Chapter 26/28
Lexa reclines back in her throne, her mind tired, her thoughts worried. She glances once at the table, at the models that decorate it, and the lines drawn into the map. She follows the flowing of a river that splits the lands, and she traces the trees as they spread out through Trikru territory. And she thinks herself tired in this moment, she feels the pull of sleep as it itches in the back of her mind.
She can't quite figure out, can't quite discern just how to act now that Costia has returned.
"Jani was furious when she realised you had left," Shana says quietly, and Lexa looks up to see her standing dutifully in the corner of her tent.
"She did not cause issue?" Lexa asks.
"She did not," Shana shrugs. "But she was angry," and Shana looks away in thought for a moment. "She worries," Shana finishes, and Lexa knows the handmaiden speaks of conclaves, of her not returning to Polis.
And so Lexa sighs, rubs a hand across her face and settles into her throne more fully as her fingers begin to drum against the armrest.
"Costia is not dead," Shana begins once more, and Lexa knows the statement to be a question, to be an opening of the door to discussion, and she knows she could just as easily dismiss the words, only acknowledge them for a simple voicing of thought if she so wished.
"She is not," Lexa begins, and perhaps talking of things would help, would let her mind settle on what to do, on how to proceed.
Shana begins to move through the tent though, and Lexa watches as the handmaiden begins to straighten her knives where they lie across a smaller table, she watches as Shana's finger tests the sharpness of her sword, the woman's eyes careful as they trace the scratches and signs of wear that linger across the weapon.
"You care for Clarke," Shana says simply as she looks up to meet Lexa's gaze.
"I do," and Lexa feels the tightness in her throat at the admission.
"You care for Costia," Shana says more quietly.
"I do," and Lexa looks away, and she finds herself thinking of how she had felt so ready to throw Clarke aside in that moment, when the memories of Costia had come crashing into her mind, she thinks of how much it had hurt to realise the woman had been taken from her, of how much anguish she had felt tear into her chest as she cradled what she had thought to be Costia's head in her arms.
"You are not sure how to react," Shana says quietly as she comes to a pause in front of Lexa.
"I am not," and Lexa meets the younger woman's gaze for just a moment before she looks away.
But Shana kneels before her, and Lexa watches as Shana closes a hand over her fingers as they continue to drum against the wood.
"You are too hard on yourself, Heda," Shana says.
"I am the Commander," Lexa replies with a shrug.
"That does not mean you must deny your heart," Shana counters confidently.
Lexa holds Shana's gaze for a long moment then, and she feels the pressure begin to build in her temples, she feels the frustrations and anger that seems ever present, and she knows she senses the uncertainty still.
"I was ready to cast Clarke aside," she begins. "I was selfish," and she sees Shana think over her words quietly. "I did not even think of Clarke in that moment."
"Everyone is allowed to be selfish sometimes, Heda," Shana says.
"Even the Commander?" and Lexa sees Shana smile for a moment.
"Even the Commander," and Shana looks up in thought for just a second before her gaze meets Lexa's once more. "You would not be a good leader if you did not know the struggles of your own people," Shana shrugs.
"They were both willing to step aside," Lexa says quietly. "Costia told me not to discard Clarke," and Lexa squeezes the armrest of her throne. "And Clarke had already accepted that our bond had ended."
"It is complicated," Shana says.
"Yes," Lexa agrees simply.
"Nothing good has ever been easy, Heda," Shana says from where she remains knelt on her knees before Lexa.
"I lost Costia so long ago," Lexa says though, and she closes her eyes for an instant, for long enough that she can wrestle the tears behind her mask once more. "I thought I would never get over the pain," and she feels Shana shift quietly, she feels the woman squeeze her hand just once more. "But I did, I accepted it," and Lexa takes a steadying breath. "But Clarke," and Lexa grits her teeth briefly. "She never pried, never tried to replace Costia, she never asked for more than my company, she never intruded," and Lexa shakes her head slowly. "I do not deserve either of them," and Lexa thinks the truth of her words bitter and twisted.
"Clarke cares for you, Heda," Shana says. "Costia cares for you, too," and Shana shakes her head and cuts Lexa's worry off.
But still, "what should I do, Shana?" Lexa asks, and she meets the younger woman's tender gaze with her own worried one, and as their eyes meet, Lexa thinks she still sees the youthful roundness in Shana's eyes, and Lexa knows she can't help but to recall years past when Shana had first arrived under her care, had first began to train under the older handmaidens.
But Shana smiles and she lets it linger across her lips as she takes the time to think over Lexa's question, over Lexa's confusion and despair.
"I can not make that choice for you, Heda," Shana says, and Lexa sees her smile at the frown she feels forming across her own face. "But what does your heart say?"
And as Shana's words find their way through Lexa's mind, she can't help but to think of the times spent on the side of the Mountain, when little more than quiet words were passed between her and Clarke, when little more than a hand held, and the faintness of shared glances was all that was needed to set her mind ablaze with thoughts of peace, of rest, of not quite needing to rise so early in the mornings to deal with yet another issue the ambassadors were sure to raise. But Lexa thinks of Costia, too, she thinks of the way Costia had paused in the same place that Clarke had stood, she thinks of the way Costia had remained at arms length, she thinks of the way Costia had once laughed heartily, had loved, had lived and breathed through the halls of Polis tower.
And perhaps it's bittersweet, perhaps she feels herself not so deserving of either.
But perhaps she should be selfish. If only for once in her life.
And isn't that what Shana had said? That to be a good leader is to know your people, to know their trials, their challenges, their pain and to treat their needs as her own?
"Thank you, Shana," Lexa says as she lets her fingers relax from her armrest, Shana's hand still holding hers gently.
"I merely do what my duty demands of me," Shana says, and Lexa knows from the way Shana ducks her head slightly that she feels embarrassed, feels bashful in this moment.
And so Lexa lets her hand turn under Shana's, she lets her fingers slip between Shana's own, and she lets her hand return the steady pressure Shana gives.
"I am proud of you, Shana," Lexa says quietly.
"Thank you, He—"
But Shana's head snaps up at the sounds of running feet, and Lexa watches as the woman spins on her knees so that she covers Lexa's body with her own as she begins drawing her knife, her eyes glued to the tent's entrance.
And Lexa hears Gustus bark out a warning for whoever approaches, she hears hissed words, breathless words.
"Heda," and Gustus pokes his head through the tent, and from the way his eyes dart around in search of her, from the way his expression shifts from unease to pain to confusion, Lexa thinks she knows what must have happened.
"Clarke and Anya have been attacked," and Gustus grimaces as Lexa begins to rise, as her hands fist by her side. "Costia is missing."
Costia's eyes squint through the harsh glare of the setting sun, and as her feet continue to track through the iced rock underfoot, she feels the tension and regret burning through her mind. But she knows attacking Anya and Clarke was required, she knows Anya would not have allowed her to slip away. And she knows once found, that Anya and Clarke will slow down whoever comes after her, will require for both women to be seen to before her tracks are followed.
And she knows it a necessary distraction. At least so that she can get far enough ahead that her footprints melt and fade and drift away before her disappearance is noted.
And so Costia pulls her gaze from the horizon, she lets her eyes track the hoof prints in the snow, and she lets the bow in her hands rest comfortably, the weight of the sword strapped to her back ever familiar and a welcomed presence. She draws in a large lungful of air then, and as she sweeps her hair back she thinks she hears the neighing of a horse in the distance.
And It's at this moment, when she finds herself doing perhaps the last stupid thing she will, that she realises she's never quite liked the snow, never really liked the harshness of the sleet as it batters her body, or the chill that burns her lungs and numbs her fingers. Even the glare of the sun seems worse this far north, the glint of it bouncing off the snow around her enough to cause her to squint and feel vulnerable in the vastness of the great white. And she thinks it funny that her last breath won't be amongst the trees, won't be amongst the warmth of the forest.
But she comes to a small snow dune, and as she glances behind her, the faint outlines of trees barely noticeable through the haze, she thinks she feels that pang of regret once more. Her ears pick up the sounds of the horse again, and so she stalks forward quietly, her eyes turning back before her, fingers brushing against the arrows in her quiver as she pulls one free and knocks it to her bow.
Costia crests the hill then, and as she looks down below her she sees the lonely figure that makes camp in a small rocky outcrop. A fire burns quietly, and she sees the huddled form of a person who hugs the fire, the flame only just enough to keep her target warm.
She waits for another moment, for long enough that she has time to reconsider her actions, to reconsider what her next few days may be, but she knows she has not spent time in captivity to tuck tail and run, and so she sighs, forces her feet forwards and begins the haphazard walk down the snow dune, her steps louder now, her eyes still trained on the figure that looks up at her approach. Costia sees the figure stand though, and she sees them draw a weapon and so she feels the creak in her bow string as, she too, readies her weapons, the arrow aimed squarely at the person.
"I know you have been following me," she hears over the distance, and she sees the person begin to move behind a larger rock.
"I need your help," she says as she pauses at the edge of the rocky outcrop.
"You need my help?" she hears.
"Yes," and she shrugs as she begins to lower the bow, her gaze still focused on the glint of the sword held towards her.
"Why?" comes the response.
"You are a royal guard," she shrugs. "You will get me close enough to kill her."
Clarke feels the burn in her thigh before she registers that her mind wakes. It takes her a moment longer and then she sits, her eyes bleary, her head aching and spinning. She finds herself in a tent, the candles burning brightly and a chill seeping in from outside. Underneath her are rough furs, their colour muted muddy reds and browns that carry the slightest hint of medicines, pastes and salves, and she knows she finds herself in a healer's tent. Her eyes land on Anya who lies in a small bed besides her, the unconscious woman grunting in her stupor as a small bead of sweat trickles down her forehead.
But Clarke's head turns to the sounds of a gasp and she finds Abby already rising from a seat by a table not so far from her. Clarke takes only a second to eye the dishevelled mess of hair that crowns Abby's face and the shadows that live under Abby's eyes.
"Clarke," Abby croaks as she strides to Clarke's side in only a few rapid steps before kneeling down besides her.
"Hey," Clarke says as she tries to sit further, only for Abby's hand to push her back down onto the bed. "What happened?" Clarke asks as she tries to recall what led to her being unconscious.
"You were attacked," Abby says, her eyes trailing down Clarke's body.
"I—" but Clarke trails off in thought, her face scrunches in concentration. "Costia."
"She's missing," Abby whispers, her eyes glancing once to Anya who lets out a low growl as her body begins to wake.
"I need to see the Commander," Clarke winces as her head begins to throb lightly.
"She's out looking for whoever attacked," Abby whispers. "She won't be back for a while."
"No," and Clarke shakes her head for a moment despite the pain. "Costia was the one who attacked us," and Clarke gestures to Anya, and she is sure Costia rendered the other woman unconscious so that she could slip away. "She's about to get herself killed."
"You aren't doing anything," Abby says sternly, her eyes hardening in the light as she leans over Clarke.
"M—"
"No," Abby reinforces. "Stay," and she pushes down on Clarke's shoulder again.
Mother and daughter glare at each other for just a moment longer before Abby sighs, her hand easing off Clarke's shoulder.
"I'm glad you're ok," Abby says softly, and from the way Abby purses her lips and looks down, Clarke knows she talks of more than just her recent unconsciousness.
"Yeah," Clarke says. "Me too," and she shrugs slightly as Abby pulls the furs up her body.
"I was so worried," Abby says. "When we were told you had been taken," and Abby looks away, bites her lip and Clarke thinks she sees the barest quiver in her mother's chin. "I'm happy you're ok," Abby shrugs. "Wells wants to see you, too," Abby continues after a pause. "I'll go get him."
And Clarke watches as Abby rises and begins to turn, but perhaps due to recent events, Clarke thinks she should say more, maybe even do more, to bridge the gap between them both.
"Hey," and Clarke reaches out and grasps Abby's wrist. "I—" but Clarke feels the words pause in her throat, she feels them shift awkwardly on her tongue.
"I know," Abby says quietly, her lips smiling just for a moment. "I understand."
"Thank you," Clarke says instead.
And Abby smiles just a touch more freely before she squeezes Clarke's hand.
"I'll get Wells, but get some rest for the moment, Doctor's orders," she finishes as she begins to slip out of the tent.
And so Clarke grunts out quietly as her thigh protests the slightest motion, whatever poison Costia had used leaving the wound throbbing and raw.
"She was furious when she found out you were taken," Anya says, and Clarke turns to see the older woman eyeing her for a measured moment, her eyes still somewhat unfocused.
"She was?" Clarke asks.
"Yes," Anya shrugs. "She demanded to speak to Heda," Anya scoffs.
"She didn't insult her, did she?" Clarke asks as she worries her lip briefly.
"Heda would not punish your mother even if she did," Anya grunts out.
"Oh," and Clarke frowns for a moment before realisation begins to dawn on her, or perhaps not quite realisation given the last conversation she had had with Lexa, but yet, she feels the words sink in slowly, surely.
"Yes," Anya says. "Oh," and Clarke is sure the other woman's eyes roll fiercely.
"Are you ok?" Clarke asks as she rolls over slightly, her hand tucking under her head as she looks to Anya.
"I am fine," Anya says simply, her eyes looking up into the tent's ceiling, the furs and cloth draped overhead swinging lazily in what little breeze makes it through the small cracks in the fabric.
"She's going to get herself killed," Clarke whispers.
"Yes," Anya repeats. "Costia is a fool."
"She wants revenge," Clarke says.
"That does not mean she is not a fool," Anya repeats.
"We were a distraction, weren't we?" and Clarke watches as Anya's eyes close for a moment, her hands fisting by her side.
"Yes," Anya answers. "She will be deep into Azgeda territory now," and Anya glares more harshly at a candle that burns close by.
"We'll find her," Clarke says, "we'll get her back safely," but as Anya meets her gaze, Clarke thinks she sees doubt and anguish already beginning to take hold within Anya's eyes.
Anya's mouth begins to open once more, but Clarke hears the approach of feet and then she turns to see the tent's flap pulled aside to reveal Wells standing in the entrance.
"Clarke," he begins as he steps forward.
"Hey," and Clarke glances briefly at Anya before back to Wells.
"We were worried," Wells says as he walks further into the tent.
"I'm ok," Clarke shrugs awkwardly as she rolls onto her side.
"That's good," he smiles from where he stands.
Clarke watches as Wells sighs heavily before sitting on the edge of the table, his legs beginning to swing slightly as he lets the silence stretch for a comfortable moment.
"I'm sorry about my dad," Wells says as he meets her gaze again. "I feel like everything that's happened is his fault," he sighs once more and a hand rubs against his face. "And I know I'm not responsible, and that he's an adult, but still, I can't help but to feel responsible," and he glances once to Anya as she snorts quietly. "At least a little responsible, you know?"
"Yeah," and Clarke tries to smile a little less painfully. "I get you," and she thinks of the times when she had felt responsible for her people, for Skaikru, and for Azgeda. "I know how it feels."
"The only one responsible for his own actions is himself," Anya says simply, and Clarke sees Wells smile a little sad thing.
"I guess you're right," he says. "I'll let you guys get some rest. We're moving out tomorrow morning."
"You wish to kill Kwin Nia?" Teril asks as his eyes widen slightly.
"Yes," Costia answers, her fingers still brushing against the feathers of her knocked arrow, despite it aimed at the ground. "And I wish for you to aid me."
"And why would I do that?" he asks.
"You work with Heda, and Prince Roan," Costia says simply. "Do not deny it. You let me escape, and all other evidence points to that being the only reason why you have been let free."
"And you think I can get you close enough to Nia for you to kill her?" Teril asks as he begins to sit back down by the fire.
"Yes," Costia says simply. "Nia left you behind because she trusted you to oversee Clarke's execution," and Costia raises her chin. "You are trusted."
Costia watches as Teril thinks over her words, and as he does, she begins to move slowly forward and towards the fire, the cold of the setting sun not lost on her.
"Why not wait until the Commander comes with her armies?" Teril asks as he continues to watch her sit down before him.
"I want revenge," she says simply.
"It is a suicide mission," Teril counters.
"I know," Costia says, and she thinks over what has happened in her life in her last few years. "I resigned myself to death years ago," and she sees Teril's eyes harden slightly. "I choose to face it on my terms."
"I have my own mission," Teril begins after a moment, and she sees him prepare himself for whatever arguments he thinks she may throw his way.
"I underst—"
"I will not jeopardise my own mission for your foolish gamble," he continues.
"I know," she answers.
"I am to stay by Nia's side and feed Roan information on her actions," he continues.
"I und—"
"I can not be discovered," he cuts in.
"I said I understand," Costia snaps.
"And do you?" Teril asks easily. "I will help you into the capital," he says. "But if we are discovered, if we are caught then I will treat you as my prisoner and I will hand you over to Nia," and he leans forward, his eyes gleaming in the light of the dancing flame. "You will be tortured," and Costia thinks she sees his eyes turn cold, turn empty and guarded. "You will experience more pain than you can imagine," and he stares. "You will be humiliated, you will be ruined. And you will die a slow death."
And Costia clenches her jaw, and she feels the beat of her heart as it begins to pump the anger through her blood.
"I understand."
Clarke wakes to the sounds of shallow breathing and to a presence lingering close by. Her eyes open and it takes them a moment to adjust to the dimmed light that signals night has settled fully. She glances over her shoulder to see Anya still sleeping, scowl firmly in place.
It takes Clarke a moment longer to realise a weight rests in her hand, and that it warms her palm slightly. But as she turns back to the presence she finds Lexa sitting in a chair close by, legs tucked under her body as she leans on a hand. Clarke feels the slightest of smiles begin to form as she eyes the way Lexa has woven their fingers together, the way her hair fans out around her face and the way a rough fur is draped over her shoulders in her sleep.
But Clarke thinks her waking must disturb Lexa's sleep because she sees the woman frown slightly, and she feels the hand holding hers squeeze for a moment before Lexa's eyes open and settle on her face.
"Clarke," Lexa whispers groggily, her eyes blinking away the sleep.
"Hey," Clarke answers back through the quiet. "How late is it?" Clarke says, her gaze peering past Lexa briefly.
"It is early," Lexa answers. "I returned not long ago," and Lexa sighs quietly as she sits more fully in the chair, a hand rubbing across her face.
"You don't have to get up," Clarke adds quickly.
"It is too late for that," Lexa shrugs as she leans closer, eyes just once flicking to Anya's sleeping form.
"Did you find anything?" Clarke finds herself asking.
"Her trail faded too soon for us to follow," Lexa says, her eyes looking away for a moment.
"She'll be ok," and Clarke tries to reassure Lexa, she tries to soothe the worry she sees in the frown that graces Lexa's face.
Clarke watches as Lexa worries her lip and as she grinds her teeth for a long moment, and Clarke thinks that Lexa must be considering events, must be thinking of things she has done, or things she could have done differently. Or perhaps she thinks Lexa merely worries because that is what she does.
"I am sorry, Clarke," Lexa begins as her eyes meet Clarke's once more.
"For what?" and Clarke grimaces slightly as she tries to sit, only for Lexa to push her down gently.
"Costia," and Lexa sighs, looks up for a moment as she tries to settle whatever moves through her mind. "When she returned all I could think of, all I could consider was the pain her death had caused me," and she sees Lexa steady her breathing before she meets her gaze once more. "The only thoughts that filled my mind was of embracing her, of welcoming her into my heart once more," and Lexa pulls her hand free, her fingers clenching tightly. "I was selfish."
And Clarke thinks over what Lexa has said, of what she has done, of the things she has experienced.
"You loved her," Clarke says simply, and she sees Lexa's eyes soften slightly, her lips already opening to voice a thought, to interject. "Wait," and Clarke lifts her hand to pause Lexa's words. "You loved her," and Clarke smiles. "I'm not angry or jealous or frustrated or anything like that," and Clarke lets her hand fall slowly as Lexa nods at her words. "But I know you loved her, and I know she loved you," and Clarke doesn't think she feels much more than a warmth fill her in this moment as Lexa remains quietly by her side, the gentle flickering of a candle dancing a shadow across the worried woman's face. "You're allowed to be selfish, Lexa," and Clarke tries to reach out with her words, with the way she meets Lexa's gaze. "You're only human."
"I do not deserve what you offer, Clarke," Lexa says quietly.
"We deserve what we're willing to fight for, Lexa," Clarke says as she leans up on an elbow. "What you had with Costia?" and Clarke reaches out with her hand once more, she lets her fingers entwine with Lexa's. "We aren't there, not yet," and she sees Lexa nod slowly, carefully, fearfully. "And I wouldn't want to replace her, I could never replace her," and Clarke pulls Lexa's hand closer, she brings them to her lips. "But if you'll have me, I'll fight for it," and Clarke kisses Lexa's fingers gently, she holds them tenderly, and she meets Lexa's gaze with a confidence she feels building ever so firmly within her heart. "I'll fight for you. For us."
Lexa holds Clarke's gaze for a quiet moment, and Clarke watches as thoughts drift through the other woman's mind, but Clarke doesn't quite worry herself with those thoughts, if only because she doesn't think Lexa considers who holds her heart, who is better for her, who may give her happiness. And as Clarke traces the angle of Lexa's nose and the way a shadow curves against a cheek, she thinks Lexa merely considers the pain and hurt she may have caused, may continue to cause in whatever future awaits them.
But Lexa smiles with her eyes, and her fingers brush Clarke's lips slightly before she nods just once. Just enough that Clarke knows whatever battles await them both will be fought side by side.
Ontari barges into the tent the following morning with a glaring at Abby who sits close by Clarke's side.
"Clarke," Ontari says simply.
"Ontari," Clarke answers with a groan as Abby continues to inspect her thigh.
"They would not let me see you last night," and Ontari crouches down besides Abby, the woman's eyes tracing the swelling of the small wound.
"It's ok," Clarke smiles at her. "I was asleep for most of the night," and she watches as Ontari eyes the wound. "How's Entani and Torvun?"
"Good," Ontari says. "Worried. They are packing the tent," and Ontari reaches forward to brush a finger against Clarke's wound only for Abby to slap her hand away.
"No fighting," Clarke says as she sees Ontari's eyes widen in shock before a snarl begins gracing her face. "We're leaving soon?"
"Yes," Ontari says.
"Ok," and Abby rises, hand already lifting Ontari by the elbow. "Off you go," and Clarke sees Ontari begin to protest. "Clarke needs to get ready," Abby finishes sternly.
"It's ok, Ontari," Clarke says lightly. "I'll see you in a bit."
The guardhouse. Third outer wall, the one with the crack that runs through the largest stone set in its base.
That is what Teril had said was the least noticed guardhouse.
Costia pauses in the shadows as her eyes move from person to person who moves about in this early hour. And perhaps she curses Teril's aloofness, his ease in which he had discarded her off his horse with merely a direction and a description of what she searched for. But she knows that she knows how to blend into crowds, how to go about unseen, unnoticed, unrecognised to all but a select few. And so Costia takes in a steady breath, she steels her mind and she steps out from the shadows, bucket and broom in hand, and she begins to step her way over the exposed paving.
She passes an Azgeda warrior, a woman, eyes kind in the morning sun, hair a dirty red that crackles in the intensity of the sun streaked snow. She thinks the woman has a second, too, because she sees the woman's lips lift up at the corners as the young Azgeda boy in front of her swings his sword in a practiced, tired, determined arc before he loses his footing and falls onto his behind, the sounds of the woman chuckling reaching Costia's ears.
And she thinks it must be regret. She thinks it regret that fills her heart as she passes another two warriors who glance at her once before she bows her head lowly, feet still taking her forward. And she knows it must be a regret that so many have suffered under Nia's cruelty, under her ambition, under her want to prove Azgeda supremacy by destroying all those that would oppose her.
But Costia knows she feels the spark of hope that fills her mind as she imagines the way Lexa must look in battle, the way Lexa must look as she settles disputes and arguments and listens to ambassadors and clans as they voice their concerns, their anger, only to be calmed by Lexa's deftness, her tact, her ability to negotiate, to push when needed, to share when required. And perhaps even to threaten, just a little, when she wishes. For Costia knows herself not so foolish as to think the Coalition without its flaws.
But a Coalition in peace is something she knows to be preferable to a Coalition in war.
And so she pushes against the door, and she steps inside easily, smiles to another guard who looks up, hand falling to a knife before recognising the servant clothes she wears, his hand already settling back to the plate of food before him.
"The dirty weapons are in the third room," he gestures, and Costia nods once before bowing her head, feet already taking her down the lone corridor.
Her eyes trace the many weapons that line the walls, spears and swords and war hammers and battle axes. And she finds herself cursing Teril, if only because he had taken her weapons, had insisted that if they were caught, then it would look better if the prisoner was not also armed. But she knows he speaks truthfully, and so perhaps she only resents the way in which her actions have played out. But only a little.
Costia glances over her shoulder at the warrior, and she sees that he begins sharpening his blade, his attention turned to the open window as he watches the young second begin to spar with the warrior, and Costia hears him chuckle as she turns back to the weapons before her.
And her eyes fall to a bow, its size similar to what she had brought with her, and so she checks just once more behind her before she slips the bowstring off with little more than a quiet grunt. She tucks it into her pocket then, and as she pulls out the frayed, torn and beaten bowstring out of her other pocket she can't help but to at least be a little thankful that Indra had once insisted she know how to use a bow despite her insistence that the spear would be her weapon of choice. If only because assassinating Nia with a spear would be near impossible.
"Hey," Costia calls out, and she sees the guard turn to look at her, his eyebrows quirking together. "This bow is worn," and she shakes the bow in front of her face, the swapped bowstring loosened and fraying before her gaze. "Do you wish for me to fix it?"
And the guard curses quietly as he stands and moves to her, his eyes taking in the ruined bow in her hands.
"Tammen will be angry," the man sighs. "This was his favourite for practice," and he shrugs as he takes the bow and turns it over in his hands. "Yes, fix it," and he hands it back to her.
Costia smiles, bows her head as he walks away, and then she places the bow against the wall, and as she glances over her shoulder once more, she snatches just a lone arrow from a quiver, if only because whether she misses or strikes true, one shot will be all she has time to take.
And so Costia picks up the broom again, dips it into the bucket, and begins to mop. If only because she has many hours to kill before her time comes to an end.