Chapter Text
Beneath the dappled shadows of a forest knelt a young woman in a white dress, a simple brown cloak draping over her back. She appeared relaxed as she gathered flowers into a basket, head lowered in focus. Not far away was a young man, an affectionate smile tracing his lips as he watched the woman, loosely clothed in a button-up shirt and dark pants.
“More flowers?”
“More,” Rishe agreed. “These can be used as part of a fever cure. I think maybe I might be able to make a new kind of antibiotic with their petals, too! Hopefully I can experiment later.”
Though she was picking flowers, she did not lift her basket with her when she stood. Rather, Rishe placed it down onto the grass, against a tree trunk. In a fluid motion, she pulled a small knife from her sleeve and threw it, a whirl of glittering silver. Her aim was true.
“We have company,” Rishe murmured.
“That we do,” Arnold agreed.
It had been such a pleasant outing, too. No guards, no attendants, just her husband and the forest: what better? Rishe had been overjoyed when Arnold told her of all this. To think they would be interrupted!
Displeased, Rishe drew her sword and met a bandit’s strike with one of her own. They were outnumbered, but that was perfectly fine. With a loud clang, their blades met again and Rishe forced herself close, compensating for her lack of reach with deadly speed. Like a snake, she struck for her foe’s shoulder, piercing past flesh and muscle. Rishe ducked a wild swing at her back and lashed out with a dagger drawn from a scabbard on her calf. Blood sprayed.
“Careful!”
“I am!” Rishe was already rolling as she spoke, leaping up and lunging. She kicked out and her foot slammed into a bandit’s kneecap. As they stumbled, Rishe reversed her grasp on her sword and swung the hilt into their head.
Briefly, she glanced over to Arnold, then parried a strike and slashed through her foe’s sloppy guard. Rishe spun and kicked another in the wrist. She charged and knocked them out, then danced over to Arnold. Wordlessly, Rishe engaged the bandit sneaking up behind him, disarming them with brutal grace.
It was in a lull. Rishe scanned their surroundings, hawklike, searching for any threat to Arnold while she guarded her back, and as she took on another foe, she caught sight of a movement in her peripheral.
Rishe forced her way forwards and disarmed the man, then spun towards the source of the motion. A gleam of silver and her heart lurched with panic: their eyes met, but the knife was already on its way, and Rishe knew that it would hit true.
Arnold was busy. Rishe ducked a punch and stabbed recklessly forwards, sinking her blade into someone’s thigh, but that lost her invaluable time. She didn’t think: she threw herself forwards, spreading out her arms wide, using her own body as a shield.
At first, it didn’t hurt. She just felt winded, toppling over onto her side and rolling to her knees. The object jostled heavily and on reflex she looked down and caught sight of the handle sticking out of her stomach, crimson blooming around it.
Rishe let out a grunt of pain, hissing out harshly through her teeth. The adrenaline made her dull, but she forced her mind to keep moving. Above her, Arnold called her name, and it occurred to her that his voice was rather strangled.
Arnold’s eyes widened in horror before narrowing into thin slits. His blood lust choked the air as he made quick work of the rest of the men, no longer holding back. Where before Arnold had been ensuring that none of the men died, he no longer cared. The line of his mercy had been crossed, and nothing would get in his way.
The sound of fighting began to grow distant in Rishe’s ears, replaced by a loud ringing. Her thoughts slowed to a sluggish pace, which she recognized was a bad sign. There was nobody left to fight: all around her were bodies, and as her left knee gave out, her husband caught her, cradling her to his chest. Rishe fought to take deep breaths, willing herself into some semblance of calm. There was nothing else she could do.
“Rishe. Rishe!” Arnold repeated her name, squeezing her hand tightly between his own.
“I’m here,” Rishe told him. Ah, this wasn’t good. Being stabbed always inconvenienced you afterwards.
“Don’t fall asleep, Rishe. Don’t you dare fall asleep,” Arnold ordered, staring at the knife embedded in her abdomen with trepidation. Some part of him reflexively wanted to pull it out, but he knew that would only cause her to bleed out faster.
“My Husband…” Rishe murmured, squeezing his hand as much as she was able.
“I’m going to pick you up. It’s going to hurt,” Arnold whispered.
Rishe gave a silent nod, focusing on keeping her breaths steady. Reluctantly releasing her hand, Arnold slid his arms beneath her frame, carefully lifting her in the air.
Rishe gasped from pain as the blade shifted within her. Briefly, her vision went spotty, and a bit of blood trickled out from her panting mouth. Though filled with a worried panic, Arnold remained calm as he moved swiftly towards the horses they had left behind for their stroll.
Five years, Rishe reminded herself as things began to swim back into place. It was now five years and though the emperor was now dead and the war had been prevented, it still wasn’t a guarantee that she would live longer than these five short years. This was proof of exactly that.
“Don’t worry Your Highness,” Rishe said almost dreamily, “I’ll find you again in my next life.”
“Don’t you dare fall asleep right now, Rishe. Talk to me. Tell me a story about your life,” Arnold all but pleaded. They were so close, then he’d have to ride back to the palace which would take another thirty minutes if they traveled at full speed.
The blade didn’t appear to have hit any vital organs, but the longer it was left to jostle around inside Rishe the more damage it would cause, and the higher chance that infection would set in.
A story, Rishe thought. A story. She had lived for a long time, and had been blessed with so many joys. Where was she supposed to begin?
Her thoughts turned to the sea, to the desert. Once she had had a taste of freedom, what wouldn’t she give up to live it again? Blood, sweat, tears, and her heart: they weren’t worth as much.
“You know, I used to be a merchant. That's how I knew Mr. Tully,” Rishe whispered, leaning her head limply against Arnold’s chest.
“Is that so,” Arnold responded, brows furrowing. Was she confused from the loss of blood?
“Yes.” Black cut through the sight of the sky above her. Rishe blinked and it eventually cleared. She was moving. Her torso was a smear of pain.
“The night of my annulment I was so shocked and taken aback as Prince Dietrich read off a list of crimes. When I went home my parents disowned me at the closed gates. I only had the clothes on my back and the ring on my finger.”
Arnold’s hold tightened around Rishe, unsure of where this tale was headed. After all, none of that actually happened. Maybe she was just speaking of a dream she had.
“I wandered the streets for hours, alone until I fell on my knees in a dirt path. A disgraced lady of the court covered in mud, how fitting it was.” Her skirts were soiled, her feet aching from the long stretch of time and road, alone and with nothing to reach for. It felt natural to simply kneel in the middle of the path, and look at the sky through its reflection.
Her stomach was no longer turning, but that just left her empty. Rishe sucked in a sharp breath at the memory, her fists tightening around his jacket.
“It’s okay Rishe. Breathe,” Arnold encouraged as he placed her atop his saddle. They’d have to come back for her horse later and hope that no one would dare to touch a horse with the royal seal. “Keep talking to me.”
“I got found by a few men on a cart. While I was drinking with them between a box of lace fabrics and an antique chair, I found out they were the Aria Trading Company.” Her smile was wistful. “They took me in and treated me like family. We set sail soon after, across the Western Aeolian ocean. I never looked back, and I’m happy I didn’t.” The memories of her first five years eased her breathing. Rishe sighed, full of longing. Early days, lax days: she had been able to do so much.
“I got so lucky,” she murmured. “Met so many great people. I miss Lady Christine, and Miss Ayesha, and…”
She’d met them once more though, right?
“I’m happy I got to see Prince Kyle again,” she said aloud. “It’s good. I wonder how his Majesty King Zahad is doing…”
And then… and then? Somewhere overseas, some city, her first taste of war that wasn’t filtered out by the pages of a book. The word had soon spread that Arnold Hein started a war. Invasion came just on the heels of rumor, proving it true. A sword through her stomach felt cold, then burned. Dirt and blood filled in her mouth and coated her tongue, stuck gritty between her teeth. Someone running stepped on her hand as she began to lose consciousness, and the crunch of bones was the last thing Rishe heard.
Arnold’s grip tightened against the reins in a white knuckled grip. Did she even realize she was talking? Her stare went through the sky and to whatever gods were waiting past that. It was just a dream, he reasoned. He remembered her saying she dreamed of her own death often, this was just one of those instances.
“Then something strange happened, Your Highness.” She blinked back into clarity. She had just been stabbed, it seemed. Was she dying again? That was rather unfortunate. In some ways…
“It was like a dream,” Rishe murmured drowsily. “My hand still hurt when I woke back up. But I didn’t have dirt in my mouth and my guts weren’t on the floor. Prince Dietrich was annulling our engagement, in fact.
“I was so confused, yet as soon as I realized I had been blessed with a second chance I ran to my parents house to collect as many wares as possible. Whatever had any kind of value to it that I was willing to and could easily sell.”
Arnold snorted, imagining her parents' horrified faces as Rishe sold their most valuable possessions right under their noses.
“I ran to the dirt path. I hoped to meet with Mr. Tully again, but by the time I arrived the party had already passed.” Alone beneath the moonlight again, with bags and suitcases of useless things, now that she had none of her comrades. It felt almost poetic.
“I was confused. Then it became obvious. I was gathering things: I was obviously too late.
“So I pulled out a completely random book I had taken. One look and I knew it was about herbology. My grandmother’s old book. Figured it was as good a path as any other. So after selling all my possessions, I… traveled across the… sea to…”
Rishe began to trail off, her eyelids growing heavy. Her body was blanketed with pain and she felt weighed down by an invisible force. It would be nice to sleep.
“Rishe. RISHE!”
Startled by the ferocity of Arnold’s voice, her eyes snapped open. Sweat was dripping down her brow and the world had begun to spin in ways that made Rishe want to vomit. Her ears rang.
“Can I close my eyes at least,” Rishe pleaded.
“No.”
Rishe whimpered, and then gasped for breath. The terrain was rough here and the uneven movements forced the knife to shift. It burned dearly.
“I'm sorry,” Arnold whispered against her ear, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. In a brief lack of lucidity, she wondered if he was holding her to kill her. Her worst foe, but what a beautiful death she was granted at his hand; her most gentle death yet.
“Did you know that you’ve killed me?” Rishe murmured, so quietly he almost couldn’t hear her past the rushing of the wind.
“What?” Arnold asked, dumbfounded.
“A few times actually.” Rishe chuckled, though there was nothing funny about it.
“In each loop you started a war that would kill me. I was burned to death twice. Stabbed in the back and through my stomach helping people to flee and defending patients in a medical camp. And now, you stabbed me through the heart,” Rishe reported slurring her words slightly.
“I only managed a scratch,” Rishe continued with a pout. “I doubt you even remember me. You couldn’t have.”
Arnold’s heart pounded against his chest. He didn't want to ask, but he needed to know. “Were you a knight with short pink hair?”
Rishe gave a small yet bright smile, a thin trail of blood streaming down the corner of her mouth accented by her rapidly paling features.
“Yes. I was protecting the young princes from your blade.”
Dreams that had plagued him for years suddenly made far too much sense. Her eyes haunted his nightmares far too often. Dreams of screams and the heat of a blazing fire. Dreams of a battle and the light leaving her eyes at his hand. Nightmares of her death at his hands repeating again and again.
So lost in thought he nearly missed how limp Rishe had gone against him. Her eyes fluttered shut.
“Rishe. Rishe, wake up!” But his cries went unanswered. She was limp. It felt as though he were holding a doll, so alien given that Rishe was always so very alive.
No, no, no! It was like Domana all over again, yet this was worse. There was no antidote waiting at the end of the tunnel. No guarantee that even if he made it back to the palace in time that she would live through this. And if she died here in his arms, he would bring this world to ruin.
“Don’t worry, Your Highness. I’ll find you again,” Rishe breathed out with the last of her strength before succumbing to the darkness that had been begging to swallow her whole.
“RISHE!”
_____________
The first thing Rishe registered when she became somewhat conscious was that her abdomen burned. The next thing was the feeling of a hand in hers and someone shouting something away from her, but she wasn’t able to make out what was being said.
Rishe wanted to open her eyes to see who was in the room with her. But her eyelids didn’t budge, held shut by an invisible weight.
The voice turned to Rishe, quieter but still mumbled. Her skin tingled as a hand trailed gently across her cheek. Lips pressed against her temple.
Moments later the hand had left hers and the presence disappeared completely. A deep sense of loss filled her, but Rishe couldn’t understand why.
Rishe couldn’t dwell on it for long, though, as the darkness brought her under once more.
____________
“Rishe,” Arnold whispered against her ear. They were having a picnic on the beaches in Vinrhys. It had been a lovely day and it had taken barely any convincing to get Arnold to enjoy the nice weather with her.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Rishe asked, staring up into his storm blue eyes.
Instead of a response, Arnold picked her up in a bridal carry and tossed her in the water before Rishe could properly react.
When Rishe surfaced from the water, expecting to scold her husband beneath an open blue sky, she was met instead with the sight of gold and grey clouding the once-clear air in the middle of the night. It smelled like char. The ship was burning, and in her stunned silence one of the masts creaked, beginning to collapse.
Without a second thought Rishe swam closer to the ship. Grabbing onto the rope hanging off to the side, she mustered all her strength to climb onto the deck. Rishe looked around, heart racing as a voice insisted in her mind that something was dearly, desperately wrong.
Upon closer inspection there was a body atop the heart of the deck, but not just any body. Arnold lay bleeding out against the doc, a large cut slashed through his hip.
She was too late. Rishe fell to her knees at his side, gripping onto his jacket as she cried. So distracted by her grief she didn’t notice the presence of the man until it was too late.
Right as the knife was about to strike her Rishe shot up in a cold sweat, panting for breath.
There was a soft clatter of to her side, but Rishe was too busy trying to breathe and reorient herself to notice what it was.
“My Lady,” Elsie cried standing beside her mistress. Her hands were raised to help but she hesitated, unsure of what she should do.
“You need to lay back down,” Elsie whispered, her eyes filled with fearful uncertainty.
“Wha-“—Rishe gasped—“What happened?”
Elsie rang her hands together, tears welling up in her eyes. “You’ve been asleep for two weeks,” Elsie replied meekly.
“What?!” Rishe exclaimed, turning to look at the young maid, which proved to be a mistake. As soon as she moved her torso, a flare of choking heat made its way through her body and Rishe was left gasping for air once more.
“I’ll-I’ll get His Majesty,” Elsie declared, rushing out of the room.
There was a pounding in the back of her mind muddling her thoughts, but she had to push past the pain. She needed to remember what happened.
Arnold and I were on an outing just outside of the capital. In the middle of it they had been attacked by bandits. Together they had been able to hold them off, but one of them had tricked her. There was a knife aimed at Arnold but she had… Rishe’s thoughts trailed off as everything came rushing back to her at full force.
The ride back to the palace had been a blur, she barely remembered returning to the horse. Just Arnold’s plea for her to stay awake.
Rishe stared down at her abdomen, covered in a light pink nightgown. She could feel the bandages wrapped around her stomach, yet she couldn’t force herself to look, to believe that what happened was real.
A soft knock resounded throughout the empty room. “Come in,” Rishe breathed, thankful for the distraction that pulled her from her fearful thoughts.
Rishe watched the door open, hoping that it would be Arnold. Wanting the warm, steady reassurance that his presence alone brought her.
“Pardon me,” Oliver greeted upon entry, his brow furrowed in worry.
Something fell in Rishe’s chest, her fists clenching around her covers, but she swallowed it back hiding her disappointment with a strained smile.
“Lord Oliver,” Rishe greeted politely.
“It’s a relief to see you finally awake. You gave the kingdom quite the scare,” he teased, but she could hear the strain in his voice that told her he was serious.
“I’m sorry, Oliver,” Rishe whispered, looking away from his gaze. “How is His Majesty fairing?”
Oliver shifted his weight slightly, uncertain.
“My Lord has been more dedicated to his work than ever before,” Oliver replied stiffly.
Rishe noted the careful wording that didn’t truly answer the question.
“He has instructed me to inspect your injury.”
“Ah, I see. Do you know when he will visit?” Rishe asked, shifting her weight slightly hoping to ease the pain.
“He did not tell me when, no.”
“I see…”
Something was wrong. Every time she had been injured in the past Arnold had always been at her side. Even if Arnold didn’t exhibit the normal chivalry most knights possessed, he maintained the role as her protector.
Arnold was always the first to see her wake. The first to look over her wounds. The first to scold her for her recklessness. The first to ensure that she was rested and fully recovered. Now, now he was nowhere to be seen.
“Right. He is very busy with his official duties after all,” Rishe murmured, swallowing the sadness that was building within her chest. She smiled at Oliver, a polite thing with no teeth. “Thank you for telling me, Lord Oliver.”
“You’re welcome, My Lady. May I see your injury?”
Rishe allowed it. She stretched as Oliver inspected her wound, rolling her shoulders and her wrists. Being unconscious in a bed had done her no favors. She needed to recover soon, and get back to work.
“It appears that, as long as you don’t overexert yourself, we can remove the sutures in about two weeks,” Oliver reported with a grim smile.
Rishe nodded. She rolled her ankles. “How long has he been working for? Has he slept and eaten?”
“My Lord has asked me not to share the specifics. However, it would be good for him to take an especially long break.”
As expected. Rishe bit back a sigh and moved to climb out of bed. Oliver halted her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Please don’t aggravate your injury, My Lady. It may be best for a guard to carry you.”
“For a— no, don’t trouble anyone in such a manner. I can use a cane if needed, Lord Oliver.”
Oliver pursed his lips apprehensively. “I fear that My Lord would be rather displeased to see you on your feet while in your current condition.”
Rishe wanted to retort, but knew that Oliver was right. Worrying at her lip, she wondered if she’d even be able to stand without falling after being bedridden for so long.
“If it would please you, I could carry you to My Lord. It would cause me no troubles, in fact it would bring me great joy to do so if you permit my request.”
There was no reasonable way to disagree, despite how the urge prickled at her throat. So Rishe just nodded, and permitted Oliver to lift her up, wrapping her arm around his shoulders.
“Are you comfortable, My Lady?” Oliver asked softly.
“I’m fine,” Rishe assured. Oliver was walking quite slowly, pace unnaturally even. “Can you at least tell me if he’s upset with me?” Rishe asked quietly, voice shaking slightly from trepidation.
Oliver pursed his lips, keeping his eyes forward. “I am… uncertain as to what My Lord is feeling. I have seen him upset on many occasions, but this feels…different.”
That was foreboding. Any trepidation dissipated into worry. She curled her fingers into the skirt of her nightgown, wrinkling the soft pink material.
Moments later they were standing before Arnold’s office doors. As Oliver was occupied holding Rishe, she was the one to open the door, expression calm but hands shaky.
“Pardon us,” Oliver greeted as he strolled into the room, carefully laying Rishe down on the loveseat a few feet away from Arnold’s desk. “My Lady requested your presence, and though you stated you were too busy to see her now, I figured it would be most beneficial to bring her to you instead. Though, your presence was the first thing My Lady requested of me.”
“Lord Oliver!” Rishe hissed. There wasn’t time to feel embarrassed, however. One look at Arnold confirmed her worst fears. “Your Highness, please tell me that you have eaten something in the past six hours.”
Normally, Arnold would make some kind of dismissive statement, or some sort of witty retort, or sigh deeply. This time, he only stared at her, some unnamed emotion writ in his eyes. Rishe went still. Oliver’s words echoed in her ears: I am uncertain.
Nothing worse than that.
“You don’t have to be here if you’re uncomfortable,” Arnold said gruffly. With a certain deliberate flair, he began to write again. Between each stroke of his pen, it occurred to Rishe that he was telegraphing his movements as though she were a stray cat.
“Where did you infer that, Your Highness?” Rishe replied, brow furrowed in confusion. Had she said or done something during their ride back to the palace? It was all such a blur and no matter how hard she tried to remember what had happened, nothing would reveal itself.
Arnold was looking at her in a way she had never seen before. His eyes narrowed, studying her as if she were a complete stranger.
It stung.
Rishe rarely ever felt small, not since she left behind her childhood self six lives ago, but Arnold had a talent for accomplishing the near-impossible.
“Leave for a moment, Oliver.”
Oliver looked between his Lord and Lady, uncertain. However, with a bow, he obeyed. With the two of them alone, Arnold carefully set down his pen and leaned back, clasping his hands on the desk—he was wearing gloves again Rishe noted. Then he laid them flat. Rishe watched him fidget with dread creeping up her spine.
Something had happened. But what?
“I have caused you irreparable harm,” Arnold began. Rishe looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “You told me that I once… I have always killed you.”
Ah. Blurry memories shifted into focus. It all felt rather distant: the pain, the sky, the embrace, and the words falling out of her mouth unbidden. She’d told him, it seemed.
For a moment Rishe considered lying; playing it off like she had only told him stories of distant dreams—like she had so many times before. But there was a certain set to his eyes that told her it wouldn’t work.
Her chest felt cramped and tight. Every breath seemed to be on the verge of blowing her ribcage wide open, spilling her heart out with it. How was she meant to fix this? Could she fix this?
Taking an unsteady breath while slowly pushing herself into a seated position, Rishe asked, “What else did I say?”
“Details on living as a merchant and then being revived,” Arnold said. “Not much else.”
“Liar.”
Arnold didn’t meet her eyes, but admittedly, her vision was beginning to blur. Rishe tasted salt.
“It seems I have killed you only in the worst ways,” Arnold stated.
Rishe narrowed her eyes and really studied her husband. It didn’t make much sense for Arnold to believe the truth of her deaths while she was trapped in delirium. Most would think her crazy or blame the lack of blood. Say that it was her mind conjuring up final things to make her happy before she died. The truth of her existence was absurd, and impossible to confirm. Yet Arnold believed her fevered talk with unwavering certainty.
She was missing something.
“I don’t understand, Your Highness. For I am sitting right before you quite alive, only because of your swift aid.”
“And how many more wounds have you suffered because of my actions?”
“You don’t,” Rishe said measuredly, “know that I have.”
“You told me yourself,” Arnold refuted. “Stabbed thrice, burned twice. I did nothing except let it happen on my order and by my own hands! And I couldn’t even see you in the crowd.”
“How in The Goddess’ name can you believe my delirious ramblings to be true when I am sitting before you now?!” She had never told him the circumstances of her deaths, or she doubted it, at least. Had he even been there during her first death?
“Because I have seen them with my own eyes!” Arnold exclaimed, clenched fists shaking atop his desk. He swiftly relaxed his posture afterwards.
Rishe went cold. Did he live seven lives as well? No, she doubted it: Arnold was no warmonger, and should not have started the same war each time. But then what?
“Nearly every night since the day we met I have dreamed of you. Your lifeless body crumpled against me, my blade still penetrating your heart. Your eyes hidden behind foliage before I ordered you and your comrades burned”—Arnold pushed away from his desk, frantically pacing back and forth as though he were a caged animal brought straight from the wild—“a church in Domana where you lay crumpled against the floors, smoke blanketing your lifeless form.”
Dreams. The Goddess’ blood, Rishe realized: it was almost like Millia. If her former mistress could see the past, then there was no reason that Arnold could not. She almost wanted to slap herself. Why hadn’t she come to the conclusion earlier?
“How can you even look at me”—he paused his pacing, eyeing her with a mix of anger and trepidation—“Why did you agree to our marriage? Why did you—“
Arnold’s gaze flickered down to her stomach. Rishe resisted the urge to touch the bandages hidden beneath her dress. Her throat filled up with words and yet her mouth remained hollow.
The most basic, most mundane desire, was all that at last emerged. She couldn’t formulate anything more complex.
“I just want your happiness,” Rishe whispered, almost pleading. Her voice cracked. “You can’t be happy when you’re dead or injured.”
“You— “
“And I woke back up each time, so I got to be happy again, and you’ve made me so happy too— I just want you to feel the same.”
Arnold stared at her as if she were insane. As if she were speaking some form of gibberish that was indecipherable.
“Why,” he breathed, “can’t you think of yourself for once, damn it?!”
Before Rishe could respond, Arnold had stormed out of his office leaving her alone to her thoughts. Rishe tried to stand, to chase after him. But her legs were too weak from disuse and her abdomen burned sending pain washing throughout her whole body forcing her to her knees. A cry of pain flitted from her lips.
“Arnold!” Rishe shouted after him. Tears welled up in her eyes, and with a blink began streaming down her cheeks like rain.
But he didn’t return. No one entered. The door hadn’t even been locked. Her ears rang with the onslaught of her sudden solitude and Rishe buckled, shoulders bowing.
It was her fault from the start. Accepting his proposal, coming this far, bothering to fall in love. Six lives, and she should have known better after so much time.
In her spinning mind, she thought to herself that she had truly, irrevocably failed.