Clarke feels the harsh bite of the stone as it digs into her knees, and she feels the fear beginning to prickle in the back of her mind. She feels hands push her forward though, and she feels herself bend at the waist as she rests her own neck on the cutting block before her. It's an odd sense of detachment that fills her in this moment though. She's not so sure whether her mind accepts what happens, what is about to happen. And perhaps she had thought, had hoped that the servant would have come to her aid, or perhaps even Ontari and Entani, maybe even Roan and Lexa. But as the rough wood digs into her throat and as her breathing continues to quicken, she thinks her time is up.
"Goodbye, Torvun," she whispers, and she feels his foot reach for her own foot awkwardly, the little contact between them enough to give her mind a small comfort for the last few moments of her life.
She sees warriors move around her through the corners of her eye, and she sees one step forward, and she knows she hears the drawing of a sword, the blade singing in the cool air as the man prepares to strike. Clarke watches as his feet stop just short of her, and she can't help but to grimace at the realisation that she will be first, that her head will be removed. And she wonders what it must be like, she wonders if it will hurt, she wonders if she will remain conscious long enough after her head is removed to see her own headless body as it twitches and spasms on the ground, she wonders if she will see Torvun's face as it grimaces, as it is splashed with the last of her blood. And maybe she hopes it will be instantaneous, that pain won't even register, won't even begin to appear before her mind blanks and her thoughts die and her existence ceases.
Clarke hears the creaking of leather, and she knows the man readies to strike, she sees his shadow lift its arms, sword held in hand, and she closes her eyes, she squeezes them tightly and she waits.
The pause only lasts a moment, only long enough for her to feel her pulse pump and beat frantically. And then she hears the blade sing. She hears it whistle through the air, she hears it slam into the ground and she feels the reverberations as it echoes and vibrates through the cutting block.
But Clarke hears the gasp, she hears the thump of something hitting flesh and she hears the gurgle of blood as it splutters past lips. And Clarke's eyes open in time to see the man fall to the ground, his sword embedded in the corner of the cutting block, the blade just a breadth from her cheek.
But Clarke's eyes stare at the fletching that protrudes from the man's chest, the arrow still quivering as he lies dying on the ground.
And then all hell breaks loose.
Clarke looks up as Nia's servant leaps from over a rock, and Clarke watches as her body twists in the air, as she draws another arrow and as she fires into another Azgeda warrior who begins moving, halfway drawing a sword. And the woman hits the ground with a roll, and Clarke watches as she comes to a running stand, already firing a third arrow at yet another Azgeda warrior who begins moving to intercept her.
Silence moves, too, and Clarke watches as the man disarms another Azgeda who shouts out in shock and surprise before Silence punches him across the face hard enough for the man's eyes to roll back before he slumps over unconscious. Two other Azgeda move with Silence, and Clarke watches as one disarms a woman, her eyes wide and her motion paused for long enough for the man to kick her legs out from under her and wrap an arm around her throat. The third rushes the last of the stunned Azgeda and Clarke watches as he rips a sword from stunned hands before he slashes at a thigh causing the warrior to drop to the ground with a grunt of pain before the handle of a knife is slammed against the side of a head, silencing the warrior for the moment.
And then it quiets. The woman draws her bow and eyes the three Azgeda carefully, and as Silence stands Clarke hears the creak of the bowstring as she pulls it back further, the arrow aimed squarely at Silence.
"Don't move," she hisses, and Clarke sees her begin to back up, her feet stepping back carefully as she puts distance between her and the three Azgeda.
"Put the weapon down," Silence says evenly, his eyes moving to Clarke and Torvun who remain kneeled as they watch the exchange.
Clarke rises though, and she sees the woman tense for just a moment at the sound before relaxing.
"You're working for Prince Roan?" Clarke asks cautiously as she eyes Silence.
"Yes," he says simply. "We must leave."
And Clarke watches as the woman pauses for just another short second as she contemplates whatever decisions must race through her mind before she lowers her bow and she steps around Clarke. And Clarke feels her slash at the ropes around her wrists, and she feels the relief as the pressure lessens and as her hands come free, the skin raw and irritated.
"What's your name?" Clarke asks as the woman moves to Torvun, a small knife in her hands already cutting through his bonds.
"Costia," the woman says as their eyes meet.
Ontari's gaze follows the flickering of the light as it bounces off the edge of her sword, and as she runs the whetstone over it she lets the sounds it rings soothe her mind and bleed into a rhythm she finds comforting and familiar.
Her thoughts turn to Kwin Nia though, and she tries to juggle with what she has been told, the things Nia has done, and she can't help but feel it as a lie, as something concocted and spoken of merely to turn those loyal to the clan. But it makes sense. Doesn't it? She thinks of Entani's wounds, of how they had been sent to hunt the Mountain Men, of how they had been ambushed, the mine placed exactly in the path of where they were coming from. And it makes her teeth grind, it makes her thoughts begin to writhe and bubble. She thinks of her inaction after being captured, of how she had been dragged before Clarke, of how the knife had been held to her throat and how she had accepted that her time had come, that her fight was over. She thinks of how Entani had been wounded, of how Skaikru healers were the only ones able to save her.
And Ontari feels the rage build, she feels those thoughts that linger in the back of her mind come roaring into existence and she curses. Her finger slips and she feels the edge of her sword slice into her palm, and she watches as the blood smears the blade, as it drips down its length.
She places her sword down tenderly, the metal shining in the dark of the tent, and she holds her hand close as she begins to sort through Entani's healer pack, her fingers already groping for the needle and thread. Ontari glances once over her shoulder to find Entani still fast asleep, a leg hanging over the side of the small bed they share and her braids unwound, hair unruly in sleep.
But Ontari feels the thread brush her fingers and so she snares it and brings it up to the slight light that exists. And then Ontari begins to pull the needle through her flesh, her eyes tracing the clean cut, and she can't help but to wince slightly at the sting and at the awkwardness of her motions as she tries to copy the movements she has seen Clarke and Entani both make so many times before.
She could ask for help though, she thinks Entani wouldn't mind being woken, she thinks the healer would merely joke, merely tease her inability, her lack of skills despite the scars that litter her flesh, but as she lets Entani's deep breathing fill the tent she knows she wishes not for Entani's sleep to be disturbed.
And so Ontari scowls and frowns and grimaces as she continues to awkwardly pull the thread through the edges of the wound.
It doesn't take her long to finish suturing her wound, and as she eyes the finished stitching she thinks it an ok attempt, but she knows Entani will remove her stitching when they wake, she knows Entani will redo them soon.
Ontari stands then, wipes the blood from her palm with a bandage before she takes a step to the bed, fingers already tugging at her clothes, already beginning to undress for the last few hours of night before the sun rises. But a thought comes to her, an idea, a want and a desire and a wish to sort things out. To get answers while she can.
And so Ontari pauses, she stops and she turns, her fingers already tugging her clothes back on as she slips out of the small tent.
It's still dark outside, and as she breathes in she smiles grimly, her eyes quickly finding a lone sentry that perches quietly in the rocks, their gaze directed out and into the snowfields that surround them. Fire's don't quite burn at this time either, merely rocks that are heated and glow from the fires that had been lit during the day, the night too dangerous to let fires flicker in the dark for the few that remain in this isolated place.
Ontari's eyes snap to the very few Trikru that she had found to be with them, their tents small, simple, easy to unpack, easy to transport. And so she begins to walk forwards. She tugs her furs around her shoulders as the wind picks up, as it howls and screams over the rocks and breathes through her unbraided hair. But Ontari enjoys it, she has missed the cold, the chill that coats her lungs in a freshness that chills and soothes her body.
She comes to a pause outside the largest tent, and she can't help but to scoff slightly at its size, the Commander still always needing to have the largest tent no matter the circumstance.
"I wish to see the Commander," Ontari says simply as Anya steps closer to her, the taller woman gazing down at her slightly as she runs her eyes over the knife strapped to Ontari's hip.
"Wait," is all Anya says before she ducks into the tent.
It only lasts a moment, and as Anya ducks back out, Ontari thinks the Commander must have already been awake, or perhaps must not have even slept, but as Anya waves her in, Ontari can't quite put enough effort into caring about the woman's wellbeing.
Her eyes gaze around the tent, and she eyes the small table that sits in the centre, the sheer curtain that hides the Commander's sleeping space, and the weapons and armour the lie strewn across the table top. Ontari feels Anya step in behind her though, and she knows the woman ready to strike, ready to attack and to defend should she give reason to do so.
But Ontari's eyes snap to the Commander who stands by the table, her eyes meeting Ontari's, her clothes more subtle, the red sash gone, the braids different, no war paint dripping from her eyes and slashing down her cheeks.
"You wished to speak?" the Commander says evenly, her eyes holding Ontari's gaze steadily.
"I do," Ontari answers as her hand falls to her hip out of habit, and she hears Anya growl out a warning, and she sees the Commander's eyes follow her hand as she lets it fall to her side.
"Clarke," Ontari begins as she starts to move further into the tent, her eyes moving to the weapons on the table, and she finds herself taking note of the blades she sees, of the dagger and the throwing knife and the two swords, even the studded gloves.
"What of Wanheda?" the Commander intones lowly.
"I know you bed her," Ontari says simply.
The Commander's head tilts to the side slightly, and Ontari thinks she senses thoughts that flash through the woman's mind, that take up whatever small space must linger within her head. But she can't quite put her finger on whether the thoughts are bad, are good, or merely just observation of her words.
"What will you do with this information?" the Commander questions.
"Nothing," Ontari says. "I do not see what she finds attractive," Ontari finishes, her lip lifting slightly as she sees the Commander's eyebrow raise and as she hears Anya curse her name quietly.
"You came merely to insult?" the Commander questions.
"No," Ontari shrugs, and she takes a steadying breath, her mind trying to understand what has happened, what is happening, and what she thinks will happen. "I care for Clarke," and Ontari watches as she sees the Commander take her words in, as the woman studies her posture and her stance. "You care for her, too," Ontari pushes.
"And you think this, why?" the Commander says, her eyes turning detached, her voice coming out cold, empty, not unlike the times she has seen Nia in times of anger or displeasure.
"You would not be here personally if you did not care for her," Ontari begins. "And you do not have proof of what you accuse Kwin Nia of," Ontari continues.
And the Commander's eyebrow raises slightly at that.
"And you think I have no proof?"
"I do," Ontari says. "If you had proof of Kwin Nia's treachery then you would not need to sneak into Azgeda lands disguised as someone other than the Commander," and Ontari gestures to the clothes the woman wears. "Where are your armies? Where are Trishanakru? Delfikru? Podakru?"
"And your point is?" the Commander intones lowly.
"We do things the Azgeda way," Ontari says, and she readies the gamble, the ultimatum, the threat she is about to voice. "I will not allow you to destroy Azgeda," Ontari continues. "I will not allow an outsider to dictate how Azgeda deals with this," and she gestures around her.
"And how will you stop me?" the Commander asks, her head tilting slightly. "How will you enforce your will? Your wishes? Your desires?" and the Commander begins to stalk forward carefully, her eyes iron, her body tensed, poised and ready to strike, to lash out, to subdue and overwhelm.
"You will have no say in how Azgeda confronts Kwin Nia," Ontari says as she steps forward herself, and she feels the adrenaline begin to flow through her veins, she feels her anger, her hurt and betrayal begin to swell once more.
Both women come to a stop then, and Ontari feels the quiet breaths that ghost her face as the Commander eyes her, as the Commander takes in her face. But Ontari curses silently as she realises the woman stands just slightly taller than her, just enough that she can tell the Commander looks down at her.
"You are lucky, Ontari," the Commander says quietly. "If you were anyone other than a friend of Clarke's I would not allow this to go unpunished."
"I do not care," Ontari snaps quietly.
"I know you do not care," the Commander answers and then she pauses, her eyes moving over Ontari's face. But Ontari sees her smirk slightly, she sees the woman's lips twitch and her cheek move just a little. "Perhaps you should have a proper healer see to your wounds," the Commander finishes as her eyes flick down to the poor stitching in her palm before her head inclines to the tent's exit. "You may leave."
And so Ontari clenches her hand quickly, scowl firmly in place as she glares fiercely at the Commander for one long moment before she turns and ducks out of the tent.
"She is stubborn," Anya says, her eyes trailing after the Azgeda warrior who ducks out of the tent.
"She is," Lexa says as she relaxes a little now that Ontari fades from her presence.
"I do not think it is wise to allow her to show such disrespect," Anya says as she moves deeper into the room.
"She is a friend of Clarke's," Lexa says simply, "I will allow it," and Anya's eyebrow raises. "To an extent," Lexa adds with a quiet smile.
"If she continues to threaten though?" Anya questions.
"Roan will keep her in line," Lexa answers. "I do not think Ontari means any harm," and she shrugs as her eyes fall to the weapons on the table and her finger begins to brush against the edge of one of her swords, the blade sharp and shining in the candle light that flickers occasionally.
"You do not think her a threat?"
"She is not sure how to react," and Lexa meets Anya's gaze once more. "She is afraid. She is hurt. She is lost," and Lexa gestures between them both. "We both know people react differently when things are not what they seem," and Lexa watches as Anya looks away, as her jaw clenches slightly.
"Yes," Anya says after a moment.
"Do you wish to talk?" Lexa asks cautiously though, and she knows this a foreign concept for both women, but as she sees Anya meet her gaze she can't help but to smile slightly at the memories of when Anya had been her first, when she had been forced to scale trees blindfolded, had been forced to set up their shared tent by herself.
"I do not wish to discussed anything," Anya says, and Lexa inclines her head for she knows Anya's words hold no malice, hold no bite, only pride, and a reluctance to seem any less than the glaring Trikru warrior many think her to be. "Gustus will be angry when we return," Anya says to change the topic, her chin jerking to the south, to where Polis and Trikru borders lie.
"He will," Lexa sighs as she moves to where a beaker sits on the edge of the table. "So too will Titus," and she holds up a mug in question and she sees Anya nod her head once.
"It was necessary," and Anya offers a word of thanks as she takes the mug from her.
"It was," Lexa agrees with a nod.
Clarke stares for a long moment, and she is sure her face remains confused and blank and stupid as the woman holds her gaze.
"Costia?" Clarke asks, and as the name leaves her lips she feels the memories come crashing back, memories of when Lexa had spoken of a former love, of someone stolen by Nia, whose head had been returned without a body.
"I am who you think I am," Costia says, her eyes darting once to Torvun who eyes the other Azgeda who, for the moment, seem to be loyal to Roan.
"How?" Clarke whispers, her eyes trailing over the scar etched into her cheek, that dips into her lip.
"I will explain later, but for now we must go," Costia says quickly, her eyes scanning in the direction of the village.
"Lexa thinks you're dead," Clarke says, and she feels her heart beat rapidly, she feels her fingers tremble at the revelation.
"I know," and Costia looks away for a moment. "Many have thought me dead for years," she says simply. "But I will hel—"
"We must leave now," Silence hisses as he steps forward, his eyes flashing a warning.
Clarke's eyes scan the village for just a moment, and she is sure at any second an alarm will sound, a warning, a shout of anger, of surprise, anything, will ring out. She curses the fact that their escape now relies on stealing horses, on sneaking through the village and taking six horses before anyone notices the absence of the other Azgeda warriors who have been left bound and wounded in the rocks. And Clarke can't help but feel anguish at the fact that they suffer, not because they are evil, but only because they remain loyal to a Kwin who has lied, has twisted truths, and has poisoned their minds to the truth of what has happened. But for now Clarke knows she must escape. And so she pushes the worries from her mind and she tries to settle the raging of her heart.
"Let me go," Costia says quietly. "Many do not notice my movements anymore," she continues, her eyes darting left and right. "I can take perhaps three horses. We may have to share," she finishes as she meets Clarke's gaze.
Clarke worries her lip for a moment, but as she considers the mad dash they would have to brave across the open land, she thinks Costia's suggestion the only solution, the only option that wouldn't end in their swift recapture and death.
"Ok," Clarke says quietly.
And so Costia flashes her a bright smile before shrugging off her bow and handing it and the arrows to her. She slips down the side of the snow mound then before she stands and wipes herself off as she begins jogging towards the village easily.
"She is supposed to be dead?" Torvun asks quietly from besides her, his gaze following the woman as she slows her steps and passes through the main gates of the village.
"She is supposed to be," Clarke answers as she worries her lip, eyes just once glancing to Silence he remains on his stomach as he looks down into the village.
"Kwin Nia can be cruel," he says simply as he senses her eyes on him. "I would not be surprised if she has a ploy to send Lexa your head," he shrugs.
"Oh," and Clarke recalls how Teril had sliced off a strand of her hair, of what Nia had said, and Clarke feels the shiver run through her, and she wonders if someone has already lost their life for Nia's games.
"Who is she?" Torvun asks quietly.
"Someone important," Clarke answers as she watches Costia step into the stables.
Silence snorts at her words though, and she feels him glance once at her.
"She was very important," he says. "As are you," and he raises an eyebrow evenly, and Clarke thinks by the way he holds her gaze that he knows of her and Lexa.
"Can she be trusted?" Torvun asks as he winces slightly, the hard packed snow underneath his body not so easy on his ribs.
"Yes," Silence says. "She has no love for Kwin Nia."
Costia pauses at the entrance to the stables, and her eyes quickly count the horses present, and she breathes out a sigh of relief as she finds seven there, more than enough. She moves quickly, her eyes scanning the saddles that hang from the wall, and she feels her fingers tremble now, she feels her heart begin to beat faster. It's been so long, so many years, but as she pulls the first saddle from the wall she thinks a smile begins to spread, she thinks she feels the first real sense of hope, of daring.
"What are you doing?"
And she freezes, she feels her heart freeze and her body tense. She turns carefully and holds up the saddle in her hands before gesturing to the nearest horse. Teril watches her carefully and she sees him take the time to consider whatever thoughts drift through his mind, whatever accusations he could make, threats of punishment he could carry out.
"You see to the horses?" he asks as his arms cross and his head tilts.
Costia nods, her eyes falling to a hammer that lies not far from her hand.
"How did the execution go?" he asks, his head jerking to the direction of where Clarke had been held.
But Costia shrugs just once.
"You don't know?" Teril says, his lip curling slightly. "I saw you sneak off," and he steps forward. "If you wish to lie then you should not be caught trying to escape, trying to free them," and Costia backs up slightly, the saddle in her arms feeling heavy, feeling cumbersome in her grasp. Teril pauses in his approach though, his eyes, she thinks, keeping a quiet mirth just slightly hidden.
Costia shakes her head forcefully though, and she widens her gaze, tries to make herself seem as pathetic as she can, she even lets her arms tremble, lets the saddle begin to lower to the strain she lets show.
"Take this," Teril says though, and Costia pauses, she thinks her lips part and her eyes widen as she eyes the knife Teril hands her by the blade. "Escaping would require you to attack me," he says simply.
And perhaps she knows from past experience, from the times she has tried to escape before, that all it takes for an opening to turn into a victory is to act, is to make a decision and accept the consequences.
And so Costia lunges. She throws the saddle at Teril and she crashes against him. She hears Teril grunt out and she grasps the blade and snatches it from his outstretched hand before jabbing it towards his chest.
But Teril curses out quietly, shifts his body, turns his chest, and she watches as the blade sinks into his shoulder. But she doesn't stop, doesn't even consider stopping. Costia kicks out harshly, and she knows she connects with his groin as Teril gasps out in pain before she smashes her elbow against his cheek, and she watches as he stumbles, as he topples and as he slips to the ground.
Costia stares at him for only a moment before his eyes raises and he meets her gaze with his own dazed one. And then she kicks him in the head, and she watches as his eyes roll back and as his body goes limp.
Costia glances up then, and she waits, she pauses for the alarm that must be coming. She pauses for the shouts and the alarm bells. But all she hears is the neighing of the horses and so she curses, she breathes in deeply and she rushes to ready the horses, Teril's actions to be considered at a later time.
Clarke lets out a sigh of relief as she sees Costia walk out of the stables, four horses in tow. Costia keeps her head down, and Clarke feels her blood begin to beat, begin to flow rapidly as anticipation builds, as failure and fear begin to bleed into her mind. But Costia takes another step, and Clarke watches as a horse jerks its head happily, and Costia takes another step, and Clarke watches as the woman glances back into the stables, but a horse merely snorts once, tosses a head and settles easily. And Clarke watches as Costia breathes in deeply, as the woman closes her eyes and begins to walk just a little faster, just a little more purposefully as she nears the gates to the village.
And then she passes through. Clarke feels her fingers begin to itch, and she feels the bow pressing against her palm, her eyes scanning behind Costia as she continues to walk their way, and Clarke thinks of the things that may go wrong in this instant, in this moment, in the time it takes for Costia to cover the distance, to meet them at the base of the snow mound.
But Costia covers the distance easily, and she feels Torvun begin to rise, begin to prepare for the dash to meet the horses.
"Hotun and Kenma will take two," Silence whispers, the other two warriors nodding as Clarke looks their way. "They will travel in different directions, confuse any who try to give chase. We will share the last two," he finishes with a nod.
"Thanks for making the decision for us," Clarke says as her eyes roll.
"Be thankful," Silence mutters. "I do not enjoy being hunted, and I do not wish to share what could be my last moments with someone ungrateful."
"Nice to know you care," Clarke hisses back as she begins to rise, too.
"We go now," Silence says as he dashes forward, and so Clarke races after him, Torvun merely muttering out a curse as his ribs protest the strain.
They reach Costia quickly, and she looks over shoulder and back at the stables before meeting Clarke's worried gaze.
"Everything ok?" Clarke asks as she pulls herself onto the first horse's back.
"Yes," Costia says as she takes Clarke's offered hand before swinging up behind her.
"Where are we going?" Clarke asks Silence, and she turns to see Torvun settling on the horse behind the assassin, frown in place as Silence shrugs.
"Away from here," the man says before nodding to Hotun and Kenma who return his nod with their own before they urge their horses in opposite directions.
"Helpful," Clarke mutters. "Lead the way," and she clicks once, the horse she rides already falling into step behind Silence who turns his horse out and into the snowfields, the horse already reaching a gallop.
The Azgeda winds blow her hair from her face, and as she stares out into the distance she can't help but feel the cold that bites into her limbs, that prickles her skin and chills her bones. And she can't quite fathom why Clarke enjoys the cold, but perhaps it must simply take time.
And so Lexa pulls the furs closer around her, and she feels Anya shiver next to her, too.
"I do not ever wish to return to Azgeda during their winter," the woman says.
"It has only just begun," Lexa counters, her eyebrow raising slightly.
"Yet it is still wretched," Anya mutters.
"Clarke likes it," Lexa says, and she tries to pull her mind from the worries of what may be happening to her even at this moment.
"Clarke is strange," Anya says, and Lexa thinks the woman's eyes must roll.
"Clarke is—"
"Do not say special," Anya mutters.
"The Commander can say what she wishes," Lexa counters quietly.
Anya snorts then, and Lexa feels the subtle smile that pulls at her lips.
"Perhaps," and Anya turns from the open view to face her. "But as your former fir—"
A horn echoes out over the lands and Anya's head swivels to the sound, and Lexa's hand falls to the sword strapped to her hip as she follows the sound. In the distance she thinks she sees two horses galloping over the snowfield, and Lexa sees a warrior on watch rise from the rocks and draw a bow as another horn echoes out over the lands. Commotion breaks through the small camp, and Lexa turns to see Roan racing out of his tent, his furs wrapped around him as he stares off into the distance and at the horses that approach.
A warrior races past them, but Anya reaches out and grips the woman by the furs and pulls her to a stop.
"Who approaches?" Anya says as she jerks her chin towards the newcomers.
"Wanheda," the Azgeda warrior says as she shrugs off Anya's grasp with a grunt of annoyance before she continues racing towards where the horses continue to make their approach.
Lexa feels her lips pull up slightly though, and she knows Anya notices from the way the woman scoffs before they begin walking down the small incline and to where other Azgeda warriors begin to gather.
It only takes them a moment longer, and as they approach, Lexa sees Ontari and Entani present, both women pushing through the warriors until they stand at the forefront, and Lexa knows she senses the relief and the happiness that must fill both women as Clarke's blonde hair begins to fully come into view as she slows her horse and as she raises a hand in welcome.
And Lexa's eyes take her in then, and she sees signs of suffering, a bruise colouring her cheek, and she thinks Clarke moves stiffly, her limbs weighted from the pain and the aches of whatever has happened, but Lexa knows her own relief floods her as her eyes meet Clarke's from across the warriors that gather.
Lexa sees an Azgeda warrior pull up the second horse, his face unmarked, and she sees Torvun slide off it too, and then her gaze turns back to Clarke who dismounts awkwardly, her body stiff, and then the blonde turns to help another person off, her face tucked into furs as the winds pick up and as they blow the unruly curls of her hair freely.
Lexa doesn't quite realise her feet have taken her forward, that her hands have pushed those around her out of the way, and that her body now stands besides Ontari who glares at her once. But Lexa feels her fingers want to reach out, want to snare Clarke and hold her, if only to embrace something she thinks not quite certain yet, if only to reaffirm a commitment, the spectre of Nia's cunning now more clear, now more warning than it has been for years.
"Clarke," she begins, but Clarke holds a hand up, and Lexa sees her worry a lip for a brief second.
"There's someone you should meet," Clarke says, and Lexa feels her eyes narrow, she feels her senses begin to tingle, and she feels her anger and frustration and fear and loathing come roaring to the forefront of her mind as Clarke steps aside.
"Hello, Lexa."
Costia.