~ 13 ~
SAbrI
Anya was always the quiet one. Whenever we chased frogs by the pond or played hide-and-seek with the other kids, I would charge in the second there was an opening. Solving things immediately is a surefire way to get things done, but Anya is different—she sits and waits, working things over with her clever mind until things align exactly the way she desires them to.
This also means that she can hold on to something much longer than I can. She buries things deep inside, letting them simmer and stew until they evaporate on their own—or explode.
“Anya…” I whisper, unable to work out what to say or even what to think. My mind is throwing things at me—diplomatic ways to address someone’s loss, or how to console a merchant who has lost their cargo. None of them seem like they could touch the level of severity right now.
It’s all too much to get my head around.
Anya spins on her heels. Her shoulders are a rigid line as she drops back onto her seat. She snatches a long stick and prods the fire.
The atmosphere in the cavern, already hazy with some kind of mist intertwined with the smoke from the pit, has gotten impossibly denser.
“Just sit down,” Anya snaps.
I drop to my seat before the spark of indignity at being ordered around can even register in my mind.
Moments drip by like water in the distant dark.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t know what to do. I want to act—to solve this tension. Whether that means destroying the problem for good or trying to mend and salvage it, I’m not sure.
Anya’s words ring in circles in my ears—I try to process even just some of it.
She thinks I abandoned her? Of course I didn’t.
I had thought Anya was dead. She’s the one who didn’t reach out to let me know, and she’s the one who didn’t come to find me, even though she knew where I was.
But the things she said she had to do...
Doubt and guilt swim like fish in my gut. I’m feeling a whole monster of things. So many years of nightmares, and for what? If only I had known she was okay, I wouldn’t have burned through ten years on revenge that wasn’t needed. And she wouldn’t have had to struggle so badly to survive.
There’s the flicker of something that almost feels like anger, but it’s no longer directed at Anya. It’s anger at myself, paired with a wretched sense of guilt. The contradicting vortex swirls in my chest and the longer the emotions butt heads, the more they seem to tire each other out.
The minutes trickle by and I grasp at the embers of my thoughts until there’s no anger left. In its place is a hollow space. I feel numb.
What was the point? Everything I did, all that drive for justice—it was all just a misunderstanding? If so, and what Anya said is true… then I haven’t been helping anyone. I’ve wasted all this time.
I can’t bring myself to look at Anya; I’m afraid of what I’ll see. Will there be the lying, manipulative thief who lured me into a trap to take advantage of me? Or will I look up and see the ghost of my old friend, someone I abandoned to the cruelty of the world?
Horribly, I don’t know which one is worse.
What I do know is that, regardless of my own struggles, living in the palace couldn’t have been nearly as bad as what Anya’s gone through. One look at her—all lean muscle and scars—is proof that she hasn’t had an easy time. And while I definitely didn’t mean to abandon her all those years ago, it happened all the same.
As for her wild claims about the Thieves’ Guild helping people? I’ll have to sort through those later. For now, I’m drowning in it all.
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s weak, and a princess should never be weak, but I can’t seem to be anything else. My justice has lost its direction and my anger is out of fuel. Without them, I’m not sure what to do.
So I’ll act; it’s all I know how to do. The past is in tatters, but we have right now: Anya’s still here, and she’s in front of me. I can try to make this better. I owe her that—as both a princess to her subject and from one estranged friend to another.
“I can’t make up for what happened, but I promise this.” I pray she can see the sincerity in my eyes. “If I had known you were alive, the entire combined forces of the council would not have been enough to stop me from coming to you.”
Anya blinks a few times, then looks away. “Yeah, uh. Sure.”
I shift my fists on my knees, trying to relax them. I’m still trembling.
Anya’s gaze flicks up, then down again. I don’t think I have the right to be hurt that she’s unwilling to meet my eyes.
“Ugh. Fuck this,” she mumbles. “I’m freezing.”
She swings up onto her feet and turns so that her back is to me. After a moment, she glances over her shoulder and says, “Just… come with me.”