The Paragon leaves her alone in the tent and only looks back once, black hair framed in moonlight, dark eyes unreadable.

"We have to look at the ugly things," she says, "if we want to save the beautiful ones."

But there's nothing beautiful left, Fae thinks, a touch of wonder to the idea. It's all ash now, ash and charred, fragmented bits of—

She doesn't know how long she's been sitting in this chair, staring at nothing, her hand hovering uselessly near her face. She doesn't even know what she meant to do with it, only that she doesn't know how she's supposed to hold together an entire kingdom when she can barely keep herself from breaking apart.

"There's nothing left," Allayria had said. "Keesark is going to fall apart unless someone steps up."

No, no.

And she leaned in, not letting Fae have this, not letting her have this one sliver of time, one fragment in the sea of all the hours and days that span before them.

"You can either run off and fight a whole fort of dumbasses," she had said, "or you can go get even."

"Don't," Fae had pleaded then, the old words, the mix of her anger in the Gauntlet and Leo's last jibe twisting hideously across her face. "Please, don't."

No.

Fae makes herself sit back up. She has to keep going, keep moving. She has to pack, she has to—

She stands... and then just stands there.

Outside of her tent, people won't look at her. They shy away, eyes averted, and she wonders through the brief flicker of pain if this is how it is always like for Caj, strange, silent Caj. She wonders if he's stopped noticing it—if she'll stop noticing it before time strips their awkward discomfort away. They will all forget soon enough, but time will not strip away the heavy shadow that has taken up residence inside Fae.

There's a hand on her shoulder, then an arm, and it's Hiran, leaning a little into the half-hug, pulling her a little closer. He's not looking away, but he's watching and she wishes he wouldn't. She can't fall apart out here, in the open.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asks, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Tara and I are going to the mess hall. Do you want to come? Or I could bring something back?"

"No," she says, her head heavy as it shakes back and forth. Her stomach is hollow but food tastes like lead now and the thought of eating makes her nauseous. "I already ate. Go on, I just need to talk to... Caj."

"In his tent over there," Hiran says, tilting his chin toward a row of tents on the opposite side of the makeshift path. "'Llayria popped by about something a few minutes ago."

"Oh."

"He looked grumpy when she left, but to be fair he always looks grumpy," Hiran walks over with her, arm still around her shoulders. It's strangely comforting, feeling the warmth of another human being, the solidity of someone there, next to her. "Was he ever happy when it was just the two of you running around?"

"We were running for our lives and starving, Hiran."

The smile on his face flickers and then turns a little impish.

"Ok, you've got me there."

You're such a dolt, she thinks, feeling herself patch together a smile in return. A clever, stupid dolt.

They stop a few paces from Caj's tent and Hiran pulls back.

"I can bring you a bowl of soup," he offers again. "Or, even better: some chocolate. It might be slightly contraband, but Tara knows someone—"

"I'm fine," she says, shaking her head a little, her eyes closing for a moment as she pulls up a tired smile.

He takes pity on her and doesn't press it.

"Okay, well, Tar and I are going to be in my tent later. Come join us if you feel up to it. And don't let this one," he nods again toward Caj's tent, "get you down too much, 'kay?"

He leaves her alone and she opens the tent.

The Smith-caller is crouched low over his pack and his green eyes flicker up toward her before quickly looking away. He's heard them outside. He shuffles around some more before standing up, but even with this she thinks he almost hunkers down, shying away, hiding.

Weeks, she thinks, weeks alone in the woods together, starving and freezing, and I still feel like we're hardly friends.

He murmurs something, a delayed hello, but she doesn't answer, only watching as he moves to the bedding, pulling out a small, thin knife.

They said the Cabal leader likes knives. They're his specialty. They confiscated a white one—

"Fae?"

She looks up and Caj is staring at her, the knife now a glob of shifting metal, shimmering in his hands. He's always been such a beautiful Skiller, molding metal and fire with so much grace and fineness. She had thought she had gotten past it—the bitter jealousy of having no Skill—until she saw him do it, saw how it sung between his fingers, liquid material flowing so seamlessly. It awoke that bittersweet longing, that low ache for something she couldn't have. Leo had been given that instead, Leo can—

Her throat contorts with the swallow.

"Are you coming with me?" she asks, her voice a strange mix of hoarseness and highness, splintering and breaking like dry straw.

He doesn't look at her. He never does, but there's something about it that she can't stand right now.

Is there something wrong with me? she wonders, the thought unbidden and merciless. Am I even here anymore, or am I dead too?

He's making his way to say something, she can see it clicking away in his face, the hesitation, the caution, the concern.

"I know you've been able to beat me up since you were twelve," Leo had said and his tone had been annoyed, wheedling in that way that only a sibling could instigate, but his expression had been serious, "but I've got to admit this makes me nervous, Fae. It's not going to be you against one dumbass, it's going to be you against a whole fort of them, and they'll probably have some new toys—"

The tears bubble up hot, blinding, and unstoppable as everything from her brow to the straight line of her mouth cracks, crumpling.

I was supposed to be the one to worry about. Not him. Me.

Caj has looked back up and this is the part where he runs away, terrified, because everything she does seems to terrify him and this must be the most terrifying thing of all, breaking apart into bits and pieces without warning. She's got her hands up, clutching into shaking fists, bunching tight to hold against her face, to shield herself in because parts of her want to be alone and parts can't stand the thought of it and she's stuck in this tent. If she leaves people will see, people will know, and she has to get it together, has to prepare for the hurt of being something to flee from—

She registers it all at once; he's warm, the same way he was warm on those frozen nights, giving off the comfort of physical heat even when he had but few paltry words to spare. He has a hold of her, tucking her into his side, holding her tight as if to shield her from the grief with the barrier of his arms.

"I'm coming," he says, the words murmuring against her temple, a hand running circles along her back. It's pressure, assurance that he is here, that she is not alone. The hold tightens as she breaks apart completely, shaking and hyperventilating, fingers scrunched in her hair.

"I'm coming," he promises. "I'm coming with you."

A/N: Pulled on some past experiences with grief for this one, as Fae struggles with how to go on when the people she loves most will not.

Chapter notes: Allayria's first sentence is a quote from Ruben in Partisan's "Boy in the Sewer" and she references Leo's teasing from "Fe and Lo" and Fae's talk of revenge from "If It's Poison, Is It Murder?"

In other news: Partisan hit 50k views this weekend! Which has been a lovely bright spot on what has been quite the weekend (casually flew into a hurricane on the way there, then the aircraft engine was smoking the way back, had a chandelier dropped on me between that...) I don't know what I've done to incur the wrath of some kind of vengeful god, but I think I'm due for a lottery win or something. Ah well, you know it's a weekend of legends when you start hysterically laughing as the flight attendant mentions the engine that is potentially on fire is the one directly beside all your luggage. (It was fine in the end.)

Schedule talk: my plan is to wrap Partisan up this week and then, running up to Halloween, post that little novella I mentioned a month ago. I've been grousing over the header art, but I think I finally cracked it.

One chapter left, everyone. :)