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The key didn’t fit. Her hands shook too violently to try again, but even if they hadn’t, she knew it wouldn’t matter. Years of waiting, of clawing at a door that would never open, had left nothing but raw, aching emptiness in its place. She could feel the weight of every choice, every step that had led her here, pressing down like stones in her chest. Somewhere distant, the wind carried the faint laughter of people who were moving on, living, surviving—but not her. She was already gone. She just hadn’t let them bury her yet.
Her vision blurred. This was supposed to work. This was supposed to be the end to all of this. The door to her freedom. But the key didn’t fit. The collar around her neck still dug into her skin, a constant reminder that there is no escape. She fell the floor, hands clutching at the empty space in her chest; the space where hope used to live.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Throné—“
She pulled away, rising to her feet. “I’m fine.” Her voice shook.
Temenos was stood in front of her. He was just as hollow. Throné knew memories of Crick would be swimming in Temenos’s mind. She was supposed to be there for Temenos. To help him. To comfort him. But here she was, wallowing in her own despair as if it’s more important than her best friend.
The guilt of that thought felt like a punch to the gut. What right did she have to be crying over some damned collar, when her best friend had just lost someone who meant more to him than words could ever express?
“Come on, Throné. Let’s go back to the inn. You need to rest. We’ll think of what to do in the morning, alright?”
Throné didn’t know where the voice came from, or even who it belonged to. The thought of burdening her companions with her hopelessness was too loud, too visible, too real. It terrified her more than the feeling of the collar still clutched around her throat despite her efforts.
***
Throné found herself sitting on a bed in the inn. She didn’t even remember coming here. But that didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered. The collar still clung to her neck like a threat, and for once her life, she wished it would turn into a noose—
“Throné?”
She looked up from the floor. Castti was standing there, one hand resting on her satchel strap and the other at her side.
“Are you alright?”
Throné nodded, much too quick.
Castti waited a few seconds before speaking again. “I know this won’t mean much, but I’m here for you. I know how you must feel.”
She sounded genuine, but there was no way she could know how Throné felt. The only thing that stopped Castti from being free was her need for structure and her desire to help others. Not chains wrapped around her, not a collar sitting tight around her throat, not a tattoo binding her to the Blacksnakes, not a—
“Throné?”
“I’m fine, Castti,” she snapped.
Castti blinked. Waited a few moments. “Alright. I’ll leave you be. Try to get some sleep, okay?”
Throné nodded absent-mindedly. How could she, after all this?
“See you in the morning, Throné.”
Throné hesitated. “Good night, Castti.”
Castti smiled warmly before getting into her bed.
That was all she said. Just “good night”. Because she couldn’t promise Castti she’d be there when the sun rises.
***
Hours upon hours of tossing and turning. Squeezing her eyes shut in a desperate attempt to get to sleep. Even resorting to counting sheep. She got to 256 before she got out of bed and walked into town.
Rain started to pour down from the midnight sky. The town looked unrecognisable like this.
While it was a nice distraction at first, the sight of Temenos up ahead reminded her of the real world.
He was leaning against the tavern, sobbing, holding his staff so tightly his knuckles were white. Every now and then, he’d call out to Crick. Begging for him to come back. Pleading for this all to be a dream, for him to wake up with Crick by his side and continue his investigation with him.
But they, Temenos, Throné, and the gods above, knew he was gone. Forever.
Throné found herself walking to Temenos without hesitation. After seeing him suffer like that, she couldn’t just walk off and pretend she didn’t see it.
She wrapped her arms around him before he had time to process it. She held him as his tears streamed down his face and settled onto her skin. She didn’t speak. There was nothing to say.
“Tell me he’ll come back, Throné,” he pleaded.
Throné hesitated. “You know I can’t.”
“Then lie to me. Tell me I’ll wake up and he’ll be there. Give me some shred of hope to hold onto.”
Hope. A feeling Throné had once. One that everyone has. Until they don’t. Giving Temenos hope was the least she could do. She knew hope was pointless. She knew it wasn’t real. Not something that could be trusted, or replied upon. In that sense, it was very similar to her.
But if Temenos could have hope that Crick might come back, maybe that would be all he needed to stop crying. And seeing her best friend like this… it hurt more than Mother’s whip ever did.
“He’ll be there. He’ll be waiting for you by your bed when you wake up,” she lied.
Temenos pulled away from Throné’s embrace. “Do you promise?”
A pause.
“N-never mind. I’ll see you in the morning, Throné.”
Throné offered him a small smile. “Good night, Temenos.”
Temenos nodded with a smile of his own, and went back to the inn. He didn’t look back. He knew—no, he thought he knew—that Throné would be there by his bed in the morning too.
Temenos was holding onto hope he didn’t know he had. The hope that Throné would be there when morning comes.
The rain calmed down slightly. It was more of a shower than a torrential downpour. Calmer. Quieter. She wished she could say the same for the thoughts in her head.
She didn’t return the inn. She couldn’t. Her feet were taking her through town and she couldn’t stop it. Maybe she didn’t want to. The rain soaked through her dress, plastering her hair to her face, but she didn’t care. Every step she took was heavier than the last, as if the weight of this, all of this, was crushing her with each passing second. If only she could rid herself of it. Of the weight of the world over her shoulders.
She thought of the key, of the collar, of the lie she told Temenos, of the hope she gave him and Castti. Hope wasn’t hers anymore. It was only fair to hand whatever remained of it to them. It wasn’t meant for someone like her. Maybe it never was.
Her mind wandered. Would it matter if she disappeared entirely? No one would notice—except for Temenos and Castti—but perhaps they deserved to feel the same emptiness she carried.
What would they do if she was gone? Would they cry? Would they bury her and then continue with their own business? Would they beg for her to come back, like Temenos had done for Crick? Would they even notice? Maybe they would celebrate, even.
No. Throné knew that thought was ridiculous. Even if the others did celebrate, Castti would probably burn the whole town down before anyone could try to force her to join in.
So she would care. And Temenos. But what would they do? And what did it matter, anyway? There was no point in her continuing. The collar still clung to her neck. Father and Mother were dead. If Throné was supposed to be the next Mother, her death would be nothing but helpful for the Blacksnakes. They could escape. They could taste freedom, like she had always wanted to. The children, they could play with toys, eat toast with jam, run around with the other kids. They could have the childhood they deserve, the one Throné dreamed of, the one she couldn’t have.
Throné shook her head. Listing pros and cons wasn’t going to change her mind. She had decided. Castti had always called her determined. Maybe now was time to prove her right.
Throné felt herself smile, despite it all. Somehow, the thought of Castti drove her even more willing, maybe even excited, to put this all to an end.
The dagger glinted in the moonlight. Throné’s reflection stared back at her with cold, dead eyes. She took a deep breath.
“I didn’t believe the gods existed,” she said, feeling a tear run down her face, “but I have a message I want you to give to someone.”
She felt the sharp blade against her wrist.
“So, if you’re real, I want you to send it to them,” she continued.
A thin line of crimson materialised on her skin.
“Tell those kids at Mother’s Garden that they’re free now. Tell those people at the game parlour in New Delsta that they can run away and go back to their families.”
The rain mixed with the blood pouring out of her, the stench of it diluted by the rain. Her vision blurred. She felt the dirt against her back.
A figure rushed over. Not one she could recognise. “Are you alright?! Someone, help!”
“No, don’t,” Throné said. “I want this.”
The figure either didn’t hear, or didn’t listen. They kept screaming. Reassuring Throné that everything was going to be okay.
And they were right. Everything was going to be okay.
Her vision darkened until all she could see was black. She still heard the figure screaming. There were footsteps. A group of people.
She felt a hand touch her face. They said something. She couldn’t make out what. But she didn’t care. It wouldn’t be long until she was gone forever.
She thought of Castti, and of Temenos. “See you in the morning”, they had both said. Well, if only that were true. If only they would see her in the morning. If only she would make it.
But she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to, despite the fact her two closest friends wanted her to. She wanted to be gone. Forever. No longer a burden on her companions.
No longer a burden. That was last thought she had before all her senses were replaced with emptiness.
*** *** *** ***
The morning sun shone gently through the curtains. Castti was already awake. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, satchel on her lap, smiling to herself as she sorted through her herbs. She had dreamt of Throné and herself walking through a field of gorgeous flowers, hand in hand, muttering sweet nothings to each other. A great start to the day, in Castti’s opinion.
Agnea nudged her in the arm. “Someone’s happy,” she teased.
Castti shook her head, but couldn’t stop the smile forming on her face. “It’s nothing. Just a silly dream, that’s all.”
Agnea nodded slowly. “About Throné?”
She hesitated. “Maybe.”
Agnea raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, it was about Throné,” she admitted.
Agnea laughed. “Knew it. Where is she, anyway?”
Castti shrugged. “Outside, probably. Maybe stealing from the townsfolk,” she said with a laugh.
Agnea nodded, smiling. “Yeah. Probably.”
Just then, the door to their room burst open. Castti and Agnea spun around, still smiling.
Their smiles dropped immediately when they processed what they saw.
Temenos, red-eyed and soaked in rain and blood, with a limp Throné in his arms.
Agnea gasped and threw her hands over her mouth, her eyes filled with tears. She rushed over to Throné, grabbing one of her hands with both of her own.
Castti pushed past her and took Throné from Temenos, lowering her onto the bed. “What happened?” Her voice was steady, clinical. The apothecary in her took over, tamping down the panic clawing at her chest.
“I—I don’t know. I just—I-I went outside and she—she was just lying there—she wouldn’t wake up—I tried, I—” Temenos’s voice broke. “Is she alright?”
Castti’s hands moved over Throné’s body with practiced precision. “No wounds… no injuries… I don’t…”
And then she saw the wrist. A deep, bloody gash.
The sight froze her lungs.
“Why would someone—” she began, but the answer hit before she finished.
No one did this to her.
Her breath caught. The apothecary’s checklist in her mind began firing—pressure, stitch, poultice, elixir—but every thought crashed uselessly against the truth: none of it would matter. Not for this.
Temenos collapsed at Throné’s side, clutching her other hand. “Tell me she’ll be okay. Please, Castti. I can’t—I can’t lose her too. Not her. Gods, not her.” His forehead pressed to Throné’s cold fingers. “Don’t you leave me, Throné. Don’t you dare.”
But Throné’s chest did not rise. Her eyelids did not flicker. Her hand stayed limp in his.
Castti felt her own hands tremble as she touched Throné’s face, her skin cold, so unbearably cold. It was like being punched in the chest, again and again. She couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears broke free, spilling hot and fast, washing down her cheeks and dripping onto Throné’s dress.
“Please wake up,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please, Throné, wake up.” She clutched the thief against her chest, sobbing. “Please, just open your eyes. Please—”
But the flowers from her dream were gone. There was no sunlight, no warmth, no hand squeezing hers back. Only blood where there had been blossoms. Only silence where there had been laughter.
Her hands had healed hundreds, yet for the one she loved most, they were useless.
Throné was gone.
Forever.
And there was nothing Castti could do.
***
Temenos had requested for Throné to be buried next to Crick. So she was. And now, Temenos and Castti are sitting in between the two graves.
“Remember when she accidentally subscribed to that ‘get one jar of jam everyday’ guy?” Temenos says, chuckling softly.
Castti smiles. “And then she couldn’t unsubscribe so she had like, 50 jars of jam in her pockets,” she adds.
Temenos laughs. “I remember that. And then she gave us all a jar but we ended up getting 10 each and nothing to do with them.”
“Yeah. That was funny.”
“Yeah. It was.”
They’ve been reminiscing like this for hours. And each time they remember a different little story. And each one makes Castti miss her even more.
Temenos clears his throat. “We should go to the inn. The others are waiting for us.”
“I’ll be there in a bit. I just… need some time alone.”
Temenos nods. “Of course. I’ll let the others know. Take as much time as you need, Castti.”
“Thank you, Temenos.”
And with that, he leaves the graveyard and goes into the inn.
Castti looks down at the bouquet in her hands. “I hope you like these,” she says. “Snowdrops. Malaya told me they symbolise an unbroken bond.”
She laughs softly to herself. “It’s also got a few roses in it. You remind me a lot of a rose. Beautiful but stabs you when you try to touch it. See the resemblance?”
She chuckles. “I never told you this, but I always had a soft spot for you. I never told anyone else, but whenever you got injured, it wasn’t the same as whenever any of the others did. I felt more afraid of losing you. With the others, I knew I could fix it easily. But I doubted my abilities when it came to you.”
A pause.
“It’s not your fault. I just wish I could’ve… I should’ve noticed you weren’t yourself. I should’ve helped. I should’ve said something. And I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that.”
Another pause.
She sighs. “I love you, Throné. It means near to nothing now, but I love you. I always will.”
She places the bouquet down. “It’s getting dark. I should go. I’ll see you in the mor—“
Those words. That’s what she said to Throné that night. And then she never saw her again. Not alive, anyway. Tears threaten to slip down her cheeks.
“Good night,” she murmurs, resting her head on the gravestone. “I love you.”
She stands up and walks to the inn. Checks over her shoulder. Goes into her room. Gets into bed. Falls asleep.
And dreams of Throné and herself walking through a field of flowers, hand in hand, together again.