Private Tales Denoument

The stony visage of the man before her did little but approximate a grimace. As expected, as stubborn as ever.

Settra did not have the full story. He had what he could piece together from what Medja had told him, and from what he'd scraped together from the Hands that were willing to speak to him. What he knew for certain is that Medja would have picked execution for Nym only as a last resort, and that Nym would only allow herself to be executed. A firebrand such as her could not be made to yield.


So it was that Settra had drawn his conclusion, and then acted upon it. His declaration came clearly and simply:
"You made a selfish choice. And, for once, so did I."

He leaned back and exhaled, then drank deep of the ocean air.

"There is nothing to go back to. No place in this moment that you nor I cannot call foreign. You do not belong in Amol-Kalit, either," he answered her demand in flat denial. Then his gaze narrowed on Nym, for the first time since he'd known her, harshly. "Nor do you belong in death's embrace."

His words struck too deep and something inside her finally tore open.

“Then I do not belong anywhere.”

The fury blazing in her eyes was wounded and desperate. Her breath shuddered as she lifted what remained of her arm, forcing him to look, forcing herself to face it even as her vision swam.

“What good am I to anyone now?” The words cracked, pain and grief and humiliation all bleeding together.

“I failed, Settra.”

Her voice rose as the pounding in her skull intensified, but she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Heat stung her eyes though no tears fell, her entire body shaking with the effort of holding herself together when she was already shattered.

She hated this. Hated the weakness dragging her down like an anchor. Hated the helplessness, the fragility, the sheer uselessness clawing at her bones.

She sucked in a sharp breath, and then she broke.

“Why won’t anyone just let me fucking die?!" she screamed, and her remaining hand curled into a trembling fist, nails biting her palm as if pain could ground her in a world she no longer wished to wake in.

“Why is that so much to ask!? I don't know how to be anything else. I don't know how to live any more. I don't deserve to."

And with this outburst, Settra could take no more.
"Stop it! Stop it, now!" he shouted. He never shouted. Especially not to Nym. He'd been taught from boyhood to be seen only by those who were soon to be dead by his hand, and heard by no one. And now he was shouting at the woman he loved, his face twisted into a snarl.

"Do you even hear yourself? Am I nothing to you?!" he asked of her, finding himself crouched before her, his eyes seeking her, one hand palming his own chest. "Was what you told me a lie, Nymeasha? I have given everything to you but my very life, and you would throw your own away so recklessly!"

His hands found hers, seeking to pull it open, give her something to grip that might ground her in reality for even a moment and keep her nails from tearing into her own flesh.

"The woman I fell in love with was not so weak, not so foolish as to think one failure, no matter how large, was the end. When we fought Navran together it would have been easy to give up then, too. But you did not. You fought, we fought. And together we won. And together we can find something else, we can learn how."

He felt desperation, raw and searing, clinging to his heart. Nym had not listened to him before, when she'd lashed out against the Empire. When she'd culled the leaders of her own people. She was headstrong, and he loved her for that...but he prayed to the Hundreds that just once, she would listen now. And for once, every ounce of that emotion played across Settra's eyes.

His volume fell as he delivered one final plea.

"That is why I stopped you. I don't care what you 'deserve.' I wish you to live, not because it is easy, but because it is worth it. I choose you, Nymeasha."

She flinched at his shout, an instinctive recoil, sharp with pain and sharper with shock. Settra didn’t yell. Not at her. Not ever. But she wasn’t Sultana anymore. Nobody had to temper their tone for her. Nobody had to tread carefully. She was no one. Nothing. Not worth shielding.

When he reached for her she flinched again, unsure what she expected exactly, but his hand only closed around hers, holding her together when she was splintering. The fury in his voice clashed so violently with the tenderness of his touch that she could only stare at him, wide-eyed and mute, stunned into silence.

When she finally found her voice, it didn’t rise to meet his. It fell quiet, cracked and trembling.

“You are everything to me.” The confession hurt as it scraped out of her chest and she swallowed hard.
“And I…I was terrible to you, Settra. I was terrible.”

Her chest tightened as the truth poured out, her body thrumming with adrenaline that made her hand tremble in his. “I became exactly what I feared. Exactly what he made me to be. What I promised I wouldn't be. And I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t let you suffer under my name. I couldn’t let Salitra suffer it again."

She looked down at herself, at the stump of her arm, at the remnants of who she’d been, and a fragile, hopeless laugh escaped her, breathless and bitter.

“I don’t know what else to be.” Her gaze lifted back to him, swimming with guilt and exhaustion.

“You choose me,” she whispered, “but you deserve so much better than this. Better than me.” Her head shook weakly, painfully. “I wasn’t ready for any of it…”

Her eyes softened, wounded and afraid. “I wasn’t ready for you.”

Breath escaped Settra's lungs. Relent. A reprieve he wasn't expecting. He gave Nym's hand a squeeze, and as her volume fell, so did his.
"And you are everything to me. I will not speak of what I deserve, or of how you acted. I saw what was happening and did nothing to stop it...I share some blame."

He would always feel regret for the blind obedience he gave her in that time. Raised as he was, it was easy to mistake such a thing for devotion...and it cost the lives of many.

"I feel fear for that uncertainty as well, you know. All my life I have been a weapon, nothing more. Neither of us was ready for what we were given, and I have no idea what else is waiting out there for us."

Settra placed a kiss on Nym's forehead. His eyes softened, and he gave her one of those rare smiles that only she was allowed to see.

"But we can go find out. Together."

Something broke in her, quietly and cleanly like a thread pulled too tight for too long, finally snapping.

She had believed she was numb, that she had cried herself dry days ago, but the moment his lips brushed her brow and that gentle smile softend his features, something inside her simply gave way. Tears gathered, then spilled over, warm and helpless down her cheeks.

She didn’t deserve him. She knew that with a terrible, aching certainty and yet here he was, seeing every monstrous, broken part of her and somehow still choosing her.

All this time she had been so desperate to die because she couldn’t bear the weight of her failures, couldn’t face the thought of him finally having enough and turning away. But he wasn’t turning away. He was drawing her closer. Accepting her. Anchoring her.

And the shackles she’d carried for so many years, the ones forged by her father, her duty, her throne, her own fear, fell away so suddenly it stole the breath from her lungs.

A fragile, shaky sound tumbled from her chest as she leaned into him, her fingers curling tightly into the fabric over his chest. She pressed her face into the warm crook of his neck, the place she had once felt safest, and her whole body trembled with the force of the sobs she could no longer hold back.

“I’m so sorry…” she whispered into his skin, breaking apart a little more with every word. “Settra, I’m so, so sorry…”

As Nym leaned into Settra, Settra took her into his arms. He felt her shake, felt that telltale lurching as the tears came rolling. One hand wrapped around her back while the other cradled the back of her head. For some time, all he did was hold her like this.

"I know," he husked back to her at last, feeling the reservoir of pain that poured out of her with every moment "It will be okay."

Settra stroked her hair gently and let the sound of wind and waves wash over them both.
"Whatever may come, I will be by your side."

She settled into him without resistance, without thought. Just instinct, just need. His warmth, his strength, his steady breathing and fingers in her hair… it was all so achingly familiar. A comfort she had convinced herself she no longer deserved, a peace she had starved herself of. And now that she was in his arms again, she clung to him with a desperation that wrung every last tear out of her.

Eventually the sobs quieted. Her trembling eased. The exhaustion that had stalked her finally sank its weight into her bones, and this time she didn’t fight it. Wrapped in Settra’s arms, she let herself drift and slipped under like a stone.

When her eyes opened again, the world was dark.

Night had fallen fully, starlight stitching silver across the waves. The ocean breathed in slow, rolling sighs against the shore, and the riding birds dozed in soft, rustling mounds of feathers. Her head no longer pounded. Her chest hurt, but in that hollow, cooling way tears often leave behind.

Settra was still there, close enough that she could see the outline of him in the faint glow of the moon. Keeping watch. As he always had.

Nym drew a careful breath, tasting salt on the cool air. Words gathered on her tongue, too many and yet nowhere near enough. She stared at the ocean for a long moment before speaking, her voice gravelly.

“…I've always loved the ocean.. I never said as much. Never thought it mattered.”

She took another slw breath.

“I wasn't supposed to be a person with thoughts, or emotions.. But I suppose, that's something real. The water soothes me.”

By this time Settra had gotten his own share of rest and, though it hadn't been nearly long enough, he'd roused before her and was working on building a small fire. An oil lantern and the light of the moon was all that gave the two illumination in the meantime.

"I don't think you've ever told me that before...The rhythm of the waves rolling in is relaxing. I can understand why anyone might come to love it," he spoke back to her, not surprised by her waking. He struck flint upon the tinder, and flames began to lick at the beach wood he'd gathered. "Regardless...It matters. You matter."

The birds stirred and Settra hushed them. Their mounts would need to eat sooner rather than later. Hells, so would he and Nym. She especially was likely starving by now.

As heat began to emanate from the little pyre, Settra rounded it and sat beside Nym, pulling himself beneath her blanket. His arm wrapped around her as naturally as a fish taking to water.

"I have long wanted to learn what it is to be something besides what I was 'supposed' to be. To learn how to feel. You've helped me much in that regard, Nym."

He, too, now took the time to look out over their ocean view, from this hill over the beach. Relaxing indeed. It was something quite wonderful how the moon cast a thin trail of silver across the deep blue-black of the sprawling waters before them.

"It's quite the view. I've not seen this stretch of ocean before. I've seen the port of Annuakat, of course, but never the coast beyond Amol-Kalit's borders. Never the Falwood, nor Elbion, nor Alliria. Just the desert, all my life," he felt a single, quiet laugh escape him as he mused on their next steps. "We could go sailing."