Chapter Text
It hurt. Everything hurt. A burning, stabbing pain shot through her side like cracks in a pane of glass, but Agnea hadn’t the strength left to scream. The bleeding wouldn’t stop and that stench settled in her lungs like rot. She finally understood why Throné hated it so much. Not so long ago, she sang a favorite lullaby for Throné, and then Throné left to kill the man she called “Father.”
Agnea drifted in and out of consciousness, but she remembered little else. Voices hovered above her, worried and commanding, but although familiar she couldn’t make out any words. Firm yet gentle hands peeled clothing from her wound and applied pressure, and another pair of hands dried sweat from her clammy skin. Warm, gentle magic engulfed her, holding her steady. There was still so much pain, but that same magic also chided her if she tried to let go and slip away into the darkness.
The scent of blood and herbs filled her nose, as if they were trying to overpower the other. She wanted to ask if Throné was unharmed, but couldn’t even force her eyes open. Her entire body burned, and she tried to reach out for the fraying strands of magic.
“If the gods’ magic is good for anything at all, now is the time to prove it,” muttered one voice.
“Stay focused. She needs us,” said another. “We cannot fail, no matter what.”
“The wound is deep and she’s lost a lot of blood.” A third voice spoke firmly, yet cautiously. “However, I’ve managed to starch the bleeding for now, so we must…”
The voices faded away, and Agnea wondered if she began to dream.
She walked upon a stone bridge, the colors of autumn consumed by an unnatural, poisonous violet shadow, a shadow that threatened to consume the stars as well. Before her stood a white-haired man in a long coat, the man Throné called “Father.” She had seen him waiting for Throné, and the bloodlust and despair in his gaze had made her own blood run cold. Throné had bidden her to stay behind and then followed him to the abandoned church. When Throné returned alone, key in hand, her eyes were bloodshot.
He turned to face Agnea, and countless daggers hung from his waist and the inside of his coat. With a lazy yet careful stride he approached her, his gaze fixated on her, and she could do nothing but remain still like a frightened rabbit. He reached out a hand to caress her cheek with false tenderness, and his other hand drew a dagger and held it to her throat. He smiled, a fake, twisted smile, and bent closer to her ear, and whispered something she could not understand.
Blood dripped from his lips, and Agnea’s fingers were clenched painfully around the hilt of the dagger plunged in his chest. Throné had given her this dagger, she remembered. She jerked back, her hands covered in warm blood, and his body fell at her feet, the gaping wound in his chest still bleeding profusely. In the distance dark lightning clashed, like chains striking together.
Behind him stood Throné, whose hands were also covered in blood, and tears stained her face. The collar around her throat tightened, biting into the tender flesh, and blood ran down her chest and pooled into her cleavage. Agnea took a step closer, pressing her fingers to that cruel collar, and traced the path of blood over Throné’s collarbone and toward her breasts. Throné simply watched Agnea, her dark eyes empty, and Agnea bent to press her lips to that exposed skin, and the taste of blood was sharp on her tongue.
Chains shot out from the darkness and seized Throné’s arms, pulling her from Agnea. She tried to reach for Throné, but chains of darkness now bound her legs as well, and she couldn’t move. Throné didn’t struggle as the chains pulled her arms behind her back and forced her to her knees. A hand seized her hair to yank her head forward, and a heavy blade fell, cutting through her neck with a single blow.
Throné’s severed head fell to the ground, and Agnea knelt to take it into her arms. She cradled Throné’s head gently, blood staining her hands and dress, and carefully she pressed her lips to Throné’s; the taste was strangely bitter. Before her Throné’s body had fallen, blood pooling onto the ground as the dark collar remained tight around the bloody stump of her neck. Tears rolled down Agnea’s cheeks as she clutched Throné’s severed head to her chest, and she didn’t know how long she cried before the dark night consumed them both.
Pain shot through her side, and she floated alone in a never-ending void, beyond the night sky. She wanted to be a dancer like her mother, she remembered, a star. She remembered how brightly Dolcinaea had dazzled on that New Delsta stage. She wanted to shine as brightly, singing and dancing, but she could do nothing more. Blood gushed from her side, and now that man was dead, and she didn’t even know his name. But as long as Throné was safe…
“Agnea.”
Something warm touched her forehead, and her eyelids fluttered for a moment. A woman’s silhouette sat beside her, and the gem at her throat caught strands of moonlight. “T-Throné…?” Agnea mumbled, trying to reach out through a feverish haze.
“Rest now.” Throné’s voice sounded so very far away, and warm, calloused fingers curled around Agnea’s. “You’re safe, I promise.”
Agnea tried to speak again, but her mouth felt too dry. A dull ache lingered in her side, and faintly she caught the scent of medical herbs and for a moment thought of Castti. She was safe now, and Throné alive. Maybe all that had happened earlier was a dream.
Throné bent closer to Agnea, and Agnea’s unfocused gaze fell upon her slender throat. “Agnea, I…” she began to say, her voice quiet as night, but Agnea could no longer keep her eyes open, and once more she found herself alone in a fathomless darkness. She tried to reach out for something, anything at all, but the stars remained beyond her grasp.
The next time Agnea opened her eyes, it was to the sight of Mahina’s feathered face, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Mahina!” Ochette scolded from beside Agnea. “Don’t startle Aggie like that!”
Mahina simply hooted indignantly.
“I did not fall asleep while watching over her!”
As Ochette and Mahina argued, Agnea carefully sat up and looked down at herself. She wore a loose nightgown, and this was the inn room she shared with the other women of their traveling group. She touched her side, feeling a tender ache, and her blood ran cold as everything that happened last night came rushing back to her. An unknown man lunging for Throné with a dagger in his hand and hate in his eyes, and Throné had…!
“Agnea,” came Castti’s gentle voice as she touched Agnea’s shoulder and sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you remember what happened last night?”
“A little bit, yeah,” Agnea replied with a nod. “Um, is Throné…?”
“She’s unharmed, and she left earlier to get some more herbs for me,” Castti said. “Now, what about you? How are you feeling?”
Again Agnea touched her injured side. When that dagger had pierced her skin, she hadn’t imagined that such blinding, horrific pain could exist. Worse yet had been that man’s gargled screams as Throné had plunged her dagger into his throat and that look of absolute terror in Throné’s eyes as she had carried Agnea back to the inn. There had been so much blood, and she would never forget how dark it had appeared in the moonlight. “I… had a very strange dream, I think…” she answered finally.
“Well, you did have a fever, and fever dreams are known to be strange.” Castti pressed a hand to Agnea’s forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t really remember much about it, though…”
Castti didn’t push the subject, and she and Ochette helped clean and redress Agnea’s wound with fresh bandages. Agnea would have to rest the next few days, Castti said, but fortunately nothing appeared out of the ordinary. She also explained how Hikari and Temenos had helped last night, and despite her own calm tone Agnea saw the dark circles beneath her eyes, more telling than she intended, and Ochette was also more subdued than usual. During their travels together, the eight of them had treated countless injuries, but none had come this close to being fatal. In an instant, her dream might’ve ended.
“This injury,” Agnea said carefully, softly, “it was really serious, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Castti replied, her voice firm. “If we’d been a few minutes later in treating you, if not for Temenos’ healing magic, I would not have been able to save you.”
Wordlessly Ochette touched Agnea’s hand and tried to smile. Agnea opened her mouth to speak, to say anything at all, but then her stomach growled loudly, and her cheeks flushed.
Castti chuckled weakly. “A nourished body heals faster, so let me get you breakfast.”
Agnea laid her hand on her stomach. “Thank you, Castti, Ochette.”
Mahina remained with Agnea while Castti and Ochette left to retrieve breakfast (“Don’t worry, we’ll be back real soon!” Ochette said with a wink), and she found herself idly petting Mahina’s head, and was glad no one else could see how her hands trembled.
She’d dreamed of blood and daggers, of severed heads and kissing Throné, of falling through darkness and reaching for the stars. She might’ve been frightened or disgusted, but instead only felt hollow. She sighed, lowering her face to Mahina’s head. When she closed her eyes, she saw that man dead at Throné’s feet, but could no longer make out his face. When he had lunged for Throné, she had thought of nothing but protecting Throné.
She could almost laugh at herself. She was a sheltered, naïve dancer while Throné had been raised to fight and kill. All she could do was offer a song and dance, and still Throné smiled for her. “Hey, Mahina,” she said, “do you think someone like me can really understand Throné…?”
Mahina only hooted in reply and nuzzled more against Agnea’s hand, and she could not help but smile, weak as it was.
Castti and Ochette soon returned, and Hikari and Osvald accompanied them. Agnea was especially surprised to see Osvald - he had planned to search for Harvey after Throné confronted Father, and if he was putting off his search until Agnea was recovered, she felt both happy and guilty. Castti handed Agnea a warm bowl of soup, and Hikari explained that Temenos was still asleep and Partitio had remained with him.
Fortunately, no one asked Agnea about last night, and she listened carefully to the group’s chatter and slowly ate her soup. She was more famished than she had expected, but Castti cautioned her against eating too quickly. Ochette sat on the edge of the bed while Castti sat opposite of her, and Hikari and Osvald had taken the two chairs in the room.
“Zeto tells me he and his brothers will be making their way to Ryu soon,” Hikari went on. Shortly before Throné’s confrontation with Father, Hikari and his friend Kazan had taken control of the fighting arena. “Apparently there is already a new champion in the arena.”
“I understand it is under new, more merciful management, but as an apothecary, I find such sports rather stressful,” Castti said with a sigh.
“Humans like to show off, don’t they?” Ochette said as she took a bite of her jerky. “But then again, some of the hunters back in my village like to brag about the size of their catch, so maybe it’s something similar.”
“I’m glad you didn’t have to kill anyone,” Agnea said softly to Hikari. Her fingers tightened around her spoon; when Hikari had fought Zeto and Bandalem, she’d been frightened by the crowds’ bloodlust. Throné had described the stench of blood as like rot settling in her lungs, so how could anyone be so excited to see blood and death? That Agnea simply couldn’t understand, although she knew that further bloodshed was unavoidable as their journeys continued. Throné still had one more key to obtain while Osvald desired revenge, and likely Hikari would have to wage war against his brother.
Hikari’s eyes went wide for a moment, and he tried to smile. “Yes, I am grateful too,” he said, his voice equally quiet.
When Agnea finished her soup, Castti suggested she try stretching her legs a little bit. Agnea was slightly embarrassed at not having changed out of her nightgown, but none of the others seemed to care. She had yet to bring herself to look at her ruined dress, and she was thankful she hadn’t been wearing her mother’s dress. Carefully she swung her legs off the bed and took Castti’s and Osvald’s offered hands, and as she stood, pain immediately shot through her injured side.
“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Castti said. “Just focus on standing first.”
Agnea nodded, shutting her eyes a moment. She put more of her weight on her right foot, and then gradually eased onto her left, and the pain in her left side began to calm. Even so, she wouldn’t be able to dance like this. Throné’s stab wound in Winterbloom had been less serious, and it had still taken her days to recover. She stole a glance at the door, and Throné had yet to return.
Osvald followed Agnea’s gaze. “What’s wrong?” he asked unexpectedly.
“No, it’s nothing,” she answered quickly. It wasn’t unusual for Throné to keep to herself for a while day, so Agnea simply had to trust her.
Leaning on Osvald for support, Agnea walked a lap around the room, trying to ignore the pain in her side. But what if Throné decided to head to Wellgrove alone to confront the woman she called “Mother”? What if another Snowhare tried to attack her to avenge their fallen leader? Agnea remembered too clearly the heat of her own blood spilling over her hands as Throné carried her toward the inn. She’d lost so much, and the bleeding wouldn’t stop—!
She clutched Osvald’s arm tightly to steady herself, her fingernails digging into his skin, but she barely noticed him flinching as she held her injured side with her other hand. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes; it hurt, it hurt so much. She couldn’t even dance now, she couldn’t make anyone smile like this. Her shaking legs finally gave out, and carefully Osvald guided her to the floor as Castti knelt beside her.
Castti took Agnea’s wrist and checked her pulse. “Agnea,” she said in a gentle tone, “I can make you something to ease the pain and help you relax.”
Agnea could only nod, and she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her nightgown. Again she glanced toward the door, and again Throné didn’t return.
While Hikari assisted Castti, Osvald carried Agnea to her bed and Ochette knelt at her bedside and held her hand. She inhaled deeply in hopes of calming herself, but that only worsened the pain in her side. She hated this. She hated that someone had tried to attack Throné, hated that he had died for a desperate revenge. The sight of that grief and rage in his eyes still cut to the quick. With her free hand she reached out to grasp the sleeve of Osvald’s worn coat. “Osvald,” she forced out, “when you go after Harvey, don’t go alone.”
Osvald’s eyes went wide for a moment, a rare display of surprise, and he knelt and touched Agnea’s arm. “I won’t, I promise.”
Agnea bit her lip; if Throné told him what happened last night, likely Osvald understood why she asked that promise. Maybe she didn’t really understand the notion of revenge. Osvald wanted to kill Harvey because Harvey had murdered his beloved wife and daughter. That man had wanted to kill Throné because the Blacksnakes had murdered his leader. She didn’t even know the name of the man Throné had killed, the man who had nearly killed her. But she didn’t want to stop Osvald and she was grateful Throné was alive.
Castti soon finished the concoction and gave it to Agnea. “Drink slowly,” she said.
Agnea nodded as she brought the cup to her lips. The taste was awful, but she drank without complaint under Castti’s watchful gaze. She was alive. The acute pain in her side was proof of that. Throné had saved her, as had Castti and Temenos and her other traveling companions. She finished the medicine, and tried not to think of the man Throné killed, or that nightmare. Most of all, she didn’t want to lose Throné.
Castti ushered Hikari and Osvald out of the room, and then she and Ochette double-checked the bandages around Agnea’s midsection. “Everything looks good,” Castti said, examining closely. “It doesn’t appear your wound reopened. How’s the pain?”
“It still hurts a little, but not as bad when I move,” Agnea answered, and then could not help but yawn, much to her embarrassment.
“The medicine I gave you can also make you sleepy,” Castti added with a sympathetic chuckle. “Rest a bit longer, and we’ll wake you when it’s time to eat again.”
Agnea wanted to protest, but she couldn’t deny either how exhausted she had grown simply walking around the room. She lay her head on the pillow and Ochette pulled the bed sheets over her. “Mahina will keep an eye on you, so you just focus on resting!” Ochette said with a smile. Mahina perched at Agnea’s bedside and hooted in agreement.
“Thanks, everyone…” Agnea said quietly. She wanted to get better as soon as possible. She didn’t want to delay Osvald his revenge, or Throné her second key. They were all waiting for her, too worried to smile. When she was better, she thought hazily, she would dance for all them, make them smile again, and…
She pictured Throné’s face, a faint, careful smile on those beautiful lips, and wasn’t sure if she dreamed or not.
It might’ve been only a moment, but a door opened, and slowly Agnea opened her eyes. She lay on her uninjured side, facing away from the others, and saw only Mahina beside her.
“Welcome back, Throné,” came Castti’s voice, and Agnea felt her body stiffen.
“Here are the herbs you wanted.” Throné’s voice was quiet, and Agnea’s cheeks grew warm. She thought of saying something, like greeting Throné, but instead remained silent. Mahina tilted her head, and Agnea pressed a quiet finger to her lips. “How’s Agnea doing?”
“She’s resting now. She was able to walk a lap around the room. I must say, she is recovering remarkably well.”
“Of course!” Ochette exclaimed, her sudden voice almost startling Agnea. “You’re a great apothecary!”
“…It wasn’t only my doing. Temenos’ healing magic is quite powerful. Speaking of which, I should check on him too.”
“Last I heard from Parti, he was still asleep…”
Agnea clenched her fingers, curling up tighter beneath the bed sheets. A cleric’s magic was meant to be used broadly, Temenos once told her, and it was difficult to narrow it onto a single person. The spell he received from the altar of the Flamebringer was an exception to that, barring strengthening from Agnea’s own dancer’s magic, but that spell was still little understood otherwise. If she found the altar of the Lady of Grace, would she receive a new power too? But according to legend, only a chosen dancer would find the altar, and she was just a normal girl with normal dreams. Maybe her mother could’ve found it, or Dolcinaea.
She wanted to shine brightly like the both of them. Maybe then she’d be able to make Throné truly smile.
The door opened again and then closed, and a new weight came upon Agnea’s bed, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Agnea, are you asleep?” came Throné’s voice, and Agnea felt a gentle hand on her shoulder but said nothing in reply. “You’re watching over her, aren’t you, Mahina? Good girl.”
While Mahina hooted in appreciation, Agnea shut her eyes tightly. She didn’t want Throné to see her like this, vulnerable and injured. That fear in Throné’s eyes as she helped Agnea, injured and bleeding profusely, to the inn still terrified her, even more than the man who had attacked them. She didn’t want Throné to worry about her, but danger still lay ahead of them, and again she remembered that violent nightmare.
“This will be our little secret,” Throné whispered to Mahina, and she touched Agnea’s hair, softly yet carefully. “But this is all I can do for her right now.” She paused a moment, inhaling deeply, and, much to Agnea’s surprise, began to sing. “‘Rest, little one, for the day is done. Queens and kings too were once like you. Now it’s time to close your eyes, and rest until the sun does rise.’”
Agnea’s breath caught in her throat, and tears stung at the corners of her eyes. That was the lullaby she had sung for Throné before the confrontation with Father. Throné’s voice was uneven and nervous, but still the lyrics rang clearly. A part of Agnea wanted to turn and take Throné into her arms, but the frightened part of her held her in place. They needed to talk about what happened last night. Agnea needed to thank Throné for saving her life. But a man had died in exchange for her life, and still she could see all that blood. To be free, Throné had killed a man who held one of two keys. To live, she had killed another man and denied him revenge.
Throné’s voice faded into a whisper, and her hand on Agnea’s hair trembled. Mahina hooted quietly, and Agnea couldn’t bring herself to move. “I’m sorry, Agnea,” Throné murmured so softly that Agnea almost didn’t hear her. The weight beside Agnea was suddenly gone, and again she heard the door open and close.
Cautiously she sat up, trying to ignore the pain in her side, and she realized she was alone with only Mahina for company. She’d missed her chance to speak with Throné. But what would she even say to Throné? Would she tell Throné of her nightmare, of Throné being decapitated and then her kissing Throné’s severed head? She stared down at her hands, and never would she forget the heat of her own blood spilling over her fingers. If she’d died, who would’ve told her father or sister, or Gus? But Throné had saved her.
She knew her knees to her chest, and hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t want to be frightened of Throné. She wanted to stay with Throné, no matter how bloody the path they walked together. Her shoulders quaked, and Mahina pressed closer to her, and she was thankful no one else could hear her sobs.
Agnea didn’t feel particularly refreshed after her nap, but she hadn’t dreamed either. She was hungry, however, and Castti and Ochette shared with her a simple stew. She no longer knew what time it was - not unusual when sleeping so much after a serious injury, Castti had told her - and again acutely felt the absence of Throné. At some point Hikari and Temenos came to visit her, and Castti and Ochette left to purchase more supplies, and Castti said Throné had joined Osvald and Partitio to gather information about Harvey’s whereabouts. Temenos didn’t seem as exhausted as Agnea had feared, although heavy dark circles lay beneath his eyes.
“How fares your injury?” Hikari asked Agnea. He sat on the side of her bed while Temenos had taken a nearby chair.
“It doesn’t hurt so much right now,” Agnea replied. “To be honest, I’m feeling more restless than anything.”
Hikari’s expression grew grave. “Do not hesitate to speak up if anything feels amiss. Stab wounds can be unpredictable and fester quickly.”
“Do you speak from experience?” Temenos asked, casually giving voice to the question Agnea had hesitated to say out loud.
“I have fought in countless battles,” Hikari answered with a brief nod. “And yes, I have witnessed many otherwise strong and healthy soldiers succumb to a single stab wound. I myself carry such scars.”
Agnea touched her injured side, feeling the bandages through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Would this wound leave a scar? She hadn’t the courage yet to ask Castti or Temenos. “Does it ever stop hurting?” she asked instead.
Hikari inhaled deeply. “Physically, yes. However, the pain itself is not so easily forgotten.”
“Castti says I probably wouldn’t have survived if not for your magic, Temenos,” Agnea said quietly, and folded her hands to hide how they trembled.
“I will not lie, none of us could be certain that night,” Temenos said, and Agnea saw how his shoulders tensed. “The spell I used seems to allow one to temporarily expand past mortal limits.” He paused a moment, noting Agnea’s and Hikari’s expressions. “To put it simply, it helped me keep you stable while Castti and Hikari treated your injury. You had lost a great deal of blood, and… we were frightened.”
To see even Temenos so worn and worried was like a punch to Agnea’s chest. “I’m sorry for worrying everyone,” she could not help but say.
“Oh, there’s no need to apologize.” Again Temenos spoke in his bantering tone as he waved his hand. “It was certainly exhausting, but I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”
“You are being unusually forthright,” Hikari said to Temenos, and Temenos smirked in reply. To Agnea, he smiled and said, “In any case, you are safe now, and that is what is most important.”
Agnea’s fingers tightened around the bed sheets. “Um, Hikari, you said you’ve fought in a lot of battles, right…?”
“That I did.” Hikari’s smile grew bitter. “As a soldier of Ku, I went wherever my father commanded me. Whatever questions you wish to ask, I will try to answer to the best of my ability.”
Temenos said nothing as he watched Hikari closely, and his expression had also grown serious.
Agnea chewed her lip; most likely Hikari already knew what she wanted to ask. Of the eight of them, Hikari and Throné had seen the most death, albeit under different circumstances. Agnea herself knew little of war, and she hoped Hikari and Temenos would not think her questions naïve. “You’ve had to kill to save yourself or your friends, right? And your friends have done the same for you…?”
Hikari nodded carefully. “You are correct that I live thanks to the deaths of others. My friends have killed enemy soldiers to save my life, and I have done the same for them. And Throné killed to save your life.” He paused a moment, letting out a deep breath. His expression was impassive, but Agnea caught the faint tremble of his jaw. “We may feel relief or guilt afterwards, and both can be dangerous. We risk dehumanizing the enemy in exchange for our lives, or we may think our lives less deserving than the ones that were lost.” He reached out a hand to touch Agnea’s shoulder. “Even so, for the sake of my friends, I do not wish to feel regret.”
“Perhaps it is a kind of selfishness,” Temenos mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “but we can forgive much for those we consider friends.”
“I would not quite phrase it like that,” Hikari said, giving Temenos a pointed look, “but I cannot deny his words. As your friend, I am grateful Throné saved your life.”
Despite herself, Agnea smiled weakly. “Thank you, Hikari, Temenos.”
“It can be a hard burden, knowing you live while another died,” Temenos said softly. “But I agree with Hikari - even if some may consider it selfish, I too am glad you’re alive.”
“Because we’re friends,” Agnea whispered, folding her hands over her heart.
Sometime later, Castti and Ochette returned, as did Throné, Partitio, and Osvald, and the eight of them shared a warm meal. Osvald spoke nothing of Harvey, while Partitio inquired about how Agnea was feeling. The group seemed more at ease now, chattering more readily, and Agnea was glad they weren’t fussing over her as much. She still felt restless and she’d gone over a day without dancing, but if she turned the wrong way, the pain was all too eager to remind her of its unwelcomed presence. She cast a glance at Throné, who was in deep conversation with Temenos and Castti, and Throné caught her stare and gave her a faint smile. With the eight of them together like this, if not for the pain in her side, she could almost forget how close she had come to death.
The men left the room eventually to retire to their own beds (“I talked the innkeeper into allowin’ us to stay a few more days,” Partitio told the others), and Ochette said she and Mahina needed some fresh air and Castti accompanied her. Thus Agnea and Throné were alone together, and the earlier levity replaced by a somber atmosphere.
Agnea clenched her hands; she had to say something, anything at all, she told herself. She and Throné hadn’t had a proper conversation since she got stabbed, but what could she say? She didn’t want Throné to think her frightened, but the truth was, even if she wasn’t frightened of Throné specifically, she was still frightened. When first she had set out on this journey, she never imagined she would come so close to death, or so violently.
Yet, much to Agnea’s surprise, Throné bent closer and touched her hair. “You’ve got quite the bedhead,” Throné chuckled gently. “You haven’t brushed your hair all day, have you?”
Agnea shook her head as her face grew warm. “It still hurts if I raise my arms too high…”
Throné was silent a moment longer. “Would you like me to brush your hair for you?”
“Oh, yes, please!” The words were out of Agnea’s mouth before she could think about them.
Surprise briefly flashed across Throné’s face, and she carefully guided Agnea to the chair in front of the vanity. Agnea stared at her reflection in the mirror as Throné retrieved Agnea’s brush from their belongings. Her skin was still pale and heavy bags lay beneath her eyes, and her unbound hair really was a mess, she could not help but note sheepishly. Throné stood behind her and gathered strands of brown into her hand, and gently ran the brush through Agnea’s hair.
Almost immediately Agnea felt the tension loosen in her body. Throné brushed Agnea’s hair in silence, and Agnea watched Throné’s expression in the reflection of the mirror, but she wore that familiar stoic mask. Her hands were gentle as she brushed Agnea’s hair, and Agnea tried not to shiver when those cool, elegant fingers brushed against her neck, but she couldn’t ignore the faint tremble in those fingers either.
“What did you think of Father?” Throné asked suddenly.
Agnea jolted, and hesitated before answering. She’d briefly seen Father on that bridge outside of Montwise, and he had barely spared a glance for Throné’s companions before daring her to follow him alone. She remembered the unkempt hair and the countless daggers hanging from his waist and the inside of his coat. “I thought he seemed cold,” she answered at last. “And… sad, somehow.”
“He loved a woman once, and when she fell in love with another, he killed her.”
“What? But that’s so cruel!”
“She’d also killed the child they had together.”
Throné made no expression as she spoke those words, but Agnea could clearly see her own expression of shock in the mirror’s reflection. She tried to speak, but realized she had no idea of what to say.
“The other man she loved, she become involved with him, and then…” Throné’s hands stilled for just a moment. “Gave birth to me.”
“That was your mother?” Agnea blurted out, and winced as pain shot through her side.
Throné laid a steadying hand on Agnea’s shoulder. “Father didn’t care about the Blacksnakes - he raised me to kill him. He said I should’ve been his daughter.” She let out a deep sigh, her breath warm against Agnea’s hair. “Before he died, I called him ‘Dad,’ and he smiled, like he really was happy.” A bitter smile came upon her lips. “And just like that, I had the first key.”
“Oh, Throné…” was all Agnea could say, and tears stung at the corners of her eyes.
Throné continued to brush Agnea’s hair, and the bristles were soft against her scalp. “I was always told my mother died giving birth to me,” she went on. “Did Father love me because I was the daughter of the woman he loved? Or did he hate me because I was the daughter of the woman who betrayed him?”
“You said… you said he was happy when you called him ‘Dad’…”
“I’d never seen him smile like that. Is that really what love is supposed to be…?”
“Love is supposed to be beautiful, but it can be destructive too, I think.” Agnea touched her injured side, and lowered her gaze from the mirror. “I’ve heard stories of how easily love can turn into hate or obsession. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong to love.”
“Even for a snake like me?” Throné said with a dark chuckle. “I might turn out like Father.”
“No, I don’t think you would.” Agnea laid her hand over her chest, feeling how her heart raced. “Don’t you remember what I told you in Tropu’hopu? You shouldn’t think so lowly of yourself - you’re strong and kind, after all!”
Only for a moment did Throné’s eyes grow wide, and a quiet laugh fell from her lips as she wrapped her arms around Agnea’s shoulders from behind. “Thank you, Agnea,” she muttered, pressing her face to Agnea’s shoulder, and faintly Agnea felt tears.
“Throné…” Agnea whispered, and she raised a hand to Throné’s, curling her fingers around Throné’s, and Throné squeezed tightly. Throné was warm, Agnea noticed, and as Throné held her silently, tears began to fall from her eyes as well.