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Her mind reels.
A dark shadow crouches over her friend - former friend, her former friend, her betrayer - and takes his life force, his very being, into itself. He had hurt her friends - Orym, Imogen, Prism, Imogen, Prism, Imogen, Imogen. He had betrayed them, he had betrayed her . Anger bubbles up like a spring. Prism lies, motionless, acid burning her skin, and she’s so young, so bright, so new to this world. She’d just wanted a friend , someone who understood, and he - he had taken that from her. Laudna understands. Laudna understands better than most. A dam bursts within her.
She doesn’t know much after that. She knows there is hunger. The deep despair of the betrayal, like a mourning wail, and then hunger, all-encompassing. She wants to open her jaw wide and swallow the world whole - all of it, joy and grief, betrayal and trust, friends and enemies alike. Her hunger doesn’t care, it just wants to eat and eat and eat and tear it all apart.
Betrayal had run hot through Laudna’s life like a iron-red sword through a heart. She had tried, time and time again, to gain people’s trust, to be loved, to be liked, and she had been let down, time and time again, until Imogen, until her friends. She’s always been so nice, so kind, so open, and what has it gotten her? She can’t let anyone else betray her. She can’t let this happen to Prism, sweet and lovely Prism. She has to do this. She has to take back control, wrench it hard from the hands of a cold and cruel world.
Branches grow and wither and fall. Roots form and flowers bloom. Talons grasp throat and pierce skin and then ash sifts through them like sand. More, more, more, until he is nothing but dust and a scatter of possessions. Until every trace of his traitorous body is gone from this world.
We all have sad stories, she thinks, but who gave you the right to hurt me so? If Imogen were here, this never would’ve happened. She would’ve stopped it, would’ve stopped you.
‘But she is not and she did not,’ says a voice, Her voice, ‘and yet I am and I did.’
She doesn’t realise Bor’Dor is gone until there is another presence next to her. She lashes out, all animal and instinct, but it’s just Ashton, it’s just Ashton. Suddenly, all the fight and power drains from her. There’s nothing in her anymore, just an empty chest and a trace of the darkness.
Ashton leads her away and she lets them. They’re a soothing presence, the rock in the rushing river. There’s no resistance in her bones, she would be crushed by the current if not for Ashton. She’s glad for their guidance, for his steady hand at her back. They’ll know what to do, them and Orym, they’ll take care of it.
And then it hits her, the gravity of the situation, and it pulls her under the surface regardless. She can’t tell what’s real and what is not, if Delilah is back or if she’s just shaken, if she’d opened a door meant to be forever sealed or if she’d merely imagined it, but it’s enough to shake her to the core.
What has she done, what has she done? She’s weak, she’s weak, and Ashton says she’s just hurt, but she’s weak. What right did she have to undo, unravel, to undo her friends’ great sacrifice? Who does she think she is to let go of control like that?
When she had been - long ago, when she had been in that tree, the withered, dead trunk, she could hear her friends outside. She didn’t want to believe it, then, couldn’t bear the hope because if it was just another trick, she wouldn’t have survived the disappointment. Now it would be their turn to be disappointed, to be let down by her.
She has always tried to be nice. She likes being nice, but the deeper truth is that she knows if she was not, she would be truly terrible, and if that’s the choice, she has to keep holding on to kindness with clawed hands. Even if few ever return it. Even if fate keeps beating her time and time again. Even if betrayal aches in her chest like a knife wound that’s never quite healed.
She wants to bite. She wants to yell and scream and claw at the walls and hit people and ask them why, why, why did you let this happen? She wants to get mean and devastating and turn words into poison and touch into daggers and looks into venom. She wants to enact her revenge on the world and devour it.
She never does any of these things. She smiles and laughs
This was the scariest part of Bor’Dor’s betrayal and death: Part of her had liked it. A part that was not Delilah, a part of her, had relished in the power she’d had, in her ability to let go of the constraints. To drop the facades and the acts and let all her despair seep out and take and take and take what it wanted. What she wanted.
But what is she left with now? Only more fear and despair. She didn’t have control, not really, and it’s only hitting her now what a terrible thing she has done. She repeats Ashton’s words in her mind like a mantra, like a shield that might ward her. It’s going to be okay. You’re just hurt. It’s going to be okay.
She can still feel the darkness and hunger in her ribcage, rattling like her breath on cold days. Out of the corner of her eye she can see the patch of weeds and flowers, the perfect circle showing exactly where she had given in and what she had done. She turns her back to it and sits with her face to the wall.
Her thoughts run in restless circles. Imogen wouldn’t have let this happen. She can’t blame the others for it, not Ashton and Orym, because if she hadn’t done this, they would’ve had to, and she doesn’t want that. They had done what they could. Imogen would’ve found a way out, she thinks, and then remembers: Perhaps not. Ruidus hangs low somewhere above Marquet, the Ruby Vanguard are taking what they want, so who knows where Imogen is and what she’s doing?
She doesn’t know if Imogen would still love her if she had seen this. She even doesn’t know if Imogen is alright, really alright, but what else can she do but hope? If Laudna ceases to hope, then there would be very little left of her at all. She cannot afford that. Not after everything. To lose hope, that would mean to lose love, to lose friendship, to lose the soft heart at the core of her frail body.
She feels something harden within her, a shell for her hope, curled up tightly with her heart, deep within her ribcage, layers of skin and sinew and a little muscle and fat and magic. She closes her eyes and cradles it like she wishes someone had done for her in those terrible days after her first death.
When everyone eventually retires to rest, Laudna stays in her corner and tries not to fall apart. She traces paths of age on the walls. There is moss, soft and familiar. She can hear her friends’ talking behind her. She knows they’re there. Delilah is quiet. The wall is cool and grounding.
The rattle in her chest quietens. Her mind recovers. It’s going to be okay.
Even if Orym carries a heavier step and always his hand on his sword and shield. Even if the voice whispering in her mind may have returned. Even if Ashton looks more sad and weary than usual and keeps a steady careful eye on her and Prism. Even if Prism wears the face of someone who has just learned the sting of betrayal.
This had been terrible, awful, hungry, but it had been driven by love. It was not the betrayal of her that had turned her over - no, he had betrayed her friends, he had almost killed Prism, and that , that was her final straw.
She can pretend to believe this, for now.