Page 25 of Of War and Realms

They’re mine, and I’m keeping them.

Chapter Thirteen

Anellah

How do you continue living when those you love fell off the train a few stations back?

And really, how could you continue when they chose to fall so they could push you back on?

Do you live for them, or for yourself? Do you live in spite of their sacrifice? Or do you live because of their sacrifice?

What if you just don’t want to be here anymore because you can’t fucking decide if your life continues moving because you want it to, or because you don’t want theirs to be in vain?

But honestly, what does it matter? Do you even feel guilt when death takes you? Will ending your existence truly hurt anyone except the living?

These thoughts hit me in heavy waves. I will have a few days where I feel happy and accept my past for what it is. But then this ominous sense of impending doom consumes my entire body, and suddenly I'm unable to think about anything it doesn’t want me to.

It starts in my chest—right under that familiar, hollow place. It calls my name as it spreads its sticky tentacles. It tells me that it’s here for a visit and laughs as I struggle to loosen its grip. Every time I try to rid myself of it, but every time I fail. And when it reaches my head? There’s no choice but to accept until it’s fed on every last bit of my weakening resolve.

My limbs become frail—my smile faint. The sun dulls while the colors around me mute. Concepts like laughing and enjoying seem so incredibly foreign. As if I couldn’t possibly understand how I ever felt those things before.

Because feeling those things is impossible when it visits.

Not when my mind is full of images that contain Bren’s last breath, or the dozens of fae slicing their throats just to buy me a few seconds.

I so badly want to ask them: was it worth it?

Was your entire life worth mere moments of mine? Do you think that was a fair price to pay?

I doubt they would think so. I know I sure as fuck don’t. But of course, the one person who not only believes their sacrifices are worth it—but also necessary—is the one with all the power. How fucking twisted is that?

It’s on days like these that I just want to curl up in bed and sleep the hours away. Maybe by the time I woke, its dark presence would be leaving my body? Until its next visit, that is.

Why isn’t the physical torture Andras forced on me not the most painful thing I’ve ever gone through? Why is it the memories?

Why does it fucking feel like those memories are crushing my chest so hard that I can’t breathe? Especially when Andras quite literally crushed my chest at one point? They’re not even there! Yet they’re so fucking loud and demanding, and I just want so badly to be out of my head that I’ll do almost anything.

Anything except kill myself, it seems. Because the memories are a reminder of the debts I owe. A reminder of the many fae who chose to die so that I could live. I didn’t deserve it…but they did it, anyway. I owe them.

So answer me this…how do you fucking continue living when those you love fell off the train a few stations back? When they chose to fall just to push you back on?

“Love, are you okay?” I jolt at Emrys’s voice in my ear and quickly turn to give him a smile as I nod. “Are you sure? Because you’ve been absent nearly the whole trip.”

My vision blurs, but I blink it away and swallow the rising bile. I really do not want them seeing just how weak I am. Bren was murdered so long ago, so I should be over it by now. Right? “I’m okay. Just thinking.” My voice is quiet, lacking the confidence I have no energy to imbue.

He doesn’t respond, but instead curls his arm tighter around my waist. My head snaps to the left at the prince’s laugh, and I smile when I see him and Xamira playing. She’s sitting just in front of him on his horse—well, lying on her back—as she swats at his fluttering fingers. He manages to tickle her belly and she pays him in kind with her sharp teeth.

I watch them for a few minutes, trying to prepare for the long day ahead. We’re riding to a temporary training site, where the leaders have been gathering to go over new tactics and schedules. My father offered some of the demis to help, and no one was going to refuse that. There’s a sinking feeling deep inside my soul that tells me we only have a few days until Andras is here. We have yet to hear from the scout, but Andras is a snake and will wait until the last second to reveal himself.

After an hour, we crest a small hill and are greeted with a makeshift arena, set in the center of the hill. The slope allows all onlookers to watch and learn, instead of crowding behind one another. Currently sparring is Ansa and Karis, while the rest of the castle guard stands to the side smiling. Nearly a dozen fae soldiers group at the edge of the arena, looking slightly uncomfortable. They should be.

Taking up most of the space are a few dozen demis, as they scrutinize every move Ansa and Karis make. It doesn’t take long before the first head turns our way, gaping at the line of gods, prince, and captain watching them. Movement below stops as all attention turns to us.

I really do not want attention on me today. Fuck.

Before anyone can take their next breath, my mother is off her horse and ordering the others around. I groan, rolling my neck before accepting Em’s hand as he helps me down. He’s quite the intuitive male…because any other day, I would have kicked his ass for assuming I needed help off a fucking horse. But today it feels nice to be cared for just a little extra.

“You ready?” My prince saunters over, looking smug because he knows how well those leathers fit him. The fitted, black material curves perfectly around every muscle, making me bite my lip.

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