I look at Jace. He’s so utterly quiet.
I look at Marrabel. She holds my gaze, but there is a darkness there. No. It’s an emptiness. A freezing of the soul.
“I…” I swallow hard. ‘I’m sorry,’ feels so shallow. How can that possibly make her feel any better? How did I ever think that those two simple words could fix anything at all?
They won’t bring her back.
They won’t relieve the pain.
They’re just heartless words, and Saragese deserves more than that. Marrabel deserves more.
I look back at Richard, pleading with him to help me. I do not know how to deal with such grief. My throat feels like it’s closing as tight as a fist, ready to pull me down into a darkness of despair.
He pulls me into a room. “Fabia,” Richard says as we step inside. Everyone else but her and Jace stays in the hall, guarding the door.
When it shuts behind us, he pulls me into his arms. I cling to him, pressing my cheek against his chest. A mad, little giggle escapes me. I bite my cheek, trying to keep it in. Armoured like they all do.
“Let it out,” he murmurs, and I look up at him.
“You all don’t,” I say through teeth clenched tight to stop the laughter.
“You are not like us.”
“But I want to be.”
“No…” Richard leans down to kiss my lips. “Don’t ever change, Arienna. Raza needs you just how you are.”
“But ithurts.” A little laugh breaks free.
“I know. That is why I’m trying to change it.”
“So you’re going to bring her back? Resurrect her? We can get Deirdre –”
“No,” he cuts in.
“But –”
“So has a DNR,” he says.
“What?” I giggle.
“A Do Not Resurrect. Everyone in the Royal Guard gets the choice of whether they wish to be resurrected, should they be in a condition to be brought back.” He hugs me tighter. “Saragese asked not to be. Raza is not a kind place; she’ll have a better chance at a good life if she’s reincarnated by the gods.”
“But her sister –”
“It is not her choice.”
A burst of laughter rips free. I shake against him. He rubs my back, pushing out even more high-pitched giggles. “It... hurts.” I can’t breathe.
“I know. Keep letting it out.”
I do not know how long he holds me, but I laugh until my cheeks hurt. Until I’m hiccupping against his solid chest, my stomach so tight, it hurts to stand.
“Breathe with me,” he murmurs, the first thing he’s said in a while. I chase the movements of his chest as I try to understand the grief that no one else seems to feel.
I breathe in and out and in again.
“Fabia,” I rasp.
