Chapter Seventeen

On the journey back to Laconia, Rune tries to cheer me up. He tries to get me talking about my old life and the things I miss. I answer him, but I'm not really there in every conversation. I don't want to talk about school or my dad or how much my life changed when he died. I sure as shit don't want to talk about how bad things got for a while.

The foster care system isn't great. Let's leave it at that.

I know he's only trying to get my mind off what I did to Gladus—and sometimes it works. Other times, when I'm lying there at night, waiting to fall asleep, I can't help but think back to the fight and everything she said.

Also, my dreams… they're getting weirder. Stranger. I wake in the morning with a rapidly-beating heart and sweat on my hairline, clammy palms; the works. But the strangest thing is, once I convince myself I'm awake, the dreams get fuzzy, like their memory is once again fleeting and temporary.

Maybe the guilt over killing someone is heavier than I thought it'd be.

Regardless, I've never been more happy than I am when I see Laconia in the distance. It's not home to me, but at least it's a safe haven from the wilderness. Odd thing, though—on my way back to Laconia, I didn't encounter anything. No afflicted animals or shadowstorms. It's almost like, with Gladus gone, the land is trying to heal itself.

Yet another reason why some people would push me to go straight to Magnysia to take care of that empress, and then to Acadia to deal with the emperor. But it's not my problem. I only went to Pylos to confront Gladus because of what her soldiers did in the marketplace.

I did it for Prim.

God, I hope that girl's okay. I hope Frederick took good care of her and they had enough medicine in the upper district to fix her up.

It's near midday when I arrive at the northern gate, and the guards have the doors open by the time I walk up. I get a lot of looks when I walk through the small fields where the inhabitants of the city make use of what little farming they can. They whisper amongst themselves, much like they did when I was first hauled into the city in chains.

Man, that feels like ages ago. Years. But in reality, it hasn't been that long. This world, its people, its magic; they're all still new to me.

I make it to the marketplace to see they cleaned up the area while I was gone. Stalls are haphazardly put back together. People come and go, buying or trading for what they need. It looks like just another day in Laconia. It's hard to imagine the destruction those two soldiers created, the chaos, blood, and whispers of death they brought with them.

A small boy runs up to me, covered in dirt, his hair knotted. He can't be more than seven or eight years old, all skin and bones. "Rey!" He says my name, apparently knowing it, and then he grabs my hand and starts to pull me along.

I don't know who he is, but I can guess who he's bringing me to. Though I should go up and try to see Kretia and the others in the conclave, there's someone else I want to see, first.

The boy pulls me through the markets, to a set of stairs that lead down into the slums. Past the homes built of stone, he brings me to the newer shacks, where the refugees from all over Laconia now live, crammed together in such tiny spaces. He brings me to Frederick's house, and the boy doesn't even knock. He goes in and brings me with him.

Frederick is busy measuring out some bluish liquid when we walk in, and he nearly drops the glass tube in alarm. "What—" His brown eyes fixate on me, not the boy holding onto my hand, and his shock at our sudden presence fades. "Rey, you're back." He gives me a smile, but it's strained. "Thank you, Kelah."

The boy nods, releases my hand, and skips out the door, leaving me alone with Frederick. This time he doesn't have any grease smears on his skin, so there's that.

Frederick carefully sets the glass tubes down, wipes his hands on his trousers, and moves around the table to stand before me. As he does so, he studies me hard, like he's looking for cracks or tears. "I was worried you wouldn't come back," he whispers. "When you went off, I didn't get a chance to… I wasn't able to say goodbye. It, uh… it bothered me more than I would've liked."

I don't really know what that's supposed to mean, so I don't say anything.

He takes a step toward me as he adds, "I'm glad you're unharmed." Suddenly I'm keenly aware of the fact that he's less than a foot in front of me. A little bit too close, and the emphasis on his words make him sound way too serious.

Like he really means it or something, which is dumb, since he lied to me and can't help me get home. Still haven't forgotten about that.

"Did you—" Frederick swallows hard, his amber gaze boring into me as if he's trying to peer into my soul. "What I mean to ask is, did you succeed? Is Empress Gladus still a threat to Laconia?" Is she dead, in other words.

I reach into my satchel and pull out the metal hilt. After setting it on the table, I ask, "Where is Prim?"

Frederick is now focused on the hilt. He reaches for it but stops short of touching it. "Oh, my. This is the Hilt of Storms. It's said to have been passed from empress to empress throughout the ages. It is Pylos's most famous and treasured—"

I don't care about any of that. "Where is Prim?" When I ask it a second time, I say it a bit louder, and that causes Frederick to refocus on me.

"Of course," he whispers. "I'll bring you to her." He offers me his hand, like we have to walk there hand-in-hand. We don't, so I don't get why he does it, why he looks at me so pleadingly with that outstretched hand.

I'm not happy with the man, and I don't need to be led like a child through this city, but it doesn't look like he's going to take no for an answer. Or maybe I'm just tired from the journey and don't want to fight more. Either way, after I pick up the hilt and stuff it back in my bag, I give him my hand.

It's different than having a little boy lead you around. Frederick's hand is man-sized, and just the warm feeling of it around my hand reminds me of things I'm missing that I didn't even know I'm missing.

Is being touch-starved a thing? Because after being alone for so long, with no one but Rune as company, it's kind of nice, even if I am still pissed off at the man for lying to me.

Frederick brings me through the slums, through the marketplace, to an area of Laconia I haven't seen yet. Another field—this one with what animals they could save and bring with them. Chickens, goats, sheep; I spot a few cows in the distance, though they're skinnier than they should be.

"What is this?" I ask, wondering if Prim is playing with the animals or something.

Frederick doesn't answer. He pulls me past a man that looks like a farmer, and we walk onto the fields past the goats. That's when it dawns on me: this isn't just a field.

It's a cemetery.

It's a goddamned cemetery, and Frederick is leading me over old graves.

Even though I know what this means, it doesn't really hit me until we're on the far end of the field, where the graves have no headstones. It doesn't hit me until we're standing before a small mound of dirt that's fresher and more recently-disturbed than the grassy area around it.

"I'm sorry," Frederick whispers as he squeezes my hand. "We did what we could, but she lost too much blood. She wasn't strong enough to… I'm sorry."

The words hit me like a wall, and I sway on my feet, unsteady. I knew. I had the feeling when Frederick didn't respond the first time I asked, the look he gave me when I walked through his door with that other boy. I knew, and yet I was still unprepared to hear it.

Frederick releases my hand as he reaches for something in his pants' pocket. He pulls out a dirty ribbon and offers it to me. "She wanted you to have this," he tells me, "and she wanted you to know that she believes in you. You… were her empress."

I stare at the ribbon in his hand, the same red ribbon she wore in her hair the day she got hurt, but when he says that last bit, I can't. I just can't. I sink to my knees before her unmarked grave and close my eyes. The weight of what I did to Gladus is nothing compared to what I feel now.

If anyone should've had a better life, it was Prim.

I'm not one who cries, not anymore. I cried out a life's worth of tears when my dad died and I was faced with a new life in the system. I told myself I'd never cry again, and up until today, I kept that promise to myself.

Even with them squeezed shut, tears escape their confines in the corners of my eyes. The water falls down my face, following the curve of my cheeks until they reach my chin, where they then fall to the dirt below.

It hurts. Fuck. It hurts so bad.

Frederick drops to his knees beside me, and before I can push him away, he reaches for me. Without saying a word, he pulls me into him and wraps his arms around me. I don't want him to. I don't. I'm still mad at him for leading me on, but the emotions inside me are too strong. I can't push him away because I hurt too much inside.

"I couldn't save her," I whisper against his chest.

"Sometimes things happen and there's nothing we can do to stop them."

Though his words are meant to be comforting, they're simply not true. If I would've agreed to the Emperor's plan, I would've gone to Pylos and Magnysia and taken care of the other empresses right away. This never would've happened if I would've just swallowed my pride and helped the asshole on the throne of Acadia.

Prim might still be alive if I would've made different choices.

Frederick tries to soothe me, to comfort me by saying, "You gave her hope in her final hours. It's more than any of us could've done. She died knowing you would make things better for us all."

I try to push him away, but his arms are locked around me, so all I end up doing is lifting my face off his chest and glaring at him. Through tears, with semi-puffy eyes; I'm sure I look menacing.

Not.

"Make things better?" I echo, my voice cracking. "How can I make things better? I'm not supposed to be here! This isn't my world! You're not my people! I have a life somewhere else, responsibilities that don't include saving Laconia from the woes and their own damned empresses!"

Frederick doesn't say anything to that, but he does stare at me like he knows what I'm about to say next.

"I'm just a normal girl. I'm not an empress. I'm not the chosen one who's come to save everyone from their problems. I can't even save myself from my own fuck-ups, so why the hell should I be expected to save all of you?"

Frederick drops his arms from my back, and he doesn't say anything as he holds Prim's ribbon between us. My watery gaze drops to it, and still I don't take it.

His other hand lifts, and he wipes away some of my tears with the gentlest touch I think I've ever felt in my life. "Sometimes," he whispers, "we aren't given a choice. Sometimes there is no other way. We face what our destinies throw at us, and we do what we can. I'll be the first to admit that I was skeptical. I didn't believe in you or that you could truly survive outside the walls. I thought you were out of your mind when I first heard about you."

If he's trying to make me feel better, he's going to fail.

He wipes the wetness from my other cheek before continuing, "I didn't really think you'd be able to follow my father's path, that you'd bring back anything from him, but you did. Not only that, but you came back with news from Acadia, news none of us in Laconia expected. You defeated Gladus's soldiers, and then you went off to defeat her. You brought back the Hilt of Storms, Rey. Do you know why that hilt is so special?"

I shake my head. My eyes are still watery, but no fresh tears have fallen since Frederick started his speech.

"It is said it has been passed between Pylos's empresses for centuries. It's never been lost. The only people who can use it are Pylos's empresses." He pauses, and the intensity of what he's saying is undeniable. "I never, not once in my life, thought I'd lay eyes on the Hilt of Storms. Only empresses of Pylos can handle that hilt."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you defeated Gladus. You brought the hilt with you. By all accounts the first should've been impossible, but the second feat? Rey, only empresses can even touch the Hilt of Storms."

"No," I mutter as I shake my head. "No, no—"

"Yes," Frederick says, still holding onto the ribbon between us. "It is undeniable proof of what you are. You may not want to be, but you are an empress. Prim was right. You've come to save us all, and there is no doubt in my mind that you will."

I open my mouth to tell him off, but no words come out. He has to be wrong. He has to be. I'm not an empress. I'm just me. I'm a nobody and I'll always be a nobody. I've never been one of those people who dream of bigger and better things; I'm a realist. I know what my future will be. I've always known.

To try to prove him wrong, I reach into my bag and start to pull out the hilt. My plan is to offer it to Frederick and show him that he can in fact pick it up, but Frederick stops me by grabbing my hand and putting Prim's ribbon in it.

As he folds my fingers over the ribbon, he says, "Stay here with her. Say your goodbyes. I'll go to the conclave and let them know you've returned and you have proof of your deeds and who you are. Meet me up there when you're ready." He gives me a lingering look before standing and walking away, and I'm left to reckon with everything he just said.

An empress. Me? No fucking way. He's on crack. There's no goddamned way I'm one of their special empresses. It's just not possible.

I make sure he's long gone and I'm alone in this section of the field before sitting on my ass before Prim's grave. I hold her ribbon in my hand so tightly my knuckles turn white. The girl should have a headstone, but resources in Laconia are scarce. They probably stopped doing headstones when they could no longer go outside the main walls.

Hmm. Maybe I could go out and bring back some stone to use?

I don't talk to Prim. I used to talk to my dad, get really in-depth beyond the whole I-miss-you stuff, but… it's been years and I know the dead can't hear me. So instead I talk to Rune: "Did you hear what Frederick said?"

"I did," Rune says, the tattoo on my arm lighting up as he comes to life. "What are your thoughts on it?"

A sigh leaves me, explosive in its design. "I don't think I'm an empress."

Rune doesn't address that. He brings up Prim. "I'm sorry about the girl. She seemed to adore you." His words, meant to be comforting, aren't as powerful as they should be, since he's not here. It's like I'm talking to myself and not another person.

"Do not let this destroy you," Rune says. "There is still much to be done, whether you want to admit it or not. You can make Prim's memory proud by making sure no empresses can ever set foot in Laconia again—other than you, of course."

When I shake my head this time, it's a half-hearted gesture. "I'm no empress, Rune, and I don't know if I want to do any of that. I think I've had my fill of death."

"Well, the least you could do is return to Acadia then and meet with the Emperor. Perhaps the threads of magic holding him in place are weak enough for you to break on your own, now that you have Gladus's power."

"Maybe."

I sit there for a while longer, staring at Prim's grave and wishing everything was different. That she had a normal childhood, a happy one, one with parents who loved her. That I wasn't here, stuck in a place that isn't home, with everyone thinking I'm something I'm not.

I don't know how much time passes before I get up. As I dust off my backside, I tell Prim even though I know she can't hear me, "I'm sorry. I wish I could've done better for you." If there was anyone in this forsaken city I would've wanted to help, it was that girl.

And now she's dead. She's dead and all I have left of her is her ribbon.

It takes a bit of finagling, but I manage to tie the ribbon onto my left wrist for safekeeping. At least the ribbon will serve as a reminder of what's been lost here. Anytime I look at it, I'll remember Prim and those hopeful hazel eyes, her wild, curly dark hair, and the rambunctious aura that seemed to follow her wherever she went.

Before I walk away, I swear to myself Prim is the only one I'll lose.