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Vex couldn’t breathe.
The room had no windows and it was too small, too stuffy, there was no proper air circulation and Vex had the door locked, bolted and barricaded, just in case.
They hammered on it for a while, first Vax, then Keyleth, the Cassandra - and Vex buried her face in her hands because Cassandra de Rolo was screaming at her through the door, but Vex was selfish and only ever thought about herself and she kept the door locked. Grog made his presence known by lumbering footsteps, and then the sound of his shoulder colliding against the door. The sound was frightening and Vex thought that he’d break if for sure, but the door (and her makeshift barricade) held. Then there was quiet, and Vex thought they’d leave her alone now, but there was shimmer of violet magic and Scanlan stepped through, eyes wide with concern.
“Vex-” was all he managed before she picked up the closest thing and flung it in his direction.
A pot shattered at his feet, and the momentary look of hurt on his face only made her guilt worse, but she took a step back and said, in a voice that was much calmer than she felt, “Leave me alone.”
Scanlan swept his gaze across the room, over her, over the body laid out on the table. “You need time,” he said evenly. Vex could always count on Scanlan to understand. “We’re waiting outside.” And he was gone, vanished in a puff of violet energy.
Vex took a deep breath, lungs filling with ice. The room she was in was far under Whitestone Castle, far out of reach from sunshine and warmth, but higher than the crypts.
They'd kept his body here, in this icy room, while they worked on his tomb. To preserve him until the funeral. Maybe he'd be frozen in time, too, and Vex wouldn't have to bury the man she'd silently given her heart to.
She made it to the wall before her knees gave way and she sunk to the floor, clutching at her chest as if she could physically feel the emptiness in her heart. She wondered if she should have given Saundor what he wanted, if that would have taken the pain away.
She felt Fenthras exhale; the bow was perpetually strapped to her back and sometimes it put out tiny feeler-like vines that wrapped around her wrist or twirled into her braid, like a child grasping at their mother’s hand. She almost forgot the bow was alive and probably feasting on her grief, like these damned things tended to do.
Vex forced herself to take a breath and stood up. Taking Saundor’s side would have made it worse.
For all she knew, he could have made her kill Percy.
It was the only scenario she could think of that was worse than this current arrangement, that she should have ended Percy’s life with her own hands. She wondered briefly, if she had done it, would Percy have looked so peaceful in death?
The Percy laid out before her barely looked like her Percy; this Percy was too peaceful. His face was expressionless, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. He could have been sleeping, thought, and how many times had she tricked herself into thinking that he was sleeping, that she could reach over and shake his shoulder and his eyes would open and he’d laugh and say, “Hello, darling, I’m still here, I’m always here.”
But while Percy’s face was a vision of peace, his body was a broken mess under the formal clothes they’d dressed him in. She knew, she’d helped bathe the body. Vex had seen first hand what bullets could do to flesh and bone. But similar wounds dotted Percy’s torso now; she'd counted nine in total. Two in his right shoulder. One slightly below his collarbone, one slightly above. Two above his hip. Two around his navel.
And one through the left side of his chest, just to the right of his heart.
That one had no exit hole.
She almost laughed at the cruel irony of it all. His body was broken but his heart was intact. It could have still been hers.
Percy was terrified of his own designs and now Percy was dead due to his designs.
And they were hours away from his funeral.
They’d dressed him in the fancy coat he reserved for court meetings and, more recently, casino visits. Pale blue and white and the de Rolo crest woven into the embroidered gold trimming the edges. It was a sturdy coat, one that hit the dents and holes in his flesh.
But Percy had many other coats. A second coat, reserved for fancier occasions. The coat he had died in, riddled with blood and gashes and bullet holes. And….
“I can’t wear this one,” Percy had sighed, the coat bunched up in his hands. “I need to do the hem, and I really don’t have the time.” He scowled at it like it had personally insulted his family.
“It’s just the hem, darling, leave it be. We can fix it later.” Vex had laughed, and Percy had rolled his eyes, leaving the worn coat behind.
Somehow, Vex had managed to string a needle and fix the hem, despite her shaking hands and the tears in her eyes. The room where they kept him was so cold for obvious reasons, and she had taken the coat without even thinking, draping it across her shoulders.
For a moment she imagined Percy’s arms around her - and shook her head.
“Percy, darling,” she said weakly. “Wake up, would you?”
Silence.
She took the icy, rigid hand in hers. “Darling, please wake up. It's not funny anymore, and you were never one for joking.”
Silence.
“Remember what you said, back in Syngorn?” Vex closed her eyes, and realised that she’d finally run out of tears. “You said you wouldn’t leave. You said you’d stay by my side.” She couldn’t help the accusation in her voice. “You said you’d stay by my side.”
Silence.
Percy never responded well to accusation; he just tended to take the blame with a sad, knowing smile.
“Gods, Percy, I don’t mean that and you know it, just, just come back, please,”
Percy stayed quiet.
He can't answer you now, Vex thought dully.
She let go of Percy’s hand, but kept the coat.