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Thronè didn’t see Castti fall at first.
She was concentrating on another enemy entirely, some sort of weasel-like creature, placing a dagger in its side and a sword in its gut. It wasn’t until Thronè had dispatched it with a swift slice to the jugular, making it dissolve into purple smoke, that she realized the apothecary’s axe had fallen silent beside her.
“Castti?” she called, eyes frantically scanning the battlefield.
There. The crumpled pile of blue and white, red slowly staining its pristine crispness.
Thronè’s heart leaped into her throat, nearly dropping her dagger in her haste to get to her.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered, rolling Castti over onto her side.
Castti’s eyes were sightless.
Thronè’s arms went weak, causing her to almost drop Castti. Or her body, rather. Don’t think like that, Thronè thought, fighting a rising terror. She can’t be gone. She can’t leave me here.
“Temenos!” she screamed, grabbing Castti’s satchel and rifling through it furiously. She kept all of the party’s herbs on her person, and if there was anything that could save her, it was in here. “Temenos, get over here!”
“A little occupied at the moment!” the cleric said through gritted teeth as he sent another blast of light toward the remaining enemy, a wind elemental.
There. An olive of life. It hadn’t been too long. It might still work. Hastily, Thronè plucked it from its stem and placed it in Castti’s mouth.
She didn’t know what to do now. Was it supposed to take effect immediately, just in her mouth, or did she need to chew and swallow? The panic inside her was beginning to bubble over. Had she been too late after all?
Above all, she could smell it. It was on Castti’s dress, on Thronè’s hands, and on the ground surrounding them.
The sickening smell of blood.
Thronè fought the urge to vomit as she cradled Castti close to her chest. This couldn’t be happening. Not to Castti, who deserved it the least out of anybody.
It should have been Thronè, this she knows for certain. With all the blood on her hands, a tragic end is what she deserves, after all.
Not Castti, whose one wish was to heal those who need healing. It was a cruel trick of fate, that Castti was on the ground while Thronè sat above her, unscathed.
“Come on, come on,” Thronè whispered, rocking Castti gently. “You told me once you could take a hit. Well, prove it and come back to me.”
Castti was silent.
Thronè hesitated, then pressed her lips to Castti’s. They were still warm, but there was no breath on them anymore. She cursed against them, then prayed, but they didn’t do so much as twitch.
She leaned back, numbness sweeping over her. She should have known. This was what happened to the people she cared about in the end. She should have-
Castti gasped, hard, back arching and limbs flailing.
Thronè was so startled she almost dropped Castti a second time.
“Temenos!” she cried, and for once, the cleric was right beside her, Partitio following close behind. Their faces were grim, but Castti was breathing again, which meant there was still hope after all.
“Give me room,” Temenos said, kneeling.
Thronè was reluctant to loosen her grip on the other woman, but slowly lowered her to the ground after a stern look from Temenos.
Temenos spread his hands over her body. “Be healed!” he called with none of the usual irony that tinged the declaration.
Golden light enveloped Castti, and when it resided, the blood had stopped flowing from her wound. Her eyes flickered open.
“Thronè…?” she said weakly.
Thronè reached out and grasped her hands. “I’m here,” she said.
A smile ghosted Castti’s face. “Thank goodness…” Her eyes drifted closed again.
Panic shot through Thronè like a knife. “No, Castti-!”
Temenos put a hand on her shoulder. “She’s simply resting, Thronè. She’ll need time to recover from this.”
Thronè closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, hands still holding Castti’s hands. Then she opened them again, features sharpening. “We need to get her back to camp. Partitio, will you carry her?”
The merchant nodded and gingerly lifted Castti out of Thronè’s lap, careful not to jostle the wound more than he could help.
Temenos gave Thronè’s shoulder another squeeze, then helped her to her feet. “Come along. We do her no good by just sitting here.”
“…Right,” Thronè mumbled, letting Temenos lead her forward.
The walk back to camp was a blur. They kept a gentle but persistent pace, not wanting to reopen Castti’s injuries but also wanting to get back to camp as quickly as possible. Every once and a while, Castti would make a pitiful, pained sound, and Thronè felt the phantom knife in her gut twist a little more each time.
Hang in there, love.
The words startled her, but they rang true. Was this how she really felt, this emotion that she never thought she would ever experience in her disenchanted life? And why did it take Castti almost dying for her to realize it?
Thronè’s thoughts were interrupted by their arrival at the campsite. Osvald and Hikari were deep in conversation, but they both jumped to their feet when Partitio entered the clearing, holding Castti in his arms. She heard Agnea gasp softly and saw Ochette abandon the piece of jerky she was working on in shock.
“What happened?” Hikari demanded, hand flying to his blade as he approached them.
“Now, now,” Paritito said gently. “Give the lady some space. She’s just restin’.”
Relief flooded each of their faces. Thronè was once again struck by how lucky she was to have these people here around her. They cared about Castti’s well-being almost as much as she did. It was a marvelous thing.
Partitio gave Thronè a sideways glance. “Where should I put her?”
Thronè swallowed. “…Our tent will be fine. Assuming Temenos is ok with that.”
“She’s stabilized, so if in your tent is where she’ll rest the best, then that’s where she should be,” Temenos said with an air of authority that almost made Thronè forget that he wasn’t a trained healer like Castti.
Partitio nodded and carried her off to the tent she shared with Thronè, Ochette, and Agnea trailing along after them.
Temenos turned to Thronè. “You should get some rest as well. I know this has been difficult for you too.”
Thronè could have laughed at that. Temenos had a way with understatement. “…No,” she said, looking down at her hands, stained with Castti’s red. “Not until I get the blood off myself.”
“Very well,” said Temenos, giving her a pitying look. “I’m here if you need to talk, you know.”
“I know,” said Thronè softly. “Thank you, Temenos.”
The cleric smiled at her, a genuine one for once, then walked away to make sure Castti was settled.
Thronè walked away from camp until she arrived at a small stream, not deep enough to get her waist wet. There, she shakily lowered her hands into the water until the blood had washed off entirely.
Then she lowered her face into the water and screamed until she ran out of breath.
Later, when Thronè was sitting outside their tent keeping watch, she heard a rustle behind her. Her hand flew to her dagger as she whirled around. “Who-?”
It was Castti, bandaged around the middle but otherwise alive and well. “It’s just me, Thronè.”
Thronè relaxed, sliding the blade back into its sheath. “What are you doing up? You should be-”
“-Resting, I know,” she said, laughing softly. “I probably know better than anyone else that I should be. But I wanted to see you.”
Thronè suddenly felt very fragile. “You almost died, Castti.” I almost lost you.
Castti’s face sobered. “Yes, I know. It’s thanks to you that I’m still here.”
“No,” Thronè whispered. “No, I was too late. I could only hold you as you-” An ugly noise escaped her lips. What happened to Thronè the cold hard killer? She had never felt this way before. She had never had anything to lose before.
Castti dropped down on the log next to her. “I’m sorry,” she said, just as softly.
Thronè wiped her eyes furiously. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”
“But it is. I should have been more careful,” Castti began, but Thronè shook her head.
“I shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place.”
Castti looked at her searchingly. “It isn’t your job to protect me.”
Thronè was silent for a moment. Then she said quietly: “Everyone I’ve ever loved has died.”
Castti looked away. “…The same for me.”
Thronè chewed her lip. Castti hadn’t said much about her returned memories, but she knew they were more than traumatic. She woke up many nights screaming about black blood and purple rain. Thronè knew she could only chase away those memories temporarily, and it ate her up inside.
“But I’m not going anywhere, Thronè. I promise you.” Castti said earnestly.
“…But you can’t promise that, can you?” Thronè challenged her.
Castti sighed. “…No, I supposed I can’t. But I can do my best, can’t I?”
“That’s not enough!” Thronè snapped, then recoiled. “…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”
“No, it’s okay,” Castti responded, entirely too patient, like usual. “I understand. If I lost you too, I don’t think I’d…” she trailed off, then shook her head. “It would break me absolutely.”
Thronè hesitated, then buried her face in Castti’s shoulder. “Look at us,” she mumbled. “What a pair we make.”
Castti laughed softly and stroked her hair. “All we can do is to keep living and look out for each other, yeah?”
Thronè made a noise of agreement and made a contented sigh when Castti wrapped her arms around her. They stayed like that for several moments, drinking in the silence and each other’s company.
Then Thronè sat up, looking into Castti’s eyes. “I love you,” she whispered. “I didn’t even know until I thought I lost you. Isn’t that wretched?”
Castti kissed her in lieu of responding.
When she pulled away, she put a hand on Thronè’s cheek. “It’s not wretched in the slightest. Because I love you too.”
Thronè started and stared. “You do?”
Castti managed a smile. “I do.” She dropped her hand down to her chin, pulling Thronè in for another kiss.
“You shouldn’t,” Thronè mumbled against her lips.
“I don’t care,” Castti mumbled back.
Thronè let herself get lost in the kiss. After all, she hadn’t lost Castti today. And she wouldn’t lose her ever again.
She swore it.