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She left the book open on a whim; that’s what she told herself. But the truth was less innocent. Miorine busied her hands, watering the tidy garden she nurtured in her room. She kept an eye on Suletta all the while, angling her head low to maintain a charade of nonchalance. Her groom wandered as she was wont in these moments, ever curious and incapable of stillness. It hadn’t escaped Miorine the way she would fiddle with her sleeves or tap jittery fingers against skin—all assurances Suletta would wander when left alone.
And true to Miorine’s prediction, Suletta found the book. It took all she had to feign surprise as her groom wandered over with it in tow.
“Shake spear?” Suletta blinked in all her endearing confusion. Dark fingers skid across the page idly. “Is that a real name, Ms. Miorine?”
“It is. I take it you’ve never heard of him.” Miorine smothered a smile as Suletta shook her head emphatically. She expected as much. Mercury was considered the backwater of the solar system; isolated and filled with ignorant laborers, or so the stories went. If they were all like Suletta—earnest and hungry for knowledge—a proper school would get them far.
“William Shakespeare. He was a playwright,” Miorine explained. “Earthian; centuries before space travel was considered possible. That’s a book of his most acclaimed works.”
“Oh.” Suletta’s mouth formed around the word, eyes wide. “Are you a fan of his, Ms. Miorine?”
“I like some of his work. My mother was a play buff. Not me.” Her breath stuttered briefly at the mention. She swallowed thickly, striving not to think of her. This day was for her and Suletta; soft and easy like it always was when they were alone. She wouldn’t complicate it with her grief. “There’s some dull ones, but my favorites are King Lear and The Tempest.”
“The Tempest,” Suletta repeated. Her hand drifted along the opened page, tracing the title. “That’s this one! And there’s a picture…”
“It’s Miranda, standing atop the bluffs. She’s the daughter of Prospero.” Miorine waited keenly for Suletta’s face to bloom with recognition.
“That’s sounds like my mother’s name. And this girl has red hair like me.” A sudden wave of bashfulness overtook the other girl. Suletta peered at the book longingly, taking furtive peeks at Miorine from beneath her lashes. “Um, Ms. Miorine, can I read this? I promise to be careful. I’ll sit here quietly while you work.”
“I suppose that would be fine,” Miorine said as if that wasn’t her plan from the start. She set aside the watering can. “I have a mountain of GUND-ARM paperwork to sort through anyway. You can tell me all about what you thought of The Tempest afterward.”
“Thank you,” Suletta breathed out. She sounded immensely relieved, and Miorine wasn’t sure whether to take offense or not. Then again, she had a nasty habit of acting overly defensive, Suletta suffering the brunt of it. Miorine mentally advised herself to think before speaking where her groom was concerned. The girl could be fragile, despite her piloting skill.
“If you need help deciphering anything, just ask. The phrasing and words are very archaic.” Miorine wandered to the desk, Suletta on her heels. She pursed her lips as her groom nestled into the corner. She should buy another chair; maybe list it as a necessary business expense. Suletta was their chief tester after all and her well-being was vital.
Miorine hadn’t lied about the paperwork, and dove in as soon as her terminal booted. Rows upon rows of drab words painted upon stark white backgrounds greeted her; endless pages banality that a lesser person would become lost in, but not Miorine. She paged through the dense blocks without a blink, only sparing Suletta momentary looks between each sheet. After a few minutes, the quiet broke.
“Prospero sunk the ship?” Suletta looked at Miorine hesitantly. “Do I have that right?”
“You do. Keep reading.” Miorine offered her an encouraging nod. “I’m impressed you can make sense of it. I doubt most people in Asticassia could.”
Guel came to mind. While he hadn’t intruded upon her room, the boy caught her reading the book on occasion. He always had some derogatory word for how she spent her time, and his flunkies were worse. At one point, they leered over her shoulder as she read. They spitefully mocked each line, to her endless aggravation. Guel hadn’t joined in that day, but neither had he intervened—no one did until Suletta.
“Aerial had a few books in her library. I… read the dictionary when I finished the normal books.” Suletta ducked her head as if ashamed. “Is that weird of me, Ms. Miorine?”
“Not really. I doubt there was much else to do on Mercury. It turned out to be useful in the end.” Miorine returned to the terminal. She hoped her attempt at reassurance didn’t sound disingenuous or backhanded. Suletta was perhaps the only person whose opinion mattered to her.
Another few minutes passed before Suletta uttered what sounded like a cross between a squeak and a shout. “Aerial! Wait… Arial?”
“Found that, huh?” Miorine glanced at her, smiling. “Your mother probably named Aerial as a little joke since her name is so similar. She must be a Shakespeare fan like mine.”
“It flies,” Suletta said softly. “Aerial can fly too.”
“I figured you would have fun with that.” Miorine congratulated her cunning briefly, pleased she could brighten her groom’s day. She continued peering at Suletta askance. “...Tell me when you get to Ferdinand, the king’s son.”
“I will.” Suletta hummed once, attention flitting back to the page. Blue-green eyes fluttered as they caught upon something, surprised. “The witch Sycorax. Do these witches also…?”
“They’re not the witches you’re thinking of. They wield magic rather than pilot Gundams.”
“This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child…” Suletta trailed, bottom lip snared between her teeth. “To act her earthy and abhorred commands, refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee.”
“Prospero is referring to Arial in the last line,” Miorine clarified, assuming Suletta spoke the lines to be deciphered. However, Suletta didn’t seem to hear.
“A freckled whelp hag-born—not honoured with a human shape. This Caliban is the witch's son...”
“He serves Prospero.” At this, Suletta finally met her eyes. “Though not happily. You’ll see soon. Caliban is a bit of a rough character.”
The girl’s brow sloped but she didn’t respond. Suletta flipped the page and Miorine returned to her work. Yet despite anticipating further interruptions, none came. After a long while, Suletta closed the book with a snap. She voiced none of the inquiries and fascinated babbling Miorine expected. With her business finished, she shut down the terminal and frowned at her groom.
“Are you done? You didn’t say when when you reached Ferdinand.” Miorine cleared her throat, affecting indifference. “You know… they call my father a king. I even caught the blowhard referring to himself that way. It’s a bit coincidental, right? You, being the daughter of a ‘Prospero’ and I, the daughter of a ‘King Alonso’—due to be wed just like Miranda and Ferdinand. The only difference is our parents aren’t enemies.”
“Yes...” Suletta’s voice was weak, rousing Miorine’s concern. She eyed her groom’s sedate expression.
“Suletta, didn’t you like it?”
“Oh, well—” Suletta stirred, brow furrowed and hands knotting her shirt. She looked suddenly anxious. “I liked it, and the characters were interesting. But… it’s sad how things with Caliban ended.”
“Sad?” Miorine leaned back, stunned. “He’s unsympathetic. A villain, in Miranda’s words. It’s not as if he died anyhow.”
“Maybe so,” Suletta said. She sounded oddly wistful. “I just… think he deserved a bit better. He was innocent and treated poorly, seen as an ignorant slave and nothing more.”
“He deserved worse for attempting to violate Miranda.”
“But did he know?” Suletta countered. An uncommon severity colored her next words. “He loved Prospero for his initial kindness. He might’ve loved Miranda for what she gave to him; a gift of speech and compassion too. Did he believe that kindness to be her returning his love, mistook it for something more?”
Suletta shook her head. “Caliban knew only them and served them with everything. What was he given for this? Harsh words and torture by Prospero’s magic. The isle was his before they came.”
“You have a point there,” Miorine conceded. “I still say he was in the wrong for Miranda. He also allied with Stephano and Trinculo to do away with Prospero.”
“He believed them to be gods for a simple kindness.” Suletta looked at her hands, knees tucked to her chest. “When you’re alone and scared, something so simple can mean so much. In the end, Caliban thought he was doing what was best. He was only made a villain by Prospero.”
“I’m not sure it was Shakespeare’s intent for us to sympathize. Caliban is constantly referred to as lowly and wild.” Miorine’s frown deepened as her groom visibly flagged. She stood, joining Suletta within the corner. “...Suletta, what’s this really about? Surely it can’t just be Caliban’s dubious villainy.”
“I feel for him,” Suletta said. She couldn’t seem to meet Miorine’s eyes. “They call me wild and uncivilized too. A country bumpkin. I’m seen as ignorant and little better than a child in comparison to you, Ms. Miorine. I cling to any shred of kindness and obey because it’s all I know. More than Miranda, I think I’m like Caliban.”
Suletta wet her lips. The skin appeared painfully dry; cracked. “Child of a witch, alongside Aerial. Is someone like me… worthy enough to be your groom?”
“Suletta.” Miorine floundered for words, taken aback by the admission. She hadn’t intended for Suletta to feel kinship with the wrong character, and certainly hadn’t wanted to elicit inadequacy. A fierce desire bloomed in Miorine to boldly assert that the only suitable groom for her was Suletta.
But that would be too much, too fast. There would be time later, preferably once they had grown a bit closer. For now, Miorine touched the edge of Suletta’s sleeve. The girl was trembling.
“Whether you’re more akin to Miranda or Caliban is moot. Ultimately, you’re Suletta Mercury—my groom.” Miorine could feel Suletta’s eyes on her then, but she steadfastly ignored this. Her skin felt far too heated to meet that plaintive stare directly. “You’re worthy to me and that’s all that should matter to anyone, Asticassia and my father included.”
“Ms. Miorine…” Suletta’s mouth opened and closed. Her eyes were bright, hue glassy. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for stating the obvious.” Miorine shielded her face with a palm, abashed. Still, she couldn’t deny Suletta’s affection felt wonderful. Everything she did made Miorine keenly aware of her deepening feelings. She hoped to ignite a tenth of the fire Suletta sparked. “You can borrow the book if you want to read more.”
“If you’re sure.” Suletta brightened, furrowed brow smoothing. “I think I’ll try King Lear next. Do you want to read it with me?”
“I’d like that,” Miorine answered. She uncovered her face, matching Suletta’s beaming expression with a halting smile. Weeks later, she would recall that joy and take strength from the memory as distance separated them. And again when that strained confrontation in Plant Quetta took place, both baring their vulnerabilities to each other.
Yet in the aftermath of what happened next, the memory was tinged with bitterness.
“Murderer,” the word slipped unbidden. Suletta’s face, composed in an angelic grin, fractured upon hearing it. Miorine couldn’t bring herself to recant; not when the girl’s glove was slick with viscera, droplets of meat and red slathering her pilot suit. Suletta’s hand fell. She looked so confused, gaze searching. Miorine struggled to reconcile the innocence in those eyes with the massacre witnessed.
“I saved you,” Suletta had said. She blinked, taking a moment to look around herself. “They… were bad, right? That’s what I saw. So I saved you.”
“A savior doesn’t smile like that.” Miorine shielded her father’s prone frame, hunching over him. “You looked happy.”
“Shouldn’t I be?” Suletta reeled as if struck. She appeared adrift suddenly; directionless. “I protected you by moving forward. I just wanted you to know you were safe. Mother showed me—”
Miorine turned the faucet, splashing her face. She glanced at her harried reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her father’s subordinates had given her a towel to clean up with after their ordeal. She had cleansed herself of blood, but could still feel the damp heat of it when she closed her eyes.
Suletta kept her distance since they returned, acting much the same as before their emotional embrace. Miorine could barely remember the elation she felt, consumed beneath the tempestuous mix of everything afterward. How did it come to this?
As Miorine struggled to ignore the teary visage of her reflection, she heard a knock at the main door. It was firm; a confident rap Suletta could never muster. Miorine listlessly strode to answer.
“Delivery for you, Ms. Rembran.” One of the Asticassia porters greeted her pleasantly. The man was careful not to meet her gaze directly as he hauled the package inside; her father’s reputation earned the caution of all. “Do you need further assistance?”
Belatedly, Miorine recalled the second chair she ordered. She nearly ordered the porter to take it back—having no need for it now—but hesitated. Eventually, Miorine swallowed before gesturing for the man to leave. “Thank you, but that will be all.”
“Of course, Ms. Rembran.”
Once the porter was gone, Miorine slumped against the wall. She stared at the unopened box, uneasy. A large part of her said to leave the box as it was; to not open it and forget this whole nightmare entirely. To open it would mean accepting what happened and allowing Suletta near again, but was that wise? Despite the soft feelings she still held and might always bear, could Miorine accept what she saw?
Inadvertently, Miorine’s gaze drifted to the book atop her table. Suletta returned it a few days ago, fully learned in all of Shakespeare’s greatest works. Yet Miorine had flipped it open, baring The Tempest in remembrance of their conversation. Idly, Suletta’s strained words came to her once more.
“...I cling to any shred of kindness and obey because it’s all I know. More than Miranda, I think I’m like Caliban.”
“I protected you by moving forward. I just wanted you to know you were safe. Mother showed me—”
Miorine bit her cheek, compassion welling in spite of everything but also a rage she barely knew how to articulate—all because of one word. Mother. Of course.
“O heaven, O earth,” Miorine declared to the quiet solemnity of her room. “Bear witness to this sound and crown what I profess with kind event if I speak true. If hollowly, invert what best is boded me to mischief. I beyond all limit of what else in the world do love, prize, honour you.”
With sure hands, Miorine tore the box open. Prospera had honored her daughter with a human shape but wild reason nonetheless. A dangerous but not inherently villainous disposition, as Suletta had proven. She was wholly innocent—blind to anything save what she had been told. Knowing this, Miorine could not bring herself to turn away.
Miranda or Caliban, she swore to accept Suletta Mercury as she was. So Miorine would, for all the good and ill that entailed.