Work Text:
Imogen wasn’t good at this whole “running headfirst into a problem” thing.
She’d been running her entire life, running farther and faster until she was sure the past couldn’t find her. She ran from Gelvaan. She ran from the storm in her dreams. She ran from Otohan on that horrible, fateful day in Bassuras.
And now, everything in her screamed to do it again. To turn tail and run. To take the wheel of the Silver Sun and drive it away, away, farther from the woman who chilled Imogen’s blood to the bone and the mother whose apparent love for Imogen was only a slight second to answers about herself. Unfortunately, as alluring as the idea was, there was simply nothing Imogen could do now. It was too late. She was headed directly into the storm.
The notion sent shivers down Imogen’s spine, and she rubbed her arms uselessly on the deck, pacing back and forth as the leylines of Exandra faintly danced on the horizon. They were becoming more visible by the day, and the static buzzing that came with them droned constantly in Imogen’s mind.
It was fine.
She’d spent her whole life blocking out noise.
“Imogen, darling?” Laudna skid towards her on the deck, eyes bright and skirts flying. “We’re going to watch Pâté try and race the skyship. Come with us?”
Imogen raised an eyebrow, stepping back a few paces out of habit. “Who’s we?”
“Fearne and me. Maybe Chetney, if I can drag him away from his butcher bib.” Laudna chewed her lip slightly, fingers trailing through the air. “Please? It’ll be more fun with you. You know he likes you best.”
In the… before times, that meant Laudna would do her silly little voice to compliment Imogen six ways from Da'leysen. Now that Pâté was sentient... well, it made the compliments a little more off-putting. Slightly terrifying. And maybe, just a little, Imogen missed when Pâté was just a figment of Laudna's imagination—something for the two of them to understand and no one else.
It was yet another reminder of how much had changed between them.
How much they still had to lose.
“I got something to do, actually.” Imogen quickly began to move past Laudna. She was too busy for games. The solstice was days away. There were things to plan. People to message. She would catch up with Laudna another time.
Still, she couldn’t help but notice the way Laudna’s face fell. “Well, that’s alright. Would you want us to…wait?”
Imogen waved her hand, choking on her own forced laughter. “No, no, not at all. Don’t worry about me at all. At all. Not at all.”
Okay, so maybe there was one more thing that Imogen was running from.
Dammit.
///
“Imogen.”
As usual, Laudna’s voice cut through the noise in Imogen’s mind. She blinked, trying to recall the last several minutes and mostly failing. The dusty landscape below had started to blend together into one darkening mass. Her heels were starting to ache from her boots, and that did nothing to help her mood, which was sour for some reason.
Probably the solstice, the end of the gods, and the fact that they were flying directly towards their imminent demise.
But of course, she couldn’t be too sure.
It was growing later by the moment, the strange aurora of visible leylines lighting up the night.
Laudna joined her at the railing, just close enough that their arms were touching. The brush sent chills up and down Imogen’s arm, and she carefully slid hers down the railing and put them back at her sides. If Laudna noticed, she didn’t show it.
“You’ve been out here for a while,” Laudna started, a little stilted. “Sure you don’t wanna… come to bed?”
“I’m a little wired right now.” Imogen did her best to avoid any eye contact, but she could tell that Laudna was trying desperately to read her. Imogen wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of the probing. She hugged herself tighter, trying to block out the static noise that had only been growing louder with each passing day.
“You’re,” Laudna waved her fingers a little, searching for the right word. “Off.”
Am not, Imogen’s mind countered sullenly.
“I heard that.” Laudna tapped her mind. “You opened a connection back there during that close call with those swarming insects, remember?”
Imogen didn't, really, but it sounded like something she would do.
“I’m fine, Laud.”
“Alright.” A pause. “You know, you can… come to me, right? Like you used to?”
Imogen heard the hurt in Laudna’s voice. She didn’t want to be the reason Laudna sounded like that—not ever. But she had no choice.
How could Laudna know that Imogen stood at this exact same railing, staring down at the same dusty ass mess beneath her on that terrible, awful trip back to Jrusar? The one where Laudna had been quiet and still and wrapped up in the bottom of the hole. The days that Imogen couldn’t spend too much time remembering for fear of slipping back into that gasping, numb spiral of hell?
Lock it up, Imogen, she told herself fiercely. Lock it up.
It was something her father used to say when they left the stables for the night back in Gelvaan. He’d toss her the keys and watch as she scurried around the barn, making sure everything was in tip-top shape.
Later, he’d said it in another context, too. Once the thoughts and the dreams started.
Imogen plastered on a smile, finally turning to look at Laudna for the first time all night. Her hair was free of its usual hammer, all curly and wild. And she looked so concerned. So worried about Imogen—always worried about Imogen.
“Did you find anything else out about your mom?”
It had been her first question—her very first one—upon coming back to life. Breath regained, and she was already worried about Imogen Temult.
Hell, her last breath had been worried about Imogen Temult, too.
As always.
And now Imogen couldn’t look her in the goddamn eye. Typical. She didn't deserve this woman, and she never would.
“I never thought I’d get a chance to fly,” Laudna commented, peering out over the edge of the skyskip. “It makes everything look rather small from up here, doesn’t it?”
Imogen chuckled. “It would be a nice thought if we weren’t heading towards…” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence out loud.
There was a thick… distance between them that made conversation quite difficult. Imogen had never experienced anything like it, not with Laudna. Laudna usually knew everything about her—down to the nightmares that kept her awake.
But when she closed her eyes at night, Imogen was no longer afraid of seeing the crimson swirling clouds. Instead, she dreaded finding the visage of a pale and bloodied hand cradled brokenly in dusty street rubble. She feared being caught in the pressing, crushing grip of fear, the way her hands moved too slowly, clearing rocks and crumbled brick away to reveal what she’d known was waiting underneath.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
The usual nightmare had changed. And although Imogen would’ve never guessed it, she longed for the nights when all she’d had to be frightened of was a faraway, fictional ruddy cloud of dust.
Laudna had been dead.
Gone.
Imogen had held her body. Begged her to come back. Prayed to Delilah and the Changebringer and even that stupid rock. And it hadn’t mattered.
She hadn’t been able to save Laudna. Not alone.
And now the entire party was indebted to the rulers of Whitestone, to Orym’s god-adjacent leader, to the bigger and stronger people of the world who’d been able to bring Laudna back to this side of the veil.
What was the point of Imogen’s world-altering powers if they couldn’t protect the one thing that mattered most anymore?
“I’m going to try and get some shut-eye,” Laudna said at last, backing away from the railing. “If you want to talk about… anything. Come find me?”
“I always do.” It tasted like a lie in Imogen’s mouth.
////
“Are you fighting with Laudna again?” Orym asked as he and Imogen picked up the crates and supplies that had been tossed across the storage room after the Silver Sun’s unfortunate encounter with the arcane wind.
The steady sounds of hammering and the occasional splinter of wood could be heard above them as the crew and the rest of the Hells attempted to repair the significant damage. Imogen had elected to re-secure the items below deck, and had only been slightly disappointed when Orym joined her. There was no solitude on this ship, it seemed.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Imogen stacked a few unopened crates of rations in the corner, wrapping ropes around them to secure the stack to the side of the ship.
“I’m not trying to pry.” Orym’s small hands knotted a bit of rope. “There, that should hold. I’ve just noticed that you two aren’t attached at the hip so much anymore.”
“We’ve been busy,” Imogen said with a shrug, willing it to be true. “She’s still my everything, you know? But all this solstice stuff and the thing with my mom, I just—don’t have the same time. Or energy. It’s been a lot.”
Orym nodded, starting to sort through a barrel of spare supplies that had been knocked over.
Imogen rolled her eyes, frustrated by his silence. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Orym, I swear to—”
“Fine.” He looked up from the mess of spare bolts and metal bits. “I just remember what it was like after my husband… passed. The immediate aftermath was hard. The hardest. But people knew. They were talking about it. They were gentle with me, with everyone. My sister—his sister— spent hours just sitting with me, and I don’t remember most of it, but it felt like they all remembered him. The world stopped for just a little while.”
Imogen swallowed thickly, her heartbeat quickening. “Orym, I don’t really—”
“And then time passed.” Orym shook his head. “And it started spinning again. It had to. Things needed to be done. Zephrah couldn’t spend the rest of eternity mourning Will and the others. But I could. I needed to. And those were the loneliest days.”
The story wasn’t helping. In fact, the pounding in Imogen’s chest and head was getting worse. She really, really didn’t want to be talking about this right now. Or ever. She was fine. Everything was fixed now. They had other things to worry about, clearly.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she told him curtly. “But, I don’t see how this is applicable. I'm fine."
It was mean. Too mean. He’d lost his husband—the love of his life. She saw the way he stared up at the sky when both moons hung side-by-side. She saw the way he cared so deeply about Fearne, protecting her the way only someone who’d lost everyone could.
Hell, since he’d been brought back, he spoke of Will more often and more fondly—like he’d seen something on the other side of that whole mess.
“I see the way you look at her,” Orym said quietly.
“Laudna didn’t die.” Imogen wondered if she could return to the top of the deck with the others. She'd made a mistake coming down here. It was too confined. Too personal. Orym could handle the rest of the clean-up down here, surely.
“Yes, she did.” Orym stood, coming over to her. “She did die. She’s back now, and it seems like everyone has moved on, but she died. You’re allowed to… I don’t know, still mourn that.”
Imogen shook her head over and over. “I'm really alright.”
He paused, then nodded. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“That would be best.” Imogen hated how fragile her voice had gotten, how hoarse. She couldn’t think about Laudna lying in the dirt, black blood pooling by her head and across her chest. She couldn’t think of the way her white vest had been stained with the stuff—the last remnants of the woman who usually never left her side.
She couldn’t.
She couldn’t.
It was too much.
Imogen clutched her chest, breathing heavily.
“Imogen?” Orym tilted his head. “You alright? I’m sorry if I overstepped—”
“Gonna see if Chet needs any help,” Imogen interrupted, making a beeline for the door. “Holler if you need anything.”
///
“Oh, darling, there you are,” came a slightly slurred voice.
Imogen glanced up from the bed she was unmaking as a very… unsteady Laudna peered around the side of the doorway.
Laudna's eyes were wide—wider than usual—and her face was flushed with more color than it usually bore. She crept around the side of the wall, like a spider approaching its prey. Even from a distance, she reeked of booze.
Imogen immediately went to steady her, pulling her into the room. “You’ve been hanging out with Ashton.” It wasn’t a question.
Laudna rarely drank.
Even when they were on the road together and stumbled upon a tavern, Laudna usually didn’t indulge in any sort of beverage.
“With this body? I’m just asking for trouble. One sip is enough to take me down.”
But tonight, there was no mistaking it; Laudna was drunk. She looked a right mess, with her hair all tousled and gaze unfocused. She leaned heavily on Imogen, stumbling just a little as she let Imogen guide her towards the bed.
“Ashton is lonely,” Laudna hummed. “They said so. Well, they didn't, but I know. I know him.”
"Are they, now?” Imogen knelt, unlacing Laudna’s shoes and carefully sliding them off her feet. “I’ll have a few choice words for him in the morning about all this.”
“No, no.” Hands came to swat at Imogen and missed by a mile. “Darling, don’t bother. They’re really quite sad. I like him.”
Imogen sat back on her heels, staring up at Laudna incredulously. “You’re wasted, Laud.”
“I am.” A giggle escaped Laudna’s mouth, and she fell backwards on the bed—staring up at the ceiling. “Oh. Oh no. The room—it’s spinning around.”
Climbing onto the bed beside her, Imogen propped Laudna up against the headboard. “Stay like this. I’ve found it helps.”
Laudna moaned lightly, and the sound sent sparks through Imogen’s stomach. She hated herself for it. Instead of dwelling on the implications of that, Imogen began to carefully unlace Laudna’s shirt. She knew from experience how uncomfortable it was to fall asleep in all their corsets and armor.
Blearily, Laudna tried to watch. “Darling, this is rather forward,” she laughed. “Don’t you wanna take me out to dinner first?”
Imogen’s face grew hot, and she avoided eye contact. “Hands up.”
And even drunkenly, Laudna complied.
Once Imogen had successfully removed Laudna’s clothes, she pulled back the blankets and helped situate Laudna between them. Laudna’s eyes fluttered, already growing heavy with sleep.
“You’re gonna regret this tomorrow,” Imogen sighed, wondering what the hell she and Ashton had been talking about that made this much booze a necessary part of it.
“Probably.” Laudna breathed deeply. And then— “Are you lonely, ‘Gen?”
Imogen stopped short, hands still closed around a fistful of blankets. “Me?”
“Mmhm.”
Imogen thought about it. She'd spent a lot of time alone in this life. In some ways, she was currently surrounded by the most people she’d ever wanted to let close. How could she be alone if she had all of them?
“I don’t think so.” Out of habit, Imogen leaned down and pressed a kiss to Laudna’s forehead. Her skin was cool under Imogen’s lips.
“You’re lyin’ again,” Laudna mumbled. “Wish you wouldn’t. I miss you.”
“I’m right here.”
But in truth, Imogen had never felt farther away.
////
The leylines were getting stronger.
The static was getting louder.
And Imogen was back to pacing the deck of the skyship. Orym had left only five or so minutes before, but it felt like she’d been standing alone for far longer.
Because even though she hadn’t been able to admit it to Laudna or Orym, she knew the truth. The aching that had settled deep within her bones the day they’d lost… well, the day they’d lost to Otohan still threatened to swallow her whole. And now, even after she no longer had to sleep alone, it still hadn’t gone away.
Maybe it never would.
The longer Imogen paced the deck, the more she knew she should head to bed. After all, nothing good was waiting for them on the other side of the night. Their last night. They all needed the rest. Imogen needed her spells back. It was absolutely imperative that she at least try to get a full night’s sleep.
But Imogen also knew that waiting in her chamber was… well, the person she’d been running from all week.
“Does it ever feel tainted? Does it change anything knowing what you have on you is… something completely different than what you thought?”
Imogen’s own questions still rang in her ear, followed closely by Orym’s quiet answers. She’d been asking about him, of course. About his moons. Nothing more. A sort of apology for her reaction in the storeroom the other day.
An attempt at reconciliation.
That’s all it was, of course. Imogen certainly hadn’t been examining her lightning scars with more frustration lately, trying to decide if she wished she could scrub them off. She wasn’t assessing her powers with a new, critical eye.
The voices in her head had always been unwelcome, but now they felt… sinister. Ever since her mother had shown her the vision of Predathos, of a possible future without these binds, Imogen couldn’t help but feel shackled by them far more than she ever had before.
Once upon a time, the scars had symbolized something different.
A curse, yes, but nothing more.
Nothing earth-shattering or world-changing.
The powers were a mystery. Something to figure out, to study. Imogen could still remember the surge of power that had left her body in Gelvaan the day she’d left home for good. All those people had attacked Laudna, trying to drive her away, and they hadn’t gotten her. They hadn’t been able to touch her because Imogen saved her. And finally, finally, she’d felt useful.
The powers had made sense.
Laudna had told her the abilities were a gift, and Imogen, foolishly, believed her. Back then, answers hadn’t seemed so scary. She hadn’t known they would lead them both here to this brutal crossroads. She’d seen it as a mission—something to do. A reason for traveling with Laudna across continents and down empty roads.
And anything that connected her to Laudna was worth every headache, every odd glance.
With that first rush of power in Gelvaan came the feeling of safety for the first time in Imogen’s life. She’d protected. She’d fought. She’d saved what was important to her. It was the same feeling she’d had the moment Otohan had smiled at her and prepared to strike down the one thing Imogen couldn’t stand to lose.
“Is she your favorite?”
Only that time, the surge of power hadn’t protected Laudna. It hadn’t done its job. It had only unlocked a world of red and anguish and emptiness that Imogen had sought to hide from for so, so long.
The air on the deck was growing colder by the minute, and Imogen shivered. She figured it was probably safe enough to head back to her chamber now. Laudna would likely already be asleep.
Just a coincidence, really.
Not like Imogen had purposefully timed the whole thing.
I’m not running from her, Imogen argued with herself, clutching her head. I’m not.
She didn’t want to run from Launda—not after the nights she’d spent curled over her knees on this very same skyship begging the bedspread to bring Laudna back, to just let her breathe again, to please fucking bring her back.
Now she was back.
And Imogen could barely look her in the eye.
Warily, Imogen trailed Orym’s earlier path to the bedchambers, disappearing below deck. Her eyes were heavy with staved-off sleep.
When she crept into their shared room, Laudna was curled up in bed—facing away from Imogen. Imogen’s heart leapt a little upon seeing her, but from relief or fear, she couldn’t quite tell. At least not anymore.
Imogen wanted to think it was surreal to have Laudna back, to not be curled up next to a cold and bitter shroud each night, but that wasn’t entirely the truth. That week without Laudna had felt more like an awful, terrible nightmare come to life— a blight amongst an ocean of nights spent pressed against Laudna’s side.
In the quiet here, perching on the edge of the bed, Imogen could pretend that void didn’t exist. She could pretend they were back in their tiny shared bedroom in the Windowed Wall or perhaps resting in a small inn on the outskirts of a farming town. Out here, there was no Otohan Thull. No apogee solstice. And Imogen’s lightning scars were just pretty lines for Laudna to trace with her long fingers as they drifted off the sleep.
A tightness formed in Imogen’s throat as she watched Laudna. Some sort of missing, probably. Longing for those nights, filled with quiet laughter and mumbled conversation.
“Hey,” Imogen said without thinking, breaking the silence. Truly, she didn’t know why she did it. She didn’t expect Laudna to respond, still as she was. Laudna, for all the terrible puns it invited, did sleep like the dead.
But Laudna rolled over, eyes wide and face lighting up at the sight of Imogen. “Hi.”
Instantly, Imogen regretted her decision. “Are—are you sleeping?” She willed it to be true. She should’ve stayed up on the deck a little longer or tucked under the covers without saying anything.
“No,” Laudna propped herself up a little. “I was just staring at the wall with my eyes open.”
“Big night.” Imogen hated herself for saying it so brightly. The last evening before the solstice—possibly their last evening period—and she was doing that patronizing thing she could recall her father doing as a kid.
Laudna’s eyes locked on Imogen, dark and intelligent—probing deeper, wanting more. “How are you feeling?”
Terrified.
Trapped.
Like I’m tainted by these scars.
Missing you.
Hating that I’m missing you.
Scared that I’m about to do something so goddamn stupid.
Imogen didn’t say any of that. “Good,” is what she said instead. It was almost peppy coming out of her mouth, sugarcoated like one of Flora’s favorite treats.
Something cracked slightly on Laudna’s face. Her hopeful expression broke for just half a second, hurt flashing in her eyes. “You… don’t have to lie to me.”
Imogen had never really lied to Laudna before. Laudna might've been the one person in all of Exandria who Imogen had sworn never to hide from. Her walls were meant to keep out the whole world, but never Laudna. Laudna was her world.
And Imogen hated the way she couldn’t look at her tonight, the way useless babble began flowing from her lips. She despised herself for it, and that scared her because she’d never hated herself around Laudna before.
I’m sorry, Imogen’s mind supplied unhelpfully. She wanted to scream it from the rooftops. I’m sorry, Laud. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Her head pounded with an oncoming headache.
“Since you came back,” Imogen heard herself admitting to Laudna. “I’ve been almost scared… to say anything.”
Laudna leaned forward. The hurt from before was still there, but something else had joined it, too. Her lips were parted, head tilted ever so slightly. A single wisp of black hair fell across her face, and Imogen fought the urge to tuck it behind Laudna’s ear.
When Laudna spoke again, her words were breathless. “Say what?”
Imogen leaned closer, unable to help it. Her face had grown hot. For some reason, her chest had begun to spasm a little—like the wind had just been knocked out of her by one of Ashton’s best sucker punches.
What was she supposed to say?
That she was so goddamn scared of losing Laudna again? That every time she looked at the other woman, she saw her own failure to save her? That the new haunted look in Laudna’s eyes made Imogen burn with shame?
Or the other thing?
The unspoken thing between them that had been there for gods knew how long? The fluttering, the flushing, the hand-holding, the cuddling? It was the thing she’d been avoiding for far, far longer than anything else. The thing tainted by jealousy, made clearer by Dusk and Pretty and Ira and everyone else that could perhaps take Laudna away from her?
Lock it up.
Lock it up, Imogen.
Lock it up.
Gods, please, not tonight. Not tonight.
Laudna was still looking at her, eyes unblinking. A familiar warmth stirred in Imogen’s belly, low and coiled. Launda was so close to her face, waiting for Imogen to answer—alive and breathless and breathing.
And it was on the tip of Imogen’s tongue. Despite all her resolutions, despite the hours Imogen had spent visualizing the locked box in her chest where admissions like this one belonged, it was sitting right there—coaxed out by Laudna’s quiet pleading.
She didn’t know what was going to happen tomorrow. She might not have another moment like this one. There were so many things left unsaid between her and Launda, so many things that Imogen had clawed and fought her way to have the chance to say again.
Say it.
Imogen could do it. She could let the dangerous truth fall from her mouth—let it travel to Laudna’s chapped and slightly damp lips. She could press her forehead to the other woman’s and breathe her in as deeply as she knew how. Imogen could throw caution to the wind and let it all go tonight.
She could.
Laudna was her tether.
Her better half.
And they both knew it.
Perhaps everyone did.
“I’m sorry,” Imogen gasped, pushing back off the bed. She needed more distance, more space. This was too close. Too risky. She’d almost gone and ruined everything. “I—I just think I need some air— more air—”
Laudna reached for Imogen’s hand, clutching it for just a moment before letting it slip through her fingers. Imogen could feel Laudna’s eyes on her as she padded back towards the door.
She wouldn’t look back. She couldn’t look back. She wouldn’t—
“Imogen?”
Imogen glanced over her shoulder. “Mmm?”
“Do—” Laudna cleared her throat. “Do you need a glass of water?”
Imogen tried to smile. It came out more like a grimace. “No, I think I’ll manage.”
This time around, the hallway seemed darker than before. The moment the door clicked behind her, Imogen pressed her head against the wood—inhaling.
Gods, she was so stupid. The solstice was happening. There was a pretty good chance that neither of them would survive the inevitable encounter with Otohan, and Imogen hoped to any god who was listening (and not scared for their own existence) that she would be the one to go because if she had to cradle Laudna’s broken body again and scream and beg and wish she could go back and do this moment again, it would kill her anyway. There was a very real possibility that Imogen would regret this night forever.
So, better to let Laudna live.
She deserved it, anyway.
Oh, but Imogen couldn’t get the way Laudna had looked at her out of her head. The way she’d been inviting the truth, coaxing it from Imogen. In all the months that Imogen had spent pushing this Thing away, she’d never seen Laudna look at her like that.
With adoration, sure.
With love and care and worry? Every damn day.
But this?
This went beyond that. This was something else altogether—something that Laudna herself had claimed not to have tapped into for years.
Imogen’s hand went back to the doorknob, hovering. It wasn’t too late. She should go right back in there and tell Laudna the truth—the real reason why she’d been avoiding her since Whitestone. The reason she’d been shutting her out.
The cold brass was nice under the burning of her fingertips. Imogen was sure that in another few seconds, she might actually cause sparks.
Lock it up, Imogen.
Imogen wrenched the door open, and came face to face with—
“Laudna,” she gasped, eyes widening.
Laudna’s arm was outstretched, ghosting over the knob on her side. She’d been just seconds too late, apparently, and looked equally shocked—stepping backwards in surprise.
Out of pure panic, Imogen slammed the door shut again.
Laudna had been right there. Why had Laudna been right there?
Imogen walked a few paces away, one hand coming to tug on a handful of her lavender hair. She needed to think. This whole situation was careening wildly out of control, and it was growing later by the second, and—
She heard the door open again. Imogen didn’t need to turn around to know that this time, Laudna was walking towards her. She would recognize those footsteps anywhere.
A hand rested on Imogen’s shoulder just as she turned around to meet her, awkwardly sucking in a breath. “Are you quite alright, darling?”
“Yeah,” Imogen said, ducking her head. “Sorry about that. Forgot my… cloak.”
“I understand.” Laudna gripped her shoulder. “Would you like me to get it for you?”
“There’s nothing I’d like more, truly.” Imogen’s breathing quickened. “I’ve wanted… that cloak for so much longer than I’m willing to admit, but that’s dumb because—well, it’s just not practical, is it? The cloak isn’t built for me. Hasn’t tapped into those duties in a while because it’s been in the desert, and that’s totally fine, believe me. And recently, I actually lost the cloak for about a week, and I couldn’t breathe without it, which terrifies me. And I’m also the reason it was lost in the first place. So, I really don’t think you should get—”
Laudna grabbed the back of Imogen’s neck, pressing her forehead to Imogen’s. “You talk an awful lot when you get nervous, darling.”
The fire in Imogen’s stomach grew brighter, harder to ignore. She went a little weak in the knees with the force of it, and a small whimper escaped her throat. “Laud…”
“Don’t lie to me, Imogen,” Laudna said, steady and quiet. Her hands tightened in Imogen’s hair. “You promised. You promised to fill that emptiness Delilah left behind, so do it.”
Imogen blinked furiously, trying to keep the blurry vision at bay. This was so stupid. They were on a busted-ass skyship in the middle of the sky on possibly their last night ever and this was so, so foolish.
Imogen’s eyes squeezed shut. “I’m tryin’.”
“I know.” A note of desperation crept into Lauda’s voice. “What haven’t you been able to say to me?”
Imogen didn’t have it in her to fight off the urge for the second time. She shattered, combusting into a million tiny shards of purple glass, fragile and broken and nicked in just the right spot. Imogen sank forward, closing the gap between her lips and Laudna’s—the same lips she’d been eyeing all night, now pressed firmly to Imogen’s mouth with a tongue flicking just past the teeth.
She was kissing Laudna.
It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed—forehead kisses, cheek kisses, and pecks before bed—but it was the first time they’d kissed like this. Needy. Hungry. Deep. Imogen would gladly suffocate here, pressed up against this woman who was the only chink in her armor.
After they broke apart, Imogen choked on her own tears. They’d bubbled up somewhere in between the question and the kiss, and now, Imogen wasn’t sure they’d go away.
“No.” Imogen shook her head, sick with the pure relief and fear of what she’d just done. “This isn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”
In Imogen’s dreams, she would kiss Laudna in a field of flowers. Or on horseback. Or while they waited for the ginger cookies they were baking to finish in the oven. It was sweet. It was peaceful.
None of Imogen’s dreams involved this. She didn’t want to be kissing Laudna out of desperation in a cold skyship hallway where she’d once watched Ashton carry her corpse.
Laudna’s paper-smooth thumb brushed across Imogen’s cheek. “The kiss? Or our lives?”
“Yes,” Imogen cried, laughing a little. “Both. All of it.”
Maybe now she understood Orym’s words from before:
“Not much in life is the way I’d thought it’d be.”
Laudna pulled back a little to look at Imogen, and as Imogen dashed the next round of tears from her eyes, she was surprised to see how… at peace Laudna looked.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” Imogen sniffed, suddenly self-conscious.
“You’re right about a lot of things, Imogen,” Laudna sighed. “But I don’t agree. It was supposed to go exactly like this. Fate, Imogen. I think it’s fate.”
“Fate.” Imogen practically spit the word. “Why’s everyone talking so much about fate?”
“Your mother has gotten in your head.”
The vision from Imogen’s mother of the potential future still formed behind her eyelids when she blinked. A world beyond chance. A place where she wouldn’t have these binds on her wrists or in her head. She and Laudna could just… be free. She wouldn’t have to destroy Liliana for the sake of Exandria. She wouldn’t have to watch her friends die at the hand of Otohan Thull. It would all just be so… simple. The dream could be real—storm, little cottage, horses, and all.
Laudna cupped Imogen’s face. “It’s tempting, isn’t it? But you can’t just cut the strings, Imogen. They give the world meaning. All the bad things. All the good ones. Without fate, life is meaningless.”
“That sounds like some Matron of Ravens shit,” Imogen muttered darkly.
“Perhaps I’ve spent too long on her threshold,” Laudna sighed. “You don’t have to trust in the gods, Imogen. Just… in me.”
“I do,” Imogen whispered. “You know that, right?”
“I understand why you’ve been pulling away. Everyone needs their space.”
Teeth work their way against Imogen’s bottom lip, keeping words inside until finally: “No. That’s not fair to you. I’ve been awful. I broke my promises. Be angry with me. Please.”
Laudna sighed. “I can do many things, but not that.”
Imogen sighed. “I can’t lose you, Laud. Not again. I think it would kill me.” She took a breath to steady herself, pushing forward. “You died. You died, Laudna. And you’re back, but you died, and I think a part of me did, too.”
It felt good to say it out loud, to say it to Laudna. Her body was suddenly a million times lighter, floating, floating, drifting away. A box unlocked.
Laudna stroked a hair through her hair. “I’m so sorry you had to live through that.”
Of course. It was such a Laudna thing to say—so wonderfully selfless, so caring. Imogen tipped her head back. “You shouldn’t be apologizing for dying, Laudna.”
Not when it was my fault.
Silence fell between them, the aching blaze that had risen inside Imogen finally tempering off into a comfortable warmth.
“Are you contemplating… siding with your mother?” Laudna twisted her hand around her wrist.
“What a complicated question,” Imogen chuckled. The urge to lie again was strong. But, for the first time all week, she fought it. “Maybe. Maybe a little.”
The Hells wouldn’t follow her into that chaos—not after the weeks and weeks of prepping to do the opposite. Following her mother’s path would mean going alone. Leaving all of this. All of them.
“I’d go with you,” Laudna said quietly.
“You shouldn’t.”
“I don’t care.” Laudna lifted Imogen’s chin. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
Imogen rolled her eyes a little. “That’s not true, Laud, the others—”
“Wouldn’t have saved me alone.” Laudna’s lip trembled a little. “It’s okay. I know this. We didn’t save Bertrand. You saved me. You. I heard your voice in that tree. I saw your face.” Launda smiled a watery smile. “It’s such a lovely one, Imogen. The very best. The only good thing in that blasted, awful landscape of hell.”
“I’m gonna kill Delilah Briarwood,” Imogen growled. “When we survive this solstice, I will bring her back, hunt her down, and slit her throat a million times for what she did to you.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Laudna?” Imogen leaned her head against Laudna’s chest.
“Yes?”
“I gave away your potholder.” Imogen tried to laugh, and it sounded pathetically like a sob. “I didn’t want to. I just—did it.”
Laudna’s laugh was warm and bright. “We’ll just have to go get another one, yes?”
There were so many things they needed to do. So many awful things between them and that blasted new potholder. But Imogen didn’t care. She fixed it in her mind as the shining light at the end of this tunnel.
A reason to fight.
“We should get some rest,” Laudna whispered, tugging on Imogen’s arm.
She was right. Imogen didn’t move. “Can you kiss me again?” she asked. Because the night was scary, and Imogen was scared, and she was alone, and she needed reassurance that Laudna was there.
“I’m here,” Laudna assured as she leaned in again. “I’m here.”
And for the first time in a very long time, Imogen believed her.