Disclaimer: I do not own the Fate franchise it belongs to Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon.

Three Jewels

Prologue

The parade was in full swing, smartly-uniformed bands drumming and piping away as they marched in step down the street, colorful floats lumbering along as eclectically-dressed dancers and performers cavorted to the cheering crowds' delight. The roar of the crowds filled the air, as confetti and flower petals were thrown down from the rooftops and upper floors of the buildings along the street. Many in the crowds waved national flags, while others held aloft framed pictures of President Domingo de la Cavalleria.

"He's really popular, isn't he?" Joanna Johnson asked, sitting at a table in a café and looking out the glass windows at the crowds outside. "The president, that is?"

"Of course he is." Abigail Frunze replied, lifting her coffee cup to take a drink of her strong-smelling coffee. "Think about how this country was like before he became president: the economy was collapsing, unemployment was through the roof, and parts of the country occupied by foreign powers. But after the twelve years he's been in office, the economy is booming, unemployment is at an all-time low, and the occupiers booted out. It'd be a wonder if he wasn't popular."

"And now he'll be president for another four years." Joanna said with a nod. "Good times for this country."

"Yes," Abigail said with a nod of her own. The blonde picked up a biscuit and lifting it to her mouth bit into it and began to chew thoughtfully.

Joanna turned back to the street outside, watching as the parade continued to march by, this time of soldiers from the nation's army, wearing blue dress uniforms with white boots, belts, sashes, and berets, antiquated rifles – Mausers of all things, from the look of the weapons – held against their shoulders. After several moments the redhead turned back to the blonde. "A penny for your thoughts, Miss Frunze?" she asked.

"Hmm?" Abigail hummed before blinking and turning back to Joanna. She swallowed and shook her head. "No, it's nothing. Well, not really: I was just thinking, that if more politicians were like de la Cavalleria and actually cared for their countries instead of focusing on holding onto power and milking the system for benefits, the whole world would be a much better place than it currently is."

"Miss Frunze…"

"Well, that's just the reality of politics." Abigail said, lifting her coffee cup to her lips again. "It's a dirty business, and one I'm thankful to not be part of, nor do I have any desire to."

Joanna nodded sadly, and Abigail took a drink. Her eyes slid to a side, and lowering her cup slightly smiled wryly. "And here comes the man of the hour," she said, gesturing out the window. Joanna followed the gesture, and blinked at the sight of a larger float passing by, topped with a replica of the Tower of State, a great monument erected by the president in the capital two years ago to commemorate the 'rebirth' of the nation, and its emergence from poverty, corruption, and helplessness.

And behind the float slowly drove a dark-colored, open-topped car, carrying a tanned, well-built man in his fifties with greying, swept-back hair dressed in a predominantly-tan business ensemble, smiling and waving at the crowds as he passed. They went positively-berserk at the sight, the grinning if overworked policemen barely able to hold them back.

"A toast to a truly great man and leader," Abigail said, raising her coffee cup. Joanna followed suit, and indeed, the rest of the patrons, the staff, and even the owner, were all toasting or saluting the president as he passed by. "And our employer for tonight."

Joanna nodded her agreement, and Abigail put her coffee cup back down. She smiled as she did so, green eyes focusing on a young brunette woman over thirty (or more) years de la Cavalleria's junior, sitting beside him in a low-cut dress with white elbow gloves, also waving and smiling at the crowds. "And a lucky man too, from the look of things." She commented, and Joanna smiled ruefully.

"Miss Frunze…"

"It's fine." Abigail waved it off. "Considering all he's done, having a young and hot-blooded wife is hardly something we can begrudge the man."

Joanna nodded. "Yes." She said, and Abigail smiled.

"Well, we still have some time before we have to get to work." She said. "Shall we see some more of this city before we head back to the hotel to change?"

"Yes, Miss Frunze."

George Frederic Handel's Water Music Suite Number One in F Major played through the evening air, its tones mingling with the cheerful chatter and laughter of the crowd. The orchestra sat on one side of the hall, the men in black and white ensembles, the women wearing sleeveless dresses of various cuts in matching black.

Abigail sat in the strings section, her violin held against her shoulder with practiced ease, her eyes focused on the conductor and following his arm movements to play in tune with the rest of the orchestra. She blinked, and her eyes briefly flickered to Joanna, also playing a violin of her own.

"Is something wrong, Elsa?" Abigail Frunze, in reality Marika Edelfelt, asked through their telepathic link.

"It's nothing, my lady." Joaana Johnson, in reality Elsa Heikkinen replied in kind. "It's just that, for a reformer there's something eerily familiar about the crowd the president's invited."

"Well he's still a politician, after all." Marika said. "Let's see…yes, look there's big business figures – though more natives than foreigners – and high-ranking civil servants, high-ranking military officers, other politicians and notable figures…I'd bet though that more than a scattering of 'guests' are actually plain clothes security agents or something."

"And more than a few women are 'professional escorts'?" Elsa replied with a mental smile, and Marika fought back a snort.

"Naturally."

Elsa giggled silently, the link falling silent for the next few minutes as they focused on playing Handel's Water Music. "Huh," Elsa eventually sent the thought to her mistress. "I thought the local clergy didn't like the president."

"They don't." Marika confirmed, eyes subtly moving to glance where de la Cavalleria was greeting and welcoming his guests. Right now he was busy shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with a group of older men, one dressed in the white and red robes of a bishop and with the appearance she recognized as that of the capital's archbishop. The other priests wore black habits with Roman collars: lesser clergy, the archbishop's entourage no doubt.

"So why are they here?"

"It wouldn't be very political not to invite them, even if they did – quietly – support the opposition candidate. The same goes for the American Ambassador over there, among other notables who don't like de la Cavalleria but are somewhere around here. They're probably fuming at the implied gloating this whole party is."

"I see."

Marika mentally sighed. "I hate jobs like these." She silently said, her thoughts heavy with loathing. "Killing good and honorable men who can't fight back, their only crime being they pissed off the wrong people who then went to the best killers that money and influence can buy."

"My lady,"

"It's fine, don't worry." Marika assured her companion. "It's old bile by now, I'm used to it. It doesn't mean I have to like it though. Edelfelt's honor is committed to this contract, and I'll be damned if I'll let the family honor and reputation be stained because of sentimentality, no matter how well deserved it is."

"Will you kill him now?"

"No," Marika replied. "Let's wait for a bit, like say after or during dinner. A heart attack can come at any time, but it's more plausible given how heavy the fare is at occasions like these."

"As you say, my lady."

A few hours later, Johann Pachelbel's Canon in D Major provided a soothing background to the subdued chatter over dinner, the guests largely occupied with the task of feeding themselves. Marika expertly and passionately played her violin, determined to give their host as fine a performance as she could before she claimed his life.

The orchestra would be allowed some time to rest and refresh themselves after this piece, and Marika decided then would be the right time to fulfil the contract assigned to her. "It's nothing personal." She thought as Canon in D ended, a scattering of light applause coming from the guests, she and the orchestra rising and giving a bow along with the conductor before returning to their seats.

As other orchestra members bustled off to get something light to eat and drink, Marika looked to Elsa, and subtly nodded.

It's time.

Marika sighed, and subtly glanced in the direction of the head table. She looked on from a distance as de la Cavalleria's nineteen-year old wife spooned some food into his mouth, and shared a beaming smile with each other as he chewed and swallowed.

"It's just business." Marika thought as she made to appear heading to the toilet, if only to further the deception given the CCTVs at the ceiling corners. Once she was out of sight, she cast a single-action spell that effectively made her invisible to those without any magical resistance. She was still visible she just wouldn't register on their minds. "Just as it's your job to lead your country as best you can and improve the lives of your people, well my job here and now is to kill you. I'm sorry."

Unhindered, Marika walked up to the man, who was cheerfully chatting with the other occupants of the head table. "I really did think you were a great man in your own way." She thought before she sighed, and leaned in up close to the man's ear.

"Die." She whispered the command, her prana slipping into his body and stopping his heart in an instant.

Domingo de la Cavalleria abruptly sat up, clutching at a piercing pain that suddenly erupted at his chest. For several long moments, he struggled to keep composed, ignoring the concerned words of his table companions and even the touch of his wife, and then with a gasp of pain keeled over backwards.

Marika seemingly returned from the toilet, again registering on ungifted minds, a faux expression of shock and horror on her face as she heard the screams and wails and saw the grief and despair of the president's friends, allies, and loved ones at his death. An expert at criminal profiling would probably see through it, though not easily: she regretted that he had to die, and she had to be the one to do it, and that regret gave it an air of truth.

I'm so sorry. But I had to do what I had to do.

"Our accounts have been updated." Elsa said, closing the laptop as Marika finished taking off her dress before slipping on a white sleeveless top. "That's two hundred and fifty thousand US Dollars divided between us, my lady."

"Dirty money," Marika said in disgust, lying down on her bed wearing only a sleeveless top over her strapless bra and panties. She folded her arms behind her head and closed her eyes. "Those gold and copper mines had better be worth sending this country back to hell. And no doubt those Americans will butt in again, like they tend to do in any nation that goes up in flames, mark my words."

"My lady…"

Marika silently raised a hand, and folding back all but one finger pressed it against her hair. There was a flicker of prana, and the blonde coloring crumbled to dust to reveal the dark shade of brown her hair naturally was. Eyes opened, and fingers swiftly removed contact lenses to reveal a bright shade of blue underneath.

Marika sighed as she sat up, also crumbling her contacts to dust. "I know, I know," she said. "Business like this is what the Edelfelt do, it's been drilled into us ever since we're old enough to think for ourselves. And it's not like hyenas – and there are no hyenas as elegant as we are – are particularly nice animals. They're predators and scavengers. Still…I'd prefer hunting down Dead Apostles or Sealing Designates or even just random or not so random scum to shit like this."

Elsa didn't say anything, just smiling indulgently at her mistress as she brooded on her bed. Finally, Marika sighed, and stood up. "I'm going to take a bath." She said, already grabbing fresh clothes and cosmetic products from her open suitcase. "I want to scrub this dirty feeling off, but more importantly Elsa begin preparing for our departure. Let's use the second set of false identities to muddy the water further."

"Yes, my lady." Elsa said with a bow. "But what of the hotel staff and records?"

"Leave that to me." Marika said. "I'll take care of it, after I finish taking a bath. It'll probably be even more confusing than it already is, but it doesn't matter. Let's muddy the waters so much that no one who has no place doing so can trace this matter to us."

"Very good, my lady." Elsa said with a bow, and Marika walked off to bathe.

I want to go home already.

A/N

My thanks to Wellis, he's been of great help developing the concepts for this fic.

Just one thing, yes, Elsa and Marika are Finnish names. The former is a form of Elizabeth, and the latter is derived from Marie. Google is a wonderful thing, if only authors would actually use it to find genuine names instead of going for the lazy and overused trope of 'So Long as It Sounds Foreign'.