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“Rishe, move away from the ledge,” Arnold spoke cautiously. Revulsion, violent and instinctual, lacerated through her chest at the mere sound of his voice: she clutched to her chest, trying to steady herself.
“Please,” she managed. “Leave me alone, Arnold.”
“I don’t think that’s a wise idea.”
Rishe didn’t respond, eyes locked on the cityscape as she stood atop the ledge of her balcony.
“Please, Rishe. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not worth it.”
“Like you’d know,” Rishe muttered to herself, bitterness tainting her normally soothing voice. Like anyone would, considering her peculiar situation. It struck her how close the sky was, so much closer than whatever was down below.
“Perhaps I do, or perhaps I don’t. That doesn’t change the fact that you need to move away from the edge.”
“Why? This will all disappear in a few years anyways. Why torture myself by waiting for something awful to happen once more?” Six deaths. It seemed ridiculous that she was standing here, and that her battered corpse wasn’t being kicked aside in the street below her. “I shouldn’t be alive.” Rishe gasped, tugging frantically at her hair. She could barely breathe.
“What do you mean? Of course you should be,” Arnold tried to soothe, hands raised in surrender, gaze focused on her lean form.
“I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t! I don’t even know why—” She cut herself off, struggling for breath. The metal of her ring, and all its edges, dug harshly into the side of her head. “You don’t understand. You can’t. You’ll never understand!”
“Then explain it to me, Rishe. Let me at least try to understand.”
“You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“Nonsense.”
Rishe shook her head, nails scraping across her scalp as she yanked harshly at her hair—it stung. Arnold took a small step towards her, weary eyed.
“Arnold, I’ve died. I’ve died and no one remembers it but me. I died-I died and I watched all of my friends die and no one remembers because I revert back five years every. single. time.” Rishe paused, heaving for air, nails scratching red lines down her face and neck.
‘Good work today, Kid. Hey, maybe one day you’ll be just as good as me!’ Tully’s voice echoed hollowly in her mind. Somewhere beneath the desert night sky, bundled up in her cloak and his, following him through the streets of Susa: that was where she was, learning to love every path in the world.
“Every friend, I’ve watched them die: some multiple times.”
‘Weitzner, I must protect my kingdom. It is only thanks to you I can do so now and bring honor to my name. Thank you.’ Prince Kyle had died fighting in both her second and third life and there had been nothing she could do to stop him. Both times Arnold had stabbed him through the heart, killing him instantly. But hadn’t she received a letter from him only two days ago? Why did those memories still haunt her? Was it because her heart ached in turn, three lives too late?
“I can still see their eyes, I can hear their screams, I can still smell the blood in the air.”
Joel’s lifeless form as he sacrificed himself for her flashed through her mind, making her feel as if she were about to vomit. One move and suddenly her mentor—her friend —was spilling out onto the palace floors. Arnold had stepped over him to get to her, and Rishe had tread through his blood and went for a killing blow, and then it had all fallen away. “But I’m still alive and they're not; but they are because of the stupid loop and no one will ever remember!” Rishe shouted, madness in her gaze. “Why do I get to live, why do I get to restart and they’re dead?! What did I do that they didn’t? How do I make it st-”
“Rishe. ”
‘We’re two halves of a whole, Rishe. Of course we’ll make it out,’ Raul had told her only hours before he was screaming her name, ragged with smoke and backlit by the burning forest, as they were all consumed in flame.
Arnold’s hands were wrapped tightly around her wrists from behind. He tugged, gently moving them away from her face.
“I died, Arnold: six times I’ve died. Why am I still alive?” She asked weakly, voice breaking as a sob forced itself from her lips. “Why won’t The Goddess just let me die? What did I do?” She wasn’t as strong as Joel, as cunning as Raul, or as skilled as Hakurei nor Michel nor Tully. Their grace had put her together, piece by piece, and what did they get for it: nothing more than their blood ruthlessly spilled on cobblestone and bodies left to rot in the earth.
Arnold sucked in a sharp breath, staring into her haunted gaze. Rishe swayed back, apparently unaware that she was moving, staring back out at the city. Distantly, she noted that the sun was beginning to set, the sky turning the same color as blood.
What a beautiful sight. It was a pleasant sight: most dreams weren’t. The breeze came in and ruffled her hair, telling Rishe of how cold her cheeks were, of the kind of mess she had made of her hair, telling her how lovely it would be to float down. Where was everybody? Where had they gone? Would they love her if they knew?
“Please, come down,” Arnold coaxed, watching her footing with rapt attention. Even with his hold on her, if Rishe plunged down he doubted he’d be able to hold onto her. “You’re not alone in wondering why you were left alive after so many misfortunes to befall your comrades. I understand that.”
And they had failed, too: would they love her if they knew? Joel’s life, pouring out onto the cold stone floor, red blood and pink muscle and so many pieces and none of them were even enough. Raul, dooming himself to a slow, helpless death between collapsing trees and roaring flame, apparently worth nothing at all. She felt as though she would be sick. And if ever they had loved her, surely Rishe had only disappointed them, dead without the grace to even die: and what had she ever done to make it up to them in this life?
“Right, you were sent to war.” Did you kill the innocent? Will you still start another?
“Yes.” Arnold replied stiffly.
“Do you regret it?”
“I’ll only answer if you step down.”
Rishe couldn’t regret it, not when she was alive still, fresh and new like a just-plucked flower. Soldiers needed resolve, and she had joined Siarga’s forces knowing perfectly well what would happen in five years. In that sense, it was worse that she hadn’t died.
“Rishe. Rishe!”
The shout wrenched her out of her fugue. Rishe groaned, doubling over. Pain throbbed heavy like an anvil behind her eyes and through her temples. She managed to look up, and saw a figure looming over her, clutching her wrists. Heart lurching in alarm, Rishe wrestled against his grasp, pulling left. Stone scraped over her bare heels, and then she hit the balcony, toppling onto her side and curling up tight.
Twilight bloomed with gentle purple and steep shadows, coloring her vision in shades of cool gray.
Warm arms encircled her, pulling her up until she rested against something firm. She could just make out a gentle thrum beneath it.
“Damn it, Rishe.”
Who was he, to say her name so kindly, soft as the accompanying touch? Her dress was thin, and she shivered from the sudden chill, feeling altogether very small. It had taken Rishe years to turn herself into a person, into more than another doll of the court: who was this, to hold her as she trembled instead of trying to snap her in two?
“Improper,” Rishe mumbled to herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. Perhaps she could hide her behavior from her parents?
“I disagree.” The voice spoke again, gentler than before, stroking a hand through her hair.
That was certainly new. Rare was a person in this continent who thought such a position was proper for any lady to be in, other than perhaps his wife.
She felt the chest fall into a long sigh, but the man never moved her away despite his obvious dissatisfaction.
“I’m going to bring you inside, alright?”
Rishe thought of arguing, after all who would agree to allow a stranger to bring them alone to any secondary location? But it wasn’t as though death would do much to her, so she surrendered to the comfort, allowing herself to be picked up as if she were nothing more than a feather and carried away.
She was set down on a bed, which easily sank beneath her weight. A glass of cool water was held to her mouth. It didn’t smell of anything strange, so Rishe drank. Soon after, the heavy weight of a blanket was placed over her, tucked carefully around her so as to not slip off her shoulders.
It was somewhat like picking up the pieces of a puzzle. The weight of the blanket and the warmth close by coaxed Rishe into focusing: the room was semi-dark, the fabric wrinkling beneath her fingers was downy-soft, and she was breathing just fine. A soothing presence close by, which should have been an oxymoron, eased her mind into a sense of calm.
“Rishe?” The voice called out.
Like a bolt of lightning, the name returned to the voice. Rishe blinked, and turned her head.
“Arnold?”
Arnold let out a soft hum, studying her gaze. Once he found what he was looking for, he gave her a weak smile. His eyes were jewel-like in the halfway dark.
“Welcome back,” he teased, taking her hand in his own. She couldn’t help but notice how cold they were.
“Wha-“ Ah, right. She’d originally just sat atop the balcony railing to admire the beauty of the city at dusk, but her memories had taken over. She must have given Arnold quite the scare.
The blanket fabric pulled taut beneath her tensed-up hand. Rishe bowed her head. “Apologies for my behavior, Lord Husband.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Arnold rubbed the knuckles of her other hand, until she eased and let him take it. “Some things are simply out of our control.”
Rishe bit her lip, trying her best to parse out the hazy memories of only moments ago.
“Rishe, to answer your question, there are many parts of that war I regret. There are actions I took that led to the deaths of many I still think about. People I couldn’t save. And often, I too have regretted making it out alive.”
Rishe stared up at her husband, slack jawed. He looked oddly vulnerable. The grasp on her hands tightened. She wanted to say something, to comfort him the way he always did for her. But her mind was blank and any words she had were stuck in her throat. All she could do to show her support was to squeeze his hand in return.
“But what I don’t regret is living long enough to find you.”
A new sort of feeling lodged itself into her chest and refused to be brushed off. Her heart, already suffering from fresh wounds, opened up and continued to bleed. Many times, Rishe had sought out people from her past: occasionally, they stumbled upon her instead. Rarely did the other party tell her they were happy about it.
“You were right of course, I don’t fully understand your predicament. It seems you’ve lived many lives and I’ve only lived one. But that doesn’t mean you're alone in your troubles.”
“You-you believe me?” It was the only thing she could latch onto. That he believed her tale of deaths when others would call her mad.
“It would explain many of the anomalies surrounding you.” Arnold shrugged.
“That’s…” Did she have that many anomalies? Perhaps her ability to use a sword, or shoot a bow, but Rishe couldn’t think of much else.
What did that matter, though? He still believed her, even if the reason was strange. Overwhelmed, she curled into the blanket. Her eyes burned with fresh tears, and Rishe dug her teeth into her lip so they wouldn’t spill. She tasted blood.
“In each life, I couldn’t save the people I cared about. I died, but so did they. Even when I was at my peak, I was just as useless as I was as a noble. Nothing I did, nothing I do will ever really matter,” Rishe admitted. It was the first time she’d ever said anything relating to her deaths so openly. She’d spent so long avoiding even the thoughts of death, always keeping busy to distract herself, that she hadn’t even realized that she felt this way.
“Those you cared about… Coyolles’ prince? Millia Clarissa Jonal, that knight, and that hunter?”
“A few more, but yes.”
Arnold stared at her, then reached out and flicked her gently in the forehead. Rishe startled. “What was that for?”
“Their lives are better because of you. Isn’t that something that matters?”
“I-“ Were they really? She didn’t even know if she had prevented the war that would destroy the world. She didn’t know if she’d last longer than five years. “Only until everything reverts and they forget about me again. And until you… forget about me…”
The thought of Arnold not remembering her was just as painful as when Arnold had stabbed her through the heart, if not worse. At that time, she had died quickly: even the emperor was merciful enough to spare her a drawn-out death. Rishe knew that this pain would linger, through her current life and into the next.
Arnold’s eyes narrowed, arms wrapping around her frame and pulling her close to his chest in a fiercely protective embrace.
“The only way that could happen is if you died, correct?”
Rishe nodded shyly, heat coloring her cheeks.
“Then that won’t happen. I already vowed that I would protect you, that I would not let you die,” Arnold declared boldly, leaving no room for contradiction; but that didn’t mean Rishe couldn’t try—though she thought the irony of his declaration was quite humorous.
“There’s no real way to be able to ensure that.”
Arnold hummed low in his chest, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head. “I’d sooner fight The Goddess herself than let you go.”
“Lord Husband! You shouldn’t say such things!”
“I can speak of my relatives as I like.”
“It’s still blasphemy!”
“I’ve said far worse about her, and I have yet to be struck down,” Arnold deadpanned, tucking a lock of hair behind his wife’s ear. “But that’s getting away from the point.” Lifting her hand, Arnold placed a tender kiss atop her knuckles.
“You have saved the lives of so many, don’t let those accomplishments fade away because you’re on a different path now. Perhaps you will never truly find out why you have been given this ability to return, but you will not suffer through it alone any longer: for I will be at your side, your loyal guardian, until the end of time itself.”
“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep. You might regret them later,” Rishe whispered hoarsely, turning away from his burning gaze—though her heart beat wildly in chest from his declaration. There had been so many promises she had made that had been left unfulfilled. So many left shattered and desolate as her body hit the floor of the medical tent as all her patients she had promised to save fell to the blade alongside her.
“Rishe,” Arnold huffed, taking her chin and turning her face back to him. “Have I ever lied to you before?”
“I-“
“So why would I do so now?”
“It’s-it’s not that! It’s just…some things are out of our control,” Rishe murmured shyly, returning the phrase he’d spoken only minutes ago.
Arnold’s eyes narrowed, flickering down for a second. Before she could question it, Arnold had already leaned down, placing a languid kiss against her lips, pulling away before she could fully react. “This isn’t one of them,” he whispered, warm breath brushing against her lips.
Damn him. Ever the tactician, he knew she wouldn’t be able to argue against that!
“You have lied to me before,” she mumbled, “if only by omission. But!” She cut Arnold off with a shake of her head. “I… I can try to trust that.”
Arnold’s expression softened, his normally cold, blue eyes warming over beneath the flicker of candle light. He touched the loose curl of her hair and kissed her cheek. “I assure you that I will not break your trust.”
Rishe’s heart ached at his words. Logically, her mind knew that there was no true way for that to happen. That there was every possibility that she would in fact die in the next four years whether a war broke out or not. That she was cursed to live a life of reversion. Yet her heart yearned to believe his words. To believe that her most loyal and valiant husband would protect her from any danger that threatened her harm.
Pushing herself to her knees, Rishe wrapped her arms around her husband’s shoulders, ignoring how the blanket slipped off her form as she placed her lips over Arnold’s in a desperate, emotion-filled kiss. It didn’t take long for him to reciprocate, threading his hands through her hair, and pulling her even closer.
Perhaps tonight she could trust him, she could trick herself into believing his every word. Maybe tonight he’d allow her to forget, to take all her thoughts of her past and leave them behind so she could only focus on the here and now.
Rishe pulled away first, breathless: her cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. As she stared into her husband’s ravenous eyes—the blue she loved so dearly hidden behind the black of his pupil—she knew that he would take away any darkened thoughts of death that might remain.