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Esmeray can’t put a name to what’s happening to her. Her entire life she’s believed that she’s a good person. As of lately, that isn’t the case anymore. Not when she’s drowned in blood ten times over. So much death just the past few days. She’s no longer innocent, and she can’t imagine a world where she ever was.
You think that would be what she’s thinking about; the massacre she caused, the accident, as it was. But it isn’t. Somehow, for a reason only the gods themselves could possibly know, she can’t stop thinking about him.
She must hate him, she really must. Or she hates herself. She saw him in the mess hall and her first thought was to turn around. Her second thought was how she was glad she found him, even if he wasn’t who she was looking for. Her third thought wasn’t much of a thought, it was just something. More of a concept, or something akin to an emotion, but not necessarily something that she could name. Anger, maybe? Relief? Broken pride? Longing? No. No, not that. It can’t be that, it can’t ever be that. She still can’t figure it out, even after hours of mulling it over.
Her heart beat seemed to go still for the first second she saw him. But that happens every time. She doesn’t understand it, she doesn’t even really trust him. Which was a major concern that she brought up as much as possible as they talked. She laid everything out on the table, she was sure not to leave a single detail out.
He knew her brother. She feels only disappointed about that. She’s not surprised, she doesn’t have the strength to feel angry or sad. She can only feel disappointed, and everything else is just numb. She should still be yelling, screaming, clawing at him. It hurt. And shouldn’t he feel that hurt too? Shouldn’t he know the agony of one simple truth? Her nails could do the trick, or a dagger, or maybe a spell. She was awfully good at hurting things, she thought, for someone trying to be a healer. Scylla was better at it anyway. Esmeray liked it like that, knowing there was someone else there in case she failed. Rhirric would probably hate that.
That was the only thing that mattered, really, that’s what she was trying to think about as she shut her light off and laid down. But thinking of her brother had her thoughts drifting back to the stupidly charming elf. Their meeting probably wasn’t an accident, even if he’s still insisting he hasn’t spoken to Rhirric. Nothing was an accident anymore, it would seem.
He didn’t react when she told him about the explosion or the people she’d killed. He needed to process, which was understandable. It was just about the only understandable thing he’s ever said or done.
Romantic gestures, pretty words, and speeding heart aside, he is still just a man. A man hiding something. A man hiding many somethings. His age, his life before they met. He made it clear he was of noble blood, but he never liked to get specific about anything. He wasn’t the fairytale he’s trying to make himself out to be, that was for certain. He’s not the hero of one of her novels. He’s not Prince Charming, he’s not going to save her from anything.
Although, he was definitely going to try. That might be worth something.
You should know me better than that by now.
He smiled when he said it. The bastard. He sounded so kind, so certain he could defend her, that she did nothing wrong. She doesn’t know anything anymore. She doesn’t know what she’s feeling, she doesn’t know why she’s thinking about him and his lying words and his deceiving blue-glass eyes. She doesn’t know why he let her drag him into danger today. She doesn’t know if Sunshine made it back to the school, or if Scylla actually knows how to drive that boat, or if Zorro and the queen and that woman will be okay. She shouldn’t have left Scylla alone. She should have had Brick go with them. Crackle would have been okay with just The Captain.
She cycles through her mistakes of the day, she thinks of her friends in earnest. She thinks of her bed at home, as she does every night. She turns to face the ruby she left on her bedside table, thinking about how when she goes back home she’ll have accomplished nothing. Her hands are soaked in blood, she has no influence over anything or anyone, and she’s as unmarried as ever. She’s unfit to lead anything, much less her friends. Much less her family.
“You know Mother supports your little adventure, but soon her patience will wane, and when it does, I will have no envy for you.”
Rhirric’s written words make their way into her head, stinging her heart again. Stupid, stupid Rhirric. The spying, conniving man. A toddler could figure out he was watching her somehow, based on the contents of his letters alone. Her stupid brother. And his stupid sister, who had not seen it before. Of course meeting with that elf again and again wasn't a coincidence. Of course Rhirric would be in control of the first real friend she’s ever had. And of course her friend would say it wasn’t her brother that made him want to speak to her.
So why does he follow her still? Why is he insistent on turning up wherever she stops to rest? What does he want? What does he see in her? Why does he talk the way he does? Why does he know exactly what to say all the time? There's always a refute or a comment or something to trip her up.
Esmeray Daaring does not blush. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her breathing does not stop for anyone. She’s completely untouchable. She’s happily untouchable. Yet right now she feels like she needs to be held. Which was silly. She likes being alone. She’s content to read about the fictional joys of companionship, she never needs the real thing. One day she’ll marry for the benefit of her family, to have heirs and carry on the name. And she dies a little whenever she thinks of it. She’s happily untouchable, after all. She doesn’t need love, as much as she might long for it on nights like this, and she certainly doesn’t need the void version of it she’ll be pushed into.
What does he even fight for?
It’s a sobering thought that sneaks up on her. She finally comes back to herself at that, the single thought of him pulling her from her spiral. She blinks a few times, trying to regain focus, and sees herself in the reflection of the ruby. She’ was crying, and she hasn’t even noticed. The red stone is shiny. It’s bigger than any other stone she’s ever held.
It’s unnatural.
Which is more a ridiculous thought then it is a sobering one. She picks up the stone, clutching it to her chest as she lays. She misses home. She doesn’t ever want to go back, but she misses it. This is all she has to cling to, this shiny red hunk of rock is all she has to keep her tethered to home.
Sometimes she imagines there’s someone staring back at her when she looks into it. A shinier, better version of herself. One that can carry her family and hold her friends. One who’s not drowning in the blood of people far more deserving of life. One who can put a name to what she’s feeling. One who doesn’t stop crying at the thought of one simple, lying man.
The thoughts don’t stop coming, not as she drifts into her sleep-like state, not after four hours have passed and she feels her magic strong again. Not after she gets up and puts her robe on and wanders the halls. It’s quiet. It’s so, so quiet as she walks.
She passes by Rolf’s office, she doesn’t know how she ended up near it, and she feels sad. She didn’t know him, didn’t like him much, but she will mourn him all the same.
She’s hoping to see something or someone as she walks. She must walk. It’s all she can do right now. It’s the dead of night, there’s half a city of refugees sleeping in this school, hundreds, maybe thousands are dead, her friend was kidnapped and one is sleeping in the woods and another killed a man with her bare hands. And Esmeray still can’t put a name to what she’s feeling. But as she’s walking, she can’t help but imagine someone walking with her.
She imagines she is smaller, and her brother is by her side as they rush to dinner, and she hasn’t killed 214 people.
She imagines that she’s innocent.