Drowning
"Does it ever stop hurting?"
"No. You just learn to make room for it."
"Sebastian de Poitiers is dead."
The words seemed to ring out, impossibly loud, in the otherwise silent room. Mary's mind refused to process them, working in overdrive to make head or tails of them.
Sebastian.
Poitiers.
Dead.
Sebastian de Poitiers.
Dead.
He was...
But it couldn't be so.
Bash.
You have been such a friend to me, Bash. More than a friend. My family.
Dead.
I saw you and Francis, and I knew everything was going to be alright.
Dead.
Bash.
But I will come to you when you need me the most. Of this, I am sure.
Dead.
Her mind couldn't reconcile the image of Bash as she had last seen him - Bash smiled and rose to his feet, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on her cheek - with the idea of death. Bash, always so vibrant, so full of life and passion, so ready to defend her, lying cold and still. Bleeding. Dead from - what? A sword to the chest. A dagger through his back. A well-aimed arrow. A lengthy illness.
No.
They were wrong.
"No," Mary finally spoke. "I am afraid there must be some mistake. I received a letter from Sebastian only three days ago." Mary's voice, overly bright, wavered. Her smile was brittle and false, her eyes glassy and filled with tears that she would not let fall, but her gaze was steady as she met the man's eyes. "That simply is not possible."
The visitor - who had he said he was again? Ah yes, he was a ...a survivor from the group of druids that Bash had joined - hesitated, looking away from the queen and instead turning his eyes to James.
"The camp was attacked the night before last," he said. "Many of the men were out hunting. Several were left behind as guards, and the children felt safe with Sebastian. He offered to remain at the camp as a guard. When they attacked, he was among the first to fall. Defending the children."
Mary felt increasingly numb.
It wasn't true.
It couldn't be.
It wasn't.
"Thank you for traveling so far to inform the queen of this," her half-brother said. "The Crown is grateful for this service."
Mary was vaguely aware of his hand on her arm, perhaps trying to comfort her.
"There must be some mistake," the queen repeated dumbly, closing her eyes against the tears that tried to escape.
Behind her closed lids, she saw Bash. His brilliant seaglass irises. His steady, reassuring presence. The smile that he seemed to reserve just for her, the one that told her everything would be alright. She quickly opened her eyes, unable to bear it.
Mary could hear someone crying now. Her mind clouded, as if she was in a trance, she wondered what had happened. Then she saw their visitor staring at her with something akin to pity in his eyes, felt her half-brother's arms around her, and she realized a beat too late that it was her. How strange. She didn't feel as if she were crying. She felt incredibly numb.
Dead.
Bash was dead.
Her last true friend, her only remaining connection to Francis, was gone. She would never again receive another letter, would never again glance to her side and see him standing next to her - a constant presence there, ready to leap to her defense, always reassured of his loyalty to her and her cause.
Dead.
The word would not leave her thoughts.
"Did he suffer?" Her voice was oddly choked.
The man hesitated, looking to James. He must have seen something in his expression that gave him the go-ahead, for she didn't feel him move.
"Perhaps he did, Your Majesty, but it would not have been more than a moment. The first blow knocked him off his feet and the second killed him immediately."
Mary could only nod, her throat tight and not allowing her to speak.
The numbness was taking its leave now, replaced by an aching sensation in her chest around the jagged edges of the hole that had seemingly appeared when Francis died. She could never see it, but she could feel it there. It was widening now, with this new loss, just as it had when Lola had been stolen away by Elizabeth.
I lose everyone I love.
Not everyone.
I'm sorry. Yes, of course you're right, Bash. You have been such a friend to me here.
But he had left her too.
The little voice in the back of her head practically screamed that knowledge at her. He was wrong. He had left her. She lost him just as surely as she lost everyone else.
If you were harmed, and I could have saved you...
Saved me how? By joining a band of druids?
She should never have let him go. God, it was all her fault. Mary pressed a hand to her mouth in a last effort to stifle the sob that wanted to escape. I'm sorry, Bash. I'm so sorry.
Drowning.
She was drowning, wasn't she? James was there, though, holding her in his arms, keeping her above the waves that threatened to crash down over her at any moment. Floating and sinking. Breathing and drowning.
He was dead.
And tomorrow, Mary would have to pick up the broken pieces of her heart and try to hold together the edges of the hole just a little longer, but for today James would do that for her.
Her eyes still closed, the queen knotted her fingers in her brother's sleeve and began to sob helplessly against him, shutting out the rest of the world as she succumbed to her grief.