Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As the actors and actresses for the premiere of The Little Oceanid took their final bows upon the stage, there was a standing ovation from the audience.

Even with the noise of the applause, one Arlecchino, Father of the House of the Hearth, could discern the whispers among the crowd below her box office seat.

“...is that Furina?”

“...I didn’t know she was acting again…”

“...showing her face in public again…?”

The various young agents in training that were speckled amongst the crowd would doubtlessly report back with a more complete assessment of the perceived public view on the star actress. Yet from what snippets Arlecchino’s sharp ears could catch, the review was encouraging…at least from those who recognized just who was on stage before them.

Indeed, the idle musings were more accurate than what such loose mouths realized.

After all, while Arlecchino had visited the theatre this evening precisely to watch the first play that the former Archon had worked on since her trial and fall from the throne, not even she had been expecting one Furina de Fontaine to actually take the stage and stand-in for the main actress.

Her operatives had been keeping tabs on the former, faux-Archon, even though Furina had quite literally and metaphorically bowed out of her role in directing the nation. Her centuries’ old facade as the Archon had been exposed, her role in deceiving the entire nation publicly uncovered, and—with the destruction of the Hydro Throne and the elevation of Monsieur Neuvillette from Chief Justice to restored Sovereign of the Hydro Nation—the one-time de facto leader of Fontaine had withdrawn entirely from the public limelight.

Until now.

It seemed she had finally decided to emerge from her plain, simple flat to perform; perhaps the stage and acting held a true allure for the human castaway of Focalors, beyond the role she had been forced to play as Archon.

Arlecchino clapped along with the audience.

The performance had been a good one, and certainly warranted the applause, but her eyes were focused on more than just the performers.

The fourth among the Harbingers had always possessed a keen sense of sight in the dark, just as much as her keen hearing. So despite her lofty seat in her private box, she was able to easily espy the gleaming and glittering blue gemstone talisman that Furina de Fontaine now clutched in her hands. Those fools in the general audience might think it but a stage prop—same as they weren’t even fully yet aware that it was their former Archon back on stage before them—but Arlecchino knew better.

A Hydro Vision…

A kingly gift indeed…one that had Arlecchino glancing away from the small, now very human woman on stage and up toward the seat of the Chief Justice. The dragon’s reclaimed throne was not lit up—it was a play tonight, after all, not a trial—but Arlecchino still glanced toward where a darkened figure now took his quiet leave from watching Furina de Fontaine’s first return performance to the stage.

It seemed even the Hydro Dragon had a heart beneath his stern exterior.

And truly, Arlecchino thought to herself as finished the encore clapping, it felt like a worthy gift to be bestowed.

Though the encore continued, Arlecchino turned to take her leave, preparing to return home for the evening.

Still, as she donned her cape, her eyes lingered for a long moment, caught on the twinkling sapphire Vision below, cupped in the hands of a small and slight figure on stage.

And that was the end of that. 

Or it should have been.

Arlecchino thumbed through the stack of papers on her desk. Reports, missives, directives…mostly reports today. There had been a notable thinning in any messages from Snezhnaya recently, which was hardly a bad thing.

Zapolyarny Palace seemed pleased with the delivery of the Hydro gnosis, or as pleased as anyone could reasonably assess.

Any further word from the Tsaritsa’s court and the rest of the Harbingers had not been forthcoming, not that Arlecchino was particularly anticipating anything. Though acquiring and delivering the gnosis to the Tsaritsa was a prime directive, it was hardly Arlecchino’s only responsibility in Fontaine as a member of the Fatui.

She was, after all, first and foremost, the Knave.

If anything, with the Hydro Archon seat now broken and Celestia’s will in Fontaine subverted, she hoped that this might provide her some reprieve from the demands of the Fatui and any orders she might receive from Snezhnaya.

Time to focus on her own household, on the children and her responsibilities to them.

As her recent encounter with the Traveler had reminded her.

And if the Tsaritsa and her Court were focused on other tasks now that did not involve the Knave…well, then, all the better. Arlecchino would make the most of such a reprieve.

For she had no complaints like this.

The House and the orphans she raised here had always been where her true allegiance had lain; the mantle of the Knave, the title of Father, even the name of Arlecchino…those were only means to her own end, which was as the head of the House of the Hearth.

Though several of her “children” had now left and were her children no more, there were always more orphans in need of a home; there were always more operatives to be trained.

More than enough to keep Father busy—as she refilled the capacity of the House, as she continued training the children under her watch, as she continued carefully guiding Lyney into what she hoped would be her eventual successor in the future, and as she continued steering everything forward as it was supposed to go.

So it was an unusual thing for her to be distracted by completely unrelated items.

Or persons.

Or one person in particular.

There was no reason to give any particular thought to one Furina de Fontaine. The former Hydro Archon—or one time pretender—had been largely removed from the Harbinger’s thoughts once her role had been fully revealed. After all, Arlecchino’s focus had been on the gnosis and her directive as one the Fatui. The moment that she had realized the ploy of Furina’s appearance, she had lost all interest in the faux Archon beyond whatever information she might have.

Or so she had believed.

Perhaps it was because the morning news only brought back to her attention the events of the prior evening. Furina’s return to the public and to acting—as a private Fontainian citizen now, not as an Archon—had made a splash on the front page of the paper.

Furina de Fontaine Returns to Center Stage!

Complete with a black and white photo of the star actress from the play, taking her bow, Hydro Vision obscured by how she had it cupped between her hands.

The picture didn’t do justice to what the live scene had been.

The Knave found herself setting the newspaper aside, flipping through reports again. Or one set of reports in particular. One that was hardly relevant to their main activities as the House of the Hearth or the primary work that her children performed as agents.

Arlecchino largely considered herself a reasonable person. A logical person. Goal-oriented. Objective.

This was simply due process. Tying up loose ends. Yes.

Arlecchino pulled the rope that hung behind her desk. A few seconds later, there was a polite knock on her study door before it opened.

“Father? What do you need?”

“Please send Lyney and Lynette to see me.” Arlecchino paused for a moment, considering. “And a refill of tea.”

She folded one leg over the other, and then clasped her hands atop her knee, waiting patiently. When her door knocked again, the brother and sister duo entered, Lyney carrying the tea tray while Lynette deftly opened and held the door for him.

“Father.” They both bowed their heads before approaching her desk.

Others among her children would have stopped to ask Arlecchino how she wanted her tea. But Lyney and Lynette had been with her since they were small, and of all the children, they were nearest to her.

“A touch of cream, Father?”

“Just the faintest hint,” Arlecchino watched appreciatively as Lyney did just that, stirring the tea three times before offering the cup and saucer.

Only when Arlecchino had accepted it and taken a slow and languid sip did her children venture a true question.

“What do you require of us, Father?”

Arlecchino took another sip of her tea, savoring the richness of the flavor tempered by just the smallest amount of cream.

“I had some questions. Regarding some of your reports.”

Both children straightened, now fully at attention for the Knave.

“Which reports, Father?”

She tapped one nail atop the reports of interest, the newspaper still openly sitting next to the files.

“Furina de Fontaine.”

To their credit neither sibling batted an eye. “Yes, Father?”

“Provide me an update.”

“We’ve done exactly as you requested, Father. We deliver the packages you have provided to her residence whenever you have requested it of us.”

“I want your personal perspective, not what is written in the reports.”

She kept her tone smooth and even, though, indicating that she was hardly upset with her children. She could see the moment they realized as much, their posture relaxing just the slightest bit.

“We believe Miss Furina enjoys the deliveries, Father.”

“Oh?”

“She always takes the cakes or cookies into her apartment, Father. We don’t investigate more than that.” Which was to say, they didn’t spy any further into the walls of the Furina’s de Fontaine’s private residence, which was of course in accordance with Arlecchino’s orders as well. “...And she seems excited whenever she finds the packages.”

“And she always disposes of empty containers later in the week,” Lynette supplied helpfully.

Arlecchino nodded. They were thorough, her children. And yet, and yet, questions still bubbled up. Which pastries did Furina prefer the most? The former Archon had a notorious sweet tooth, and yet, Arlecchino felt a need to be certain, to know more.

It was practically annoying, this itch. Annoying enough that Arlecchino shifted in her seat, uncrossing her legs as she reached for her tea yet again. By the time she placed her cup back down on the saucer, she had already made a decision.

“I believe Miss Furina is a regular patron of several cafes, is she not?”

“Yes, Father! She’s practically a regular at a few of them.”

A plan began to form in Arlecchino’s mind.

“Oh? Does she have any semblance of a routine, then?”

—

The sun was shining bright and high in the sky, with only a few clouds to offer any respite. In short, it was the sort of day better spent inside or under shade. Which was, in fairness, what the current outdoor patrons of the Pâtisserie Élégance were doing, enjoying their drinks and fine pastries beneath the shade of trees and the sun umbrellas that had been placed over the tables to provide cooling respite.

And there, in a table all to herself, was one such patron. As perfectly on routine as Arlecchino had been informed.

With little in the way of pause or fanfare, Arlecchino approached her directly. She cleared her throat, speaking lest Furina was too distracted by the plate of millefeuille that had just been placed down by a server—did she prefer millefeuille pastries then?

“A good day to you, Miss Furina de Fontaine.”

Arlecchino slipped down into the chair across from Furina, taking a seat and viewing the former Archon in full up close for the first time since the breaking of the Hydro Throne and the fall of their 500-year old former ruler.

Despite the Hydro Vision she had been recently bestowed with, Furina’s heterochromatic eyes went wide and white with the unmistakable look of fear.

Arlecchino was used to being regarded with fear; often, she made practical use of such responses to her person. It was only natural to be feared—as Father, as one of the Fatui Harbingers, and as a consummate killer. Fear engendered respect, solidified power that enabled her role. She had never been one to concern herself with the opinions of others, beyond the necessary manipulations required as an operative.

So it was more than just unusual—it was utterly unexpected—for the strange feeling that welled up within her chest: one that felt chastened.

She, like everyone else in this country, had done their former Archon wrong. Though, perhaps Arlecchino’s wrong was, arguably, a bit more personal.

“If I may, Miss Furina, let me speak for a moment. I was looking to meet you here so that I could deliver a message to you myself.”

Furina’s eyes bulged slightly at that. For a moment, her mouth moved soundlessly before she again found her voice.

“Speak then, Knave,” she said stiffly, glancing around but only briefly, as if too afraid to let her gaze slip from Arlecchino for too long. They had already garnered a few curious stares from other patrons.

“Miss Furina…” Arlecchino drew her words out slowly. She was measuring them, yes, but she felt oddly…uncertain. Almost abashed now that she had been granted permission to say what had been weighing on her for so long. There was an inescapable urge within her that she do this properly, even if what she needed to say next felt practically foreign on her tongue. “I owe you…an apology.”

“An a-apology?” Furina stuttered, eyes still wide; her voice wobbled too much for the confusion and undertone of wary disbelief to be anything but genuine.

Arlecchino fought the urge to twist her lips. She could not recall when she had last offered an actual apology to anyone in a great many years. And yet, she could not shake the feeling that had driven her to engage in conversation with the former Archon of Fontaine in the first place. It was an urge that now demanded her to continue.

“I apologize, Miss Furina.” Arlecchino kept her voice silkily smooth and controlled, pushing down the discomfort that came with her words. “I had not been aware of your true role and intentions while you were still the Hydro Archon, and had been under the assumption you had the Hydro Gnosis and its full powers as bestowed by Celestia.”

Which was to say, despite all of her prowess and knowledge as the lead spymaster in Fontaine for the Fatui, Arlecchino had been just as fooled by Furina de Fontaine’s five-century performance as everyone else.

“In my pursuit of the gnosis, I may have been a bit…heavy-handed.”

That finally seemed to garner a reaction other than frozen fear.

“You call an attempted assassination on me ‘ heavy-handed’ ?!”

Furina was half-standing, her voice pitching into a yell that Arlecchino had to hush her for the strange looks they were getting from nearby diners.

“Miss Furina, please…let us avoid making a scene in public. I believe the limelight is something both of us would rather avoid unless carefully curated.”

There was a brief moment where Furina’s brow drew down and Arlecchino half-thought the woman was about to start yelling just to spite her. However, after a moment, she sat back into her chair.

Furina’s back was still ramrod straight, though, looking as if she was ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Her hands remained atop the table—thankfully, she had not reached for her Vision, which would have really made a scene of things—but were balled into fists.

“What are you here for? To make a mockery of me? You…you got what you wanted, didn’t you? Neuvillette gave you the gnosis, I know. I’m not the Archon anymore—like you said, I never even was to begin with. So what do you want from me?!” 

Despite the fact that Furina had dropped the volume of her voice after the earlier reminder, she ended on a note that verged on a wail, a mix of accusation tinged with bewildered fear and hurt. Which Arlecchino supposed was understandable. And deserved.

(And beneath that tone, though, was a hint of something else. Something of unyielding and flashing blue steel that refused to bend or break, never mind the tremble that Furina could not entirely hide in her words.)

Perhaps it was that which made Arlecchino respond truthfully. So truthfully, in fact, that she surprised even herself.

“I wanted to amend and make things right…if you would allow me that.”

Furina stared at her for so long that the silence between them began to grow uncomfortable. Arlecchino was about to break it when Furina spoke first, her eyes beginning to narrow with suspicion.

“You, the Knave, want to ‘make things right’ with me?”

Arlecchino pressed her lips together thinly. She was only mildly offended. “Is that such a difficult thing to believe?”

Furina scoffed loudly then, sounding—in a way—much more like her usual self.

“Given that I have neither gnosis nor power and influence as an Archon anymore, you’ll have to beg my pardon, but yes.”

It took a moment for Arlecchino to fight the instinctive tug of her lips into a frown. After a moment, she smoothed away the inclination, considering her options before acting. There was no need to be here; there was no compelling reason to stand here, allowing herself to be essentially berated by a woman who was of no strategic importance in her life. And yet, compelled she was.

Arlecchino stood slowly, doing her best to not seem imposing as she reached over to gently grab one of Furina’s gloved hands.

“Miss Furina, be that as it may seem to you, I can only be honest in my intentions. I would make things up to you, if you would allow it.” 

She leaned down as she spoke, an overture of a gentleman’s bow as she brought her lips to hover just over the former Archon’s knuckles. All the while, she never broke eye contact with Furina…who had, at least, not pulled away. Arlecchino could not force this, after all. If Furina truly wished her to be gone, then she would have to respect that wish.

“I can only request that you give me that chance to demonstrate my earnestness.”

Then she finished by pressing her lips lightly to the back of Furina’s hand. Furina, who at least no longer seemed as panicked or furious. That was certainly an improvement.

“Well, Miss Furina? What will be to your pleasure?”

Furina worried on her bottom lip before catching herself and putting a stop to it yet again. She hardly needed to chew up her lip before another performance on stage soon.

What she needed, she knew, was to eat the macaroni she had just made for herself, have a relaxing remainder of her evening, and then get a good night’s sleep.

All of which was sounding further and further out of reach.

She managed to eat two forkfuls of her macaroni before she dropped the utensil back into the bowl of noodles, unable to continue as her stomach churned unhappily, too distressed by the day’s events.

Her vision, attached as it practically always was by her hip, pressed into her side. Somehow, the reminder of it brought a flood of shame rushing over her all over again.

The vision was supposed to grant her power! It was supposed to—for the first time in the whole of her life—actually give her the ability to protect herself! That was why Neuvillette had granted it to her, after all, wasn’t it?

But what was the use in having power if she couldn’t even remember to use it when the need arose?

The way her entire body had just frozen in place the moment the Knave had sat down across from her…her Hydro Vision completely forgotten about. She had been just as helpless as when the Fatui Harbingers had swooped down upon her that evening in the park, blade drawn and ready to…

Furina hugged herself, fingers digging into her arms despite the safety and privacy of her flat.

She had not thought she would ever again lay eyes on the Knave after everything that had happened…after she finally been exposed as the fake Archon, after Neuvillette had ascended to the role of Hydro ruler as had always been his true birthright, not hers.

Furina had only just started getting used to her new life as a normal human, a normal citizen of Fontaine. So why did the Knave have to go and ruin everything by showing her face again? Furina just wanted to be left alone! Just wanted to have her chance at a normal, simple human life! Not one complicated by…by whatever it was that the Knave was up to again!

Drat that woman! Just inserting herself into Furina’s otherwise unassuming and otherwise simple life, complicating everything! The gall of it!

A mild pain from her palms disrupted her train of thought. She had been so distracted by her thoughts and her stress that she had formed both hands into tight fists, digging her nails into the heel of her palms without realizing. As soon as she realized it, she of course released her grip. Yet just as quickly as the prior rush of emotions had struck her, they retreated now; and in their place, Furina felt the terribly familiar welling up of helpless nothingness in its place.

She was as free now from the prophecy and the curse as the rest of Fontaine was. Free to live a life unshackled by a role she had been forced into. Free to live as her own person, unfettered anymore by Focalors designs and plans.

So why did she sometimes feel even more helpless than before?

Blinking furiously, Furina cupped the Hydro Vision in both hands, rubbing one thumb over the smooth surface of it. It was cool to the touch, pleasantly so, and as she turned it in her palms, something from within its sapphire depths winked and caught the light like iridescent droplets.

She hugged it against her chest then for a long moment, her breaths gradually coming slower and deeper, and the worst of the agitation from earlier fading away.

Her mind yet again played the scene from earlier in the day. How the Knave had approached her without warning, focused wholly on her with those hypnotic, queer eyes of hers, giving her no way to escape while espousing some ridiculousness about apologies and who knew what else.

She should have smacked Arlecchino’s hand away from her own, and loudly declared that she, the Furina de Fontaine, had no use or need of the Knave in her life! And with that, she would decry her to begone, and to never show herself again before Furina!

That would have made for a clear message! And then Furina could have walked away from the table with her head held high, leaving the Knave wordless and bereft in her wake!

Hah!

Except…Furina hadn’t done that at all.

Yet again, she had found herself rooted in place when the Knave—the horrible, shameless scoundrel that she was!—had leaned down and, with a grace that would make even the most practiced of gentilhommes envious, pressed a forebearing kiss to Furina’s knuckles.

Furina had been too shocked at the performance to refute the Knave. Who would have thought the Harbinger had such a flair for performance!

And it had to have been a performance…right? It had to have been Furina’s appreciation for the arts and for superb acting that had made her nod her head to the Knave’s request…

Just great. Great! She had let herself be beguiled and tricked into agreeing to allow the Knave to “make it up” to her, whatever that meant and entailed.

A gentle nudge at her side by Mademoiselle Crabaletta interrupted her spiraling thoughts. Her watery form gestured back to the bowl of forgotten dinner.

Furina sighed, looking down at the now cold bowl of macaroni that sat, largely uneaten, on her table.

Oh, just what had she gotten herself into?

Chapter Text

Nervous energy thrummed beneath the surface.

Like churning waters, threatening what come next. Furina tried to ignore the sensation. The show must go on, but of course!

Except…

She didn’t know what this act was supposed to be, where this performance was supposed to go. And the uncertainty made her, well, anxious, if she was to be honest. The one thing about being cursed for five-hundred years until a prophecy was properly thwarted meant that at least the end goals were perfectly clear! But now, like so many things in what was supposed to be her “life”, she hadn’t the faintest clue of what she was supposed to be doing.

“I appreciate you indulging me in this, Miss Furina.”

“O-of course! Since you’re paying for everything, after all.” Furina tried her best to sound as dismissive as possible.

L'Arôme was one of the most popular new café offerings to have opened in Fontaine over the last few months, boasting not only traditional Fontainian pastries, but various gastronomic creations with inspiration taken from across Teyvat. Furina had been meaning to try it, but between simply trying to piece together her new life, to say nothing of her recent theatre troupe endeavors and unexpected stage appearance, the opportunity to trek across town and try the café had simply not arisen.

(Truthfully, she had only just begun feeling secure and centered enough to even venture out for anything besides work or basic necessities…and look at where one of her first attempts to indulge in a café had gotten her?! Entangled up with the Fatui Harbinger!)

Needless to say, this was not exactly how she imagined her first visit to L'Arôme would go.

The Knave was perfectly punctual, meeting her at the nearby fountain exactly as promised a quarter before two in the afternoon. She was hard to miss as well, cutting a striking figure in her well-tailored suit for the day. Granted, almost everyone in Fontaine knew who the Knave was…and those eyes made it hard to confuse her with anyone else.

Which was an uncomfortable reminder of Furina’s own recognizability. She ran her fingers through her bangs, making sure the locks of hair fell over one eye, obscuring her heterochromatic gaze as she approached the Harbinger.

Arlecchino alighted on her quickly, and she tipped her head in greeting.

“There you are, Miss Furina. A good afternoon to you. Shall we proceed?”

“Lead on, then, Knave. I am owed pastries, if you mean to keep your word.”

Furina gestured airily with one hand, keeping a healthy pace and a half aside from the Knave. She glanced around the square, trying and failing to entirely suppress a bubbling anxiety. It was a feeling that had stalked her ever since the trial. Not as crippling now as it had been during the first few weeks after she had left the Palais, but it was still there.

Recognition was now a coin flip threat, and she so dearly only wanted to go out and enjoy some pastries unmolested, without fear of reprisal from whatever Fontainians still harbored ill opinions of their former, pretend Archon. Furina had made a point to stay out of the limelight…at least until she had to stand in for the second act of The Little Oceanid. She knew that her name and face had yet again been plastered onto newspaper covers since that re-entry into public light…just as she knew not all Fontainians thought fondly of her.

But perhaps there was at least one advantage to the Knave’s somewhat intimidatingly macabre company: most Fontainians knew better than to let their attention linger on the Harbinger, which provided a measure of cover for Furina.

As for the Knave, she bowed again ever so slightly.

“I am a woman of my word, as I hope you will begin to appreciate. And as I would hardly presume to keep you waiting…shall we?”

Furina squinted up at Arlecchino then, but there was no hint of mockery in her voice. She merely waited for Furina’s cautious nod before leading the way. 

L'Arôme was only a few blocks away, seated on the edge of a park, and already with such a line out the door that Furina felt her mood drop as they approached—she had been looking forward to the café, even if the company and occasion were less than desirable.

The Knave, however, seemed entirely at ease, walking completely around the line to enter, Furina following at her coattails.

“Given what I’ve heard about the popularity of this establishment, I secured a reservation in advance.”

Furina wasn’t sure if cafés even took reservations, but either this one did or the Knave was just that resourceful. One of the staff bowed as soon as Arlecchino announced her presence, leading them to a small, private table for two on the veranda that was seated overlooking the park.

Two menus were placed before them to peruse, though Furina found herself instead looking across the table.

“Go on,” Arlecchino nodded at the menu in hand, not even looking up at her. “You’re free to order whatever you wish. I did say I would pay for this. I’ve heard their speciality is in incorporating Inazuman ingredients and flavors to traditional Fontainian baking styles.”

Furina still narrowed her eyes. Not that she had any reason to believe the Knave was planning to renege or stiff the bill later; it was simply that she didn’t trust the Knave in general, nor her supposed reasons for offering to pay. 

The menus, at least, gave them something else to distract themselves with.

Furina ultimately decided on a red bean croissant and an Inazuman spring tart, a pastry made with cherry blossoms and some sort of fruit called yuzu. When the server suggested a roasted green tea to accompany the dessert, Furina added that as well. As she handed the menu back, she raised her eyebrows at her café companion.

“Are you not getting anything?”

“Mmm…” The Knave scanned the item list, looking somehow both idle and yet discerning. “I prefer not to ruin my appetite with desserts before supper, but I think I will have a cup of the house tea and try the matcha pistachio biscotti, if you would.”

The server bowed to them both, taking their leave.

And leaving Furina with little to distract her from her questionable company.

Why had she agreed to this again?

“So…”

“So,” replied the Knave.

Furina was reminded then of how horrible she was at small talk. Gods weren’t supposed to busy themselves with such banal affairs as “small talk”, and Furina certainly hadn’t spent much of the last few hundred years daring to to talk with anyone more than absolutely necessary, lest they catch on to her now defunct ruse.

She put her hands in her lap and tried her best not to fiddle with them.

Drat it all, but the promise of sweets had made her forget the most obvious of caveats:

Arlecchino made her nervous.

She could never entirely guess what the other woman was thinking, except that she had a way of making Furina feel as though the Knave knew more than what she let on.

There wasn’t anything to be afraid of now, or that’s what Furina repeated to herself within the confines of her head. The prophecy was over, Focalors was gone, and Furina’s five-hundred year-old secret—the one on which her entire life had hinged—was secret no longer, least of all to the Fatui.

She hadn’t been exaggerating to Arlecchino during their earlier encounter; Furina really didn’t have anything of value left to give. Unless it was her life itself. And, if she were to be honest with herself, it didn’t seem as though the Knave truly meant to hand out her death (putting aside that initial assassination attempt). The Harbinger could have easily ended Furina’s life many times over by this point, yet had not. And nor did she seem particularly venomous or resentful of Furina’s continued existence, unlike various other citizens of Fontaine.

It was as if she were...genuinely curious. But of what? What could Furina possibly offer of interest to a Harbinger now?

“Your recent performance at the Opera House made quite the proverbial splash, Miss Furina. I believe the gossip magazines have been quite aflame with speculation recently.”

Oh. Furina used to monitor newspaper outlets and gossip publications alike with a careful eye, a necessity of controlling her image as Archon and maintaining the charade of her role. Since the trial, though, she couldn’t bring herself to look at the magazines and newspapers anymore. She knew too well the anger and betrayal the citizens— her citizens— bore toward her, and she couldn’t blame them. The most she had seen was a brief headliner in the Daily that a member of her troupe had excitedly flashed before after The Little Oceanid debut, and Furina had not dared to allow herself more than a glimpse.

She wasn’t sure if she could bear it.

“Speculation? Why…whatever for? It was merely a momentary stand-in due to illness. Nothing to speculate about, ahaha!” 

She ended with a nervous laugh, praying that the Knave had little else to say on the matter.

So it came as somewhat of a surprise to hear what was said next.

“Why, for a repeat performance, of course. Furina de Fontaine, gracing the citizens with her superb stage presence yet again. Your performance, even if it was spur of the moment, has been wildly discussed throughout the social echelons of Fontainian society. There has been, I am told, a great deal of envy regarding those of us who were lucky enough to view your performance live.”

It was almost a barrage of too much to take in at once. Certainly too much for Furina to process in public, and in the company of a Harbinger. So she seized upon the most innocuous of topics that she could manage from it.

“You partake in theatre?”

Her? Arlecchino? The Knave?

“I am an appreciator of quality theatre, like any self-respecting Fontainian citizen. But I must admit, after the end of your performance of the millennia, I wasn’t certain if theatre still had any call to you…or if you would start on something entirely different.”

Again, Furina felt briefly overwhelmed—not by all that was said, but all that wasn’t being said, and everything it forced her to think about. Her trial, her curse, everything of the last few months as she had strained just to create a new definition of “normal” for herself. What was she supposed to say?

“It’s…all I’ve ever known.”

“A shame. Only a matter of business for you, then.”

“No! I…” Furina struggled for a moment. There was no reason to correct the Knave, and yet the conversation had veered into a territory that reminded her far too much of what few and dreadfully hard conversations she had had with Clorinde during the first few months after leaving the Palais and becoming a normal, human citizen.

What do you like to do, Lady Furina?

What sort of hobbies are you interested in? What sort of work?

With centuries’ old mask of playing at Archon finally and fully stripped away, Furina had been left with no more idea of who the real “Furina” was than anyone else.

Theatre had been the thing she had gone back to, perhaps at first for the familiarity of it, yes, but more than that as well. And though she hardly owed anything to the Knave, she felt a need to defend both her troupe and her actions now.

“It’s not ‘just business’! It’s theatre! ”

Stories to inspire or to make one weep, to reflect life and make life reflect art, characters to create and persons one could become who might not be the actors or the audience, but whom everyone could relate to…just a little bit. How could Furina put to words what it all was? Certainly, it had been all she had known for the extent of her life, but that didn’t make it boring or tedious to her.

Without her theatre troupe, she might still be locked away in her apartment, too worried to step outside onto the streets of Fontaine.

“...Perhaps not just business then. I would have been surprised, I admit. Your performance the other night, if unplanned, was still something…special. You have a gift, as the saying goes.”

“I have a skill, ” Furina responded somewhat testily, surprising even herself. But acting wasn’t some gods-given magic. She had worked over hundreds of years; nothing had come easy.

If her lapse in civility offended the Knave, she didn’t show it. And whatever Arlecchino might have said next was cut off as their server returned, orders in tow.

“Mademoiselles, bon appétit!”

The plate of kamera-perfect pastries was placed on the table, with individual teapots and teacups placed aside for each of them. Immediately, the conversation was cast aside from Furina’s brain as she clasped her hands together.

“Oh, wonderful!”

She started by reaching for the red bean croissant first.

“May I?”

Centuries masquerading as Archon had made Furina so accustomed to being served tea that she waved the Knave ahead before the request even caught up to her. Arlecchino poured Furina’s tea for her with a smooth efficiency before switching to her own.

The gesture was enough of a surprise—like everything about this outing—that Furina nearly paused midway through biting into her croissant. Well, she supposed pouring tea for her was the least that the Knave could do if she was so sincere about gaining Furina’s goodwill.

At least there was a brief respite from awkward conversation while they both sipped their tea and nibbled on their pastries. Until Arlecchino broke it, legs now primly crossed and seated sideways as she finished the last of her biscotti.

“Well,” drawled the Knave. She had a way of drawing out words on her tongue when she wanted, making them sound somehow ominous and sensuous at the same time. A peculiar trait. Hmm. Maybe Furina would create a future character for a play based off of her mannerisms. “Is it to your liking?”

Food was a safe topic, something Furina could genuinely speak to. There had been no need to mask her joy of desserts during her stint as ruler of Fontaine, after all.

“The flavors are…quite different from anything I’ve had before!” She licked a crumb of the tart from her lips, savoring the buttery crust. “Not in a bad way, just different.”

Floral without being overpowering, finishing on a bright note of sweet-tart citrus on the side. She would have to return here to try some of their other items in the future.

“You have quite the discerning palate when it comes to desserts.”

“But of course! I have centuries of tasting the best of what Fontaine can offer! Besides,” Furina tilted her chin up as she spoke, feeling some pride suffuse through her. She couldn’t help but brag now. “I have an adoring—if shy—fan who keeps sending me only the best of pastries…as is fitting for one such as I! Hah!”

“I would have to confess to being concerned about you maintaining a well-rounded diet. You should perhaps watch how much eating of sweets you do if you’ve consumed all of those gifts, Miss Furina. Or perhaps be wary of relying on a single person for your supply of desserts, lest something arise to prevent such deliveries.”

Furina began to roll her eyes at the sentiment. She was perfectly healthy and fine, even if she had a sweet tooth! However, another thought suddenly snuck upon her at what was being said.

“How do you know that I eat them all…? You…” Furina’s voice fell away, and she lowered her fork back onto her plate as she stared at the Knave is disbelief. “Are… you’re the one who’s been sending me all those cakes and pastries?”

Wait…

“...You know where I live?!”

Arlecchino turned away slightly. In fact, it was the first time Furina could recall the woman glancing aside rather than staring at Furina head on. Almost as if somewhat abashed.

“I am in the business of knowing things, Miss Furina…and you are a formerly public figure with a high profile. Besides,” Arlecchino continued. “You know perfectly well where I live.”

The Hotel Bouffes d'ete…more commonly called the House of the Hearth, of course. But…

“But you’re the Knave! Part of the Fatui, one of the Harbingers! Of course everyone knows where you live! It’s right in the heart of the Court of Fontaine!”

“And you are Miss Furina de Fontaine—”

Furina braced herself, trying to steady herself for whatever was about to be proclaimed regarding her time as Archon. Five hundred years spent fooling a nation from Palais Mermonia, from ruler to most notorious con artist in the country.

“—the lead actress and premier playwright of Fontainian theatre.”

Furina stared. Was that…a faint smile tugging at the corner of the Knave’s lips? And not that smug, infuriating smirk Furina had to manage while hosting the Knave for tea in the Palais Mermonia…but something far more simple. Genuine. Almost soft.

Hah! As if anything about the Harbinger was soft!

Furina huffed, waggling her fork at the Knave before furiously digging it back into her tart. “Don’t think that lavish words of praise will get you into my good graces so easily.”

“I would never.”

Furina glared with suspicion as the Knave took a sip of tea. Her face was so damnably hard to read! And those eyes…those strange, entrancing eyes made it that much harder to read! Made it that much harder to feel steady and grounded and—

Feeling as though she were now staring overly long, Furina pursed her lips and returned her attention to where it was meant to be: before the wonderful pastry she was eating.

“Ummhm…” Her skepticism of the Knave was only partially obscured behind a mouthful of dessert.

Arlecchino raised her eyebrows. Not in judgement, but in mild curiosity.

“Well, is it to your liking?” Her x-crossed eyes dropped briefly to the partially consumed tart.

Furina finished swallowing her current bite, already nodding. “It’s good! The crust is flaky but not too dense, and the custard is an excellent balance of tart and sweet, but…”

“But?”

She hesitated then, for a moment. Really, after all that had just been revealed, she should hardly indulge the Knave…except…

“Where did you order some of those goodies that you had delivered to me?” The words poured out. She practically dreamed about some of those pastries and cakes! Ugh! And Furina was a connoisseur of baked goods. “I’ve been hounding every pâtisserie and boulangerie in Fountain trying to figure out who makes those chouquettes! Who is your source? Surely you can share something as trivial as that if you want a chance of earning my good graces!”

There was a momentary pause.

“I made those ones.”

The Knave took another sip of tea, yet again averting her gaze. For the second time in the space of a few minutes, she looked somewhat abashed, and Furina found herself staring.

Abashed was perhaps too strong a word. Arlecchino was still as impeccably nonchalant as ever—she and Monsieur Neuvillette had that in common with each other. Anyone else would think nothing of it. Yet perhaps it was because of the centuries spent with statuesque Hydro Dragon that Furina could discern the slightest of changes in the Knave’s demeanor. Was she…embarrassed by the admission?

“You ? You made them? All of those dishes?”

“Not all of them, no. But I hardly see what you find so implausible about the fact that I made some of them. While many of the children manage cooking for the House, someone has to teach them what to do in the kitchen and make sure they are eating a properly balanced diet.”

If Furina hadn’t been staring before, she most certainly was now. It was more than she had ever heard the Knave speak in succession before about her personal life.

It occurred to Furina then that she knew, well, vanishingly little about who Arlecchino was as a person. For all that the Knave had made the previous claim to be in the business of knowing things, Furina could have said much the same. At least, during her time masquerading as Archon. Information had been her lifeblood, of much the same importance to her own security as that of Fontaine’s while she tried to undo the prophecy and her own curse set by Focalors.

She of course knew of the Knave, and of Arlecchino. She knew that Arlecchino was but one in the line of many with that Fatui title, the base of Snezhnayan operations within Fontaine—both official and covert. A reality of any sovereign state was to keep eyes and ears on its neighbors (outside of perhaps Inazuma, which had been effectively walled off from the rest of Teyvat until just recently). There had never been a reason, though, for Furina to take any interest in the newest Knave, who purportedly called herself “Father” to the orphan operatives in training there.

At least, no reason until said Harbinger had made an attempt on Furina’s own life. Except that with everything that had been going on at the time—with the Traveler present, with the prophecy swirling ever closer to completion by the day, and with Furina’s own façade at risk of being exposed—she had little in the way of alternatives to simply playing along, pretending that all was well even as the Knave proverbially circled her like a shark drawn to blood in the water.

“D-Don’t think you can win my goodwill just by giving me sweets!”

“No?” Now Arlecchino was clearly poking fun at her now; there was a glint in her eyes and the faintest twitch of her lips that spoke to a quiet amusement. “Shall I cease with any such deliveries? Split the bill for today instead?”

It made no sense! There was no reason for the Knave to have sent her all of those deliveries of rare cakes and sweets during the months Furina had been holed up in a small, plain flat, hiding from the world and feeling as though she might never again find the courage to show her face. There was no reason for the Knave to be sitting with her here now, sharing tea and pastries and even teasing her as though it were a perfectly normal occurrence.

Furina couldn’t entirely shake that same feeling of being circled again now, though it wasn’t quite the same. Yet she was definitely not imagining the way the Knave was placing so much attention on her.

Just…why her? Why was Arlecchino spending time with her now? What did she want? Didn’t she know that Furina had nothing left to offer? There was nothing of value to extract from her anymore, not now that the prophecy was finally over and Furina had been cast from the broken throne.

It was baffling! But, if the Knave was going to pay the way, well then…to say nothing of the fact that maybe there was a certain paradoxical safety in her presence; as long as Furina was around the Knave, she might actually be less noticed by society, in a way.

Plus, if anything did happen to her, Clorinde would have the Knave’s head. Hmph!

It would serve the Harbinger right.

So instead of asking the questions that bubbled up in her throat, Furina found herself giving an imperious nod.

“Very well then, Knave. If it is my favor you wish to curry, then you may proceed with trying your best.”

Arlecchino merely looked at her from over the rim of her teacup, eyes gleaming. She might have been smiling, or it could have just been the natural curve of her lips, parted around the edge of fine porcelain.

The champion duelist—formerly Furina’s champion duelist—had made it a point to regularly visit Furina ever since she had moved into the small, unassuming flat. 

It had been hard to remember anything at first besides the way Clorinde had turned on Furina and drawn her sword, forcing the “Archon” to the trial with the primordial water. A memory of abandonment had made it nearly impossible for Furina to open her door the first time Clorinde had come knocking.

And yet Clorinde had long since demonstrated what could only be described as an earnest desire to spend time with Furina…even when Furina had at first felt as though she was not worth anyone’s time to be around.

By now, they had settled into a more comfortable relationship, one where Furina no longer questioned the sincerity of Clorinde coming to visit or even inviting her out to social events. She knew that the champion duelist was a busy woman; she chose to spend some of the time out of her full schedule with Furina.

They were, dared Furina to actually say it now, friends. An odd thing for her to be bashful about saying, but friendship was hardly something Furina could scarce afford the leisure of during her stint as pretend-Archon.

But now, well, Clorinde had seen Furina at her most vulnerable. And yet she still came knocking time and again. Which was why they could speak on far closer terms then when Furina was Archon. Close enough that they didn’t need to be doing anything specific while Clorinde was over. In fact, the duelist was cleaning her weapons on Furina’s table, while Furina attempted to do some cleaning herself of her small flat. She was still working on doing the whole “regular chores” aspect of civilian life; as it turned out, all the time spent trying to lead a country hadn’t exactly taught her the basics of things like domestic housekeeping.

In fact, there were quite a few things she was still learning! Some of which Clorinde had been helping her learn. Others of which Furina was learning herself. Like the fact that having company over tended to spur her into cleaning her apartment…which otherwise all too often fell to the wayside in favor of doing more interesting things. Like working on new scripts.

And besides, Clorinde didn’t mind Furina moving about doing her chores, no differently than Furina didn’t mind the duelist performing her regimented weapons cleaning on the kitchen table.

It had taken a bit of convincing on Clorinde’s part for Furina to get to this point of comfort; but “friendship”, she was gradually learning, didn’t mean things had to be fancy…and she was starting to find a certain measure of comfort in that. No pretenses. No expectations.

Furina had just been offhandedly mentioning as much, thanking Clorinde for taking the time to come by. The duelist was no less busy a person since Furina had left for civilian life. Perhaps even busier now!

“It’s no problem, Lady Furina.” Clorinde still had the occasional reflexive habit of referring to Furina as ‘Lady’, left over no doubt from years of habit. She paused for a moment, though. “You know, you are still welcome to visit me at the Palais Mermonia at your leisure. Just because you no longer live there or lead the country doesn’t mean that its doors are closed to you.”

“Oh, no! Why, I couldn’t possibly impose—”

“I’m not saying that simply as your friend and the champion duelist.” Clorinde pursed her lips for a moment, a sign that she was considering her next words carefully. “Neuvillette, I am certain, would enjoy your company if you have time. He’s mentioned to me more than once to tell you that if you need anything, you can ask him.”

Rather than reassuring Furina, the sentiment made her want to wilt and curl up a bit. Of course he would say that; Neuvillette was the picture of a perfect new sovereign for the country in how he conducted himself. But Furina, Furina was the fraud, the one who had tricked him for five hundred years. It had been she who owed the Hydro Dragon, owed him a stolen throne and station that had always rightfully belonged to him, even as she had hidden that fact for centuries.

He had already done more than most by allowing her to leave the Palais as quietly as she had. And the Hydro Vision…

Furina clutched it in one hand momentarily. 

He hadn’t owed that to her either, and she didn’t know to this day why he had given her such a gift…but nor did she want to face him and ask why. She was selfish, probably, but she already cherished her Vision and her Salon Solitaire. She couldn’t bear thinking of a life without them.

When Furina didn’t immediately respond, Clorinde gave a sigh. This wasn’t the first time she had brought up visiting the Palais or Neuvillette, but Furina also recognized the sigh as a sign that Clorinde wouldn’t keep pushing. For now.

“All I will say is that I suspect he misses seeing you, Furina. Much like the rest of us.”

“Well, you’re here with me now! And able to partake in some of these delicious egg tarts!”

A terrible segue even by Furina’s opinion, but she punctuated the point by shoving half of an egg tart into her mouth.

“These are rather delicious, though I hope you’ve been eating more than just pastries and macaroni as of late, Furina.”

Furina blushed as she chewed on the egg tart. “I have a salad in the fridge!”

A salad that had been gifted to her alongside the egg tarts earlier in the morning, hand-delivered by none other than Arlecchino herself. Furina had found herself more than startled when she opened the door to the Knave, half-inclined to close the door back on her. What if she had expected to come up to Furina’s flat?!

Except the Knave had ever smoothly announced that she was merely there for a delivery before being off to attend to business, suggesting that Furina wait to sate her curiosity of what was inside the box until she was back inside.

A delivery box that had included a set of wonderful egg tarts she was now sharing this afternoon with Clorinde, but also a fresh salad, along with a note written in near-perfect calligraphy that suggested she expand her diet beyond just sweets.

Furina puffed her cheeks out about it even now. She would have the salad later for dinner! She was an adult—she could eat dessert before dinner if she wanted to! The Knave had probably made the delivery this morning specifically knowing that Furina would share the tarts with company rather than eating them all herself.

She was probably off being smug about it now, too!

“Good. I’m glad you’re eating better these days. I suppose it’s too much to ask if you’re getting regular sleep.” 

Clorinde glanced toward the messy array of notes stage sketches that Furina had been working on during a sudden fit of creative inspiration at around 3 am.

“I sleep!”

The sigh from Clorinde meant the duelist knew a losing battle. Furina had spent hundreds of years perfecting an erratic and inconsistent sleep schedule, one perpetuated by countless stressors. The fact that she had any regular semblance of sleep at all was a miracle. Besides, her best creative ideas came to her during the middle of the night.

The well-meaning inquiries, however, combined with the egg tarts and the salad lurking in the fridge quickly had Furina stewing on something else. Or someone else. And, well, she and Clorinde were friends now, and friends were supposed to be able to confide in one another, and, oh! After five hundred years of secret-keeping, Furina felt like she had no tolerance left to keep secrets at all!

“Clorinde…what do you do when someone takes interest in you?”

“Is someone imposing on your time, Lady Furina?”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked the question while Clorinde was in the middle of cleaning her weapons on Furina’s table.

The duelist paused from the middle of her meticulous work to look toward Furina, who immediately tried to wave down the concern. 

“N-No! Honestly! It’s not that, it’s…” she trailed off, thinking heavily. How did one even describe the Knave without naming her? And Furina did not want to bring her name into this.

Thankfully, Clorinde seemed to relax a hair, apparently believing that Furina was not under any serious external duress that required intervention.

“Go on. Take your time explaining, if you need.”

“There is this…this person, who recently has expressed interest in spending more time with me. Going out to cafés and the like. Even suggesting theatre, if that is something I would like.”

Clorinde’s sharp eyes glanced down to the remaining egg tarts before looking at the discarded pastry box that partially stuck out of the trash bin.

“Perhaps this person simply wishes to get to know you better. Or to be friends with you.”

“Friends?!” Furina couldn’t hide her incredulity. Friends…with Arlecchino? The Harbinger who first made an assassination attempt nearly half a year ago, and was now instead sending her covert pastry deliveries and inviting her to tea?  

“You sound perplexed by the idea.”

Aghast was more like it. She stared at the duelist, who gave a small shrug.

“Making friends is…well, it isn’t an easy thing for most people. But having more friends isn’t a bad thing.”

The comment was likely directly at Furina, who had only just been working in the last few months to create her own social network of friends—of which she felt she could now confidently say Clorinde was part of. Yet it made her think nonetheless of Arlecchino. Did the Fatui have “friends”? It was hard to imagine.

“And how, perchance, does one determine who they should be friends with?”

“It depends on the person, Lady Furina. You have to make a judgement of character. If I may, what does your gut feeling tell you about this person?”

“My gut?”

It told her that the egg tarts they had been eating from Arlecchino were very delicious! No, that was her stomach talking. She had to think deeper.

“I suppose I’m…curious.”

It was a noncommittal response, but it also felt the most honest. She was curious about the Knave now, and curious about what it was the Knave saw or wanted back in her.

“Then I would say you can continue as you like. And if this person becomes a bother to you or their interest in you is unwanted, you do not need to reciprocate.”

Furina considered the advice. She certainly would have said from the moment Arlecchino first met her again that random day at the cafe that she didn’t want anything to do with the Harbinger, but…she found she did not want to push the Knave away either. Her company was, well, a strange thing, but no longer unwanted. Just…confusing.

“Alternatively, Lady Furina, you may always let me know if anyone is infringing on your person and your privacy.” The champion duelist patted her firearm gently. “I will be more than happy to handle the problem in your stead.”

Which, Furina supposed, was a gratifying reassurance.

Chapter Text

Arlecchino faced her mirror, adjusting her neck tie with her typical care and looking herself over with her usual, objective critique. Appearances were important, and given her role, it would be a mistake to be lax in her dress. She represented more than just herself, after all, and was well aware of that fact. How could she not, after taking up the mantle of a Harbinger?

Still, she found herself lingering a hair longer than normal, appraising herself.

There was hardly anything lacking compared to her usual, and it wasn’t as though she was about to attend a diplomatic event.

Granted, even without the title of Archon anymore, Arlecchino had good reason to suspect that many of those in high places in the Palais Mermonia would be quite upset with Arlecchino should anything amiss happen to Furina under her watch.

(Furina might not think so highly of herself, but Arlecchino was well connected enough within the Palais to know that she still had a great many people who cared for her well-being, not least among whom was the Sovereign himself.)

Yet, the original point still stood. This was not a formal diplomatic event. It was but another meeting between two individuals in their roles as civilians. Nothing more than that.

Just Arlecchino…and Furina.

Gathering for no purpose of state or espionage, but simply to meet. And to hopefully meet again. How curious a development.

Furina—this real Furina de Fontaine, not the caricature of the Archon they had all been presented with for centuries—was…interesting.

Arlecchino could admit that much to herself readily.

Especially as Furina seemed to be gradually trusting Arlecchino in greater increments as they spent more time together. Gone was most of that initial mistrust and suspicion that had so colored their stilted interactions in the beginning, that tested even Arlecchino’s ability to keep an impassive face while steadfastly trying to maintain small talk.

As it turned out, it seemed Furina’s better opinion could indeed be swayed by proper application of sweets. Of course, Arlecchino had been sincere in her overtures. And that careful balance finally seemed to be yielding something else.

It had been Furina who had asked after their last rendezvous at a pâtisserie: Well, what about next Tuesday afternoon then?

Arlecchino had made certain she would have no conflicting events on her schedule for today.

And had planned for something besides just sitting and nibbling on pastries.

Besides, there were only so many sweets she would allow herself to have on a regular basis. Desserts were meant to be a special treat, not a regular expectation.

Even so, she could not help the faint smile that touched her lips—Furina would no doubt pout a bit when Arlecchino showed up bereft of any desserts to sample.

She was, perhaps, preoccupied enough with that imagined scene that she did not hear one of her children approaching her by the front door until she was addressed.

“Father?”

Arlecchino turned from where she was shrugging on her cloak by the door, turning her attention to her daughter.

Lynette brought her hands together, bowing 

“Are you heading out, Father?”

“Indeed. Is there anything you need before I take my leave?”

“No.”

There was a pause, punctuated by Lynette’s feline ears pricking forward and upright the slightest bit. It was a tell, one of curiosity only just held back. Though Lynette had worked to better control her physical body language over the years, she had not yet perfected that mask, at least not to Arlecchino’s keen gaze. So Arlecchino waited, lingering a moment longer in anticipation of what would come next.

A cautious question soon followed.

“You’re going out to see…Miss Furina?”

“Is there some question or concern you wish to bring up?” Arlecchino asked, her voice dropping a hair even as it grew deceptively soft.

Lynette’s ears twitched again, this time flicking backwards, an indication of the desire to flatten them against her skull.

“I was just wondering if you needed to bring any treats with you, Father!”

A sliver of tension that Arlecchino had not realized she had been holding eased out of her. She could tell Lynette was being honest, even if she could also tell there was more curiosity behind the question. It was only logical that her children had noticed their Father’s change in behavior and were taking interest. Since when had Arlecchino ever spent this time and effort on anyone outside of a key target for a mission? The curiosity was a thing to be expected, she supposed; though if Lynette’s partially flattened ears were anything to go by, her children were likely to have just been reminded that prying was hardly a welcome invitation. Not a bad reminder for them.

“Too many sweets will ruin one’s constitution.”

“Of course, Father.”

“Now, is there anything else you need me for?”

“No, Father.”

Arlecchino finished pinning the clasp on her cloak, and eyed Lynette’s drooping ears. Before reaching for the door, she paused to pat her daughter once on the head.

“Be good while I am out.”

Immediately, Lynette brightened. She stood a fraction straighter and smiled as she looked back up at Arlecchino, her tail swishing.

“Yes, Father!”

And then Arlecchino took her leave.

Arlecchino arrived outside of the otherwise largely unremarkable small theatre a few minutes before their scheduled meeting time. It gave her time enough to observe the various individuals who trickled out of the premise before Furina herself finally made her exit. Her bright blue gaze only looked about briefly before alighting with recognition on Arlecchino.

Arlecchino pushed away from where she had been surreptitiously leaning against the wall of the building, offering a small bow of greeting as Furina met her.

“Shall we go on a walk as planned?”

“Please! I need the break for a bit.” 

Furina tucked her hair behind one ear as they began to walk alongside each other. She looked a bit uncharacteristically…well, frazzled was too severe a word. Slightly harried, perhaps?

Arlecchino recalled Furina previously mentioning something about cast selection for the new play she was working on.

“How goes the casting, then?”

Furina raised her eyebrows at the question, incredulous enough that for a moment Arlecchino wondered if she had somehow misremembered that detail of Furina’s workday. 

“Do you mean to say you have interest in the dynamics of first-round casting calls for a small, independently produced new show?”

Arlecchino cleared her throat. She had not expected for Furina to question her so directly.

“You know me well enough, I would think, to know that I hardly waste time on vapid pleasantries.”

Furina pursed her lips, clearly mulling this over before reaching a conclusion and nodding.

“This is true. I suppose I was merely surprised to hear you express interest in the day to day workings of theatre productions.”

“It piqued my momentary interest, shall we say.”

The reassurance of her position seemed unnecessary, though; it appeared Furina had already accepted her answer in full, and she proceeded, gesturing with one hand out toward the world at large.

A sigh followed, with Furina looking as if she wanted to rub her temple. “I can’t really complain, but we still haven’t found quite the right fit for the main actor’s role…none of the auditions have struck just quite the right cord yet.”

Ah. Much like selecting which one of her children was the best suited for which mission or operation. That, Arlecchino could understand. There was a certain je ne sais quoi involved in it, a mix of capability, potential, and somewhat else that escaped words.

“So the search continues.”

“The search continues!” confirmed Furina flourishing a hand.

A thought occurred to Arlecchino then. “Do you have the time to spend on this break then? Or are you needed to continue casting efforts?”

“Oh, no! Celestia knows I need a break after this morning’s disappointing cast call!” Furina trailed off in a pensive hum, glazing briefly up to Arlecchino before going back to staring pointedly ahead. “Besides, I was looking forward to having this break…even if you didn’t bring any cookies with you.”

“Your constitution will thank me for that.”

“My constitution craves sweets!”

Arlecchino shook her head gently. “Dessert in the future then…but after a proper meal.”

“Fine…as long as you’re paying.”

“Why, I might begin to think you’re only using me for my coffers. Whatever will I do if they run dry?”

She was rewarded when Furina rolled her eyes but still smiled. “Please, as if your financial stability is in question at all. I know you’re doing perfectly fine…doing whatever it is that you do, day in and day out.”

It was Arlecchino’s turn to offer a theatrical sigh. “The life of a diplomat is one of endless paperwork.”

“A diplomat.” 

Furina repeated her flatly. She stared up through her bangs at Arlecchino now, her blue eyes conveying sufficient skepticism.

“You wound me, Miss Furina. I am a diplomat.”

“Who conducts only paperwork, supposedly… ”

Arlecchino felt the corner of her lip twitch, but suppressed it. 

“Why, Miss Furina, surely you aren’t casting doubt on my functions and work! Or…” She trailed off, adopting a deadly serious visage as she let her voice drop into a whisper. “Are you trying to dig into classified Snezhnayan activities and any privately issued communiques? Are you now a spy for the Sovereign,  perhaps?”

Furina went wide-eyed first, lips moving soundlessly, before she realized what Arlecchino was playing at.

“You…! You’re teasing me now!”

She huffed and turned her cheek away, crossing her arms and moving a half-step ahead of Arlecchino.

Arlecchino did allow herself a brief smile then. The tips of Furina’s ears looked a smidgen more red than usual, but it also could have been the sunlight.

“Startling, I know, that I am in fact capable of humor.”

“At my expense!”

“A thousand pardons.”

“Ever the flatterer…” Furina grumbled, but there was no true complaint behind it.

Again, Arlecchino felt her lips tilt upward of their own accord, even as she forced her mouth into the usual straight and impervious line. It was fun, teasing Furina like this; the woman was surprisingly fun to nettle. Not in a malicious way, but in a way that made Arlecchino both enjoy the woman’s faux aggravated reactions as much as their banter.

That’s what this was: banter. The likes of which she found herself unused to expressing so easily. Furina was hardly so cowed by her like others; and she was not like the children, around whom Arlecchino had to maintain her role as Father; and there was no true banter among the Harbingers, whose hierarchy was as cutthroat as the spilled blood that had elevated them all to their positions.

This was…surprisingly nice. Easy. Relaxing almost.

How quaintly unexpected.

In an attempt to regain some of her own normal standing, she was just about to provide Furina with an honest but boring answer to how “work” was going when they were interrupted.

Or, to be more precise, Furina interrupted.

“Oh, look! A kitty!”

One of Fontaine’s feline strays had emerged from the nearby underbrush, a brown tabby who sat and began grooming a paw.

Arlecchino was reminded, briefly, of the night she had attempted an assassination on Furina—the night she had first realized that their “Archon” was not an Archon at all. The distraction of a feral cat had given her an opening then to act; now, though, she took the time to observe instead, watching as Furina darted forward with excitement.

The cat, quite predictably, did not like a stranger suddenly reaching for it with open arms.

It hissed, even swiping while backing away.

“Awww….come here, kitty kitty! I just want to pet you!”

Best to intervene before someone ended up in tears. And scratched up.

“You aren’t very good with cats, are you?”

Furina stopped stalking the cat to frown at her, practically pouting.

“Well, excuuuuse me! I was busy trying to deceive Celestia over multiple lifetimes! There wasn’t time for pets while in the Palais Mermonia.”

“An oversight on my part, I see.” 

She bowed her head to convey her sincerity. As amusing as it was to see Furina’s naivety over such things—really, some of the children at the House of the Hearth had more practical experience—Arlecchino was reminded, too, of the reasons why.

She had been bereft of a normal life, perhaps even moreso than those taken into the House of the Hearth.

“And I suppose you are such a savant with handling animals, then?”

“Hardly, but I know the basics.”

Furina straightened then, the cat momentarily forgotten as she quirked her head in curiosity.

“Did you have pets growing up?”

Arlecchino paused at the innocuous yet personal question. It always felt slightly discomforting, to sift through those memories. Like opening up a box that had been firmly stored away into a corner of her mind, even if she had long since made her own measure of supposed “acceptance” with it. She simply preferred looking ahead rather than looking behind.

But this was a straightforward enough question and answer.

“A tarantula, once.”

“A tarantula?! ”

“Don’t be so hasty to proclaim judgement. They are gentle creatures when handled properly.”

“Of course you had a pet tarantula! I hardly know why I’m surprised…”

“Oh? And why are you not surprised by that, Lady Furina? Pray tell, what is your opinion of me.”

Furina sputtered, turning red with embarrassment even as she crossed her arms haughtily.

“Y-You’re digressing. A tarantula is hardly the same as a cat!”

“Yes, but there are certain commonalities one learns. You see, I find this true of most pets, but particularly of cats…” She crouched down as she spoke, offering out one hand and slowly blinking once in the direction of the stray. The tabby pricked its ears and approached her slowly. “You can’t force things…they are creatures of their own agency, and you have to respect that.”

As if to punctuate her point, the tabby rubbed its cheeks and chin against her hand a few times before walking away. Arlecchino watched as it disappeared into the bushes.

When she straightened and stood, pocketing her hands, she found Furina staring, mouth agape.

“You…you must have catnip on you!”

“Hardly the case.”

“Hmm…I don’t believe you!”

“On my honor, Miss Furina.”

Furina approached to poke at Arlecchino’s arm, squinting up at her. An amusing thing. Arlecchino hardly let anyone dare touch her so casually, but this was entertaining. She had to fight to suppress the grin pulling at her lips, lest Furina grow even more indignant (though, she would no doubt look endearing even while being teased…it made Arlecchino want to pinch her cheeks, practically).

She coughed lightly, trying to dispel the odd train of thought.

A hard thing to do, especially when Furina continued, eyes narrowing further.

“Miss Furina this, Lady Furina that…I could begin to suspect you’re using formalities to hide some humor at my expense, Knave!”

“I thought merely to do you honor for your station.”

“Hmph. What station? I have centuries of expertise seeing through flattery, I will have you know. You cannot deceive me so easily, Arlecchino!”

The sound of her name voiced from Furina’s lips was…unexpected. Unexpected enough to give Arlecchino a momentary pause.

“But of course…Furina.” It was the first time she had addressed the former Archon by name alone, at least to her person. “Shall we, then?”

She waited only a moment before taking a step, continuing their walk. Furina scrambled to keep up but a moment later. She was still at Arlecchino’s side, practically clutching onto her arm.

“Don’t think you can get away from it that easily! I’ll find out your secret catnip techniques!”

Arlecchino chuckled as they continued, warm and easy, and allowed herself a small yet genuine smile.

“Of course, Furina. Of course.”

The Hotel Bouffes d'ete had been around for multiple human lifetimes, its stone exterior impeccably maintained over the years. Despite her own extended lifetime spent as Archon, Furina had never actually visited the presumptive headquarters of Snezhnayan operations in her own country. There had never really been a need to.

Certainly, she was aware of it, and its covert purpose. Diplomacy and spying often went hand-in-hand; she wasn’t so naïve or sheltered during her time as Archon to be ignorant of how diplomacy—both in presentation and in reality—worked in practicality. And, besides, the building hadn’t always been the seat of the Snezhnayan representative for Fontaine. Just like it hadn’t always been a house that took in orphans. Those changes had been more recent in the scheme of five hundred years.

Changes that, Furina had to admit, she had largely felt had never concerned her.

She couldn’t help but wonder at the wisdom or not of that assumption now.

There was so little that she knew about much of Fontaine, she was coming to realize. Five hundred years of trying to save a country, only to now find after having saved it that there was so much she didn’t know of the people and country she saved.

And the House of the Hearth was one of the foremost among them…both Arlecchino and her orphan “children”. Orphans, a guilty part of her chimed in, that she should have taken interest ingenerations earlier, if only for their well-being alone. Rather than leaving them on their own, and at the mercy of the generosity and machinations of Snezhnaya.

(She recalled, briefly, the unsavory rumors that had reached even her as Archon about Arlecchino’s now deceased predecessor.)

But enough of such dreary thoughts! Furina was here for a reason! And today was to be a day according to her own plans and designs! Except that she was waiting outside of the House of Hearth still. She had told the Knave to plan for around this time. Though, Furina was, admittedly, early. And, well, it seemed ridiculous to just wait outside, standing around idiotically with nothing to do…

Furina gathered herself up and approached the door, knocking a few times and fighting the urge to tap her feet as she waited.

The door creaked open not to Arlecchino, but to a young man—a teenager, still—with bright blond hair, who froze as soon as he looked at her.

He was familiar. She had seen him before then, and clearly he recognized her, too, though he seemed briefly paralyzed by the fact that she had shown up at his doorstep. Furina waited a few seconds longer.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare,” she huffed out primly.

That seemed to shake the kid out of his momentary stupor. He ushered her inside to a grand and spacious foyer, impeccably clean, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else except talking to her.

“S-Sorry! You’re Furina de Fontaine, right…?”

“And you are…” 

Furina recognized this child of the House of the Hearth, now that she looked at him properly. He had been there that day, after all. Him along with his two adoptive siblings, Lyney—whom Furina had incorrectly accused of the primordial water murders—and the sister, Lynette. Though, Furina was unable to immediately recall the name of this teenager, with his heavy diver’s helmet in hand. He looked as though he wanted to bury his head in said helmet.

“Um…Freminet. Lady Furina. That’s my name, I mean. Freminet. I was at…oh…” 

He trailed off, recognizing his own faux pas of having referenced Furina’s trial. Awkward.

Both of them looked around, unsure of what to say to break the increasingly uncomfortable atmosphere—

“Hey, Freminet, who are you…oh! Is that Lady Furina?”

Another one of the “children” of the House of the Hearth walked down the hallway. As if like wildfire, though, the mention of Furina seemed to summon more of the orphans, drawn in by the unusual visitor.

More of the children began poking their heads into the hallway and the foyer, beginning to cautiously crowd in around Furina. It was impossible to miss the curiosity and interest in their gazes, their ages ranging from kids all the way up to teenagers.

And as they gathered, they began to pepper her with questions.

“What are you doing here, Lady Furina?”

“Are you here to make a deal with Father?”

“—was there something that you and Father—”

Furina was used to being in the limelight, but it was one thing to do that on a stage or as the presumptive leader of a nation, and quite another to find herself the object of scarce-concealed interest by a gaggle of youths. Teens, pre-teens, and even younger, by the looks of some.

“Ahem! It’s not polite to ask a lady so many questions!” she crossed her arms, tilting her head up. “And not that it concerns any of you, but I’m taking the Knave to the beachfront.”

It felt too strange to call her “Father”, and calling her Arlecchino seemed too oddly, well, familiar before the children.

Murmurs went through the children, and in total disregard of her complaint, more questions followed.

“To the beach?”

“Are you going there to train?”

“Or to fight?”

“Or for some sort of mission?”

Furina blinked. Where in Celestia did these children come to these sort of conclusions? “No! Why would…nevermind! We’re going so that I can show the Knave how to interact with blubberbeasts properly! Belly rubs and all!”

There! That should impress these little imps appropriately! She, Furina de Fontaine, master of the blubberbeasts!

“You’re taking Father…to go pet blubberbeasts?”

She was met with total confusion. 

“I hardly see what is so unbelievable about—”

Arguments exploded into life around her, now directed between the children themselves rather than toward her.

“—new training regimen?”

“No, clearly it must be a new passcode we haven’t been taught yet—”

“—Father would never just go to pet—”

And just what was so hard to grasp about this?! Furina had half a mind to interrupt and set them all straight when there was a presence at her side.

“Lady Furina…I wanted to ask, do you like going to theatre productions, besides just working on them?”

It was Lynette, who sidled up toward Furina quietly while her fellow siblings of the House of the Hearth were busied trying argue about blubberbeasts amongst themselves. This close, it was hard for Furina not to stare at her feline features: her swishing tail and the pointed ears atop her head…fur that looked so soft…

Ahem.

“But of course! Theatre is the high expression of Fontainian art!”

“Operas, too? Musicals?”

Furina sniffed, tilting her head up a fraction. “All of them!”

Lynette seemed to bounce on the balls of her feet. “I like musicals. Father lets us go sometimes, as a reweard. I heard there’s supposed to be a new one premiering soon…”

“— La Belle et La Bete! A Fontainian classic, though this is the first time since it was written about three and a half centuries ago that it will be a musical.”

“Are you planning to see it, Lady Furina?”

“Well, I most certainly hope to! Though I will have to get tickets soon, I suppose.” 

Surely, she had enough contacts in the business with good will toward her that she could procure a ticket. Though he might have to call in a favor to get one for the opening weekend. The way Lynette seemed happy with her answer reminded her not to get too lost in her own thoughts, though.

“Ah, and, ahem…but of course I hope you are able to see it as well! Perhaps I could mention something to the Knave?”

“Oh, no! There’s no need for that!” Lynette waved away the offer, still looking upbeat. 

Mayhap she was simply happy to have another appreciator of musicals? Yet again, Furina considered the fact that she wasn’t good at reading youths. Who knew what went on in their minds? She had been created fully grown and conscious, after all. Her idle musing were cut off by the arrival of someone else entirely.

“I was unaware that this was how we now greeted guests, children.”

The calm, yet somehow severe comment cut through the air of the foyer, coupled by a pointed clearing of the throat. Immediately, the children were all standing straight-backed, those on the fringes already trying to scamper away as unnoticed as they could manage.

(Furina suspected that Arlecchino was already perfectly aware of just who exactly had been present in the foyer, no matter how quickly they had ducked for cover.)

A chorus of chastened “Father’s” echoed down the hall, followed by a few attempts to apologize.

“Enough.” The Knave didn’t sound particularly angry or upset, but her single word brooked no argument. “We will discuss things more later. You are all dismissed.”

Immediately, the children dispersed, scampering away into the bowels of the House of the Hearth, and leaving Furina alone in Arlecchino’s company.

“I hope the children did not offend you. I assure you they are normally much better mannered than this with visitors.”

For some reason, Furina felt the need to speak on their behalf, worried that the Knave might take them to task later.

“They were merely curious! And who would not be before I, Furina de Fontaine, aha!”

The way Arlecchino raised her eyebrows faintly indicated that she had seen right through Furina’s attempts.

“Perhaps. But they know better. Excitement or curiosity is no excuse for a lapse in proper manners.”

“Is that what you’ve taught them? Manners”

“Indeed. Among other things. Like any household, there are expectations and rules to be maintained here.”

“Well, then where are you manners, Knave? I await your readiness to proceed, as we have previously agreed upon!”

She did not miss the way Arlecchino’s lips twitched briefly.

“To go see the blubberbeasts. Of course. I couldn’t possibly forget.”

“To go pet the blubberbeasts! I’ll show you! I’m good with animals, you’ll see!”

Arlecchino gave a small but perceptible sigh, filled with equal parts resignation, amusement, and…something else. She guided the way forward, reopening the front door of the building and holding it so that Furina could exit first.

“As you say.”

Chapter Text

Arlecchino stared at the flyer that lay atop her usual morning pile of daily newspapers, magazines, mailings, reports, and other clippings.

While commercial advertisements were often slipped into the papers and mail, they would never be layered on top. Which meant that this was deliberate. And meant that her daughter, who had only just delivered Arlecchino’s morning tea alongside the papers, was waiting for a reaction and response.

Arlecchino raised her eyebrows slowly. She chose to be direct. “What’s this?”

“It’s…the schedule for the premiere showing of La Belle et La Bete, Father. It will be coming up soon.”

She scanned the advertisement again, not yet looking up from her desk. She could still see Lynette's outline in her peripheral vision, standing at attention across from the desk, hands clasped tightly in front of her.

Hm. Arlecchino considered what this entailed.

“Would you like to attend the show, Lynette?”

Lynette had been doing rather well in all of duties lately. Not only the official chores assigned to her, but also in those unofficial ones—in looking after the younger children, in helping her peers. It had been some time since Arlecchino had offered to take Lynette to the theatre, though it was unlike her to ask for anything so directly for herself.

Lynette took a deep breath, as if steeling herself, before answering.

“It’s…not for me, Father. It would be for Miss Furina.”

Arlecchino stared. When the silence only lengthened, Lynette seemed to grow visibly anxious.

“She told me she was looking forward to this musical, when she dropped by the House last week. She mentioned she wanted to see it, if she could get tickets…”

The rest went unsaid. The fact that Arlecchino had her own private box suite, and could quite easily procure tickets for the premiere show if she desired. It went unspoken, too, that the intent was not for Lynette to go to the show with Furina, but for Arlecchino. If she wished to.

Hmm.

It was a suitable idea, a remarkably suitable one at that. Though, Arlecchino was not certain how she quite felt about the fact that it was one of the children presenting said idea to her. The children had only just been properly chastened about their uncouth antics from when Furina had dropped by before.

But then, Lynette had always been particularly perceptive. And discreet. There was a reason why Arlecchino had used both her and her brother on occasion previously to deliver boxes of sweets to the deposed Archon.

She made her decision.

“Tell your brother, Lyney, to reach out to the theatre and have my box reserved for the opening night.”

“Yes, Father! Do you need anything else?”

“That will be all. You are dismissed.”

She would pen and deliver an invitation herself to Furina’s residence later. However, she called out just before her daughter reached the door of the study.

“Lynette.”

“Yes, Father?”

There was still the faintest tremor of nervousness that betrayed her daughter as she stopped and turned back. Still uncertain if she had overstepped her bounds.

“Thank you.”

The anxiety bled away at that, and Lynette bowed not once but twice.

“Yes, Father! Of course!”

Arlecchino only let herself smile once her daughter had left the study entirely. Then she picked up her pen and a sheet of high quality note card. It appeared there were arrangements to be made, after all.

Furina twirled about once in front of her mirror. Mademoiselle Crabaletta shifted around her, raising her claws in silent approval.

It wasn’t enough, however, to fully convince Furina.

Her brow furrowed as she studied her reflection. She had spent hours shopping for the right dress for the occasion, and even now, she still wasn’t certain she had selected the right choice.

“Ah, putain de bordel de merde!”  

Okay…perhaps that was a bit of overkill.

But she couldn’t help the rare curse that slipped from her lips in frustration. Maybe she should have asked Clorinde for help after all. But, she hadn’t wanted to bother the duelist for something as banal as this. 

Alright, if she was being honest with herself, she hadn’t wanted to ask Clorinde for help, because that would have meant questions from Clorinde, and Furina simply…didn’t feel inclined to explain why she was going to the premiere of a show with the Knave! Yes, it simply would have been too much of an inconvenience to dally about with confusing explanations that would have taken away from the act of shopping itself. That was all!

Except that now here Furina was, standing before her mirror and examining herself for the umpteenth time, and trying not to worry at her bottom lip about whether she had selected the incorrect wardrobe for the evening.

Her outfit was perfectly acceptable. She knew this, logically. A premiere evening opening for a new show called for formal evening attire. The shimmering, dark blue dress she had finally settled on was practically designed for such an occasion.  The knee-cut length with the flared design was comfortable to move in, and the pearl heels matched her cream-colored gloves almost exactly. The palette and design complimented her complexion, and the style was in fashion. In short, she knew her outfit was a good choice, so why was she still uncertain?

She’d put on her usual makeup, made sure not a hair was out of place…where was this lingering nervousness coming from?

Surintendante Chevalmarin gently bumped into her shoulder, as if trying to inspire her confidence.

“You’re right, you’re right…” she acknowledged, patting the watery seahorse on the snout. “Why am I getting so wrapped up in this? It’s a premiere like any other. There’s nothing unusual about this. I’m just off to enjoy a new theatre production!”

Another deep breath.

“Well, what do  you think?”

She turned away from the mirror to face Mademoiselle Crabaletta, Surintendante Chevalmarin, and Gentilhomme Usher in full, offering an expertly practiced curtsy.

All three members of Salon Solitaire bobbed their heads up and down, even spewing a few bubbles out in approval. 

“Thank you, thank you…only my best for the people of Fontaine…” Furina bowed as though it were the encore to her own performance.

Somehow, doing that put her more at ease. Well, and it was hardly like she was going to run out and select a different outfit now! In fact, practically any minute now—

A knock echoed up from the door at the bottom of the stairwell. Three precise raps upon the wood. Even if she had not been expecting, Furina could tell it was the Knave. She shook her head briefly and smiled; as perfectly punctual as ever.

“Alright,” she said to herself one last time. “Let’s get going.”

With a brief wave of her hand, the Salon Solitaire disappeared, their forms and power recalled back into her Hydro vision, which clipped around her waist for the evening.

Then, without further adieu, she made her way down the stairs and to the front door.

Opening it revealed none other than the Knave, who gave a flourish and a bow.

“Lady Furina, I am here to escort you. Are you ready to go?”

She finished by holding out one hand—blackened like the night, in contrast to Furina’s white-gloved fingers.

Arlecchino was dressed in a well-cut evening suit, in many ways less complex than her usual attire. Certainly a darker color palette—charcoal pants and a matching twinned coattail tuxedo, both with highlights of deep red. Her blouse was a splash against the dark, a white and silken material with a ruffled v-neck collar that left her throat and the curve of her collarbone uncharacteristically bare to the world. The gleam of her Pyro vision peeked out from where it was hooked around her belt.

The red to Furina’s blue.

Furina cleared her throat.

“To the theatre!”

The Knave’s lips pursed, not in disapproval—Furina could now recognize—but in the faint tell that she was suppressing what would have been a smile on anyone else.

“Indeed. To the theater.”

Furina accepted the outstretched hand with her own as she finished stepping out of the door frame and into the street.

As they made their way, the earlier nervousness that had eaten at her eased into something more manageable and familiar: she was excited, she realized, and looking forward to this night out.

Really, there wasn’t anything that was that different about attending the theatre tonight than any of the other times Arlecchino went. They still entered through the private, VIP entrance. An usher still bowed to them leading the way to the private box seats. Luxury was a thing Furina surely had to be used to from her time as Archon, but her eyes still widened in awe when Arlecchino admitted that she kept the private box to herself for theatre viewings.

“So you really are a patron of the arts!”

“There’s hardly any need for me to exaggerate or idly boast about such a thing. I value my privacy when watching shows, little more than that. Which I suspect suites most of the populous just as well.” Arlecchino hesitated for a moment as they settled into the box. “I’m glad that the opportunity worked for you.”

“For the theatre! But of course!” Yet for just as quickly as the proclamation had left her, Furina’s voice softened unexpectedly. “Thank you. For the invitation, I mean. This is…this is nice.”

The gratitude, sincere and and spoken with a clear measure of vulnerability, had Arlecchino blinking for a moment. She had to remind herself to respond.

“Of course.”

The odd tension of the moment—if tension was even the right word—was interrupted by the usher returning, a serving platter in hand. They both accepted a flute of champagne to sip on before the lights flickered three times, indicating that the performance was about to begin. Then there was no time to even think of small talk.

They took their seats in Arlecchino’s box, providing an enviable view of the stage below. And then the show began.

Theatre was, in anything, one of the rare indulgences Arlecchino only periodically allowed herself. Here, in the darkness of the box as a show played out before her on stage, she could set aside herself…in only for a bit. Yet as the curtains parted and the first musical number was soon underway, Arlecchino glanced at Furina instead, who had set aside her champagne, now enraptured with the entertainment.

Arlecchino did the same, finishing her bubbly drink. Yet time and time again, she found her attention wandering from the stage and to the companion she was sharing her private box seats with. Studying the profile of Furina’s face.

Even in the dim lighting of the audience, she had no trouble seeing the way Furina’s visage proverbially lit up before the production; the way her gaze drank in the actors on stage; the way one hand tapped against her thigh in time with the musical numbers. At one point, she even clasped her hands together in delight as the story progressed.

Alrecchino was ever still, by comparison. There was nothing wrong with the musical. It was, objectively, very good thus far. But again and again, she found her gaze slipping sideways drawn toward the slight woman next to her who was on the edge of her seat with excitement.

It was a side of the one-time Archon that she had never been privy to before; unrestrained delight…a reflection not of the “Hydro Archon” and the ruse of the century, but of Furina de Fontaine, the person. No more and no less.

Arlecchino wanted to see more—not of the play but of this own, private demonstration that only she was beholden to. She wanted to know more—of Furina’s likes and wishes, but also of so much more.

Almost as it—

She was jerked away from the though process coming together within her head by the sound of applause. The last number had finished, and the audience was standing for an ovation.

Though they remained in a private box, above the viewpoint of anyone else, Furina still stood with the main crowd, clapping her hands together.

“Bravo! Bravo!”

Arlecchino followed suite a moment later, clapping more sedately until the final encore bows were complete, and the audience below them began to trickle out. Their own cue to go.

For some reason, Arlecchino had to bite back a sigh from her lips; for it felt as if the evening had passed by far too quickly.

Furina felt utterly rejuvenated as she left the theatre, the Knave at her side. What a wonderful performance!

She was aware she was chattering practically non-stop, but rather than seeming annoyed or even bored, the Knave nodded along, asking the occasional question as Furina critiqued the show and explained the novel musical take on an old Fontainian fairy tale.

Arlecchino offered one arm out for support as they descended the stairs that led out of the theatre. Furina linked arms with her without a second thought, unable to keep from gushing about the musical. It had truly exceeded her expectations.

“I am pleased you enjoyed it, Miss Furina.”

“Oh, yes, yes! Thank you so much for inviting me, Arle!”

She barely even noticed how she had addressed the Knave, what with how she was practically thrumming with energy.

Arlecchino either didn’t mind or let the nickname slide. Instead, nodded with her chin off to the side of the main road.

“It was nothing. But shall we take a more leisurely route before I drop you off? You seem to have many thoughts on the performance.” Arlecchino suggested.

“Yes, please! It's a wonderful evening out! And I still feel so awake!”

Fontaine was safe. And besides, between her own Hydro Vision and Arlecchino’s presence, there was nothing to fear. Really, more of Arlecchino’s presence. It would be a fool indeed to risk taking on a Harbinger directly or those under her protection.

They followed a path into a nearby park, the light from the nearly full moon providing more light than even the streetlamps.

She didn’t bother second guessing the unspoken offer to speak more. Instead, as they walked beneath the stars and the trees, Furina continued to speak, nearly skipping in place as she discussed the choice in music and lyrics.

“And that dance number for the finale! It was so well choreographed! C’est magnifique! ”

Furina let go of Arlecchino’s arm to step ahead. She twirled beneath the light of the moon, smiling with delight. The energy of it seemed to possess her feet, and she found herself going through a few classic dance moves, reliving the ending to the play. Ah! The evening was truly perfect.

When she turned back, she found Arlecchino standing as still and straight as ever, like some silent guardian off to the side while Furina had indulged in the fancy of the night.

Really, the Knave needed to loosen up more. What was the point of being alive if not to have some fun?

Perhaps it was a momentary spur of midnight madness that touched her. But Furina did a last spin on her own before turning in full to Arlecchino.

“Dance with me!”

For once, she could have sworn she had managed to make the well-spoken Knave speechless. Or at least for a few long seconds until Arlecchino managed to get a word past her lips.

“Pardon?”

Furina couldn’t help but roll her eyes then. “I said, dance with me! Come on!”

There was that same silence again.

“You do know how to dance, don’t you, Lord Arlecchino?” Furina asked the question archly, pitching her voice to be as dramatically prim and rich as she could manage while reaching out with one gloved hand back to her companion. “Or do the Fatui not teach the pavane?”

There was a brief pause during which the Knave raised one eyebrow before responding as silkily smooth as ever.

“The Snezhnayan court expects any of their number to know the basics of ballroom dancing. Particularly their Fontainian representative.”

For a moment, Furina remained standing as she was, one arm stretched back is askance, and wondering if Arlecchino would simply leave her like that.

Please, a part of her welled up unexpectedly, dance with me, Knave.

Before she had a chance to understand the thought, there was a small but sly smirk touching those red lips. Said Knave was stepping forward, reaching back out with one black-tinted hand. They were hands that Furina had—all too recently—feared. Hands that made her heart beat faster, skipping…

…wait, just as it was now. Except the trepidation that rose in her throat wasn’t fear?

As Arlecchino’s long, elegant fingers wrapped atop Furina’s white-gloved hand like charcoal on snow, the bubbling anticipation that spread from stomach and through her limbs felt better than any opening act on stage. There was no time to linger in the sensation or ponder it; the Knave was drawing close, turning Furina in to face her as the other hand settled gently on Furina’s waist, already taking the lead position.

And somehow in the same breath, completely obliterating Furina’s awareness of anything beyond their sheer physical proximity and the way that Arlecchino’s touch on her hand and hip was separated by a scant few layers of cloth. 

“Of course,” Arlecchino continued lightly, apparently oblivious to the way that her touch—perfectly respectful and gentlemanly as it was—was inciting something like a Pyro’s flame through Furina. (She was a Pyro Vision user…perhaps this was simply an effect of her vision?) “As someone raised in Fontaine, it would be an unspeakable faux pas if I were not perfunctory in the art of dancing.”

And as easily as that, they fell into a Fontainian waltz, Furina holding onto Arlecchino’s lead with one hand, the other quickly reaching up to rest lightly atop the Knave’s shoulder.

Just the two of them, dancing in the park under the moonlit midnight.

Over five centuries as the head of state, Furina had danced countless ballroom styles, and with even more partners than she could recall. The more regrettably amateur ones always stood out—who could forget having their toes stepped on, or being handled too roughly on the dance floor?—but Arlecchino was, unsurprisingly, a far cry from inept or amateur. She was experienced and proficient. Her lead was firm, but in a reassuring and easy sort of way that exuded comfort and confidence.

So there was no reason for Furina to feel ill as flat-footed and clumsy as she did, as though this was the first dance she had ever stepped into. Perhaps it was just the moonlight and the night, tricking her senses. Or something about the closeness , though Furina had never before had such issues with a dance partner.

She focused on following Arlecchino’s lead to perfection, instead. She focused on playing her part.

“I must admit, Knave, you are skilled enough in dancing. Pleasurably so, the ballroom instructors might say.”

“Oh?”

Arlecchino’s voice was a low and pleasant hum, one that shivered through Furina’s bones agreeably.

“I will take that as a high compliment then, coming from a woman with centuries more experience than I at court functions.”

Furina found herself being twirled along with the compliment, had to focus much more than usual on her footwork, lest the growing wave of excitement that buzzed in her stomach and across her face make her miss a step.

She had never been in a dance that made her feel this way before. Certainly, she had been through the steps to a traditional Fontainian waltz thousands of times…yet no dance or dance partner had made her stomach do somersaults this way. No dancer had ever made her both so eager for more and yet desperate for the number to never end.

Even if, like all numbers, it had to end eventually.

The dance finished with the most classic of moves: Arlecchino dipping Furina back and down with expert ease, one arm now snaking around the small of her back to hold her firmly in the air as the Knave leaned in close.

Under the unfiltered moonlight, her red-crossed eyes practically glowed, obscuring everything else in Furina’s vision.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breath coming shorter and faster than there was any reason to—she was Furina de Fontaine, after all, and it took more than just a dance to exhaust her!—and her very blood seemed to be thrumming, as if waiting for something…something in particular…

This is the part where they share a kiss.

That’s how it went in the stories, of course. A myriad of plays and novels flashed through Furina’s head in an instant. The demoiselle twirled about, until her partner leaned close and—their two hearts beating as one—united them with a lover’s kiss.

She had never thought of it before, not like this. She had never thought to…

Furina realized she had dropped her gaze to the Knave’s lips, and quickly jerked her eyes back up…only to see the way Arlecchino’s eyes, too, flickered below eye level.

Was she actually considering…?

A thrill of something sparked through Furina, then, sharp with the unexpected and sudden intensity of longing.

She wanted it, she realized. She wanted Arlecchino to finish this, to close what little distance remained between them and to please, please just kiss me already—

Arlecchino jerked back, straightening and carefully pulling Furina upright with her. And then she was stepping away with a bow, and the distance between them was as though Furina had fallen into a yawning chasm.

Yet they were only a step or two apart.

What had happened…?

Furina had to blink several times as Arlecchino concluded with another bow of her head.

“You are indeed an exemplary dancer, Miss Furina. Thank you for deigning to entertain me.”

There was nothing wrong with what Arlecchino was saying, per say. Her words were polite, genuine…but it was as though Furina had glimpsed something moments earlier—some layer of the Knave peeled back—that was now firmly tucked away again behind an impeccable mask. 

And for some completely inexplicable reason, it made her want to cry. The distance between them, both real and perceived, stuck like a dull, persistent ache deep within her chest.

“K-Knave, I…” She tried to put on the same air of indifference as she had so easily worn prior to asking for a dance, and struggled. 

“Come. It is late. And you should return home. I will walk you back to your apartment.”

Furina found herself nodding, allowing herself to be accompanied back to her apartment, where Arlecchino took her quiet leave for the evening, parting with a final bow. Not with a kiss goodnight , Furina’s confused brain supplied the comparison point.

Not that there was any reason for Arlecchino to do so, of course!

Not that there was any reason for the strange, hollowed out feeling inside of Furina’s ribcage. She entered her apartment and quickly changed for bed, collapsing onto her mattress and cuddling one of her stuffed animals up to her chest, though it hardly provided the normal measure of comfort.

There was little that Furina could do but stare at the ceiling of her apartment, replaying her memories from the park over and over again, and wondering just what exactly had happened.