Chapter Seventeen

If this is what death feels like, it's warm. A lot warmer than I thought. Then again, I never really put much thought into what death would feel like. Not big into the whole religion thing. If that's your jam, cool, but for me? I had other things to focus on, like trying to do everything right and put myself on a better path.

It's funny in a depressing way. I mean, look at where I ended up. All of that trying… all of that business, the constant work-school-sleep schedule on repeat for the last few years; it got me nothing. Only a shortcut to an early grave.

If this is what the afterlife is, then I don't know what the big deal is. Yes, it's nice and warm, but it's also very bright. Like, white everywhere.

Something hard brushes up against my face, and I try to reach up to see what it is, but I can't move. Are my eyes even open? Honestly, the possibility that I'm not dead doesn't occur to me until right then, when I fight to open my eyes.

Never before has there been a more difficult struggle than me opening my eyes, but when I do—when I see where I am and what's happening, I figure I must be dead. No way in hell is this happening.

That hard thing that brushed against my face? Invictis's metal chest. The warmth I feel in every part of my body? Invictis's. The blinding white that engulfed me when my eyes were closed? Yep, you guessed it: Invictis's.

All I can see, all I can feel; it's all Invictis. My face leans against his chest, my body weighing what must be nothing in his arms. We travel so fast light blurs around us, and all I can see is his golden frame and the six wings spread behind him. We're in the sky, I think.

This can't be right.

I try to say something, try to move, but my mouth is dry and my muscles refuse to work. If I'm dead, then this has to be some kind of weird dream. And if I'm not dead, then… then I don't know what this is.

If I'm not dead, it means he didn't kill me, but why? Why not? Isn't that what he wants? No more empresses. No one to stand in his way of total annihilation. Why wouldn't he just kill me and get it over with? I don't understand and I'm too weak to ask.

Mmm. Maybe he's taking me to Laconia so everyone can watch as he kills me. I wouldn't put something like that past him with everything he's done. Weapon made to destroy entire kingdoms or not, he's done some real shitty things.

Like driving my mom mad and killing her.

I don't know how long it takes me to speak, but it must be a while. When I do speak, I don't sound like myself. My voice is dry and cracked, hoarse like nothing in my body wants to work properly.

And what do I say? Just one word: "Rune."

Invictis hears me. I know he does, because he bends his head down to me, like he's looking at me even though he doesn't have a face. He does not say a single word in response, but we must be close to our destination. The world around us is no longer a blur, and I'm pretty sure I feel him land on the ground. His six wings remain floating behind him, not the kind of wings birds have, that can be tucked tightly against their bodies. These wings are always there, always stretched out, a display of what he is.

I don't know where we are or why we're here. I can't take my eyes off him.

The next thing I know, I'm being set on the ground, his golden figure hunched over, on his knees, to place me there. His movements are slow and deliberate, the opposite of rough. A weapon of destruction should not know how to be gentle.

Even after I'm on the ground, Invictis still leans over me, blocking out anything else I might see. He is all I can see, and even though he no longer touches me, his warmth is all I can feel. He is blinding and beautiful; I can see why it's so easy for him to get inside everyone's heads.

I try to move, but all I can move is the hand that's covered in blood from trying to staunch the wound in my gut. I lift that hand toward his face as I say again, "Rune."

He does not let me. He grabs my hand with his, his large metallic hand able to stop mine easily. "Rune," his deep, monstrous voice whispers, "does not exist."

"He does."

The hand encircling mine, the one that stopped me from reaching for him, tightens. "He does not. He never did. You would do well to realize that, Rey."

I shake my head—or at least I think I do. It's hard; my body still doesn't want to cooperate. It's weak, even though it's so warm now. "But he does," I whisper. "I miss him." Maybe I'm stupid for admitting that, but it's true. I thought I hated him when I had him with me twenty-four-seven, but what they say is true: sometimes you don't know what you have until it's gone.

Although, I think that's normally for relationships and not whatever the hell we were.

Invictis is slow to lower my hand to the ground, and only then does he release it. He does not, however, get up. He stays beside me, his golden body blocking out the world. This is one of those times when I wish he would wear his stolen face, so I could read his expression and try to gauge what he's thinking.

But, alas, since I cannot do that, I muster up the strength to ask, "What is this? Why…" Why didn't you kill me? For some reason, that particular question refuses to be said.

Out of everything he could've said, he tells me the last thing I expect him to say, "I will have you at your best."

Laying there, I try to accept what he said, but it doesn't want to register in my head. He's the reason I'm half-dead now. Why not just finish the job and put an end to this? If he's so confident that his victory is inevitable, then why does it matter if I'm at my best to die?

His golden figure moves over me, his head a foot above mine. His glow is as bright as ever. It feels as though he's studying me, taking me in, but it's hard to be sure when he has no face, no eyes to follow.

I suck in a breath when he brings a golden hand to my face. He runs his fingertips along the side of my face, along my jaw. "One last battle," his unnatural voice murmurs. "One final fight between you and I, Rey. No tricks this time. I want to face you on the battlefield and see how much you've truly learned."

I want to move my head away from his hand, but at the same time, I don't. I hate him so much. I hate everything he's done, all the lies, the killing… what he did to my mom. I hate him on principle.

And still, the hate doesn't feel quite right.

"Ah," I whisper, "I get it. You're giving me one last chance to kick your golden ass."

"I'm giving you one last chance to throw everything you have at me." The gold in his metallic body shimmers above me, the light glowing where his face should be surging enough to make me shut my eyes and turn my face away… right into the palm of the hand near my face.

"Sounds like you almost want me to beat you," I say, slow to open my eyes and look at him again once his light wasn't so blinding.

"Perhaps I've come to…" Invictis pauses, and I swear I see his wide frame shudder. "…enjoy our intertwined destinies." He pulls himself away from me, standing tall above me. His six wings are spread, and without beating them once, he lifts off the ground. "Come to the southern hill outside the city when you are ready, and I will come. We will finish this, you and I."

His massive, golden frame is swallowed by light, and then, in the blink of an eye, he's gone, leaving me alone, wherever the hell I am.

But… wait. He said the southern hill outside the city. Does that mean—I pause that thought and roll my head to the side, and when I see Laconia's outer wall, the large set of doors blocking the dirt road's entrance, I smile.

That asshole brought me back to Laconia all because he couldn't kill me in Magnysia. The empresses and Fred all made it sound like Invictis is a weapon with no thoughts of his own. No emotions, no desires beyond achieving whatever he was assembled for. But that can't be true, not completely. If it was, I'd be dead.

Invictis's warmth still lingers inside me, which is the only reason I try to roll over and get up. I need to make it inside. I need… fuck, I need food, medicine, and rest. I need to give Fred the aethers. As much as I want to give up, I can't.

I have to keep going, keep pushing, because if I don't do it, no one else will.

My head spins when I stand on my own two feet, the world around me swaying like I have a bad case of vertigo. Once I'm steady on my feet and sure I'm not going to fall over, I shuffle my way towards the door one step at a time.

I blink and see double, and I shake my head and try to see straight. Nothing works. I'm still weak. My legs don't want to carry my weight. I lost too much blood. Even my brain isn't quite working right.

The wind whips at me, another obstacle I have to push against. A lot of my hair has fallen out of the ribbon; but not all of it. My trusty bag still sits on my hip, fastened around my shoulder. All in all, I bet I look like shit. Good thing this ain't a beauty pageant.

I'm about fifteen feet away from the doors when I stumble and fall to my knees. I don't catch myself in time, so I fall with a grunt. I try to get back up, but my legs shake too much and I collapse.

Fuck. That asshole couldn't have dropped me off inside the city?

I'm about to try to get up again when I hear shouting. I look up to see a pair of guards opening the doors to the city, and a familiar face rushes out even though the guards try to stop him.

"Frederick," I say his name as he sprints toward me.

"Rey," he whispers my name with urgency as his amber eyes take me in. He spots the blood on me almost instantly, and his face pales. "What happened? How—let's get you inside. Come on."

He's a good eight inches taller than me, but he's not built like a linebacker. He can't pick me up in his arms like Invictis. He moves to my side and wraps an arm around me, beneath my armpits, and helps me to get to my feet. I have to lean on him as we walk, use him like a crutch. It's not the easiest thing in the world.

We make it into the city, just past the doors, when I start to zone in and out. I'm still too lightheaded. It's too much movement with how much blood I lost. And now the warmth I had left over from Invictis is gone, and I'm cold all over again.

"I… I can't—" The last thing I remember before passing out is Frederick turning his body so that I fall into his chest instead of away from him, and then everything is black.