[AW] lord, if I make it through tonight; (dusk meeting)

[Marisol]

this time i'll
follow you all
the way down.

He must have known.

He must have known, when he asked her. The timing was too perfect. 

He must have known that he was going to—die, disappear, fall away from the world. She had hardly been regent for a a fortnight when they went missing. He must have known that he wanted to leave, or that some God was calling for his blood. Must have known that time was closing in on him like a big dark wing. Must have known the day was soon that Terrastella would wake up and find its king and ex-queen gone in a single quiet breath like the whoosh of wind as it rises up from the ocean.

He must have known. And oh, she would hate him for it—for leaving her alone with her teeth and her missing armor and her new title like a noose around her neck—if she didn’t miss him so much already.

When she had woken up to find him gone, her whole body had gone cold. Each nerve turned to perfect ice. The pit of her stomach clenched like a punching fist. The knock she banged against his door had grown louder and louder, until she was sure he could not simply be sleeping, and when she had finally (stiffly) pushed her way into the room, it had been as still and quiet as a grave. Still and quiet in the way of all wrong, dead things. 

Deserted. Silent. The windows closed and the blankets undisturbed. The candles burnt down to stubs. The whole castle was quiet—as if it knew, as if it was holding its breath. No impression of life at all. Not now, not recently. She’d figured, just by looking, that he hadn’t been back since going to explore the island, and that had been… long ago.

Too long ago for any comfort.

And Florentine’s room had been empty too, and Lysander’s, and by the time Marisol came plunging from the door of the castle she could not breathe, could not blink, could not cry. It was barely dawn; the sky was still mostly black, and colored light only just washed over the horizon. Sbe’d been frozen with panic. The world was spinning at ten times the normal speed, and even the cobblestones below her feet were starting to warp with the inertia. Breathe. She could not. Every heartbeat was less subtle and more painful than the last, now almost growing claws. The streets were empty, completely empty, and Marisol would have been thankful for it if she had the capacity to think about anything but he’s gone and I’m alone.

I’m alone I’m alone I’m alone.

The wind had picked up speed. Salt burned in the lining of her nostrils and down into her chest, teeth grew sharp against the inside of her mouth, tears burned hot against her eyelashes and streamed into the curve of her mouth. They were gone, gone, gone, her king, her queen, her best friend, and wherever they had gone, it was a place she could not reach.

Commander and Queen. She sank to her knees, hard against the cobblestone, and was briefly, painfully grateful that no one had come to save her yet. Her forehead came down to rest against one knee. Overhead, the sky had turned to foamy pink.

___

Now, Marisol bears no indication of any of this.

Her eyes are clear, her coat brushed, spear high against her ribs. Hair newly trimmed and chin tilted up as if in a dare. It is a hot, clear day with no semblance of a breeze, and as the Commander stands and raises one wing to call her people to the center of the field, she can hardly find the air to breathe.

Each heartbeat still throbs like a punishment; her head is still dry from so much agonizing. (They had not found her. Ever. By the time she had pulled herself up to her feet, the streets were still empty, the citizens still sleeping. Not a single soul had seen her shed her tears. And thank God for that. It would have been a less-than-subpar start to her rule.) She blinks hard against the streaming sunlight, and her breath rattles in her chest, like it doesn’t quite know where to go.

But when she speaks, it is calm, and cool, and measured. It does not shake at all.

“Asterion is missing,” she starts (with a wince), “As well as Florentine and Lysander. From what I understand, they were last seen on the island, and have not been back since. I…”

Guilt flashes oh-so-briefly in her eyes.

“I have no intention of disrupting the legacy that Athey left for us. Until Asterion returns—“ Her breath catches. “Or in the event that he does not, he has chosen me to stand in his place as sovereign. Everyone else will retain their current positions. I promise on my own blade that I will do everything I can to serve you, my people, and that even in grief we will not be broken. If you have any questions, or any requests, I would hear them now.”

Her throat hurts from the words; she blinks, and only barely manages to keep her lip from trembling.

There is no podium to step down from, no pride to relinquish. She only steps closer to the crowd.

“Speaking.”

credits