Autumn

  Another day. And another, and another, and another.

  August and I have been busy since Lillith got herself locked up with her bullshit. I wish I could say I didn’t understand. How she could tell me she wouldn’t risk herself again, then do it the next day like she’d never promised anything. It left anger like a cold stone in my gut. But I can’t say I don’t understand why it happened. I climbed to the top of a tower and saw justice at the bottom. She walked into an arena and spilled red justice in the dirt. And the truth is, while I did promise I wouldn’t climb up that tower again, I’m still not sure if I was lying or not. As angry as it makes me, I understand.

  Lily shares my love for Henry. She shares my guilt and my failure. She loves me, and she hates me. I love her, and I hate her. I hate how I always feel about her, and I hate how I always feel about myself. I hate how much I need Lily’s support. I hate how much I need her loathing. But I do. And she’s been locked up for three days now. Since that disastrous fight. Ember had to rush us all out of the arena and find a new inn before the news spread. We don’t need people getting curious about the group Lily had been staying with. Everything is already falling apart.

  I’m sure she has a plan to get out of this. Something to win the fight with the ‘actual demon queen’ that has been advertised for days now. It looks like the sage in charge is planning a bloodbath. She has to have a plan. She has to. I badly want to have faith in that. Unfortunately, I have known her for years. For all her brilliance in some areas, she lacks all common sense in others. I have seen tunnel vision leave her blindsided before, when it matters and when it doesn’t. Her solutions to simple things have sometimes been . . . well I would have made different choices. Her bullheadedness and singular focus played a part in getting Henry killed. Nearly as much as my selfishness. If I hadn’t had too much faith in Lillith before, maybe the wedding I’d given my daydreams to wouldn’t be dead in a pillar of ash.

  Maybe.

  So I have to think of a way to get her out. Or a way to give her a chance. Ember is united with me in this goal, however much she may detest me. She has me back at the library, researching everything I can about the arena itself. I’ve no idea what she is doing, but we’ll compare notes at the end of the day and see what we can come up with. I guess we aren’t the first to try to break a gladiator out, but it is rare. People who aren’t already in the midst of starting a mass insurrection are less likely to take the risk. People like me, really. Or the me that was. The me that killed Henry.

  I stare down at the indecipherable charts stretched out across my table. Oddly, it seems like the plans for important buildings are kept at the library. It seems like a strange thing to do but a lot of things in the republic seem strange to me. The leaflets used to distribute news, the uncanny and griefless population, the constant campaigning of sages, trying not to get powerful nobles' support but everyone’s. It’s a peculiar place. This particular oddity is doing me little good, however. If there is anything useful on this giant roll of paper, I can’t read it. It all looks like gibberish to me. A bunch of shapes and numbers on a blue background. I recognize some of the writing in the margins as Lily’s unique notation for math. Not so unique after all, I suppose.

  I curl a fist and hit the table in irritation. I get a glare from the librarian, a different man than last time, and try to offer an apologetic, if feeble, smile. The glare that hangs on me reveals my failure to impart the intent. I sigh, rolling the building plans up again. This is clearly not an approach that is going to help me get Lily out. I decide to check on August. He is on the other side of the room, working on his own research project. It would remind me of better days, during our school years, if he wasn’t babysitting me. He is keeping his research private, which would be served well by going to a different part of the library. But I can’t be left alone. I can’t be left unattended. Like a child.

  I stand quietly, trying not to repeat my loud offense from a few moments ago. August is buried in his work, allowing me to quietly approach him, completely unnoticed. As I glance over his shoulder, my stomach flips. He’s got a list of names, some slashed through and others underlined. These don’t bother me much, except for the notes he’s written in the margins, near different names. Some names are labeled with ‘possible accident’ but several are labeled, in August’s crisp and meticulous handwriting, ‘suicide’ instead. He is researching suicide. His project, whatever it is, it’s about me. No wonder he wanted to hide it from me.

  I circle around quietly, not wanting to startle him, before putting my hand on his shoulder. He looks up instantly and guiltily, then nods. Over the last few days we’ve silently established this as the sign I want to get some air. We quietly make our way to the side door, and I lead him to a quiet spot in the garden surrounding the building. It’s not quite like the gardens at school but it is large, comfortable, and affords us some privacy. It has a clear line of sight so we can’t be approached or overheard without seeing the intruder well ahead of time.

  “How are you doing? Feeling any better today?” August asks. He has asked that every day since Lillith’s fight, which I initially thought was concern for Lily but . . . it’s almost like he is expecting me to improve without her. I wish he’d just stop checking in. It’s exhausting. I answer his question with my own.

  “Suicide? Auggie, is everything you’ve been doing these past few days about me? About that single mistake?” August looks guilty and rubs the back of his neck.

  “No! I mean . . . kind of? Lily did tell me to look into this but . . . it was because of you I guess, yeah. Autumn, I want to help you, that’s all. I want to help you feel happy again. I want you to feel safe, and loved, and far away from the person making you so miserable,” he replies. I know he cares about me. But the only emotion I can summon in response is hollow indignation. We used to understand each other without even speaking. Growing up we felt connected, like we shared a mind at times. We could read intention in the slightest expression. But now . . . he doesn’t get it at all. And I’m not sure if that’s my fault or his.

  “You can’t take me away from the person making me miserable, August. Not without killing me yourself,” I respond wearily. “What did Lily have you researching about . . . that? I can understand you alone, looking for ways to help me, but why would she specifically want you to list names of people who have . . . I just don’t get it. No more secrets, explain it to me.”

  August grabs his head in both hands, trying to come up with a suitable response. “Lily . . . was just trying to prove a point. And I promised I would consider it, that’s all. Because, can’t you see it, Autumn? You can be happy again. You don’t have to be so hopeless. Look around you! Look at everyone in this country! You may be the only person here who struggles to get out of bed! You hate yourself Autumn, and I can’t stand it because you are wonderful and you shouldn’t be hated by anyone, especially yourself. And you don’t have to. No one else has to put themselves through this. Everyone else here has had their grief taken away. And the only reason you haven’t? Lillith. She won’t let you. She wants you miserable, and you don’t deserve that. So yeah, I was investigating her excuse for hurting you. For letting you suffer even as she lets her own grief fade to nothing. Even as she plays games in that arena. She leaves you struggling. I want to prove that there is no reason to leave you hurting,” he spills, speaking more frantically as he makes it through his explanation. I feel sick.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “You . . . you want me to live like these . . . empty shells? You think that would make me happy? To lose my grief for the man I loved like he never existed? You think that will bring me joy? To not have the choice to grieve and regret? Collector, is this why you keep asking me if I feel better with Lillith locked up? You think I’ll start to fade into the comfortable picture of your sister you don’t have to worry about?” I ask. August looks up at me with wide eyes.

  “N-No, Autumn! It’s not like that! These people aren't hollow, they are just happy! Why do you think Lillith is accepting the same? Why would she choose to join them if it was so dangerous? It’s not about being comfortable, it’s about helping you!” he insists. I scoff.

  “Isn’t it, though? August, we saw the results of it ourselves. You found more people who paid the price for it! Why wasn’t one enough? You knew it didn’t help anything the first time you saw it and you still wanted that for me? That wasn’t for me, August. That was so you could feel comfortable around me. That was so I would stop wallowing and moaning and crying. It was so I would be fun to be around again. For you,” I accuse.

  “That’s not fair!” he snaps back. “Do you really think I would do that? Risk you just so I could be happier? You know me better than that. You know I love you more than anything!”

  “I do! I know that! But . . . your grief is gone, isn’t it? You let it go. Or whatever is protecting me didn’t protect you too. So without your grief, exactly what emotions do you have left when responding to mine? I know you wouldn’t consciously hurt me. But August, you can’t even understand me right now. Of course your solution is to just pretend the grief doesn’t belong there. Of course you just want me to start acting like I’m happy again. You may not realize that is for your own gratification, but it is. I need my grief. I need it, August. Henry deserves it. If I couldn’t grieve for him . . .” I trail off.

  “Henry was my friend too, Autumn. And he was Lillith’s brother! And she let her’s go! She is doing fine without it! Yes, I’ve seen people struggle even without it, but I’ve also seen people improve once it was taken away,” August challenges.

  “You can’t possibly believe that,” I intone.

  “You’ve seen her! You’ve seen her laugh, and joke, and live. Why does she get to live and you don’t?” he asks.

  “August. Grief is Lily’s endoaspect. You know that. It’s what protects her from divine magic’s control,” I respond.

  “You don’t need to feel an emotion to benefit from it as an aspect, Autumn, you know that as well as I do. We took the same classes on aspecting!” He retorts.

  “You might not need to, but that’s beside the point. Auggie, don’t you remember when we first learned about her aspect? Right after we met her? The very first thing we knew about it, even before we knew it was grief?” I ask. He looks at me in confusion and I rub my forehead as I close my eyes. “It makes her magic invisible. The more grief she is around the less visible it is. Collector, even a few days ago when she was forced to use it in front of everyone, it was less opaque than most mana because of her aspect. Because there was grief in that arena with her.”

  “So what? There was another sage involved, her and every other gladiator probably had their grief back because of the more powerful divine magic; what does that prove?” He asks.

  “You’re missing the point. Have you ever heard of an endoaspect making mana invisible before? Ever? Properties of endoaspects are determined by their owner’s understanding of the associated concept. The way they view and experience an emotion down to their very core. And what does Lily’s do? It keeps her mind free. It makes her mana much stronger than most aspects. And it makes it invisible. To Lily’s very core, deep down in the darkest corners of her heart, she views grief as something powerful, but invisible. Something to be hidden. The more intense, painful, and widespread it is, the less visible it should be. You think she isn’t grieving because she still jokes and smiles? Because she doesn’t look like me? She behaves that way because, at some point in one of her lives, she internalized grief as an emotion she needed to hide,” I respond, quietly at first but raising my voice higher as I do.

  August looks like he’s been slapped. “Why? Why would she feel that way?” he asks.

  “Because when people like me grieve openly, and loudly, the people around them ask them to stop. Some more honestly, like Ember. Calling me useless, or whiny. And others . . . others convince themselves it’s for my sake. ‘Shut up and smile,’ they say, tired of seeing me as I am. ‘Isn’t it time you moved on? Are you feeling any better?’.” I stare at him as his face pales. “But look what it actually does to her. That arena is her tower, August. It is her daily punishment, where she lets people hit her on Henry’s behalf. On my behalf. On her mother’s behalf. She jokes and she laughs and she smiles like she knows everyone wants, then she walks into that arena and takes as much pain as she can possibly survive.”

  “Autumn, I-” August starts but I cut him off.

  “I do feel better with her locked up. With her cut off. The same way I would have felt better if she’d come here without me. The same way she probably does, being separated from me. I hate her for what happened to Henry. I hate her for the wedding I’ll never have. I didn’t realize it at first, I was too focused on how much I hated myself for the same things. But I also feel worse. Because we share hatred and love and loss. I need Lillith, the same way she needs me. The same way I need to keep grieving. As for how miserable I am to be around, I’m sorry. But I can’t do what Lillith does. I never learned how. I have to wear this grief or I am naked and hopeless.”

  August’s mouth moves but no words come. Water builds on his eyelids without running down his face. Then he hangs his head in hopeless defeat. We both feel spent after that. We are silent for a long time, sitting down in the grass and looking at our knees. Long enough the librarian has likely filed our books and papers away by the time August speaks.

  “I’m sorry, Autumn. I didn’t understand. I don’t understand. But if there is one thing I have learned over the years, it’s that I don’t have to. If this is what you want, I won’t ask again,” he says. I simply nod in response and we sit for a while longer. After another prolonged silence, he breaks it again. “What do I do? If you want to keep . . . if what I was doing is pointless. Why am I even here?”

  I sigh. “I don’t know,” I whisper. Then I realize that isn’t entirely true. I could ask him for help planning an escape of some kind for Lily but he won’t be able to do much more than I can. But he was wrong again. I was wrong, actually. I got too distracted by his intent, I missed the implications of what he was actually looking into. There is simply no way the sages constantly exert effort to keep people’s grief from them. There has to be something else to it. Like confession in Potestia, but . . . “It wasn’t pointless.” He looks up at me curiously.

  “It’s not? But I thought-” he starts but I cut him off again.

  “As proof of whatever point you wanted to make, it is useless but . . . August this grief thing. People deserve to be able to choose. Everyone deserves to be able to choose. We still need to find out how long this has been going on and who is doing it. Lily will be trying to find that out herself. But what you have been recording, it can help us track it down. Do that. Find out everything you can about it. Find out how to give people a choice. Find out who, exactly, is taking it away.”