Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today was his chance. He knew it. What she saw as an inconvenient day off, he saw as an opportunity. What she saw as a place that was safe at last, he saw as a challenge. What she saw as her greatest failure… he saw it too. And he wanted revenge. He waited, and learned, and planned, studying everything he could about the layout of the castle, Cassandra’s schedule, about the guards: their names, their uniforms, their mannerisms. Everything. All this showed him that this would be hard. Harder than he’d expected, if he wanted to do everything right. But he was patient. He had time. More time than they had.

More time than she’ll have.

And then it's time to move. He has all the knowledge he needs. He finds his mark, and then he has the name and the uniform he needs. A bit of magic and the face is his too. The next part is easy—it hardly counts as sneaking in when everyone thinks you belong. He takes up his position and waits, even smiles at the young Lady as she leaves in the morning. The smile hides his cruelty, but only barely. Of course, the young Lady wouldn’t notice if it slipped. Why would she? Why would the mighty Lady de Rolo notice someone like him?

She wouldn’t, and that’s what he was counting on as he slipped through the door and into a guard tower on the back wall of Whitestone Castle. This will do. He slips back out, making sure to leave the door open just a bit. A small thing. But small things build up, to form something bigger than themselves. He is a small thing. Or at least he wills himself to be as he presses himself against the outer wall, the inside of the outer wall. Ironic, he’s an outsider on the inside. Or is he an insider, trapped outside all these years? They were. Until the outsider-insider went inside for the outside. No, no. Not now. Now it is time for focus.

Focus on waiting.

Focus.

Wait.

Morning slips into afternoon and afternoon into evening.

When the bright blue sky fades to the orange of sunset, that’s it. That’s when she’ll come back. Inside. Outside to inside, and here he is in between. And there she is. Good. The small things are building. The big thing is coming. His chance, for them, for him. Not for her. This is the end for her. The knife is cold in his hand. He drops his disguise, he wants the good Lady to see his face. It is time for the maker of ends to meet her maker. Time for the city of the Dawnfather to face a new Dawn.

**********************

“Cassandra, darling, we can handle this. You need to take a break,” Vex said, placing a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder and gently steering her towards the door of the study.

“I know, I know. But you all have the records from the council, right? Remind them about the changes to the construction plans in the Northern Ward, and—”

“And the new trade agreement with Kymal. Yes, Cass, we know.” Percy grabbed a stack of parchment from her that Cassandra hadn’t even realized she was still carrying, then rested his hand on her other shoulder, pausing a moment to meet her gaze. “We’ve got this, Cassandra. Go take a break, spend the day somewhere that isn’t your study. Get lunch with Kynan, or JB—”

“Or go sit alone in the woods,” Vex added. “Just, no work. Whitestone will survive without you for a few hours, dear.”

“Very well,” Cass sighed, allowing herself to be guided out into the hall. “I’ll see you all this evening, then. But Vex?” she said, turning back towards her brother and sister-in-law, still watching her intently as if she might begin balancing a budget if they looked away.

“Yes, darling?”

“Don’t let my brother ruin the city in my absence.”

Vex laughed, taking Percy’s hand as he let out a huff of indignation. “Wouldn’t dream of it!” Cass smiled as she left, heading towards one of the many sets of winding stairs of Whitestone Castle, her shoulders feeling a bit lighter than they had as of late. Since Percy and Vex had returned after the conflict with Vecna, they’d been a great help in the efforts to repair the city. With their aid, along with the rest of the council, Whitestone was beginning to heal and even expand. But Cassandra still felt the weight of responsibility for her people. It was her duty as a councilmember, as a de Rolo. And it was also partly her fault that the city had found itself so broken under the rule of the Briarwoods. That guilt kept her locked in her study, reading page after page of reports and requests, studying books and law, or writing letters to leaders across Tal’dorei till her hand was sore and her eyes half-closed from exhaustion.

Percy and Vex had made her agree to take at least one day off each week, as well as coaxing her to join them for meals in the dining room and breaks for tea. Last week, they’d caught her in the kitchen, studying ledgers and scribbling notes for the next council meeting when she was supposed to be relaxing. Vex’ahlia had not quite agreed with her claim that preparing for a meeting was relaxing, because it meant she would be more calm the day of, and took Cassandra’s book and ink away. Thus, they were both extra careful this week to make sure she’d actually take time for herself.

Cass sighed, continuing down the hall. She’d decided enjoying the spring weather would likely count as restful, and planned to take her sketchbook and some lunch to the garden. As she swung open the door to the kitchen, she was greeted with a wave of heat and delicious smells wafting from the oven. “Good morning, Marie!”

“Why good morning, Lady Cassandra!” The cook looked up from her cutting board and ever-growing pile of diced carrots. Marie was an older woman, who’d worked here as long as Cass could remember, long before the Briarwoods set foot in Whitestone. She’d fled to the town during the attack and survived those years of darkness, happy to return to her job once the city was free again. “I’ve got lunch all ready for you, love,” she said, pointing to a neatly folded bundle of cloth on the countertop. “And I’m working on a nice stew with fresh rolls for this evening, so be back for dinner.”

“I’m sure it will be lovely! I’ll see you this evening then,” Cass said, taking the parcel and heading from the warmth of the kitchen out to the crisp, cool air of Whitestone in early spring. The trees and flowers were beginning to bud, the first tastes of green after a long, cold winter. She nodded and exchanged pleasantries with the guards on duty as she circled around to the back of the castle, towards the gardens, and the spot she’d called her own since she was a young girl: a large, smooth rock nestled under a cherry tree that had just started to flower again, free of the necrotic energy that was once poisoning the soil. It had a perfect view of the flower garden to watch the butterflies and birds flit around, though it would be a few more weeks before it was warm enough for that. It was peaceful, and nostalgic in a way that didn’t hurt quite as much as her memories often did. And so she sat, pulling her sketchbook and charcoal from her bag and letting her mind drift away.

Cassandra let Whitestone’s problems and all the work that needed to be done fade into the background, just for now. Perhaps Percy and Vex had a point about taking breaks. Not that she’d ever let them know that, of course. Especially not her dear brother, who could often be found tinkering away in his workshop at strange hours of the night. Hypocrite. For now, she’d leave the governance to the rest of the council, and she’d catch up tomorrow.

Morning slipped into afternoon and afternoon into evening as she sketched the castle, the plants, and even a particularly shiny beetle, nibbling the cheese and apple Marie had sent and humming to herself as she worked. The bright blue sky eventually faded into the orange glow of sunset and Cassandra decided it was time to head back—for dinner, and to make sure the city hadn’t collapsed in her absence. A rush of anxiety washed over her as she considered every possibility of what could have gone wrong, from mild but annoying clerical errors to…to the thought of Percy and Vex dead, her family gone once again. With that terrifying image playing in her mind, she tossed her belongings back into her bag and hurried back to the castle.

************

One moment Cassandra was passing through the back gate, nearly home. Nearly safe. And the next there were hands on her, pulling her. Before she could react, there was a hand over her mouth and the cold bite of steel pressed against her neck. Her shriek was muffled as she was pulled through a door and shoved up against the wall.

“Lady Cassandra Johanna Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo,” a voice hissed, its owner just behind her. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

Shit. Cass felt her breath quicken, her heart racing. Stay calm. She needed to stay calm, panicking wasn’t going to help.

Professor Anders, laughing as he held a dagger to her scarred neck. Blood pouring onto the floor, her own blood.

No, no, not now.

“Now, I’m going to let you speak. You’re smart enough not to try anything, I assume. One wrong move and you’ll bleed out in seconds.” The knife pressed further into her neck, drawing a thin line of blood that oozed down her neck. Slowly, carefully Cassandra bobbed her chin in the faintest ghost of a nod. The hand let go of her mouth and she took a deep breath.

Sharp pain, Ripley’s scalpel carving across her arms, tracing along her face.

Focus. Another breath. The hand pressed into her shoulder now, pinning her against the stone bricks. She finally got a good look at her assailant. A man who looked a few years older than Percy, dressed in a guard’s uniform. But this isn’t one of her guards. No, she’s met them all. Knows their names, their faces—couldn’t trust them otherwise.

“What, no questions, no pleading for your life?” the man laughed. “Nothing from the Kestrel, now that your wings are finally clipped?”

“What—What do you want from me?” Cassandra gasped. Her voice was shaking, and she hated it. She hated feeling weak, but hated showing that weakness even more.

“Oh, you can’t give me what I want. Not anymore.” He smiled, a cruel smile. It reminded her of Sylas, all those times he called her daughter and moments later drained her life away. “What I want are the lives of my family. But you took those away when you sold out the rebels, you snake-tongued liar. You claimed to be working for the people, but you were with them the whole time. A Briarwood through and through. What would your father say?”

Cassandra tensed, the panic replaced with anger and guilt. “You have no right to speak of my father like that,” she spat. “And I am no Briarwood. It was a name forced upon me.”

“And yet, you worked so willingly for them. How quickly you betrayed your people, just to save yourself.”

“I—I did. I failed you all. I didn’t want to, I wasn’t in control, I—

“EXCUSES!” he shouted, then stopped himself as the noise echoed around the chamber. “My sister and my father are dead, and you bring me pitiful excuses.”

“I’m sorry, I truly am. I… there is no excuse for what I did.” Cassandra was fully shaking now, failing the battle of maintaining her composure.

Sylas and Delilah charming her again and again, forcing her to tell them what she knew, tearing her memories and her will to shreds. She didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t know who she was. Blood. Laughter, cold and cruel, bodies in the Sun Tree. So many bodies.

“There isn’t. My family is gone. And I can’t get what I want. So instead, I’ll take what I need—payment.”

Cassandra’s mind switched from paralyzing panic to action in a split second as she felt the man’s muscles twitch against her throat. She didn’t want to die today. Her reflexes, honed by hours of sparring with Vex and Kynan, took control. She swung her arm up to meet her assailant, knocking his hand and the knife away from her throat. The blade cut a thin line across her chest and she hissed at the stinging wound, but now she had the advantage. The man wasn’t expecting her to fight back.

He stumbled. Cass used that moment of weakness to deliver a swift kick to his chest, knocking him back further, then reaching down to her boot, where her own dagger was concealed. She found the leather-wrapped handle and drew the weapon. An even match, now.

The man was lunging forward, towards her chest, knife in hand. “You cannot take this from me too,” he snarled. She twisted away, trying to slide behind him, to block his blade with her own. But he spun back with a silver flash of metal as he changed the trajectory of his blow. Cassandra felt the pressure first, like a well-placed punch. But then there was the sickening sensation of cold steel sliding between her ribs, into her side. She sucked in a breath, bracing herself for the pain to come. Better than the chest. Better than the neck. The pain hit in a red-hot wave, but it was quickly dulled by adrenaline. No time for pain now. Her body knew it too. Just as he pulled the knife out, Cassandra grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it and pulling him forward, swinging her knee up to meet his groin. He let out a cry of pain and was startled just enough for Cassandra to knock the knife from his hand and send it clattering to the ground.

“And you… you cannot take me,” she gasped, stumbling forward, her dagger poised to strike in one hand while the other tried to staunch the endless flow of blood from her side. One more step. He was still on the ground. Do it. She steadied her shaking wrist and stabbed the blade into her attacker’s stomach once, twice. His blood mixed with her own, spattering the stone floor. She kicked him to the ground; watched his eyes glaze over. He was gone.

And her hands were bloodied once again.

Her dagger clattered to the ground, joining its counterpart, and she stumbled towards the door, finally finding the strength to call out. “Help! Guards, someone, help!” Her voice was hoarse. She hoped they would still hear. Seconds later, clamoring armor and voices outside. She stumbled to the door, leaving a bloody handprint behind as she pushed it open. “Please…” Her sight faded to gray but she pulled herself back. She couldn’t give in yet.

“Lady Cassandra?” A familiar voice, a familiar face looking on with concern, a familiar hand reaching towards her shoulder to steady her. Kynan. “Cassandra, you’re hurt, what happened?”

“Attacked. In there. Dead, I think.” She coughed, sending stars flashing through her vision and pain stabbing through her chest. “Get Percy… Vex…” Cassandra was losing her battle with consciousness. She felt Kynan shift to take on her weight as she began to slip away.

“Mareth! Find the Lord and Lady! And send for a healer!” Kynan shouted. Then, quieter, “I’ve got you, Cass. You’re safe now.” That was all she needed. She collapsed to the waiting embrace of darkness.

Chapter Text

When Cassandra woke again, the world was fuzzy. She was lying down, surrounded by the low murmur of voices, catching only pieces of the conversation. But something deep in her mind told her these voices were safe. She didn’t need to worry about hearing every piece. She would be okay. Her name was mentioned several times, along with words like guards, knife, alone, assassin. Assassin. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? An assassination attempt. On her. In her own home, where she was supposed to be safe again. Safe. Was the rest of her family safe? Where were they? What happened, what—

“Breathe, Cassandra.” That was Vex, good, Vex was okay, but what about—“You’re going to be alright, I know it hurts.”

Hurts? What was supposed to hurt? She was fine, she was alive, it wasn’t her they needed to worry about. “Is.. is Percy?” she croaked, trying to sit up, trying to get her eyes to focus so she could see more than colorful blobs, but her muscles protested every move. A hand was pushing her back towards the bed. A small hand. She didn’t recognize that touch, someone was touching her again, cold steel against her throat, sharp words piercing her heart. Her whole body tensed and oh, that was what hurt. Her side felt like it was tearing itself apart and her chest was screaming for air. But she needed to get away. She needed to—

“It’s just Pike, darling, she’s here to help.” The hand was gone now, leaving Cassandra space to catch her breath. “And Percy is safe, everyone else is too. It’s you we’re worried about.” The blurry, faintly blue shape in front of her finally resolved into Vex’s familiar form, kneeling on the ground, holding her hand. How long had Vex been holding her hand? She hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t noticed a lot, in fact. She was lying on the ground, something soft tucked under her head. She could hear her brother’s voice ahead. He sounded angry. But he was here, and that was good. And to her other side was, indeed, Pike Trickfoot, one hand still clutched around her holy symbol, the other hovering uncertainly, waiting for permission.

“Hey, Cass,” said Pike. “How are you feeling?” Cassandra tried to take inventory: her side was burning, her chest ached, she felt like she could vomit or pass out at any moment. Possibly both, at the same time. She summarized all of this with an eloquent groan of pain, which earned her a laugh from both Pike and Vex. “Yeah, I bet. Vex healed you a bit, kept you stable until I could get here. But you’re still pretty beat up. Would it be okay if I healed you?”

Cassandra nodded. Anything that could make this go away faster was more than welcome.

“Now, it’ll work best if I can touch you. I’d lay my hand on your side, just for a moment. But if that’s too much right now, I can try something else.”

“Touch is fine,” Cassandra said with a groan. “I—I just panicked earlier, sorry.”

“I think anyone would. No need to apologize. Deep breaths, okay?” Pike said, resting a hand on her aching ribs.

“I’m right here too, darling,” Vex added, giving Cassandra’s hand a squeeze as she tensed from Pike’s contact. She tried to keep her breath steady as the warm glow of magic eased through her. Feeling her organs shift and mend inside her body wasn’t something Cassandra thought she would ever get used to. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but it was… disconcerting. And itchy. The skin of her chest and neck was crawling as it knit back together where she’d been cut. As the itching faded, so did most of the pain, and the nausea was chased off by one final wave of divine energy.

“There, all done!” Pike removed her hand, checking over her work. “You’ll probably be sore for a bit, but you should be okay. I did a restoration as well, just in case. We don’t think the dagger was poisoned, but…”

“Better to be safe,” Vex finished.

“Right,” agreed Cassandra. “Thank you, Pike, I do feel much better.” She began to sit up again; this time her body allowed it with only a bit of dizziness still clouding her mind. Vex took her arm, steadying her as the wave passed. Cassandra took a moment to orient herself. She was outside, near the back wall of the castle. Her brother was talking to a group of guards a few feet away and… oh, that was his coat she’d been lying on, folded into a makeshift pillow on the ground.

“...don’t understand how this could have happened. She was still on the castle grounds, she was—” Percy turned to look at her, his expression melting from anger to concern and relief as he met her eyes. “Oh! Cass, you’re awake, thank the gods.” Argument forgotten, he rushed over and knelt to the ground, pulling her into a hug. She let herself collapse into his embrace, his arms steady against her still shaking form.

Only then did she start to cry, the tears she’d locked deep inside finally escaping in a wave of emotion. “It’s okay, Cass. I’m here. I’m here now, you’re alright.” Percy held her close until the sobs softened into gasps, until her breath returned and the tears ran dry, and even after that.

He held her until she pulled away, scrubbing at her puffy eyes with her sleeve.

“I—I got blood all over your shirt,” she said with a sniffle, looking down at Percy’s previously white dress shirt, now stained with blood and tears and dirt. Percy looked down at it too, with a gentle laugh and smile.

“That’s quite alright, Cass, I can find another.” He reached into his pocket, producing a handkerchief and passing it over to his sister, who gratefully wiped the tears from her face. Not the most ladylike appearance, surely. But she didn’t think anyone would fault her for that right now. “Feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you. ‘No longer bleeding to death’ is a significant improvement in my status.”

“Yes, I can imagine so,” Percy said, a slight smile breaking through his somber demeanor.

Another pair of guards arrived, shattering this small moment of calm.

“M’lady,” one said, with a slight bow. “Glad to see you awake again.” Cassandra nodded to the guard, acknowledging the sentiment but unable to find words for him right now.

“Lord de Rolo,” the other guard said, shifting their attention to Percy, who stood, brushing himself off and adjusting back to his standard lordly posture. “We’ve searched and secured the castle grounds, and posted extra guards at each entrance. We’ll begin organizing parties to head into town and investigate further.”

“Good,” Percy said with a nod. “Expand your search to the town. I want to know everything about this man and find anyone who could have worked with him or helped him in any way. Anyone even remotely suspicious should be taken into custody for further questioning by the council, and—”

“Percy,” Cassandra interrupted. This was too much. The man had worked alone, she was sure of it. He was hurt and grieving and took it out on the most logical target, which happened to be her. She didn’t want anyone else suffering because of this, didn’t want any innocent townspeople’s lives to be interrupted by some elaborate investigation.

“One moment, Cassandra,” Percy snapped, holding his hand up in a signal for quiet. Oh, that was infuriating. “I need—”

“No, Percival.” Cassandra pulled herself to her feet, ignoring the tremors through her muscles as she did so.

Her brother finally paused, turning to actually look at her and immediately reaching out to steady her. “Hold on, I can handle this. You should rest.”

“Percy, I think it would be best if—” Vex was standing now too, interrupted mid-sentence by the scathing glare she received from Cassandra. Cass pulled herself away from her sister and brother, who still had an arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder. The comfort she had felt from his presence mere minutes ago was now suffocating.

“And I think it would be best if you all listened for just a moment!” No one could deny Cassandra with that tone. She rarely raised her voice, the infrequency making it all the more powerful. “Mareth, Tana, direct the rest of guards to focus on securing the castle, no further investigation need be conducted.” Both guards nodded, with only a quick glance back towards Percy.

“Cassandra, that isn’t enough!” Percy snapped. “You nearly died. He could have accomplices: friends, family, people who are plotting even as we speak, he—”

“That man had no one.” Cassandra’s tone was as cold as her gaze. “His family died in the rebellion. They died because of me. Because I betrayed them all. It was my fault, and I will not have the people of Whitestone suffer any further for my own mistakes.”

“You don’t know that—” Percy’s lecturing voice, again. But Cassandra was done with him. With all of them.

“I know plenty.” She cut him off before he could go any further into whatever new rant he’d concocted. “And as a lady of this house, the leader of the Chamber of Whitestone, and the person whose life we are discussing, I order you all to stand down. Now.”

That quieted them all. Good. “I’m going to find some fresh clothes.” Cassandra turned and stalked back towards the castle, head held high.

She pulled the back door open, ignoring the guards, ignoring her family calling after her, focused on nothing but the familiar path winding up the stairs and towards her room. The moment she was out of sight of the guards, crossing the threshold into the east stairwell, she broke into a run and didn’t stop until she reached her room. Cassandra slammed the door shut behind her, collapsing to the ground in front of it, her back resting against the solid wood.

Safe.

Safe.

For the second time in as many hours, she let her tears begin to fall.

Chapter Text

The man’s words still echoed through her mind: a Briarwood through and through. His family was dead because of what she’d done. Her memory of her time with the Briarwoods was hazy, a fragmented mosaic of reality and nightmares. But through some cruel twist of fate, she remembered this specific betrayal in perfect detail. It had been just before Vox Machina arrived. She’d been attending rebel meetings on the Briarwood’s orders, feeding the townspeople false information and false hope, all while reporting every plan they made back to Sylas and Delilah.

There was a plan to infiltrate Duke Vedmire’s estate—gather intelligence, make their presence known to the people, kill one of the New Nobles if they could. But with Cassandra’s help, the strike turned into a massacre. Dozens of rebels died, leaving the movement without leaders and without hope. It still haunted her, images of the people she was supposed to protect broken and betrayed, their unmoving faces floating through her mind and her dreams. They’d died by her hands, as much as if she’d been armed and on the ground that night. That battle had cost the man his family. And here was Cassandra, alive. A survivor a dozen times over, when so many others were gone: her parents, her siblings, her people. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve any of this.

Except the grief, the guilt. That was well earned. And in this moment, it consumed her.

They gave her nearly an hour—more than she expected, really, before there was a knock on the door. Small, quiet enough she could have chosen to ignore it.

“Lady Cassandra?” Not the voice she’d expected, either. That was Kynan’s voice. Another knock, a bit louder.

“Cass? Can I come in?”

Cassandra leaned her head back against the door with a soft thump, taking a moment to consider her options. She was still a mess, and frankly didn’t think anyone should have to deal with her like this. But the weight of loneliness was starting to press in, the low hum of anxiety buzzing in her chest getting harder to ignore. Maybe company would be nice. And it was Kynan, after all. He wasn’t prone to hovering over her quite as much as Percy or Vex. She knew their particular brand of worry came from a place of love, but they could still be… overbearing at times. Kynan, though… She could handle him right now, she supposed.

She shifted away from the door to make just enough room for it to swing open. “Come in,” she croaked, voice still hoarse from crying. She heard the doorknob click as Kynan opened the door, slowly as if he expected to find her sitting on the ground like this. Which, to be fair, he probably did. This wasn’t his first time coming to find her after a hard day.

He opened the door just enough to slip in, then closed it gently behind him. Cassandra scooted back to lean against it again, and Kynan slid down to join her on the floor. Instinctively, she moved closer to him, resting her forehead on his shoulder.

“Oh, Cass,” he said, taking in her disheveled clothes and tear-stained face. He wrapped his arm around her, loosely at first, giving her a chance to shrug him off. But no, she needed this right now. Cassandra shifted towards him, pressing into his side and resting her head in the hollow between his collarbone and shoulder, as if she was made to fit there. Kynan held her close, his head resting on top of her own. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured, half into her hair. “You’re safe now.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, appreciating the much-needed calm. Cassandra focused on slowing her breath, matching it to the steady rise and fall of Kynan’s chest. As the silence drew on longer, though, it began to weigh on her. She felt like she needed to say something, that Kynan was expecting her to say something. So she said the only thing she could think of, the truth that had been running through her mind since the attack:

“He was right.”

Kynan lifted his head at this and turned to look at her, eyebrows knit together with concern. “What?”

“He was right,” Cassandra repeated. “Everything he said about what I’ve done, it was all true. It’s my fault his family is dead, my fault that all of them are dead.”

“I’ll admit I don’t know everything about what happened under the Briarwood’s rule,” Kynan said, turning to face her fully and taking her hands in his own. “But Cass, you were just a kid—and a kid who spent half her time under a vampire’s thrall. It wasn’t your fault, it couldn’t have been.”

She was still fully aware of what she was doing during the rebellion, and age didn’t much matter in her mind. She was considering how to explain this to Kynan, but he continued before she got the chance.

“Would you blame Vesper if she was charmed and did something horrible?” he added. “ No, you wouldn’t, because you’d blame whoever magiked her in the first place.”

“Vesper’s hardly a year old, I don’t think she’d be able to commit treason or murder no matter what enchantment they used.” Cassandra sighed. “And besides, there wouldn’t be anyone to blame for the charm, because they’d already be dead—just a matter of whether Percy or I get to them first.”

It was Kynan’s turn to sigh, now. “Cassandra, that’s not what I meant and you know it. Look, I—”

“I know what you meant, Kynan. And you know that you and Percy and Vex’ahlia have tried to tell me the same thing a thousand times over. I want to believe you all, I really do, it’s just… the guilt, it never goes away.” Cassandra swallowed, hesitating before continuing. “And I feel like if I let it go away, that would be dishonoring the people we lost even more. If I carry this with me, at the very least I know I’ll never forget them, all those people who never lost hope, who kept fighting for their home, who… who I let down.”

“You didn’t let them down, Cassandra. The Briarwoods let them down—maybe even Whitestone itself let them down, but that blame doesn’t have to fall on you. I’ve done things I’m not proud of either, and you know it. But Vax, your brother, the others… they forgave me, and now I’m here, and I’m doing my best to make things right. I don’t think any of those people, who loved this town so much they’d die for it, would feel better knowing you were in constant pain over something that cannot be changed.”

“That man did.” Cassandra looked down, no longer able to meet the fire and worry in Kynan’s gaze. “He felt better knowing I was dead, that I had paid for my crimes.”

“And he was wrong, Cass. He was wrong, and I don’t know how else to put it.” He picked up her hand, bringing it up to rest on his chest with a gentle squeeze. “You bring so much more to Whitestone alive than you ever could through your death. You bring your love and loyalty to all of your people, to your family, to… to me.”

Cass could feel blush creeping up her face at his words, dulling the tearing pain of guilt in her chest. Her eyes remained firmly fixed on a chip in the stone floor below in a futile event to maintain control of her emotions.

“Look at me, Cass,” Kynan said. And she did. She almost had to look away again as she saw the concern and care painted across his expression, but she held his gaze as he spoke. “The world is a better place with you in it, Lady Cassandra Johanna von Musel Klossowski de Rolo. Please, never forget that.”

There was stillness for a moment, her hand held against his heart, the same deep care in Kynan’s eyes. And then she collapsed against his chest, tears falling once again. Kynan held her close and Cassandra wrapped her arms around him, desperately holding on to this tether in her sea of emotions.

“It’s going to be okay,” Kynan murmurs, running a hand through her hair. “I’ve got you. We’ve all got you—Percy, Vex, Vesper, Pike, even Trinket. We’ll be right here with you.”

“Thank you,” Cass whispered, face still buried in his chest. “For everything. For finding me.”

“Always, Cass. Whenever you need me.”

They held each other, long after Cassandra’s tears had dried and the ache in her chest had faded, until she finally, slowly, sat up, scrubbing at her face with her sleeve. This shirt was long past saving, anyways.

“I should go find my brother,” Cassandra sighed.

Kynan sat up a bit straighter too, brushing a few wrinkles out of his uniform. “Might be a good idea. Make sure he hasn’t gotten possessed by anymore revenge demons, and whatnot.”

She laughed at that. “I think he’s grown out of that phase, but it never hurts to check.” She stretched for a moment, trying to chase away the lingering ache in her body, then stood, offering Kynan a hand. He took it, pulling himself off the ground and stretching for a moment as well.

“I should likely get back to the Riflemen. There’s bound to be a bit of chaos right now.”

“Duty calls, Captain Leore,” Cass smiled, brushing a stray piece of her hair off his shirt. “I’m going to get cleaned up, then go prove to my meddling brother that I’m alive and well.”

“Duty calls, Lady de Rolo,” Kynan said, returning her smile and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ll come check on you again later. Are you going to be alright until then?”

She nodded, placing her hand over his for just a moment and squeezing it. “Thank you, Kynan.”

“Anytime you need me, my lady.” With that, he departed, leaving her alone in her room. She sighed, walking over to the mirror to assess the damage. Her eyes were puffy, her face was streaked with tears, her clothes covered in blood, and her hair… her gaze settled on the shock of white hair that was now a permanent fixture, a reminder what she had been through.

For a moment, the white disappeared, and she was looking at herself as she used to be: long, wavy hair, with bangs that were always blowing into her eyes. Face unadorned by scars, a smile across her face. Innocent.

And then her mind let the image fade, her present self returning, scars, white hair, and all. Her eyes had lost her innocence, but gained strength. Strength that was forced upon her, resolve that she’d built so she could survive. She was different. But she was alive.

And she would keep living. For her parents and siblings that never saw her grow up, for her brother who was still here with her now, for little Vesper to have her aunt, and for the people of Whitestone who put their trust in her. For all of them, and for herself.

She will keep surviving.