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What would she do?
Would she get up, carry me to our friends, and leave Zeph here?
No. If it were I who collapsed with my hand in his, she would stay here until I could make the decision for myself that I was okay and ready to drop his hand.
I am under no delusion that this is all for her.
If I leave, if I get up from this spot, he's really truly gone.
Zeph died here in this dirt twice, and when I move him from it, it is accepting that he will never wake again.
I am not ready to make him a part of my past.
I am not ready for every story about Zeph to be something that happened and not speculation on what will.
I am not ready.
I am not ready.
I am not ready.
How will I ever be ready to send my brother on his final journey?
My chest is tight, my face wet with the hot salt of my tears, and my body stiff and sticky from battle. The woman I love is stretched across my lap, her hand entwined with her high priests'.
I'll never be able to understand how that draw felt, how it tied them to one another, and I will not be the one to force her to sever her connection before she is ready.
"I can't let him waste away! She would kill me!" Tulip shouts.
"She will wake!" I hear Morrow's voice sayfirmly. "She will wake, Tulip."
A feminine sob echoes from the direction of the voices, and I realize this has not been about me at all.
No, Tulip needs me to let Viola go so she can confirm that Viola will be okay.
But my hands tighten around her body, my eyes drifting to her hand. Her tawny skin, marred by the rot she received with her Autumn magic, is dirtied and a stark contrast to the pinkish-pale flesh of Zeph that grows paler by the moment.
"Please, Mace!" Tulip shouts, her voice breaking on my name. "I need to hold her. I need to touch her. She's all I have left, don't you get it? I need to know she's okay!"
I get it. I do.
She's all I have left too.
But I won't.
I can't.
I cannot give her up. If I let her go, who is to say she won't die alongside Zeph? Maybe I am the only thing keeping her here.
No, I cannot let her go.
"Mace!" Morrow's voice is closer now, and his hand grips my chin. "Brother. Please." It is a painful effort to raise my eyes to his, but I see the path tears have made on his dark skin. They're not dry. They're fresh. "Viola would want Tulip to know she's going to be okay."
She would. I know that. I can't make the words come out of my mouth, though. I look down at the God, the woman, the only person who hasever made me feel like my heart was outside my body, in my arms. Blood cakes her white hair, and the tip of one of her pointed ears has been burned.
But her chest rises and falls softly as if she is in a deep and restful sleep.
"I…" my voice cracks from disuse, thick and sticky as it travels out of me. "If I let her go, I might lose her too."
