She’s here to talk to her.  They’ve scarcely seen each other since they got to Eylstadt.  Finé has been pent up in boardrooms, in meetings.  Izetta was asked to attend a few and she did it gladly.  Anything she could do for her.  They had five minutes or so before her coronation, barely enough for her to be able to take in how lovely she looked before they were back on display.

This is the first night they’ve had even a little bit of a lull and Izetta is worried about something else.  It’s been a matter of days since Finé’s father died and she hasn’t had a moment to herself.  It’s what makes her wonder if she should even be here.  Is she intruding?  Has she misinterpreted the softness in her eyes and the gentle way she took her hand before the coronation, the way she leaned into her on her broom in front of the globe?  She supposes it could happen, amidst all the stress.

“Izetta.  Is everything alright?” Finé asks her, but she looks a bit distracted.

“Yes.  I’m sorry, I-”

She doesn’t know how to express it, how to tell her I’m here because I saw the way you cried when you came home.  I haven’t seen it happen again.  I don’t know when you’ve had time to grieve.  I know what that kind of pain is like.

“Come in.  Here,” Finé clears off space on one of the chairs in the room and Izetta pads in.  

“Do you need help?”  she asks, watching Finé fiddle with the closure of something. Izetta isn’t sure what it is.  A medal?  Perhaps.  It has a green ribbon that stretches all the way over her shoulder.

“Actually, that might be nice.  I can’t get my hands to stay still.  Haven’t been able to for a few days.  And this arm still stings a little,” she laughs and Izetta knows it’s supposed to take the weight out of it, but she blanches all the same.  That’s right.  Her arm is still healing.  And she’s grieving at the same time.  There’s nothing quite like grappling with injuries of two sorts.

It takes her a little longer than it might Finé to sort out how to take off the dress.  The complicated closures, the way they all intertwine.  Finé doesn’t seem to care about her fumbling.  She just alternates between staring off into the wall of the room and watching her with soft, albeit distant eyes.  She thinks having her close is comforting to her and that it’s not really about the dress.

Finé doesn’t appear to know what to do once Izetta has gotten the bulk of it off of her and she stands in front of her in a soft, white cotton chemise.  

“I came in here to see how you were,” Izetta ventures, taking the leap.  Honesty can be so vulnerable, she thinks.  What if she’s miscalculated?  What if she is taking away space she needs right now, closing her in when she should leave her alone?

“Thank you,” Finé finally looks at her and it sends a pang through Izetta.  She looks very lost and Izetta can’t remember a time she’s ever seen her look like this.  She always has so much direction, so much purpose.  She has a look like someone who’s walked into the room and forgotten why they did.  

“You know, no one else has really asked me that.  I think they just expect that I’m fine.  And I’ve been making so many decisions, in just a day.  I’ve never done it by myself.  Father used to let me practice, of course, but I always had him there to ask if he thought it was a good idea.  Or to make the call himself.  Am I making the right ones?  Am I-”

She shakes her head wildly as if trying to dispel the thoughts there and Izetta can almost watch her try to pull that decisive front back.  It’s slipping through her fingers and that’s why Izetta is here.  She knew it would, knows from experience that it always does.  She knows Finé’s control is leaving now as her eyes start to sparkle and her lip trembles.

“I’ve put enough on you, you don’t need this-” but Finé’s voice has cracked and Izetta knows she won’t have it again for a moment.  Once it starts, it’s hard to talk again.  Finé tries to look away.

“I came in here, didn’t I?” Izetta ducks to catch her eyes.  

Finé breaks then, but even after, it’s clear she’s trying not to let Izetta see it.  It’s Izetta who has to put her arms around her and as soon as she does it’s like she’s Finé’s only anchor in an ocean.  She clings to her so tightly, buries her face in her shoulder.  Izetta steels herself against it.  She remembers it well.  How violently grief can take you, how alone and how angry it is, how the pain of it sits on your breastbone like a stone.

“I’m sorry,” Finé is still gasping apologies even as her voice goes too thick to really speak anymore.

“Stop, I told you it’s alright,” Izetta tells her as softly as she can.  She keeps talking, hoping it’ll stop her apologizing, tell her that she came in here to do this.  Because she’s been through it before and she knew that this break was coming.  There’s always more strength at the beginning, a little window of time where it hasn’t quite sunk in.  It’s after that it wanes and starts to dissolve you.  “Do you remember that fire in the southwest forests, years ago?”

Finé nods, still shaking and sobbing but at least the gasping calms a little while Izetta is speaking.

“That.  That was me.”

And this time Finé does look at her and Izetta’s voice goes a bit shaky too.  She’s not sure if it’s from seeing Finé look like this, eyes puffy and nose red, grief eminent on the planes of her face.  Or if it’s remembering what it’s like.

“My grandma had died.  I was thirteen.  It wasn’t unexpected, she was in poor health.  She was well over a hundred.  But it didn’t help.   I didn’t know I was doing it.  I just cried and didn’t know where I was going to go.  A village a short ways away ended up taking me in and letting me stay.  I lied and said my own had burnt down in the fire, it was the only way.  No one ever takes in nomads.  But.  When I looked up it had all gone up.  And I knew it was me.  I was so angry.  As if other people haven’t dealt with the same before,” Izetta sighs.  “But it didn’t feel like that to me, it felt like the world had done it to me personally.”

Finé has stopped actively sobbing but she won’t let go of Izetta yet.  She’s so soft, standing there with her hair down and her face nestled in the crook of Izetta’s neck.  The fabric there is wet with tears.

“It doesn’t leave you with any time to really take it in.  There’s so much to do after, it’s so horrible.  You need time.  You need for everything to stop and let you take in what’s happened.  And the world won’t give it to you, it all speeds up,” and now Izetta knows her own voice is a little frantic.  It’s always under the surface of things, for her.  It’s so easy to remember that panic and that pain.

“Izetta.”  

She’s gone wrong somewhere because Finé is staring at her with wide eyes and dragging the back of her hand across her cheeks to wipe away her own tears.   She’s putting a hand on Izetta’s face and she knows she’s misstepped.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make this about me and I think I did.  I’m sorry,” Izetta’s trying not to stutter.

“No!  No, it helps.  Wait, that sounds horrible.  It’s not that I’m glad it happened to you, it’s that-”  and now it’s Finé doing the stuttering and she almost never does that.  Even something as small as that tells Izetta maybe she hasn’t misinterpreted anything.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Izetta smiles.  

Finé nods, relieved.  They lie down together on the bed, clinging to one another.  Sometimes a wave of fresh tears pricks at the corners of Finé’s eyes.  A few minutes later, she’ll take a shaky breath and they’re gone for a little while longer.

“I didn’t know it had only been two years, I’m sorry.  I should’ve asked,”  Finé murmurs in one of the lulls between her tears.

“That’s a fair bit of time,” Izetta tries to wave her off, tries to deflect the conversation off herself, but Finé won’t budge.

“That’s no time at all,” she whispers, grave.

“It certainly feels like that,” Izetta acquiesces.  Finé seems to want honesty from her right now and Izetta gives it to her, glad to have someone to talk to for once.  Someone who truly wants to hear the things that no one wants to hear, the things that are too uncomfortable and too difficult for anyone else.  “I’ve found that you don’t really get over it.  Some people say it gets easier, with time, but so far, I haven’t found that either.  Two years hasn’t done much.”

“I can’t imagine it would either.  So this is how it feels to be the last person in my family.”

Izetta chuckles bitterly.

“Welcome to my world.  It’s lonely.  And difficult.  I’m sorry, I wish I had something more encouraging to tell you.”

Finé shakes her head.  

“I don’t really want that.  It would be a lie,” she shrugs and laughs too and it’s less because it’s funny and more the companionship of it all.   “I can say it’s not as lonely with you, though.  It’s not the kind of thing I want you to have had to understand.  But I am glad you’re here with me and that you do.”

Izetta nods against her shoulder.

“It’s easier for me too.  No one else ever wanted to hear about it before you.”

“Well, I do,” she tells her and it’s amazing how quickly Izetta doesn’t feel as alone anymore, with just the simple knowledge that Finé will listen to the things that others don’t have the strength to hear.  Or maybe it’s that none of them cared quite as much as Izetta can tell she does.

Finé sighs.

“I have so much to do tomorrow.  I should get a head start, I should-”

“Stop,” Izetta commands, a touch more forceful than she usually is.  She thinks she might have scared her because Finé’s eyes are wide and confused.  

“You’ll do enough work before this is all over, believe me.  If you have a moment, take it.   Please.  I’m worried about you.”

The end of her statement falters a little into embarrassment but Finé takes a deep breath and nods all the same.

“You’re right.  Thank you.  You’ve done enough looking after me.  But I’m glad you are, still.”

Izetta just pulls her closer.  She’s glad when Finé’s breathing stops hitching and calms.   It’s well after midnight by the time it happens.  She’s wondering whether she should excuse herself, wondering if Finé is tired of her when she lays a soft, staying hand on her shoulder.

“Will you stay in here?  It’s easier, with you.” and she looks so very small in this moment, looking with pleading eyes and this is all Izetta wanted anyway.  She tightens her arms around her like she does when they fly together, and holds her just as steady.