The view from the bandola was spectacular. Otohime had always wondered how the humans managed to climb up and down the Red Line, and the solution was nothing short of genius. The same bubble resin produced on the Saboady Archipelago was harvested to help the platforms raise up into the sky. The resin was reinforced with the coating technology that allowed ships to sail ten thousand meters under the sea, and used in conjunction with a sophisticated pulley system to raise and lower the bandolas. The insides were luxurious, spacious, and climate controlled; perfectly fit for the royalty that often employed them.

As Otohime and Mifune were raised to the Holy Land of Mariejois they were greeted with a grand view of the ocean below. The sun was sinking rapidly in the sky, and the horizon looked like a canvas of burnt orange and inky purple. It was so beautiful Otohime's heart ached at the sight of it. The sheer scale of the surface was beyond compression. She could hardly believe she was going to the top of the world, able to see miles in every direction, but was still only witnessing a tiny portion of the world. Not even the Saboady Archipelago was visible as they disappeared into the mist and cloud, and it was near enough that the threat of a marine admiral was enough to keep the pirates there in line as they sought passage into the New World.

And yet the natural splendor was tarnished by the knowledge Mifune was a slave. After dropping the surprising revelation he had made a point to answer Otohime's questions with as few words as possible while still maintaining the minimum standard for politeness. More than once Otohime caught him glancing warily at the men working the bandola.

The last thing Otohime wanted was to put Mifune in danger, and eventually she fell silent, pensively gazing out at the open sea. The world looked so different here, as if the ocean were a single pane of unbroken glass. The simple change in perspective made the waves all-but-invisible, hiding the dangers of the sea in a sparkling vista.

There was a lesson in that somewhere, but Otohime was too tired to tease it out.

The air grew cooler as they rose, and Otohime's headache worsened. Without thinking she rubbed her forehead, trying to force the discomfort away so she could concentrate.

"The air is thinner here, Your Highness," Mifune said without turning to look at her. Was there anything he didn't notice? "Your body will adjust with time."

Just as they reached the lowest hanging clouds the bandola slowed to a stop where a stairway had been carved directly into the Red Line. Mifune led Otohime to a waiting group of armored guards and said, "A moment, please. I must notify the castle of our impending arrival."

As he stepped away to make a call on the den-den mushi Otohime stared wondrously at the path that would lead to her country's future. The red stone steps were worn from countless feet that had made the journey before her. Hidden in the walls of the Red Line were enormous statues of the founding kings, each at least one hundred meters tall.

These were men who made themselves giants, Otohime mused, craning her head trying to see their cloaked faces in the swirling mist. Rising in the distance were the crenulated walls that surrounded the city of Mariejois. Or gods.

"This way, Your Highness," Mifune said. A troubled frown deepened the craggy lines of his face as he tucked the den-den mushi into his uniform pocket, gone just as quickly as it appeared.

Up the stairs they went, through the gates of the city and into the sprawling expanse that was Mariejois. A wide cobbled path led to yet another gate, framed on either side by a carpet of green grass and stretches of forest. A brook bubbled contentedly as it cut through the idyllic countryside, completing the picturesque beauty on the outskirts of the city.

Tentatively Otohime moved from the path onto the grass. It was as soft as a feather bed beneath her fins, yielding under her weight to cool earth. Oh, it was so wonderful! Otohime had dreamed of this day for as long as she could remember, and she could scarcely believe she wasn't dreaming now.

"Your Highness?" Mifune said quizzically.

"Forgive my indulgence," Otohime said before returning to the armored knights. One handed her a balancing stick and brusquely explained the concept of the travellator. Intrigued by the notion of a sidewalk that moved itself, Otohime took the stick and stepped back on to the cobbled path.

Only for her dream to turn into a nightmare.

Otohime's stomach churned, summersaulting in her belly as wave after wave of nausea ripped through her. Something foul was rotting beneath their feet. It stank of death and misery, of pain and degradation…

"Your Highness?"

Otohime looked up at Mifune, her eyes wild. Did he know what was happening underground? Could he hear the Voices, or feel their hellish existence just below them?

Did he know they were standing on a graveyard?

"Just my head," Otohime said weakly. "Perhaps the air is affecting me more than I thought."

"All the more reason to get you settled," Mifune replied. He nodded to the knights, and by some unspoken cue the travellator lurched forward.

That only made the Voices louder, and it took every ounce of Otohime's strength not to throw up.

Otohime suffered through the short journey to the Pangea Castle. She was no longer in the mood for sightseeing and allowed herself to be taken through the Mingling Plaza and front gate with minimal distraction. The castle was built for use during the Reverie, and was scaled to match. It easily dwarfed her own Ryuugu Palace, but in a moment of nationalism Otohime decided she preferred the chaotic splendor of Fishman Island to the impeccable structure of Mariejois, which upon first glance seemed to be made entirely of straight lines and angles.

The knights stayed behind as they entered the castle proper, once again leaving Otohime alone with Mifune. The hairs on the back of Otohime's neck prickled as she felt the presence of a dozen security snails—some out in the open, and others hidden. Muscled men in dark suits and guns on their hips were strategically placed, hawkish gaze trained on servants wearing red uniforms identical to Mifune.

Red for slaves, black for free men, with the Celestial Dragons watching over both. And, of course, her. With two years until the next Reverie the Pangea Castle was largely empty, and if the thickening tension was anything to go by all the extra attention was going to her.

Mifune led her up a winding staircase with intricate wrought iron lattice work. The hallways were polished marble with plush carpets deadening the sound as they walked. Decorating the white walls were portraits of various Celestial Dragons, each framed with gold.

Up and up they went, to the highest floor of the castle. Otohime could think of no other reason other than pettiness to put her in such an inconvenient location with so many open rooms available. Finally Mifune stopped at a door made of dark, heavy wood, carved with rose thorns and the Hoof of the Soaring Dragon. He produced a key and said,

"Welcome to the Rose Suite, Your Highness. You will be staying here for the duration of your stay."

The door swung open, revealing a girl standing at rigid attention. She wore the bright red uniform of a slave and a petrified expression, and at the sight of her Mifune's ironclad composure cracked.

"Jean, what are you doing here? I asked for Ami or Francis."

The girl shrugged, seemingly unaffected by his glower. "Higher ups said I was to come up, so I came up. Was just doing what I was told."

Curious brown eyes flickered to Otohime for a moment, before finding an interesting spot on the floor to stare at. Otohime wasn't the best at judging human age, but she guessed the girl to be between twelve and fourteen years old, with gangling arms and a rather plain face that had not lost the roundness of childhood. Coarse brown hair was cropped in a severe and unflattering haircut, just barely reaching the length of her jaw. A light dusting of freckles were sprinkled over the bridge of her nose, shifting as she wrinkled her nose in an unhappy expression.

"You were chosen?" Mifune said incredulously.

"D'you think I'd be up here otherwise?" Jean snapped. Then remembering her manners she bowed clumsily at Otohime. "Begging your pardon, Highness. I've been asked to look after you, with it being your first time on Mariejois and all that. She gestured vaguely behind her, were three large bags were sitting. "Your stuff's already been brought up. I took the liberty of puttin' stuff away for you."

And searching to make sure I didn't bring anything dangerous, Otohime thought wryly. "Thank you, Jean. I'm sure we'll get along swimmingly."

Mifune looked helplessly between Jean and Otohime, but whoever had assigned the girl to the queen obviously had more authority than he did. Clenching his hands into fists, he forced a more neutral expression.

"Very well. I will leave you two to get settled. If there is anything you need, Your Highness, anything at all, don't hesitate to let me know. Ask any of the servants, they'll know where to find me."

"A moment please," Otohime said as he turned to leave. "I must speak with the Celestial Dragons as soon as possible. Do you know how I could go about arranging a meeting?"

Mifune went very still while Jean's eyes bulged. There was an awkward silence. "I'll inform the correct channels, Your Highness," Mifune said.

"How long will that take?" Otohime asked.

"I will inform my superiors posthaste. Beyond that…I don't know. I'm sorry. I can't say anything more."

Realizing that was the best she would get for now, Otohime inclined her head. "Thank you, Mr. Mifune. I appreciate all you've done."

Perhaps he was simply getting easier for her to read, but Otohime could see how her words disarmed him. "I, er. You're Welcome, Your Highness. Good night."

Mifune quietly stepped out of the suite, shutting the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, Otohime turned and looked at her surroundings.

To the Celestial Dragons credit, it was a room fit for a queen. A four poster bed with rich velvet curtains was nestled on the back wall. At the foot of the bed was a claw-foot chaise lounge sofa, perfect for reclining, while at the other side of the room was a small table and chairs where Otohime could receive visitors. A large silk tapestry blazoned with the symbol of the World Government hung proudly over a fireplace, unlit in the summer heat, and on the south wall was an enormous window that spanned nearly a third of the suite.

There was a crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, roses expertly carved into the stucco moldings, and a mahogany desk so large two people could use it at a time with plenty of room to spare. Otohime was overwhelmed and awed, but there was a part of her that held back. She couldn't fully appreciate the opulence of her lodging while the Voices of countless slaves swirled through Pangea Castle.

"Your Highness?" Jean ventured as Otohime tried to take in the events that had transpired thus far.

"Yes, Jean?"

"It's a little bit late for you to go with everyone else in the banquet hall, but I could bring you up some food if you want."

Otohime looked down at the girl. "There are other people here?"

She bobbed her head. "Yes'm. Some people have ambassadors that stay year round for politicking. Sometimes kings and queens come even when it's not the Reverie because something's happened in their country. Kinda like you, I suppose."

"Interesting," Otohime murmured before sweeping toward the walk in closet where Jean had—incorrectly—hung up the clothes she brought for the journey. The girl followed like a second shadow, prickling with anxiety as Otohime absentmindedly corrected the mistake. "To be honest, I'm not all that hungry. Perhaps in the morning I'll feel up to joining the other dignitaries. Do you know what time breakfast is, dear?"

"Uh, between eight and ten. Your Highness," she added belatedly.

"Don't worry, I don't care much for formalities. You may call me Queen Otohime if you'd like." Otohime turned toward Jean, feeling an instinctual wariness rising within her. "Although I would appreciate it if you informed the kitchens that mermaids eat a vegetarian diet."

"So it's true," Jean breathed, eyes widening. "You're from Fishman Island!"

Curiosity, it seemed, wasn't something Mariejois had beaten out of her yet. Her gaze dropped to the hem of Otohime's kimono, as if she could see her fins if she stared hard enough. "I had friends who swore they saw mermaids at the archipelago, but I never did."

"You're from Saboady?" Otohime asked.

"Grove Twenty-Two, born and bred," she said proudly. She opened her mouth to say more, but caught herself. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"

Otohime rested her hands on Jean's shoulders, feeling how they tensed under the gentle touch. "Don't apologize. I'm not angry."

The breath Jean had been holding left her like a deflating balloon. Confusion replaced panic.

"Oh."

"I take it this isn't your normal job?" Otohime asked sympathetically. Jean shook her head.

"And I take it your job is to follow me around and make sure I don't cause any trouble?"

There was a heartbeat of hesitation, then a nod.

"That was a cruel thing to ask of someone unused to such tasks," Otohime said quietly. She moved to leave the closet, but before she did plucked a small den-den mushi off of the wall.

Jean followed Otohime as they returned to the main room of the suite, and then watched as Otohime made a circuit of the room and removed each of the surveillance snails—including one fiendishly hidden in the linen closet of the lavatory. Otohime set all of them, seven in total, in a neat row.

"I want these gone," Otohime said, brooking no room for compromise. "In this room, at least, I will have some semblance of the privacy afforded to other guests."

Jean swallowed hard. "Yes, Your Highness."

Softening her tone, Otohime said, "You can tell your…superiors…that I have come on a mission of peace. All I ask in return is to be treated as a person."

"Yes, Your Highness," Jean said, and at that moment she looked very young. Too young to carry the burden of living as a slave, and too young to carry out the orders she had been given. How many other royals would have tolerated being assigned an untrained slave to follow them around like a lost guppy?

"Perhaps tomorrow we could get to know one another better, but right now I am very tired," Otohime said. "I will be ready for breakfast around eight o'clock."

Jean bobbed her head, recognizing the clear dismissal. "If you need anything in the night you can ring the bell."

She gathered up the snails and melted out of the room. If nothing else Jean was quiet. As soon as she was gone Otohime slumped into bed and massaged her aching head. She stayed that way for several long moments, before gathering her energy once more to get changed for bed.

It took a more time than she would have liked to find the gown she used to sleep in. Fatigue was seeping into her bones as she shuffled into the lavatory for her nightly toilette.

Any other day Otohime would have found the sea-shell sink amusing, but today she could only be annoyed by the fact that her toothbrush as not in the appropriate holder. Nor was it behind the mirror or in her bag. After spending a fruitless and frustrating fifteen minutes searching Otohime was forced to conclude it wasn't in the Rose Suite at all.

Also missing was a small compact mirror and a set of pearl earrings. Any one of the missing items could have been explained as being left behind in the rush to pack, but together…

Otohime had neither the energy nor desire to think about why someone would have stolen her toothbrush. She finished the rest of her nightly routine and returned to the main room of the suite in time to see the sun setting over the horizon. From the top story her view over the city was unparalleled, and she smiled at the sight of the skyline awash with golden light.

Otohime focused on the setting sun rather than the finger-shaped bruises on her arms, or her near brush with captivity, or the agonized Voices hidden in the tunnels she was sure existed under Mariejois. Unwilling to miss the last vestiges of sunlight, Otohime kept the curtains parted as she slid into bed. Despite all that had happened it wasn't long before she fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.

And so ended Otohime's first day on the surface, not with an enthusiastic rallying cry for the betterment of Fishman Island, but with an exhausted woman unsure of the road that lay ahead.