An Arsonist and a Necromancer Walk into a Bar

Chapter 37 – The Long Road Home

Palmira woke up with a splitting headache and a strong desire to set whatever had caused it on fire.

“See, I told you she wasn’t dead!”

‘Disagreement. We did not state Our Lady was dead. We merely believed her to be dying.’

Palmira groaned, dragging up her hands to slap them around her ears as though that could block out the voices of her sapient weaponry. Unfortunately for her those bastards’ gabbing wasn’t bound to the physical plane, and so their words bounced against her throbbing skull regardless.

“Both of you,” she rasped, the taste of dry smoke on her tongue. “Please. Shut up.”

‘Query. Is Our Lady still dying?’

“Nah, nah,” Morte cackled, causing her to cringe in agony. “She’s just dealing with baby’s first hangover. Oi, girly, try to get some water and food in you. You ain’t gonna feel any better until you do.”

“I’ll feel better when I chuck you out the window,” she groaned, reluctantly dragging herself to her feet. Reaching over, she plucked her staff and mace from where they were resting against the wall, attaching them to her waist in an act that at some point had become second nature. Glancing around, she noticed that the room was otherwise empty, all their stuff having been removed at some point.

“You wouldn’t! What would you even do without my handsome skull to set things on fire with?”

“Probably just hit them with Malocchio,” she groused, stumbling over to the stairs. “Maybe I should use him to hit you. Maybe then you’d shut up for a bit.”

‘Concern. We do not believe We are sturdy enough to survive such an action. We advise caution.’

“Hah! You hear that? I’m invulnerable! Not even the most powerful priestess in the world could destroy me!”

“Well, perhaps I could dump you in the big lava lake,” she mused, only half serious. Probably. “It’s not like you can move. I could just leave you down there to cook until I feel you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Did I say invulnerable? I meant fragile! I’m so very, very fragile, so please take good care of me, my most valiant and powerful wielder!”

“My head hurts too much to tell if that’s sarcasm,” she grunted, knocking his skull against the door frame. “So I’m going to assume it is. Guess I know what I’m doing this afternoon.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Stepping into the bar to the sound of Morte pleading for his life, she saw only Chiara and Lorenzo sitting near the entrance. They perked up as she arrived, waving her over.

“Well well, looks like the newbie’s finally awake,” Chiara smirked at her as she stumbled into her seat, gratefully accepting the offer of bread and water from Lorenzo. “With how much you drank last night I wasn’t expecting you up until at least sunset.”

Palmira blinked slowly. She vaguely remembered downing some extremely spicy beer with what she could have sworn was a Horror, but she was also pretty sure that was a dream. It probably didn’t matter if it was, considering how most of her nights went, but it was the best she could hope for.

“Well, I’m up now,” she grunted, digging into the food with gusto. “What happened to all our stuff?”

“We packed it all away this morning,” Lorenzo smiled slightly. The sight of his perfect razor teeth caused her to suddenly feel self-conscious as she realized what a mess she must look. “The guildmaster wants us out of the city by nightfall. And I don’t blame him, either. The lack of sunlight’s been hell on my hair, not to mention I haven’t been able to take Bella on a proper walk in days!”

“You also haven’t gotten a proper lay in days…” Chiara muttered out the side of her mouth, her face the picture of innocence as Lorenzo turned to glare at her.

“If we’re leaving so soon, then why’d you let me sleep in?” Palmira frowned around a bite of stale toast. “I’d have been fine waking up earlier.”

“Hah! Don’t lie, you look half dead even now!” Chiara scoffed. “…Also, you did save our asses during the trial. The least we could do was let you sleep in.”

Palmira felt a warm feeling stir in her chest, causing her to wonder if she’d accidentally set her heart on fire. That led her to then wonder if her insides were as fireproof as her outsides, though she quickly shook away the thought as something to test later.

“Well, thank you,” she muttered, face burning. She found she couldn’t look directly at them for some reason, instead using the distraction of someone entering the inn to avert her eyes. “You didn’t have… too…” She trailed off, blinking in surprise.

That was Lenna, wasn’t it?

The girl’s shoulders were tense, hands shoved in her pockets and an uncomfortable look on her face. Her eyes roved the bar, before lighting up in relief as they landed on her.

She shuffled over to them as quickly as possible. “Palmira!” she smiled awkwardly as she approached. “Thank the Goddess, I was worried you’d have already left. Oh, um, sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Lenna di Vittoria, was it?” Lorenzo smiled at her, causing the girl’s cheeks to flush red. Chiara kicked him beneath the table. Hard. “It’s nice to see you again. And no, we were just breaking our fast with Palmira before we leave.”

“But it’s the afternoon…?” Lenna muttered, before shaking her head. “Um, before you go, I wanted to talk to Palmira. It’ll only take a minute, I promise! I just… there’s some things I want to say, before…”

She trailed off awkwardly, eyes darting between the three of them. Chiara had narrowed her eyes, but Lorenzo was giving Palmira a look.

“…Fine,” Palmira swallowed back any anger she felt for a moment. Lenna had helped her during the trial, she could let her say her piece in exchange. Still, that didn’t mean she wanted her new friends to see this, whatever it would turn out to be. “Let’s head back to my room, we can talk alone there.”

Despite her better judgement, she left Morte and Malocchio in the dubious care of her friends rather than take them with her. Maybe they would have helped her keep her cool, but she didn’t need a peanut gallery watching right now.

Also, the hangover was making it hard to dredge up her usual level of simmering rage.

Once they were in the privacy of her room, she turned to Lenna and crossed her arms, waiting.

Lenna grimaced, hunching in on herself. “I’m… I’m not good at talking. About stuff like this. And… you aren’t, either. No, don’t get angry, I know you, Palmira!” she snapped, cutting her retort off. Then she sighed, rubbing her face. “I… I’ve had a lot of time to think, these past few years. And no matter how hard I tried, my thoughts kept circling back to you. ‘Is she okay?’ ‘I wonder what she’s doing now?’ ‘Is… is she even still alive?’”

She took a deep breath, slowly flexing her long, nimble fingers. “You kept pushing me to do things I didn’t want to do. And I felt so guilty for leaving you because of that. But I also felt so angry! And I think for a long time I hated you. But… I also know that for a long time I loved you. I just didn’t… I don’t know! I don’t know what I’m doing! Is this even making any sense!?”

Palmira blinked slowly, not quite sure what Lenna was saying either. But…

“…You were my sister, Lenna,” she said at last. “But you left me alone. And for that I hated you. But… just because I hated you, doesn’t mean I could ever stop loving you. And I think I hated that most of all.”

Lenna flinched and began to look away. But then she steeled herself, and instead forced herself to look her in the eye.

“I… didn’t just come to talk. I also wanted to give you something, before you left,” she shoved a small weatherbound notebook into her hands. “It’s my old journal. I don’t really need it anymore and um… you’re still having money problems, right? I figured you could sell it for a fair amount. It’s a Lenna original, you know!”

Palmira stared at it. It was a small travelworn journal, one she only vaguely remembered having swiped from a bookseller. Yet it filled it with such nostalgia to see it again, this tiny thing she’d barely ever touched. It had been Lenna’s birthday present, the first one she’d ever given her. She found her hands moving by themselves and opening it up, idly flicking through a couple of the pages, before stopping suddenly on one of them.

It was a rough charcoal drawing, slightly smudged and made by a child skilled beyond her years yet still learning. It was a picture of a little girl with burn scars on her face, smiling as she stared up at the night sky. The little girl had been ugly. But in that tiny picture, she couldn’t be described as anything but beautiful.

Palmira swallowed heavily, and quickly blinked away tears. With a control she didn’t know she was capable of, she forced herself not to catch on fire as she gently slid the journal into her pocket

“…You were always so skilled, Lenna,” she finally said, unable to say anything else.

“I suppose I was,” the other girl shrugged awkwardly. “…But I wouldn’t have ever made it here without you taking care of me. So… I know you don’t really want to talk to me, but if you can… could you visit me, next time you come here? I… I missed you, you know.”

Then why did you leave?

She thought those words, but couldn’t bring herself to say them. Because…

“…Yeah, I missed you too.”

Lenna slumped, her smile both brilliant and relieved.

There was no apology, and truthfully no forgiveness, not from either of them. But such things could come with time.

And time, if nothing else, was something they were finally willing to give each other.

--

The trip out of the city was quiet.

Despite the midday hour, few people walked the streets. The city was mourning the deaths of those who fell in battle yesterday, and so everyone had congregated in their homes or around graveyards. It felt like a different city, after the festivities of the previous night, but Palmira found the solemn atmosphere fit her mood well.

She sat on the back of the crystal carriage Chiara had created to carry their supplies, squished between a sack of clothes and a spare shield. There wasn’t really enough room for her, but as a final reward for her work the guildmaster had let her rest while the others marched on foot.

A part of her almost wished she was down there with the rest of them, even if she didn’t yet have the energy for it. The exercise would stop her mind from wandering, if nothing else.

Palmira stared up at the black basalt walls of Iscrimo as they slowly faded into the distance. The walls she had been on top of yesterday, fighting for her life. The walls which, at one point, had defined the borders of her entire world.

Lenna’s journal felt warm in her pocket. She slowly traced her fingers along its spine, and wondered. About choices not made and things not said.

Then she turned away from Iscrimo, and instead looked out to the road before her. She knew, somewhere far to the south, Firozzi and the Rosa Dominae guild stood.

Despite herself, a soft smile grew on her face.

It was time to go home.

Arc III End