weakness - it was better for her to remain behind the scenes. Behind Alton and Garrett, pulling the strings of power and learning how they worked in practical terms.

Of course, as the wife of the Mayor's son, Daear was hardly a private individual. Publicly, to all the people of the city, she was Adrienne Thomas. To the people of the newspaper it was given out that 'Dara' was a nickname. No one - not even her husband or father-in-law, or perhaps especially not them - knew her true name. And when she knew photographs would be taken she took care to efface herself as much as possible. Alton thought it was so that her targets would not know her by sight; Garrett simply thought she had an aversion to people seeing her while pregnant. She let them think what they liked; the truth was that she did not want Seifer on her doorstep. Not now, not while she was pregnant and unable to quickly get out of sight. Until her children were born and weaned, she was vulnerable.

Garrett wanted his power drug, of course. Daear had prepared a limited supply before seducing him - enough so that she would not have to draw her own blood while pregnant. She gave him small doses if he pleased her, or did as she wished in an important matter. Garrett was not a complete fool; he knew he was being controlled and resented it - but there was nothing he could do. Only Daear knew where the supply was, only Daear knew what it was and how to make it. And confronting her had proven dangerous.

He'd cornered her in a hallway when she was three or four months along, just starting to truly show. "Don't think you can keep me as a pet, little whore," he snarled quietly. "Suck up to my father all you want - you know I'll run the show eventually. When I do, who will save you then?"

"What makes you think I need someone to save me?" Daear asked, just as quietly. Letting her eyes shift, she continued, "What makes you think I won't kill you right now for annoying me? What makes you think anyone will care if I do?"

"My father -" Garrett snarled, and Daear used her power to begin crushing him. Slowly, but inexorably. Letting him have time to feel the weight of gravity increase.

"Your father doesn't need you any more, Garrett darling," said Daear softly, sweetly. "I am the sweetheart of the city, and I bear your child. I give your father power, control over the city. If you die, he loses a political liability; you've never been very good at keeping the press on your side. He can enact harsher anti-crime measures that keep the syndicates at bay using his 'grief' at your death as a spur. Don't use your father's name against me, Garrett. If you want him to choose me or you, you will die. And if you annoy me again, you will die anyway. Are we quite clear?"

She stared at him with glowing, shifted eyes, and did not release her power until - muscles straining against the pull of gravity - Garrett nodded. Straightening up, he brushed off his jacket. "It's not going to be as easy as you think," he warned, but Daear had already dismissed him from her mind.

"Nothing ever is," she tossed over her shoulder as she continued on her way.

She'd thought the problem solved, or at least shelved, but as her pregnancy progressed Garrett tested her more often. Her baby was due in a month and a half to two months now, and she felt overlarge and ungainly and very much not in the mood to deal with a husband who thought her daughter was his business. She stopped giving him doses of her blood, and when mere withdrawal didn't stop him she started using her power against him. He didn't believe she would kill him until he'd awakened one day in the emergency room with several broken ribs and punctured lungs.

He was more respectful now - and of course she visited him every day, the very picture of the loving, dutiful wife giving her all for her husband. The press adored her, pale and pregnant but going every day to visit Garrett. The details of his 'accident' were kept vague - the official report was that Daear had found him, and he didn't remember what had happened. The assumption was that Garrett had fallen. There were many treacherous stairways in the old Mayoral mansion, and several politically expedient deaths had been blamed on them. She didn't like the walking much, with her swollen ankles and ungainly body, but it was not as difficult for her as she led the press to believe. She could ease gravity's touch on her so that she weighed a fraction of normal - and of course she had her inborn strength and endurance in her favor. Movement was inconvenient and uncomfortable - but it wasn't by any means impossible. And of course she derived great satisfaction from knowing her 'dear' husband couldn't move at all.

Thinking such pleasant thoughts brought a smile to her lips as she walked, so she wasn't paying as much attention to her surroundings as she might have. But the sound of her name - her true name, spoken in pure astonishment, caught her immediate and undivided focus.

"Daear?"

Her head whipped around - and there, in an unbuttoned leather trench coat of the most hideous shade of purple she'd ever seen, and a matching wide-brimmed hat sporting a huge and fluffy yellow chocobo feather, was Gwynt. He was gaping at her as though she'd grown wings.

She spoke quickly. "Go to the restaurant you'll find two blocks down that street," she told him. "Wait there, and I will join you shortly."

She was relying on the fact that they were supposed to be hiding to get him to listen, and it worked. With a short nod, he strode off - and Daear took a moment to catch her breath. That had been close. He'd used her true name, and there was no telling if anyone had seen or heard him - someone had to, dressed as he was, but was it anyone important? She closed her eyes and sense-shifted, breathing as if startled and just calming herself down. She knew the reporters who tailed her by sound and smell as well as sight - from all the papers, both reputable and not. None were near enough to have heard Gwynt's use of her true name.

Now to ensure privacy at the restaurant. She made a quick call to her father-in-law's chief of security - he would make sure no reporters so much as got close to the restaurant's windows while she was inside. Gwynt had no business being in Deling City unless he'd come to see her - or come for her, which was a disturbing thought. But no, if he'd come as her executioner he would not have gone to wait for her.

She knew her brother; 'patient' was not a word that described him.

* * * * * *

She found Gwynt - his hat now on a hook on the wall within easy reach, its feather curving almost to the floor - in a relatively quiet corner of the restaurant. At least, there was no one nearby louder than he was, either in speech or dress. For the time being he seemed content to stare into a glass of some amber drink that was probably, knowing him, virulently alcoholic - he'd been quite tired of milk and teas by the time they'd left Rinoa's care. Interesting - clothes aside, he was affecting a much more quiet demeanor than she'd grown used to seeing from him when they'd parted ways. And although the restaurant was dark, he kept his mirrored aviator sunglasses on - hiding an eyeshift, or something else?

Daear took a seat opposite him, watching him carefully - she needed to know why he was here, and quickly, so as to formulate a workable response. She didn't even look away to order when a waiter noticed her presence - a simple mineral water was all she requested. Something had her brother holding back his usual egregious tendencies, and she needed to be sure it wasn't her.

"First things first," she said quietly. "My name is Adrienne Thomas. Call me Adrienne only; it's very important."

He nodded; if she chose a pseudonym, it was at least clear she was still trying to stay below SeeD's radar. "Won't Seifer pick up on a false name, though?"

Her lips twitched. "It's not a false name, Gwynt," she stated. "It's my real name. The one on my birth certificate, the one my mother gave me."

Gwynt's jaw dropped. "You know?" he asked, his voice rasping. "You found out?" She couldn't tell behind his sunglasses whether he was agitated enough to eyeshift, but he leaned forward expectantly.

Daear kept her expression carefully neutral. That was rather more enthusiasm than she'd been expecting from him. From Taran, the twins, or Nodwydd yes, but not Gwynt. He'd never cared before. She wondered what had changed. "Yes," she informed him. "I found out about them all. I have birth certificates, I have photographs..." She pursed her lips and threw out a line, trying to figure out why her taciturn brother would care. "There are no inheritances. All of them willed us, along with what remained of their goods, to our foster father."

Gwynt leaned back again, idly swirling his drink in his hand. "They knew they were gonna die, then," he remarked. "Enough in advance to put us in their wills."

"Yes," Daear agreed, and both of them paused while the waiter returned with a bottle of mineral water and a glass. Privately she was very intrigued - Gwynt had barely seemed to notice the news that there were no inheritances, but latched immediately onto the news their mothers had been aware of their mortality. She threw another line, curious, and sipped at her water to mask it. "I have other information too. About our powers, about what Detmer was doing with us."

She wished he would take the sunglasses off - the things were large and hid most of his upper face behind the mirrors. She couldn't be sure what his true reactions were; Gwynt would scowl at anything from the weather to a random thought to a direct insult. "How'd you find all this stuff out?" he asked at last.

Whatever his reason for wanting to know, he didn't want her to find out about it - that much, Daear could be sure of. She sipped at the warm water thoughtfully. For her plans to succeed, she had to have Gwynt either on her side or in a plainly neutralized position - his power could counter her own, and while it meant neither of them were doing anything else she knew that if Gwynt were attacking her he wouldn't be alone. Taran at least would be involved, and that would be more than enough to spell her defeat. That argued for honesty - being as helpful as she could, so that if Gwynt had the choice he wouldn't act against her.

On the other hand, being overtly helpful would make him suspicious - Gwynt mistrusted everyone and everything, herself most of all, and if she were too kind too soon he'd wonder what she was up to and what she wanted. Better, then, to bargain but make the price affordable. So she replied, "Why the sudden interest? I was expecting our more sentimental siblings to have a greater interest in this than you. They're dead, after all."

Gwynt froze, and Daear's interest in his reasons went up another notch. What could possibly cause such a change from what she'd expected? Unless - he'd frozen at the word 'dead'. But of course their mothers were all dead, they'd known that from the beginning...she took an intuitive leap in the dark, and offered a small tidbit to see how he'd take it. "I would hardly expect you to find sentiment in old medical reports, brother mine. It's not as if any of them kept diaries."

That confirmed it. He might be hiding his eyes but he was stiff as a tree trunk - every muscle taut as he tried not to do something, say something. So...it wasn't for sentimental reasons, after all. He wanted the medical reports - the causes of death. And the only reason he could possibly have a sudden strong interest in what had killed his mother was the presence of another mother...Daear took a quick swallow of her water to cover a smile she couldn't suppress. She was willing to bet the Deling Casino that he'd gotten a girl pregnant and was worried for her. She lowered her eyelids to hide a glance at his hands - it wasn't the traditional gold or silver, but there was a ring in the right position and she knew her brother as a man who avoided jewelry like the plague. Well, well, well. This was going to be amazingly easy.

"You don't have to tell me your reasons, of course," she said smoothly into the tense silence, and watched him relax slightly. "I would, however, like to know what you're doing in Deling City. It's not exactly on the way to anywhere." Just because I don't ask for the keys to the mint, brother mine, does not mean I won't ask for a price.

He responded by snagging the elbow of a nearby waiter and ordering bourbon. When the server had gone off again, he said, tersely, "Came lookin' for you, actually."

As if he could have had any other reason at all for coming here. He'd hardly drop by to see the old house. "Any particular reason?"

Away from the topic of their mothers, Gwynt was apparently quite willing to talk. "I got me a plane," he said. "An' the papers that let me fly it. Doin' messenger service, an' you're on the list."

"I'm flattered," she said dryly, knowing she was probably included only because everyone would want confirmation she was 'behaving herself'. She was now even more glad that she hadn't antagonized him - the news of everyone's whereabouts and doings would be his job, and he would probably be the one leading an attack on her if one were ever to occur. "Is this verbal news only, or what are you willing to do?"

The waiter returned with Gwynt's bourbon; he took it and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, evidently watching her behind his sunglasses. "It's everything," he said in a low rumble. "Phone numbers, letters, packages, everything. I've already found Noddy - he's got stuff for you in my plane. I can give you his number an' mine here an' now, with the others as I find 'em. I'm to get yours too, to hand to them."

She leaned away from him, frowning slightly. All of them knew she was not a social woman - socialite, but not social. Every encounter she had, she planned out for specific reasons and made sure it ran along preplanned lines. People, as a rule, bored and irritated her to distraction.

On the other hand...they would likely not be calling her just to chat. She was disliked by all of them, or at least distrusted, and any conversations would reflect that. Better to make nice, and use her own information on them to make sure if they turned on her she would not be surprised. She had the resources of Deling City to draw on - and she knew where to hire watchdogs and spies. So she said, "Do you have somewhere I can write it down?"

Gwynt reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. On the front the only thing she could read was his name - the rest was in Esthari characters - and the phone numbers in Esthari and Galbadian numerals in the corner. He pointed at the higher-placed number. "That's my home phone. You call that an' this city better be burnin' down around your ears. The bottom one's my cell, and a better bet cos I'm usually out flyin' somethin' somewhere. He flipped the card over and wrote another number on the back. "This one's Noddy's house, and the other one's his pager. He din't say anything about times, but he works nights." He held up the card between two fingers. "Now your turn."

Daear smiled slightly - he didn't want her calling the home number because that would be where his pregnant human wife was, and he still thought she hadn't worked that out. But she was good at the game of secrets, so she didn't let him see she knew. She simply reached into her own bag and produced another card, and handed it to him. "There you are. It's the one I hand reporters."

Gwynt flipped his card at her and took hers. "Reporters?" he said softly. "Damnit, how the hell d'you plan to hide when the media's all camped on your damn doorstep? An' what about that?" he demanded, pointing at her stomach. "The whole damn city know about you? You know Taran'd say cut the losses if you go outta your way to haul Seifer down on you."

"I am well aware of Taran's reasons for doing most things," Daear replied just as quietly. "I assure you - the doctors I have hired are private practitioners associated with no hospital or clinic, kept very well paid on retainer to keep their silence. And do not doubt that I will kill them before they can open their mouths if I find reason to doubt their loyalty." She tucked the card with Gwynt and Nodwydd's numbers into her bag. "As for the press, I started out as a reporter here - I know the media ropes, as it were, and they know nothing about me I do not wish them to know." She smiled tightly. "I am Adrienne Thomas, last scion of the Thomas estate, married to the son of the Mayor. Just another pretty, broke heiress who married her way into power - that's all they know."

"No fuckin' wonder this city is haywire," Gwynt grumbled. "Oughta make you cover my hotel an' fuel expenses."

"I can, of course," she nodded. "I have things of interest to all of you - I'm assuming you're allowing for immediate acceptance of packages but delayed delivery. How long are you here?"

"A few days," Gwynt shrugged. "Long-ass flight across the sea an' Galbadia to get here. Was gonna stretch my legs a bit before headin' home." He cocked his head. "So, this son o' the mayor. He the father?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Does it matter?" she asked. "The child will be a daughter, with a power the way we have power. She won't be human."

Gwynt pursed his lips for a moment, then shrugged. "Whatever. Never would'a figured you t'be the motherly type though."

She frowned. He was fishing for information again, though she knew it wouldn't do him any good. "It is political," she said shortly. "I speed Garrett's ascension to the Mayor's office if I am the stereotypical supportive mother of two. I will have two children and that will be all." She shrugged slightly. "It isn't without its benefits. Two more people like us, Gwynt. Two more who know their worth and their power and that these cattle are just that. Cattle, to be driven or slaughtered or milked as we deem fit."

Tongue in cheek, Gwynt replied, "You're gonna get a herd o' sympathy cards when that girl's born, y'know. All addressed to her - sucky place to have a kid, this."

"If you believed I was pregnant because I developed a sudden unrestrained passion for humans, Gwynt, you need to have your head checked." She rested her hand on her stomach. "She will be like me. That's all that matters. If she were human she would not live to be born."

Gwynt froze again - she'd thrown the remark out deliberately, and now she knew all she needed to. He was sure that his human wife was pregnant with another child of power. Of course, she could have guessed that from his sudden interest in his mother, but it was always better to be sure. It mattered nothing to Daear whether the woman lived or died - but the child, now, the child with power...yes. She must make sure that child lived to be born. She could no more imagine Gwynt a father than he could apparently picture her as a mother - but Daear would see that her daughter was cared for and properly raised. Gwynt might just as soon wring the thing's neck and chuck the corpse in a dumpster if he didn't want the bother. He never saw the potential in things - that was most of his problem. He never thought ahead.

So she indicated his huge feathered hat, and said, "Come. My 'dear' husband is currently in intensive care, so I can give you a tour of the Palace without having to worry about him making undue connections that might strain him. You'll have to stay in a hotel, of course, but if you like I'll let you put it on an expense account." She smiled. "No strings attached."

There. She'd been as transparent as she would risk being - she'd laid the bribe out, and it was for him to take it or refuse it. Both of them knew it wouldn't affect his opinion of her, and both of them knew she was expected to try it anyway. So she wasn't surprised when he shrugged and said, "Sure."

* * *

They did not converse as they left the restaurant. Gwynt was not a conversationist, he was a braggart - if he had nothing to brag about, he generally didn't bother talking. This suited Daear just fine; she was not playing the tour guide to get to know her brother better. She already knew as much about him as she wanted or needed to know. No, she was showing him the Palace not so that he would see, but so that he would be seen - most particularly, be seen in her company. Of course, it would spark some unusual headlines in the social pages if she weren't careful, so the very first thing she did was take Gwynt to the hospital where Garrett was recuperating. That would immediately squash any rumors that she was now cheating on her husband while he was ill; one did not take one's lover to meet one's husband.

Gwynt said nothing to the man - just noted the injuries with an odd but unreadably vague expression, which led Garrett to ask if Gwynt was a doctor.

To Daear's delighted surprise, Gwynt replied with a crisp Esthari "Iie," that was 'no'.

Garrett looked from Gwynt to Daear. "If he's Esthari I'll buy you a house," he snapped. Turning to Gwynt again, he said, "What are you doing here?"

Daear had a hard time not laughing at her husband's consternation as Gwynt patiently explained, in the perfect accentless Esthari he'd learned from Laguna, that he had flown into the city with packages for Adrienne. And produced the cargo listings and his own flight license and ratings notations - all in Esthari characters, though the cargo manifest was translated into Galbadian as well - for Garrett's inspection. If Garrett had been able to puzzle out the characters Gwynt's simple tactic probably would not have worked; as it was, it passed with flying colors. Absolutely truthful - and at the same time a perfect deception.

Garrett turned his head to her, dislike sparking in his eyes. "All right, Adrienne. Why bring him here?"

"You know how the press adores me, darling," Daear replied drolly. "And Fuu here is hardly unremarkable." Gwynt's name in Esthari characters became 'Fuu'. "I didn't want you reading in all the papers that I had taken a lover, so I brought him here. As you see, just a delivery boy - although a rather loud one." She let her eyes shift. "You will tell the media so, when they ask. He had deliveries for me, and because I was out of the Palace he went looking for me - after all, Esthari do take their duties so very seriously."

Gwynt's eyebrows raised at this, but she could not see his eyes behind the sunglasses as he looked at the bandaged man on the bed. Garrett nodded once, slowly. "You're going to owe me for this."

"No, I am not," Daear replied evenly. "Because it is very much as it seems to be. It is to your advantage to make sure that it stays that way - for if I should become unfaithful to you, Garrett, it will not be a hospital bed that you find yourself in. It will be a coffin. Are we quite clear?"

"As crystal," Garrett snapped. "Get out of here before I decide to have a relapse and have you removed."

Daear led Gwynt out, and he held his peace until they were outside. "Daear, you've sunk to new lows of fucked-upness, an' personally I'm surprised you found a way to do it. If you hate the guy so much why're you keepin' him alive an' lettin' him fuck you?"

"I told you," she snapped, walking sedately toward the Palace - there were always eyes, after all, and it would not do to be seen leaving her husband - in his delicate condition - afire with rage. "I needed him to ascend to the rulership of the city. When I have two children, and they are weaned, he's a dead man. A very, very, dead man."

The wide violet brim of Gwynt's hat dipped down to hide most of his face as he watched the pavement while they walked. "You've changed," he said after a while. "I wouldn't've bet anything you'd whore for power. Kill, sure - backstab, front stab, fight, sure. But not whore."

The word stabbed at Daear - it was one night, one night and he'd never been allowed to touch her again, but she couldn't help lashing out. "You've hardly got room to talk - you've slept around enough to get a human pregnant, and you know she's going to die and I'll bet you haven't told her. At least I will survive my pregnancy!"

Gwynt's hand clenched into a fist and he stopped stock still in the street as a wind blew up out of nowhere, a strong gust that picked up quickly. "You got no idea what you're talking about, bitch," he snapped. "And if you say one more word about it by Pandemona's purple tail I'll rip your lungs out an' feed 'em to you!"

The feel of the wind pushing at her - and she knew it for the warning it was, because it didn't have to blow horizontally when Gwynt was calling it - forced Daear to get her anger under her control. "No more idea have you," she retorted. "You're making judgement calls about a situation you have no comprehension of. This is not Esthar. This is not the Deling City you thought you lived in as a child, and it is not the Deling City Father taught you about. It is my city, in every sense of the word, and if I choose you can be banned from it without even a half hour's work on my part. The way I have taken power allows me to see and be seen without the city at large knowing who truly decides policy here. Even my daughter is part of this game, brother, and if you continue to visit here you will become a piece on the playing board for me to move. If you don't like it, I'd advise you to stay away."

"You'd use your daughter - oh, hell, o'course you would," Gwynt growled. "You'd use Dad and Grandpa too, wouldn't you, if they weren't already outta the picture." He paused. "You gonna kill her?" he asked. "This daughter you're havin' for politics. You gonna kill her when her part's done?"

"Every queen needs an heir," Daear replied as the breeze died down. "I may be immortal, I may not. But one does not play the games of power assuming immortality. She has nothing to fear from me. I will make this city safe for our kind, Gwynt. Your wife may die, but your child will be safe enough here."

Gwynt stood stock still, his face as hard as stone for a long moment. "I ain't gonna ask how you guessed," he said slowly. "And I for damn sure ain't bringin' any child o' mine to stay here. Visit maybe, but not stay." He shook his head slowly. "Damnit...I need what you know. Cut the games...Adrienne. I ain't got the patience for it."

Daear nodded tightly. Which is why I rule a city and you do not, my brother. "Agreed. I have the things you will need in the palace." She paused. "You said you had packages for me."

"Just the one, really," Gwynt shrugged. "I ain't bein' the Gift Fairy m'self, I'm just delivering the stuff other people come up with. I only found Noddy so far, so..." He reached into the pockets of his trench coat and came out with a small bundle. "He din't know you was pregnant, o'course. Hell, if he didn't know I can't lie any more'n you can, I doubt he'd believe that when I tell him."

"If you want this meeting to remain peaceful, Gwynt, you will hold your tongue," said Daear mildly as she took the bundle. Untying it, she found a small selection of belts - all black leather, in varying widths, with different styles of tooling and decoration in the straps and buckles. Gwynt was right - they were all too small in her gravid state (which only increased her annoyance at being pregnant), but they were remarkably close to what she would have bought for herself had the opportunity arisen. Coming from Nodwydd, who had all the fashion sense of a circus clown, it was...unexpected. Reluctantly, tucking the belts away, she said, "Tell him I said thank you."

Gwynt's lips twitched, as if biting down a grin or a smirk, but he nodded and the rest of the walk to the palace was made in silence.

She didn't expect her brother to gape or gawk at the Mayor's residence. Architecture was one of those things that could be seen in eternity, and Laguna had taken his grandchildren on tours of every ruling residence in the world. It had not had quite the result he'd hoped for, though - for the most part, they'd played tag. So the 'tour' was mostly seeing and being seen as she led him down the corridors to one of the offices and unlocked the door.

"I will get someone to cart the boxes to your plane for you," she said quietly. "They are not heavy, not by our standards, but you stand out enough already. Carrying this many boxes to your plane, after being seen in my presence, will not be good for either of us."

"Gotcha," said Gwynt. His jaw dropped slightly as he saw what she meant. Four midsized boxes, already sealed and labeled with imprints of Guardian Forces, were stored in the office. "What the hell?"

"I am not in the habit of giving gifts," Daear said simply. "These may be the only ones any of you ever receive from me - I do not, as a rule, go shopping for other people. But these things I found while doing that which pleased me, and I knew you all would want them, so it was only a matter of sorting them out and boxing them up." She lifted two of the boxes and set them on the office's desk, carefully in case she overbalanced but not apparently making much effort. She pointed at the third. "That one is yours. It is typical of the others in terms of contents, if you mistrust me."

Which of course he did, but she suspected what motivated him was less distrust and more simple curiosity. Reaching into a pocket he produced a utility knife, and quickly cut the tape on his own box. Inside were those things she had discovered that pertained to him - official records and medical data on his mother, his birth name and actual birth date, photographs and articles his mother had appeared in...and his old stuffed Pandemona doll, that she had found in the toy chest. He didn't remove the sunglasses - which was starting to really annoy her - but his jaw dropped slightly as he picked the doll up. "You found our toys?" he asked. "What was you lookin' for when you found our toys?"

"Anything our foster father might have left behind," Daear shrugged. She didn't want him to guess at what she'd actually found - that was giving away far too much. "I found our toychest in the Room...apparently no one wanted to walk through that hallway, or if they did they didn't feel like taking toys. The house was gutted and thoroughly looted."

She could not tell if he was diverted - the sunglasses hid too much of his face and she knew better than to trust his frowns. As far as she could tell he was still looking at the ragged, ancient doll, worn from too much love and then too little care. He set it back in the box slowly, but there were too many reasons he might do so for her to reliably guess at one.

"I'll take 'em back with me an' deliver 'em as and when I get the chance to," he said flatly, folding the flaps of the box closed again, and looked down at the boxes. "Some of 'em ain't gonna wanna know, you know."

Daear nodded. Taran was probably who Gwynt was thinking of - Taran identified rather heavily with their father and probably would not want to know about his birth mother. But the others....might deny it at first but eventually they'd all look. Winter was coming - even if the twins were living out their farm girl dreams they'd be bored enough by the new year to study the things she had placed in the boxes.

It suited Daear that they should. That they look at all the details she had found, and know they came from her. It would put all of them in her debt, which was exactly where she wanted them. This was a gift far more valuable than silly belts, after all.

She picked up the phone from the desk and dialed a number. "Adrienne here. Send a porter with a dolly to the southwest wing. I have boxes that must be taken to a waiting aircraft."

She hung up the phone without waiting for a reply. She knew the operator - if he didn't locate and send a porter inside ten minutes, he'd be looking for a new job. Gwynt shoved his hands into his trench coat pockets, still looking at the boxes as far as she could tell.

"Why did he want us, Daear?" he asked quietly. "Ain't no one around, here. Why did he want us?"

Daear blinked. "Who? Our father? Or Detmer?"

Her brother shrugged slightly, frowning. "Either, really. Was expecting you to know at least why Detmer bothered. Wasn't any money in it for him - you said the mothers were all broke."

"I saw nothing that denied what we were told by our father and Zell," Daear shrugged. She didn't want Gwynt to know the details - not when they were so close to her own plans. "Detmer wished us to be his soldiers, his assassins, so that he could ascend to power here." She indicated the office in which they stood. "He got his wish - just not the way he wanted it."

Somewhat to her surprise, Gwynt sighed. "Yeah...guessed that." He shook his head. "You know what's floorin' me, here? You, that's what. I din't have to tell you about my wife, you worked that out. Dad didn't know till I told him. And you, of all people, actually had somethin' helpful to offer me. You know what Dad did when I asked for help? Fuckin' tried to kill me."

Daear managed to keep her expression carefully neutral, but inside she was near to cheering. Oh, father, father, at last you've done me some good. You've delivered the one person who might have ruined me right into my hands. I could almost forgive you for being a fool. "It doesn't surprise me," she noted, carefully keeping all of her jubilation out of her voice. "You know how prickly Father can get when you ask him for anything."

"She could die," Gwynt said softly, and Daear revised her estimation of the wife's value. If need be, it seemed the human had enough leverage over her brother to make an excellent hostage. "Dad didn't care." His lip curled. "And I know you don't either, so don't pretend. But this stuff...might help. If it does..." he shrugged again, raising his head so that the mirrored sunglasses appeared to be looking at her. "Dad can't call me any more," he said flatly. "You can piss Dad off until he's callin' monsters down from the Moon on your ass, I won't raise a finger." He raised a hand before Daear could say anything. "Just don't piss off Taran. Or Irvine. If they call, I'll come. You got me?"

"Of course," Daear said smoothly. Three guardians, and now one was no longer a problem. She was very well repaid for her research time. She heard footsteps - about damned time. "The porter is here. Show him to your aircraft and he'll load the boxes onto it." She paused, considering. Gwynt had already as much as said he was in her debt, and that might be enough. But he was exceedingly dangerous - better to cement what she could, while she could. She reached into her handbag and produced a card. "Use this card to charge your hotel room and room service when you stay in Deling," she said. "I can't offer you rooms here in the Palace, not without more risk than I like. But you can stay at whatever hotel pleases you."

Gwynt took the card thoughtfully. "Fuel costs more than rooms," he said. "But thanks anyway. It'll help."

The porter came in and immediately started loading boxes onto the dolly, and a few minutes later Gwynt left with him.

Once they were safely out of earshot - even for Gwynt's ears - Daear clapped her hands and delightedly cried yes!