Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Me and Grime will hold him. Just go.

Sasha’s chest burned, every ragged breath she took sending it to a fever pitch. Her head was pounding, something hot, wet, and sticky running down the back of her head. That bastard hit hard, the blow from his tail like how she thought being hit by a semi truck might feel. She had to get up - stall him, keep him away so they could escape.

She pushed herself to her hands and knees, and the world spun. Her vision filled with black, dancing spots as she rose to a crouch, chest heaving, the simple movement taking far too much out of her. It didn’t matter. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself up until she was standing on wobbling legs. She just needed her swords, just needed them so she could- 

A scream, horrified and fearful and grief stricken and rage-filled, split the air, bringing Sasha’s thoughts to a screeching halt. It sounded like - no, it was Anne. Her head rose, bleary eyes searching, trying to find her friend - was she still her friend? After everything? - and then she saw her and Marcy, saw the portal close, taking Anne and her family to safety, and saw Marcy fall.

Marcy hit the ground, and for the briefest moment Sasha held onto the vain, ridiculous hope that she’d just been knocked out. It was stupid hope, unconsciousness wasn’t exactly a common result of being stabbed through the chest with a giant fire sword - one that died the second smoke started to rise from the gaping wound.

She couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear her eyes from Marcy’s slackened face, the girl’s once bright eyes dimming. There was a sudden cold seeping through her veins, her heart thudding an off-kilter, uneven beat. This couldn’t be happening. It just… couldn’t.

Red consumed her vision, her world turning to a blazing nightmare. Her swords. She needed them now, needed to bury them to the hilt in that bastard’s back, needed to make him feel Marcy’s pain. It was all her mind would allow, the only thought that manifested in the burning, explosive rage that all but choked her. She needed it. Revenge. A concept, emotion she’d never truly felt, once nebulous and abstract, distant and fleeting. She’d thought it was what she wanted from Anne. No. No, that was nowhere near to what she felt now, the scorching demand within her to silence that overgrown salamander was undeniable.

“-tenant! Lieutenant !” A hand came down hard on her shoulder, the suddenness of it forced her to look. Grime stood beside her, face grim, the warhammer on his back and her swords in his other hand. He’d seen better days. His armor was dented and his cape torn, his already bruised face darkened by exhaustion and a cold rage. “Get up, Sasha. We need to move.”

When had she fallen? 

“Marcy. She-” Sasha choked on the word. How weak she was, that that was what choked her up. 

“I know,” Grime said, roughly dragging her up. “I know, Sasha, but there’s nothing we can do, and if we don’t get out of here we’re likely to join her.”

Sasha choked, she could hardly feel tears coursing down her cheeks nor the burning bile climbing up her throat. She couldn’t just leave her. Not to Andrias. Not to a monster willing to crush a baby, to throw a child out of a window. 

“We must honor her sacrifice by surviving.”

Her legs shook beneath her. Grime’s steadying hand, she knew, was the only thing keeping her up. “I-I… Grime, I can’t.”

Andrias turned to them, his towering form painted gold by the light of his blade. He glared down at them, his face bearing an expression more appropriate in a disappointed teacher or parent than a murderer. “Such a waste,” he rumbled, his voice echoing through the room and her insides. He raised his blade high above his head, its light growing as his robots turned to them, marching uniformly, perfect tin soldiers with their weapons raised.

“Yes, you can. ” Grime scooped her up, throwing her onto his shoulder as he ran, not giving her a chance to protest. She heard Andrias roar, a bone-rattling sound worse than anything else she’d ever heard, her head rose to see him approaching them, his colossal stride crossing the massive room in a few steps. 

Grime leapt from the nearest shattered window. It was a brief fall. They dropped hardly a dozen feet before crashing hard on one of the castle’s many ornate balconies. They tumbled a few feet, Grime losing his grip on her. Sasha’s back hit the wall. Her head crashed against the stone wall, the impact jarring her. Still, the cool stone served a wonderful contrast to the heat of the blood running down her neck, soaking the collar of her gambeson.

They were bruised and hurting, but alive. 

Sasha pushed herself to her knees, her vision blurring at the act. She heard Grime rise, wheezing as he limped over to her. “We can grieve later, but now we must survive, we must keep moving.”

“I know,” she growled. 

His hand fell on her pauldron, claws clicking on the metal. There was an odd comfort to its weight. “We’ve only lost the battle, Lieutenant. There are many more ahead of us,” he rumbled. “We will return in force to make Leviathan pay, and to take the crown for ourselves.”

“Yeah,” she rasped, pushing herself to her feet. Her armor felt heavier than it ever had before. “We’re going to kill him,” she vowed, chest aflame with rage so deep and strong it threatened to consume her in its blaze. “For Marcy.”

“For Marcy,” Grime agreed, smiling sadly. “You’ll be needing these.”

Sasha looked to her swords, her rose-gold blade and its silver sister. Tears welled in her eyes, the tightness in her chest loosing ever-so-slightly.

She took her swords gratefully, sliding them into their scabbards. Their familiar weight was an anchor she was glad to bear, grounding her in the now. 

“Now, we should-”

Sasha didn’t let him finish, tackling the old toad in a hug. Grime grumbled, but he embraced her just as fiercely. 

***

They hobbled through the castle’s lower level, lost beyond words. They didn’t know the castle by any means, neither of them having had a chance to explore it during her and Grime’s brief rule.

As it stood now, all the walls looked the same - seeming to melt, mix, congeal together into pure nonsense in Sasha’s muzzy vision. Where could they even go? The castle was in the sky, unless Andrias decided to lower it. Even Grime couldn’t survive a fall from this height, at least not as he was now.

It made her wish for Marcy, despite how the thought made her chest feel so painfully tight. She’d know this place’s entire layout, probably memorized it the first night she’d been here. It’d hardly be a shock, Marcy had done the exact same thing when they’d started at Saint James. Getting lost with her around was practically impossible - if she was paying attention, that is.

Grime suddenly stopped, his sabatons screeching against the stone. He drew Barrel’s Hammer, its jets crackling, its lines filling with pink light, almost like it was eager to be used. “You two!”

There were two women in the hall in front of them. Both of them were newts. One was tall, armored, and pink-skinned - Y-something. The other was the blue-skinned newt that had been in Andrias’ court who, for some reason, spoke in an almost British accent - Olivia, she thought.

“Captain Grime,” Y-something said. Claws slid from her gauntlets, rising with the ear-piercing squeal of metal against metal. “I may not understand the King’s plans or can say that I know his reasoning, but I know that there remains a bounty on your head and that you have added to your crimes by leading a rebellion. I, General Yunan, Scourge of-”

“Yunan, hush.” Olivia said. “Now isn’t the time.”

“But he’s-”

“Yunan, dear, I could care less.” She sighed in the long-suffering manner that only a parent could manage. “They’re hurt, and while Grime may be a traitor they deserve to be heard - especially in these… outstanding circumstances.” 

“I…” Yunan - that was her name! - trailed off, struggling to argue. Eventually she sighed. “Oh, fine.”

Olivia turned to them, speaking hesitantly, “Where are the others - Anne, the Plantars, and Marcy?”

“Gone.” Grime lowered the Hammer, not completely, his hands remained firmly on its handle, but it was lowered all the same.

“What do you mean gone?” Olivia asked urgently.

“Boonchuy went home, and the frogs went with her.” 

“And Marcy?”

“Wu is…” Grime struggled with the word, hands tightening around the Hammer. “She’s dead.”

Sasha’s throat tightened at the word. Marcy was dead, gone forever. One of her oldest friends, one of her only friends, was dead.

And as angry as she knew she should be, she just couldn’t manage it. Not for Marcy, not for her . Even now knowing that they were here, in this nigh-alien world, because of Marcy’s own actions and that she had no intention to let them go home - she just couldn’t.

Sasha should have helped her. She was supposed to be the strong one, the protector and the leader, it’s the role she’s been glad to play since they were little. So why couldn’t she live up to it now?

Why couldn’t she protect her the one time it really mattered?

“-get out of here.” They hadn’t stopped talking, moving deeper into the conversation without her input.

“And how do you propose we do that?” Grime asked. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re in the sky.”

Olivia sighed, massaging her temples. She stepped to one of the hall’s few windows, raising a hand to her lips then whistling, a noise that sounded near identical to Marcy’s when she called that bird.

No, it was identical. Or the bird thought so, at least. Sasha turned to see him at the window, wings beating the air, his dark eyes looking at them curiously as if wondering where Marcy was.

“Now, go.” Olivia returned to Yunan’s side, crossing her arms as she spoke. “Return to your rebellion, and get them to run before any more lives are lost.”

“What about you?” Sasha rasped. They couldn’t just leave them here. She didn’t like Yunan, hardly knew either of them, but no one should be stuck around that murderer. If he killed Marcy so easily when it was so clear that she’d viewed him as some form of father figure, when she’d been vital in charging his precious box, when she was so beloved by his people she had a golden statue of her what would stop him from doing away with a court official or a renowned general?

It wasn’t right.

“We’ll stay of course,” Olivia said, far too calmly for Sasha’s liking.

“What?” Sasha hissed. “You want to stay here with that murderer?” 

“Our duty is to our king,” Yunan said, “no matter what he’s done.”

Sasha growled. Her duty? She’s excusing what Leviathan’s done because of that? Rage seized her, its grip tight enough to make her chest seem like it’ll collapse. “How can you excuse it?” She spat, glaring up at the newt, “How can you excuse him murdering her, nearly murdering two kids?”

“We cannot,” Olivia said, raising a hand to silence Yunan. “And that is why we must stay.”

“Yeah, that makes a lot of sense,” Grime drawled.

“Our duty is to the people,” Olivia continued, “and for them we will stay to keep an eye on the king, to undermine what actions he makes that are not satisfactory.”

“Lady Olivia, that is treasonous talk,” Yunan hissed.

“Yunan,” Olivia said, looking at the taller newt out of the corner of her eye, “I quite liked Marcy despite how much trouble she could cause. No matter what his reasons were, nothing could excuse such an act.”

A weight lifted from Sasha’s chest. 

“Now, you should go,” Olivia said.

Grime didn’t need encouragement, already hopping onto Joe Sparrow’s back, extending a hand for Sasha to take. She hesitated for a moment, looking at the newts. “Good luck,” she said as she took Grime’s hand.

“Take care, Sasha.”

Joe Sparrow took off into the air, looking curiously at the castle, but giving no complaint to his riders. The wind was just as cutting and frigid now as the first time she’d ridden on the bird. Now though, it was almost a relief, the howl of it her ears stopping her thoughts from consuming her absolutely. 

There was a storm coming. She could see the dark clouds ahead, smell the rain in the air, hear the crack of thunder in the distance. They’d be flying right into it. What was left of the rebellion after Leviathan’s destruction of the North Tower would be running through it. 

How could he do that so callously, destroy a tower with who knows how many Toads in it? Did his thousand years of stewing in his bitterness allow it, did that alone turn him into a monster capable of doing these deplorable acts without a single remorseful thought? She didn’t know, didn’t want to think about it that much, didn’t want to think of anything that could explain his actions because nothing could ever justify what he’s done or what he’s planning.

She didn’t want to admit how much it reminded her of herself.

Sasha pressed herself against Grime’s side, burying her face into his pauldron-less shoulder, grateful for how solid he was.

She must have fallen asleep at some point because when she finally pulled her face up it was dark, the red moon glowing brightly in the sky. She hardly recognized the landscape they flew over, the night hiding any landmarks she’d know. 

Grime must have felt her shift, looking over his shoulder to her. “Go back to sleep, we’re nearly to Wartwood.”

Sasha stiffened, glaring at Grime. “The Rebellion,” she ground out, her throat painfully dry, “the others, what happened to them?”

Grime sighed, his gaze returning to the air ahead of them. “I told Bufo to retreat to the only place the King isn’t likely to attack. Wartwood.”

“What?” How did that make any sense? 

“With those automatons Leviathan no longer needs the Toad Towers, but Wartwood is a farming village. Destroy it and the resulting lack of food is likely to cause rebellions, from fellow villages fearful of the same attack or from those in the upper echelons annoyed at having to pay greater prices for the same amount of food.” He glanced at her. “It’s why we were only permitted to get rid of Hopediah, not a single frog more.”

“That won’t keep him from attacking forever.” No, he was willing to kill someone beloved. Surely, a village wouldn’t be too far up on his willingness scale.

“No, but for now it is a refuge. One where I’m sure we’ll find a number of supporters.” Grime said, then cheerfully added, “it would also be a delight to eat their food again.”

Sasha snorted, burying her face in his shoulder again, hiding her smile. For such a serious, grim guy, he could be such a doof. “Sounds great,” she said, eyes drooping.

“Indeed,” Grime said softly, his gruff tones seeming almost caring.

With the wind howling in her ears and curling around her, her face in the softish fabric of his cape, she drifted off.

Chapter Text

Maybe you’re better off without me

Sasha woke in a room she didn’t recognize, in a hammock that was far too comfortable. Her head was pounding, less a headache and more a chisel being hammered into her brow. 

The room was dark. A slight beam of red moonlight peaking through the window served as the sole illumination. Someone had stripped off her armor, swords, and cloak, leaving her in just what she’d worn beneath. Her everything hurt, an ache echoing up from her bones to resound throughout her flesh.

Slowly, numbly everything that happened comes to her. 

She was alone.

Anne was gone. Home with both of her families. Free of her. Probably almost exactly like what she wanted

And Marcy was gone too. Gone. A funny word for what happened. As if she’d left on a trip. As if she hadn’t been stabbed through the chest by someone she’d trusted in front of Anne, in front of-

She choked the memory silent to keep the tears from her eyes.

She took a wheezing breath as she sat up. Her throat felt like sandpaper had scrubbed it raw and ragged. There was an odd hollowness in her chest, an emptiness she couldn’t hope to avoid or subvert.

What was she meant to do now?

That hopeless thought made hot, caustic anger well up in her chest, bubbling up in fitful bursts. 

What was she meant to do? Why was she questioning herself when she knew what came next? She’d do exactly as she vowed. She’d avenge Marcy, she’d kill Andrias and take his crown. And maybe then, some hopeful, optimistic, foolish, childish, stupid part of herself hoped, Anne could try to forgive her - she buried the traitorous thoughts that wondered if she was truly worthy of forgiveness beneath her resolve.

She hauled herself out of the hammock, standing on wobbling legs, staring around the dim room. There was still a slight blur to her sight, a haziness swimming at the edges of her eyes. Even so this room screamed of the pink frog, Sprig. The room’s one cabinet filled to the brim with slingshots of various makes and models.

Grime had left her in Sprig’s room. Left her in the room of someone she’d almost killed.

She’d almost killed him, Anne’s friend, a living, breathing person , in a fit of spite and rage.

The thought made her stomach churn, her mouth going dry as acrid, burning bile clawed up her throat. She spotted the bucket by the hammock with bare moments to spare. Sasha crashed to her knees and retched until her stomach was empty and aching.

Sasha slumped, hiccuping as she blinked back tears. 

She’d almost done this to Anne. Intentionally. Almost left her with this grief whose grip was so tight around her throat and chest that she thought she might pop. And she hadn’t even thought it would matter.

Just like Andrias.

No wonder they’d been hostile at first.

She stood, scrubbing at her eyes. She needed to get out of this room, needed to be anywhere but here. Hell, she’d even take being a St. James’ during the summer. Not something she’d ever expected to think, but it was true.

Graceful as a newborn giraffe, she hobbled from the room and down the creaking steps to the living room where they’d played Drawsidoodle. It was dark, the moonlight not piercing the thick blinds. The only light in the room were the flickering fingers that extended from the kitchen/dining room.

She walked past the kitchen, instead heading straight out the large wooden door into the crimson-lit night.

The cool air was a boon for her aching throat and she sucked down a few grateful breaths. It was a cloudless night. They’d eaten dinner here, feet from where she stood. And she’d been so angry over petty things that didn’t really matter, not now, that she hadn’t been able to truly enjoy it.

She sighed, pressing her back to the home’s wall, sliding down to sit in the dirt. There was a sort of buzzing static to this part of Amphibia, one that had been absent in the stone halls of Toad Tower and distinctly different in the parts of the land where they’d hidden out. It was oddly comforting. No wonder Anne had liked it here.

“Sasha?” Grime’s voice cut through the background noise of the valley. He stood in the doorway, his armor still on. His bruising had gone down, the skin buried beneath some sort of salve.

“Hey, Grimsey,” she rasped. Her words lacked all enthusiasm.

Grime sat down beside her. He said nothing for a long time, a fact Sasha was grateful for. She stared at the dark red scar that arched across Amphibia’s night sky. Marcy must have loved nights here, so many new constellations to learn.

“What are you doing out here?” Grime eventually asked, looking at her carefully.

“Couldn’t stay in there any longer.” Her hands grew tight on her knees. “I just… needed out.”

Grime hummed, a hand coming to gently rest on her shoulder. She hardly registered it. “Yes, I… I understand. Perhaps it would have been better to rent from the Sundews again.”

She stiffened. For some reason that idea sounded worse than staying in Toad Tower’s cell again. She shook her head, making a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” she said hoarsely. “This… this is better than staying another night on that damn futon.”

He smiled, chuckling a little, his hand tightening a little on her shoulder. “The Plantars certainly do have better taste in furnishings.”

Sasha snorted. “Yeah, like you had it so rough in that big, cushy chair.”

“It isn’t my fault you lost the coin toss.”

“Whatever,” she said, hiding her smile under her crossed arms.

Grime laughed a little louder at that, his sheer mirth forcing her smile wider. There was a slight tension in the quiet that followed, though, a hesitation from Grime that she felt in the firm grip of his hand. She looked at him, arching a brow, silently asking him what he wanted.

“Sasha,” Grime said slowly, “they’re going to want an explanation.”

Of course they were. They’d left Wartwood after telling the people that all three humans would be going home, and then they’d returned missing the Plantars and everyone else. Anyone would want to know what the hell happened.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.” The soonest possible time. It made sense, she was more surprised they were given any sort of rest prior to their questioning. Perhaps the frogs - people - of Wartwood were better than she expected - better than she really deserved. “You needn’t say anything other than what they ask of you, I can cover the story myself.”

***

It was long past afternoon when the town’s sheriff, a tall frog named Buck Leatherleaf, came to take them to the town hall. Wartwood’s entire populace seemed to be in the building, filling it with the constant hum of low chatter that sent her head throbbing. Briefly, they quieted as Sasha and Grime entered, only to launch into greater noise with a cacophony of questions. None of them surprised Sasha. Where are the Plantars? Why is she still here? What’s going on?

Grime answered them and more, telling of the events of the prior day with only slight alterations made in their favour - telling the exact truth, he’d argued, would lead to a difficulty in dealing with the people of Wartwood that they couldn’t afford. He’d spoken the rebellion, weaving its actions and their plan in a way that made it seem as though it was formed from suspicion of Andrias and a distaste for the system. Andrias’ actual actions made the people’s belief in their story far easier.

They liked Anne way more than she’d thought.

“He tried to kill Sprig and Polly?” A young, yellow-skinned frog - the younger Sundew. Ivy, she thought - asked in disbelieving horror, her eyes wide and holding a terrible pain. There were similar frightened, terrified, outraged questions that were either shouted or whispered, until they were all lost in the cacophony.

“Yes,” Grime said, his voice cutting through the noise as he stood proud. “King Andrias attempted to kill the Plantar children, and he succeeded in doing so to Wu. Boonchuy and the Plantars have escaped to the human world. We have all been betrayed by him, his want to conquer clearly means more than the safety of those under his care.”

“What are you saying, Captain Grime?” Mayor Toadstool asked. “That we what? Rebel? You already stated yours failed and I have no intention of letting you drag my citizens, my friends, into danger.”

“Because we were caught unprepared, but we nearly succeeded. Had Boonchuy, Wu, and the others not been deceived by the King we would have,” Grime said. Sasha looked away, swallowing hard. “What remains of our rebellion is heading here, to prepare and ready for a second attempt. You can join us, fight against King Andrias, or do nothing and hope that his machines cannot replace farmers as well as soldiers.”

Whispering arose in the aftermath of Grime’s speech. She could hear the contention in their voices, feel the frustration that Leviathan’s caste system had instilled.

If there was one thing that Leviathan had instilled over the thousand years of his reign, it was a sense of division in his people. Unspoken, yes, but undoubtedly there. It was a thing made clearest by Newtopia grandeur, clean architecture, technology, and supercilious elites when compared to the rest of Amphibia, even the richer frog towns. It was something made all the clearer by the floating castle, soldier robots, and the swift, careless destruction of the North Tower.

Ivy was the first to declare her support, her rage at Leviathan’s acts brighter and fiercer than her fellows, something that reminded Sasha of her own. From what little she’d seen, Ivy and Sprig had seemed close. Close as her, Marcy, and Anne - or as they’d once been. Closer, perhaps, an idea that she envied. 

Others she didn’t know well did too, people Anne had endeared to her. An axolotl and a one-eyed frog in a massive hat. An older frog she’d seen with the Sundews and Ivy’s mother. The local restaurant’s chef and an old, half-blind frog. A girl she’d seen with Marcy. Many others too, ones she didn’t recognize in the slightest.

Not everyone, not the absolute majority of the town. Some were on the fence and some wanted no part of fighting. She understood. Once she might not have, but after Marcy… she understood.

***

Sasha was outside of the town hall now, her pounding head against the rough, cool wood. Her headache had waxed and waned over the day, now it was back in full force. What she wouldn’t give for some sort of pain killer.

Grime was back at the farm already, planning, scheming, and gathering ideas for what they’d do now. He’d want to discuss it with her later. She couldn’t right now. She’d help, just later. Her head wasn’t in it now, Grime’s talk of yesterday hadn’t helped her in the slightest.

She’d help when her head stopped pounding.

“Your headache hasn’t faded?” 

Sasha whirled, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. It was the girl who’d been with Marcy. Her arms were crossed and her half-exposed face the definition of unimpressed. 

“Yeah, so?” Sasha sighed, running a hand down her face. What did it matter to this girl she’d never even spoken to?

“It’s not good, is so.” The girl looked her up and down. “The King hit you hard, right?”

Slammed her into the stone wall with all the force of a freight train. “Yes.”

“Been a day and it’s nod faded. You have a concussion, then.” She turned, starting off only to stop and look at Sasha. “You coming or what?”

She wasn’t sure why she did. Nothing better to do. A end to the pounding in her head. A chance to talk with someone that Marcy - might have - considered a friend.

Sasha sat on a stump as the girl - Maddie - stirred a cauldron of glowing, pale red liquid. Maddie briefly examined a page in her book, then dropped in a large root. They’d been here for half an hour, quiet stretching between them. She kinda liked it, actually. The sound of Maddie’s work almost had a pleasant, if discordant, melody to it.

Eventually, sadly, it ended andMaddie turned to her, a flask of the fluid in hand.

“So this’ll help?”

“It should,” Maddie said. “Never used it on a human, but it’s worked whenever anyone else needed it.”

A gamble. Hardly an idea she wasn’t fond of, but it was better than anything else. Though she had to wonder-

“Why?” She asked, blinked, then added, “why do you want to help me? I haven’t done you or the rest of Wartwood any favors.”

Maddie hummed. “No, you haven’t. Tried to kill Hop Pop and Sprig, and he’s a good friend, one of my only friends. I’m not exactly happy with you for what you've done, but Marcy was my friend too, my apprentice, and I want revenge. You’re a ticket to that, you want the same thing. So do us both a favor and hold still.”

Sasha nodded. That she understood.

The spell wasn’t as grandiose as she expected magic to be. Instead of some big incantation, Maddie just dripped the spell onto her head and the headache was gone. Gone without a trace that it had ever been there.

She touched her forehead. “Wow.”

“Yeah, magic’s great.” Maddie dropped the bottle and took a step back, looking at her carefully.

“What?”

Maddie shrugged. “Just… checking to see if you explode.”

“Shut up,” Sasha laughed, only to stop when she realized Maddie wasn’t. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Eh, I was fifty-fifty on it.”

“Seriously?”

“No,” Maddie snorted. “You should’ve seen your face, though. Priceless.” She crossed her arms. “I wouldn’t’ve used it on you if I wasn’t seventy percent sure it’d work.”

Sasha groaned. How did Marcy end up friends with this girl?

Wait. Magic. Yeah, that made sense.

“There’s a request I’d like to make of you,” Maddie said, closing her book. “I know a lot about healing spells like that, use them a lot around here, and I know how to use resurrection spells.”

Resurrection? “As in… bring someone back to life?”

Marcy. She could bring Marcy back. For the first time in many hours, she felt some kind of hope.

“Yep,” Maddie nodded. “I have it, I can do it, but it’ll take a lot of time to get the stuff for it, and… if I can, I would need the body.”

Sasha squinted at her. “You want us, me and Grime and our shattered army, to fight through Andrias’ bots, get into his castle, and get back Marcy’s body, which he might not have even kept, when I couldn’t do it before?” She laughed, a bitter, hollow thing. “What makes you think we can?”

“You have a better plan? Cause I’m all ears,” Maddie retorted. “Look, it’s not perfect, none of this is perfect, but it’s all I can think of, all I can do. I miss Marcy, I can’t just do nothing .”

That was, to put it mildly, easier said than done. And yet, Sasha felt a spark of her old courage, lighting the pyre of her resolve. It was a goal. Something that can be achieved. It might not go well for her, she might end up worse than Marcy. But maybe she can make things right, maybe she can have a chance to genuinely apologize to Anne, maybe she can save Marcy.

“Okay.” Sasha nodded, not looking her in the face. “Let’s get started, then.”