After the Empire (Complete)

14 - Rowan

It's quiet in the room when I'm done talking.

Quiet like the grave.

Quiet like death.

Quiet.

Nobody will look at me, not even Lysandra or Aedion. Aedion's clever eyes are scanning our allies, watching for signs that they may still be inclined not the believe the annotated version of the truth that I have offered them. Lysandra's eyes are glued to the table before her, desperately attempting to not look at the people now staring at her like she's a monster from a fairy tale. I suppose, to them, she is.

Ansel is looking at Lysandra as though she can pull the girls secrets from her with her very eyes. Galan is looking at her like she is a dog which he thinks may be dangerous. Ilias is looking at her like she is a young girl who has been saddled with a horrid curse.

It's Ansel who finally breaks the dangerous, laden quiet. "Prove it"

I blink at her, once.

"Prove what?"

I know that she means Lysandra, what on earth else would she mean, but I also need to buy time for Lysandra to decide what she wants to do.

Ansel rolls her eyes. "Prove that the sky is blue. Prove that she's a shapeshifter, you moron! Prove that you're not just lying to us, because you have some gods damned Fae trick up your sleeve. Prove to us that we have at least a facade of Aelin Galathynius so that we haven't come all the way here for nothing!"

I glance at Lysandra. What I can see of her face is set in a hard, furious expression.

Then she looks up, and there is a wicked glint in her eyes. She meets Ansel's eyes, and without blinking her body starts to melt away. And suddenly there's two Ansels of Elgort in this tent.

I see the shock register on Ansel's face, and on Galan's, but she hides it quickly behind a sneer.

"Impressive" she snaps, "but I didn't ask if you could impersonate me, I asked if you could impersonate Aelin, to a degree that the people here wouldn't question you"

A thin, sarcastic smile forms on Lysandra's mouth.

I shoot her a warning glance. They cannot know that the Aelin that they met when they first arrived was actually Lysandra. So far they believe that it actually was Aelin Galathynius who met them on that beach, and that the body double was switched out for her without anyone's knowledge later on. If that ever changes, if they ever learn that we have been actively lying to them the entire time, we will lose the only allies we have in this war.

Lysandra seems to understand my warning, or else she figured it out on her own, and she simply says. "I can take her form, and I can be her enough that people who don't know her won't notice."

Ansel still looks concerned, but Ilias gently interrupts. "I hate to bring it up, but even if this girl can do what she says, that still leaves us with a kidnapped queen. Shouldn't finding her now be our top priority?"

I grit my teeth.

"Of course it should. But we cannot devote all of our attention to it. We cannot find her, only to tell her that we have lost her war for her."

They are the same words which have been playing over and over in my own head.

Galan looks a me then, his gaze level. "Than what do you suggest we do?"

I consider for a moment, then say "You do nothing. You fight this war. I will work with you, but I and my team" I gesture to Gavriel and, hesitantly, to Lorcan "will focus on finding the queen."

Galan and Ilias nod their heads, but Ansel bursts out a short, brutal laugh. "And why the hell would we leave the safety of the queen with you? Why would we believe that you would do anything to help her? Maybe you're working with this queen, maybe you don't want her found. Why would you even care?"

I blink against the rush of memories her words bring flooding to the front of my mind.

Why would you care?

Aelin running at Mistward, her hair streaming out behind her.

Why would you care?

Aelin dancing in the firelight, her whole face alive and glowing.

Why would you care?

Aelin's teeth gritted against the pain of the needle as I ink her dead onto her back.

Why would you care?

Aelin's tears laid stones on Sam's grave.

Why would you care?

Aelin's face when she plays the pianoforte, consumed by the language of the music.

Why would you care?

Aelin's cheek smeared with blood, her blades flashing in her hands.

Why would you care?

Aelin

Aelin

Aelin.

What is left of her court is staring at me, tension on every line of their bodies. They are waiting for the explosion, for Ansel to be no more than dust and blood and memories.

But I will not touch her, because she does not know. She could not know what wound she prods. She does not deserve a fight for asking a question. She deserves an answer.

And so I look at her, and the words I have been unable to speak, unable to even let myself think, fall from my lips.

"She is my mate."

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