Author's Note: Can we just live in Tortall, please? No papers, no tests, no exams... but only Tamora Pierce has got the map there.

Chapter 22: Live

Marinine had lived to see one dawn, but she did not see another.

Cradling the cold, grey little body, Alanna herself struggled for breath. Her chest was tight and it felt as though both her and Marinine's breaths were gone. It felt as if someone had stabbed Lightning through her heart, and the handle and blade of the sword were still embedded in her body and in her soul.

There were no more tears left. There were no more beseeching prayers. There was nothing left but the shell of what would have been Princess Marinine of Conté.

But Alanna refused to give up the daughter in her arms. Eleni coaxed, Thayet pleaded, Buri begged, Thom ordered, Faithful tugged. Jon, his own grief sharp, sent them away. In each other's arms, the king and queen sat, looking at the second daughter, who would not breathe again.

"I'm not doing it again, Jon," she said, her eyes bloodshot. There was a light, Jon noted, that had gone out; a light that he hadn't noticed was there until it was gone.

"What?" he asked kindly, as he reached for her hand.

"I'm not doing it again. I…can't lose another one. Jasson was…easier to lose, wasn't he? I know you named him. I've visited the grave. But I never held him; I never had to watch him fight. But Mari… I couldn't do anything. I couldn't—" Alanna's voice broke, dry sobs wracking her body.

Jon cradled her against him. "It's not your fault. You can't save everyone."

"But I should be able to! I'm…I'm the Lioness, chosen by the Goddess."

"Alanna, you are not a goddess. You can't do everything. You're human. And you tried. You fought hard. I did less than you," he added, revealing his own helplessness.

Reaching out to her husband, needing to comfort him, needing him to comfort her, Alanna touched his cheek. They sat in silence, until they both fell wearily into sleep.

-x-x-x-

The funeral for Marinine took place quickly and quietly and the little girl was buried next to her brother. Alanna wept openly, something that stunned the court. For once, there was not a whisper about her behavior—no furrowed brows, no frowns, no shaking heads. No one, not even the strictest conservative, could find such an unfeeling place in his heart to tell the grieving queen how to behave at a funeral, because no one wanted to tell a mother how to mourn her child.

As soon as the ceremony was completed and the Priestess of the Goddess clasped her hands together for a final time, Alanna lifted her heavy, black skirts and fled the Chapel. She found herself in her personal bedchamber, her face buried in the pillow, howling her misery.

Jon found her that way, hours later, fast asleep, her tears still on her cheeks and eyelashes. Gently, he wiped them away with his finger, only to find that her cheeks were still wet. Even though her misery had worn her out, tears still flowed from her eyes.

His own heart aching, he gazed down at his wife. She looked so vulnerable, he realized, something that struck him profoundly. It was hard to think of the mighty Lioness as vulnerable, but here she was, so human. Guilt brimmed over in Jon's insides, making him want to be sick. He had done this to her. If he hadn't married her, if he hadn't been so foolish as to need to cling to someone… She would have married George, would have had George's children. Maybe those children would have all survived. Maybe she would have never had children. But no, he, Jonathan, had to be selfish. He had to wring a promise from a friend, a friend he knew would give up her whole life for him—and she had done just that. And now, look at her. She looked broken.

Jon realized that he could no longer see Alanna because his own eyes were full of tears. In vain he tried to stop himself, but his shoulders were shaking and, to his internal horror, he began to sob.

His cries roused Alanna from her dreamless sleep, and she awoke and found Jon standing over her, weeping.

"Jon," she said softly, reaching for him. But he backed away, not wanting to held or comforted by the woman whose life he had destroyed.

"Alanna," he choked out, "I'm so—I'm so sorry."

Her shoulders rose and fell. "You couldn't have saved her, either," she reminded him quietly.

"No! Not that! For everything! For making you choose me, even though you didn't want to. For pushing you through this. I took everything from you, without even thanking you properly. I'm—I'm—"

Alanna stood up, the black folds of her gown moving with her liquidly. She was beautiful, Jon noted, especially in black. It made her hair shine. Approaching Jon like he was a skittish horse, she slowly reached her hand forward, lightly touching his cheek.

"Jon, it's too late for you to say you're sorry for marrying me."

"It's too late to be undone, but I have to apologize. I hurt us both so much. I was selfish, it was wrong—"

"No, no, no." Alanna's voice was soft. "Don't say it was wrong. Because then you make Kally and Thom and Alan and Roald and …and Jasson…and," her chin trembled, "and Marinine wrong. You make what you—we've done for this kingdom wrong. And it's not. Don't make it wrong, Jon. If you make it wrong, then everything I have left is wrong…and I couldn't live with that."

Another wave of guilt engulfed Jon as he looked his best friend. She had gone through hell and back with him, holding his hand.

"I couldn't live if you didn't," he whispered.

Now I have to take a moment and say that Jon and Alanna actually seem to be working. I mean, they don't hate each other. They're going through a really rough time and they've managed to stay (pretty) faithful to each other and they haven't ended up on Tortall's version of Jerry Springer.