Page 58 of Blood Red Woes

“I’m saying you defeated Gladus. You brought the hilt with you. By all accounts the first should’ve been impossible, but the second feat? Rey, only empresses can even touch the Hilt of Storms.”

“No,” I mutter as I shake my head. “No, no—”

“Yes,” Frederick says, still holding onto the ribbon between us. “It is undeniable proof of what you are. You may not want to be, but you are an empress. Prim was right. You’ve come to save us all, and there is no doubt in my mind that you will.”

I open my mouth to tell him off, but no words come out. He has to be wrong. He has to be. I’m not an empress. I’m just me. I’m a nobody and I’ll always be a nobody. I’ve never been one of those people who dream of bigger and better things; I’m a realist. I know what my future will be. I’ve always known.

To try to prove him wrong, I reach into my bag and start to pull out the hilt. My plan is to offer it to Frederick and show him that he can in fact pick it up, but Frederick stops me by grabbing my hand and putting Prim’s ribbon in it.

As he folds my fingers over the ribbon, he says, “Stay here with her. Say your goodbyes. I’ll go to the conclave and let them know you’ve returned and you have proof of your deeds and who you are. Meet me up there when you’re ready.” He gives me a lingering look before standing and walking away, and I’m left to reckon with everything he just said.

An empress. Me? No fucking way. He’s on crack. There’s no goddamned way I’m one of their special empresses. It’s just not possible.

I make sure he’s long gone and I’m alone in this section of the field before sitting on my ass before Prim’s grave. I hold her ribbon in my hand so tightly my knuckles turn white. The girl should have a headstone, but resources in Laconia are scarce. They probably stopped doing headstones when they could no longer go outside the main walls.

Hmm. Maybe I could go out and bring back some stone to use?

I don’t talk to Prim. I used to talk to my dad, get really in-depth beyond the whole I-miss-you stuff, but… it’s been years and I know the dead can’t hear me. So instead I talk to Rune: “Did you hear what Frederick said?”

“I did,” Rune says, the tattoo on my arm lighting up as he comes to life. “What are your thoughts on it?”

A sigh leaves me, explosive in its design. “I don’t think I’m an empress.”

Rune doesn’t address that. He brings up Prim. “I’m sorry about the girl. She seemed to adore you.” His words, meant to be comforting, aren’t as powerful as they should be, since he’s not here. It’s like I’m talking to myself and not another person.

“Do not let this destroy you,” Rune says. “There is still much to be done, whether you want to admit it or not. You can make Prim’s memory proud by making sure no empresses can ever set foot in Laconia again—other than you, of course.”

When I shake my head this time, it’s a half-hearted gesture. “I’m no empress, Rune, and I don’t know if I want to do any of that. I think I’ve had my fill of death.”

“Well, the least you could do is return to Acadia then and meet with the Emperor. Perhaps the threads of magic holding him in place are weak enough for you to break on your own, now that you have Gladus’s power.”

“Maybe.”

I sit there for a while longer, staring at Prim’s grave and wishing everything was different. That she had a normal childhood, a happy one, one with parents who loved her. That I wasn’t here, stuck in a place that isn’t home, with everyone thinking I’m something I’m not.

I don’t know how much time passes before I get up. As I dust off my backside, I tell Prim even though I know she can’t hearme, “I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve done better for you.” If there was anyone in this forsaken city I would’ve wanted to help, it was that girl.

And now she’s dead. She’s dead and all I have left of her is her ribbon.

It takes a bit of finagling, but I manage to tie the ribbon onto my left wrist for safekeeping. At least the ribbon will serve as a reminder of what’s been lost here. Anytime I look at it, I’ll remember Prim and those hopeful hazel eyes, her wild, curly dark hair, and the rambunctious aura that seemed to follow her wherever she went.

Before I walk away, I swear to myself Prim is the only one I’ll lose.

Chapter Eighteen

The conclave is packed. The audience is filled with members of the upper class here in Laconia. Frederick stands beside me in the pulpit, facing the group of four sitting on their stone chairs.

Kretia is on the far left, wearing the same ridiculous flowing robes she wore the first time she judged me here. The grays in her robe contrast nicely with her black skin, her hair braided to her scalp, as it was before. Her wrinkled face watches me with keen interest.

The only one with a more tranquil expression is Aolia, the councilwoman of Acadia. Her long, curly blond hair flows freely down her shoulders. Her blue eyes shine brightly, aided with the sun shining through the window behind her. Dressed in the same blue-green ensemble, she is beauty and grace, as I imagine Empress Morimento was before she went mad and died.

Ravenno, the councilman of Magnysia situated between the women, has his nose upturned, as usual. His mouth is drawn into a frown, making him appear older than his fifty years. Wearing red, he is fire personified—and it makes me wonder if the magic Empress Krotas has deals with fire.

The man of the city of Laconia with a lion insignia on his robes, Hazor, has his green gaze narrowed in my direction. His black hair is coiffed to the side, a stark contrast to the white themes of his clothing.

The first time I stood before all four of these people and a crowd like this, I was unprepared, in chains. A prisoner. Now, things are different.

It is Ravenno who speaks first: “Kretia claims you wield magic, and Frederick LaRoe says he witnessed the same. Is this true?” Though each word is laced with venom, his curiosity peeks through all the same.

---