RORY
It was one of those "you'll never believe the day I had" evenings that day when Jigano came back to the farm, describing the events by the Notice Board and its proclamation. And in all honesty, Rory hadn't wanted to believe it, but what choice did he have? It was happening, whether he wanted it to or not, and something had to be done about it, whether he wanted to or not.Maea, naive and a dreamer as she might be, would've been a preferable choice: a tolerable choice. She sought to unite, to guide, not to control, but she was nowhere to be found. His bitterness at her had turned to worry, and then to guilt: would she still be around if he had backed her? If he had helped get her fledgling government off the ground, would they not be in this mess?
But it was too late for regret, so he tried to merely look ahead as he picked Jigano up at the Atheneum. He didn't say much on the way over, which wasn't all that unusual, and offered silent greeting to both Deimos and Amalia as he stepped into the basement (not surprised to already find the former there). Still quiet he settled on the empty chair between Amalia and Jigano, spreading some jam with great consideration on a slice of delicious-smelling bread.
He remained silent in all greetings—except a mellow Hullo to Remi—and chose to give most of his attention to his slice of bread. Still, he caught the familiarity between Remi and Ronin, and he wondered slightly at it, and he thought of what he knew of both of them, and then decided that he was deeply, profoundly happy for them.
Then he admitted something to himself: he was afraid.
He was afraid because of the power Zariah seemed to think she could exert over them, and he was afraid because he didn't know how much of it was true.
Rory had never lived under a ruler. He had never lived in any society in which anyone actually could do something against you, where it was somehow allowed to intervene in someone else's life just because you thought they did wrong. He knew the blunt force trauma of bullies, but he did not understand prison and what gave anyone the right to decide that someone else was going there.
He wished he could be as vexed as Amalia. As experienced as Deimos. As bold as Wessex and Ronin. As resourceful as Remi.
But he was just afraid, slowly spreading more jam on another slice of bread as Amalia began her impassioned speech. She spoke of love and of cowardice and of deserving, and she mentioned two men whose names began with R, and he thought of that day by the Spire, when he had caught Remi sketching by it. The autumn sun had been kind, smiles easy, a time less complicated; for the first time Rory looked up, watching the pair and feeling something coil and uncoil in his gut.
Ronin was a good choice. But Rory? Everyone seemed to think so, except himself, and he remembered Ashetta snarling in his face, Edy's threat, fire whispering, licking, around her hands; he remembered the sickening surge of adrenaline and fear and how it tore through his body.
You weren't always who you thought you were, and he let out a long, slow sigh, finally taking in the rest of the room.
Wessex called him out on his scarcity since the festival and in response his wrinkled his nose; wanting the responsibility wasn't the same as perhaps needing to shoulder it, and she was right. He had had a tough time lately.
So he listened to her points, and he listened to Remi's points, and he thought about Kiada's questions and Wessex's answers and Remi's assurance that despite how Zariah had a hold on him, she could not make him hurt anyone.
And he though that he was not the answer to any of these things. His hands were twisting and turning over themselves under the table.
"I was actually thinking about enlisting," he ended up saying, avoiding Jigano's gaze (because he had not voiced these thoughts out loud before) and thinking it was relevant for the sole reason that apparently about half the room thought he could be a King and that he would somehow have to factor into the plans. "Gods knows it sounds like I need to learn how to fight anyway."
(And also because I am afraid afraid afraid afraid afraid—)
"I'm not a lot of things, and definitely no war leader. But I do believe there are those among us who have actual experience with these things," and his eyes lingered briefly on Deimos, a silent question, a gentle nudge.
as if you were on fire from within,
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.
