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Since returning to the palace, they hadn’t spoken a word about the ill-advised trip to the Badlands.  Yang returned to her responsibilities as queen, Blake collected and organized the information Sun sent from home, and the two of them resumed planning for the future.

Plenty of work needed to be done, but Blake couldn’t get that trip out of her head.  The woman with the Phage, yes, but mostly Yang’s reaction.  The searing heat that poured from her so suddenly and viciously that if Blake hadn’t used her spark to protect herself, she might have suffered some serious burns. She couldn’t stop seeing Yang on all fours, fists clenched in the dirt, face contorted with pain while a quiet, anguished moan slipped through her lips.  She was in agony, but Blake could do nothing to help.  There was something so horrible...so heart-wrenching...about watching someone suffer that much pain yet being powerless to offer support.

Blake thought that the moment might never end.  She thought that she was watching Yang’s final breaths right there at her feet in a narrow, dingy alley in the Badlands.  But somehow, miraculously, Yang pulled out of it.  She blamed stress, but Blake didn’t believe it.  While not uncommon for their sparks to slip during emotionally charged situations, what Blake witnessed was nowhere near a little burst of heat or flicker of flames.

Yang lost control of her spark.  That was the only explanation, but it was also the scariest one.  Her power was incredible - the oppressive, blazing heat confirmed it - and she would have been taught from a young age how to wield it.  For her to lose control like that...

Blake didn’t want to overstep her bounds or rush to conclusions, but she was concerned.

“You don’t have to look so worried.”

Drawn out of those thoughts, she found Yang smiling at her from the other side of the desk.

“Bartholomew will tell us if we’re on the right track,” Yang added, gesturing to the paper in front of Blake.  “If we can’t send everything now, he’ll know what’s possible and how long it’ll take for the rest.”

“Right.  This is just...the first step.  I know that.”

After offering a small smile, Blake picked up the page and pretended to read it one more time.  Written in Yang’s elegant handwriting was the result of their work from the past few days: a list of the exact resources earmarked for the Badlands.  It was the culmination of Sun’s information, Vale’s current supplies, and estimates of what had been produced since the ceasefire began, and it represented the first meaningful aid from Vale.

Now, they waited for Vale’s top economic advisor to tell them whether or not it was doable.  It might not be, but even a fraction of the list would provide an immediate boost to the Badlands and was more than Blake could have ever imagined.

His response wasn’t what concerned her though.  He would agree, disagree, or suggest cuts to make the list more manageable, but his answer would do nothing to erase the dark circles under Yang’s eyes.

Over the past few days, Yang had thrown herself into work, more determined than ever to make life better and safer for the people living in the Badlands.  While Blake understood where the newfound fervor came from and appreciated the urgency, those dark circles proved that the pace was unsustainable.  Yang needed to slow down, but Blake had no idea how to convince her to do that.

Blake didn’t have a good reason to slow their work anyway.  Everything they did benefited the Badlands - that should be her sole focus and primary concern.  It was her primary concern, yet...she wanted Yang to take care of herself.

“Ah, here he is,” Yang said, prompting Blake to swivel in her chair when someone knocked on the office door.  “Barty!” Yang greeted their guest, who flew into the room on a quick breeze and nearly stumbled into a bow.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted Yang before turning to Blake.  “Miss Belladonna, nice to see you again.”

“You too, Bartholomew.”

“Sorry for calling you here so late,” Yang said, drawing his gaze back to her.  “But we just finished a list of what we want to send to the Badlands, and we’d like your opinion.”

“That, I’m more than willing to give.”

When Blake offered the page, he took it, nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and began to read.

Catching Blake’s gaze, Yang smiled and waggled her brow before watching him pore through their painstaking work.  His furrowed brow didn’t inspire confidence, but he resituated his glasses and read every line seriously while mouthing words and numbers to himself.  As Vale’s economic advisor, he knew the state of Vale’s resources like the back of his hand; his blessing was all they needed to move forward.

“It’s doable,” he finally concluded, and Blake’s brow rose at the same moment Yang smiled.  “It will be difficult,” he added before they celebrated.  “And cuts fairly close to the bone…”

“It’ll be tight, I know.  And no one will like it, but...”  Yang glanced Blake’s way before shaking her head.  “We’ve been through a lot the past few years, but we’re stronger for it.  Once the war officially ends, all of our efforts will be on rebuilding and regrowing.  Before you know it, we’ll have plenty again.”

“You’re right, Your Majesty,” Bartholomew replied with a quick bow.  “Productivity has already picked up since some of the troops returned home.”

“More workers,” Yang said, and he nodded before raising the paper to eye level and scanning the words again.

“We should trim some from each district but take a majority from the palace.  If we do that, no one can claim it’s unfair.”

“You mean no one can get pissed at me,” Yang corrected, laughing while leaning back in her chair.

While Yang joked about the consequences of directing resources to the Badlands, Blake didn’t view it as a laughing matter.  She spent so long assuming Vale refused to help, but her time in the palace taught her that was untrue.  Sending anything to the Badlands took away from the people of Vale - people who were also in need.

On the map spread across Yang’s desk were the names of the neighborhoods that would suffer.  The men, women, and children living there would go hungry for a little longer and be forced to live with a little less so that the Badlands could get back on its feet.  What would they think when they learned of their mandatory sacrifice?  Would they curse the Badlands just as she once cursed Vale?

But if the majority came from the palace...that meant from Yang and Ruby.  The knowledge might have once made Blake happy - vindicated, even.  The two queens lived far above anyone else in Vale, yet taking from them felt wrong when they would willingly give away everything in their possession.

The Badlands needed aid, and Blake had sworn to get it, but she didn’t feel great about their prosperity coming at the expense of others.

“How long will it take to get everything together?” Yang asked, moving to the next stage of their plan.

“If I can use some of the guards, everything could be packed by midday tomorrow.”

“Done.  Get them to work.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”  Another bow, but Bartholomew’s gaze flitted to Blake before he opened his mouth again.  “Are you sure you want to send everything now?  With no treaty…”

“We’re not making them wait any longer.”

The certainty in Yang’s tone sent a wave of gratitude through Blake’s chest.

“Besides,” Yang added, unaware of the thankful look Blake sent her way.  “Do you honestly think Ruby’s coming home without a treaty?”

As a smile tugged at Bartholomew’s lips, he responded with another bow.

“No, Your Majesty.  Queen Rose won’t leave Atlas without accomplishing her goal.”

“Exactly.  So that treaty’s coming, we just don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“Understood.”  With that concern put at ease, he glanced over the list before turning to them with a question.  “Once the supplies are ready, where should they be delivered?”

“We’re concentrating here first.”  Leaning forward, Yang pointed out three settlements that Blake circled earlier.  “These three get everything listed at the top of the page.  What’s left goes to the Resistance; they’ll distribute as needed.”

“We can send four separate caravans,” he suggested, tapping his chin while a plan formed in his mind.  “Pack each correctly and assign an escort so it arrives safely.”

“Oh -” Yang said at the same time Blake shook her head.  “We can’t do that.”

“...why not?”

“Because we’re not exactly popular there right now,” Yang explained before turning to Blake.  Having been so preoccupied with creating the perfect list of resources, they hadn’t discussed how those deliveries would be made.

“Can Sun pick everything up?” Yang asked, but Blake had already thought of a better option.  It was the best solution, but...the situation had grown too complicated to make it the easy solution.

“I should take them.”

The disappointment in Yang’s eyes confirmed why it wasn’t the easy choice.  Blake nearly took it back, but it made the most sense.  Sending an escort of Elites wouldn’t work - not only could they be attacked by any number of bandit groups, but any restless Resistance fighters might also view cartloads of supplies as too good a target to pass up.  Having Sun come help would work, but he wouldn’t know the intricacies of what Blake and Yang spent days planning.

“I’ll deliver it,” she repeated.  “You can send a handful of guards - no armor - but I should be the one taking everything back.”

“That’s...a good idea,” Yang eventually said, though she averted her gaze so that Blake could no longer read her emotions.  “If you oversee the deliveries, you can make sure everything goes like we discussed.  And...hopefully, get everyone on the same page so future deliveries are easier.”

“Exactly.  Plus, I’ve been away for a while.  I need to see how everything’s going.”

Yang understood that desire - it was the same reason they went to the Badlands together - but her nod was delayed, and her smile even more so.

“Right.  It’s best to...see for yourself sometimes,” she muttered, shuffling the papers in front of her before finally looking at Bartholomew, who practically vibrated with energy.  “Then that’s what we’ll do.  Get everything packed and find a handful of Elites willing to make the trip.  Blake will take them where they need to go.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.  Right away.”

He hardly finished his bow before blazing out of the room, leaving Blake and Yang alone once more.

“And you can send updates while you’re there,” Yang added, though she sounded more subdued now.  “Let us know what’s working and what’s not.”

“Right.  I’ll do that.”

With the reality of returning home setting in, excitement sparked through Blake’s veins.  Sun had already spread the word that help was on the way, but Vale was about to commit real, tangible proof that times were changing for the better.  With these supplies, the healing could finally begin.

The thought of leaving Yang was a little harder to stomach.

Watching Yang absentmindedly run a hand through her hair while organizing her desk, Blake wondered why that was.  For so long, she had cursed the Queen of Vale for playing such a large role in the plight of the Badlands.  After working so closely together and seeing what type of person Yang was, that opinion changed.

Looks were deceiving, and rumors weren’t worth the breath used to spread them.  Yang was supposed to be a beautiful, self-centered floozy, but she just...wasn’t.  She was beautiful, but she was also remarkably sharp, knew how to lead, and cared about everyone.  She possibly cared too much...to the extent that it affected her health.

“And if Atlas matches our contributions,” Yang added, smiling like usual.  “We’ll have double the supplies in no time.”

If Atlas came through and sent an equivalent of Vale’s supplies...the Badlands would have more than they’d had in a very long time.

“I’ll have Barty copy our list,” Yang said while pulling out a blank piece of paper.  “We’ll send it to Weiss and see what she can do.”

Yang hardly picked up a pen before flinching and dropping it on the desk.

“Hand cramp,” she groaned before Blake asked.  “Hate it when that happens...” she added, shaking her hand only to cringe and clutch it in her lap instead. The reaction looked an awful lot like true pain, and Blake watched closely while Yang breathed through clenched teeth.  Before Blake voiced her concerns, however, Yang exhaled and smiled.

“Alright, all better.”

Picking up the pen, she resumed her message as if nothing happened.  Maybe it was nothing.  Maybe it was just a cramp.  But after the moment of torture Blake witnessed in the Badlands...believing in ‘nothing’ was harder to do.

“And...done.”  After ending the letter with her flourish of a signature, Yang folded it up and slipped it into an envelope.  Then she set that aside, returned the pen to its drawer, and covered a yawn.

“Have you been sleeping ok?”  The moment Yang tilted her head, Blake backpedaled from the question.  “You just…look a little tired.”

“You’re worried about how I’m sleeping?” Yang asked, her confusion quickly morphing into playfulness.

“Well, I don’t know what goes on in your chambers.  For all I know, you’re hosting nightly parties.”

“Parties?”  Yang laughed at the suggestion.  “What kind of parties?  Birthday parties?  Holiday parties?”

“Private parties?” Blake added, only to smile when Yang laughed again.  Yang loved to laugh - it showed in the way her eyes sparkled at any banter Blake offered.  After how busy the last few days had been, the sound was a delight to hear.

“You’re right.”  Nodding at the idea, Yang stood and stretched her back.  “I host multiple parties every night, actually.  Themed parties, masquerades, you name it.”

Rolling her eyes yet smiling, Blake stood up when Yang walked around the desk to her.  The increase in temperature from Yang’s proximity reminded Blake of their hug in the Badlands - a moment of fragility and intimacy that she would never forget.  What held her attention right now, however, was Yang’s expression: grateful, joyful, yet also sad.

“I appreciate your concern,” Yang answered seriously.  “My mind’s been racing too much to sleep, but hopefully tonight will be better.”

“If there’s anything I can do -” Blake began to offer, only to shake her head when Yang’s brow rose.  “Nevermind,” she said instead.  “You’re on your own.”

Again, Yang laughed, and Blake’s heart fluttered along with the sound.

“In that case, I should get back to my room.  Those decorations won’t hang themselves.”  When Yang paused by the door and lightly tapped the wall, her smile faltered.  “Big day tomorrow,” she added softly.  “Sleep well, Blake.”

“You too, Yang.”

After a nod and one last smile, Yang walked out of the office - her steps slow and measured, her posture straight and tall.  Blake always assumed the poise was the result of childhood lessons, but it looked too perfect.  And the more Blake thought about it, the more unnatural it looked…almost as if Yang was faking it.  But why?  If she wanted everyone to view and treat her as a traditional queen, why did she break custom at every possible opportunity?

Before Blake came to a conclusion, Yang disappeared from view, leaving that question for another day.  It was only then that Blake realized Yang left her in the office unattended, with access to who-knows-what type of confidential or personal information.  Not that she planned on snooping, but the fact that she could filled her with disbelief.  Did Yang trust her that much?

After glancing at the map of Vale, picking out the settlements she would return to soon, she left the office and nodded to the guard standing beside the door.  Once he nodded in return, she crossed the magnificent throne room on her way to the entryway. The quick interaction felt unremarkable but, at the same time, she dwelled upon it.  She was a Resistance fighter, yet she had permission to come and go as she pleased in Vale’s palace.  If that wasn’t incredible and unexpected, nothing was.

With so much excitement and apprehension racing through her thoughts, she decided to explore rather than return to her room right away.  Even though Yang had shown her the highlights, there was still so much to be discovered in the palace.  It could be years before Blake felt like she’d explored enough, especially with how detailed every inch of the magnificent building was.  Everything from the ceilings to the lights to the moldings had been crafted and installed with such precision and care that she couldn’t help but want to see it all.

Yet, more often than not, her feet led her to the same place: the grand, extravagant hallway housing the offices of Vale’s many advisors.  On one side of the hall were offices.  On the other, running nearly the entire length of the massive space, was a mural dedicated to Vale’s history.

Because Yang breezed through this section on their tour, Blake hadn’t felt comfortable asking the many questions it brought up.  Instead, she returned here often, mesmerized and intrigued by the visual representation of thousands of years of conflicts, treaties, and decisions made by the many rulers to grace Vale’s throne.

Even though she’d seen every painting several times by now, she took her time moving down the hall, admiring every image beginning at Vale’s formation.  Through the pictures emerged a story unlike any she’d ever read.

But this wasn’t just any story - this was Yang’s story.  This was Yang’s history.  These were Yang’s ancestors.  These were the decisions that shaped Vale and shaped the person Yang was today. Wars, peace, droughts, prosperity.  Kings, queens, princes, and princesses.  Love, bravery, betrayal, loss.  Vale had been through almost everything imaginable, yet its most recent history captivated Blake the most.

Reaching that section of the mural, she stopped and stared at images that made her heart tighten in her chest.  Based on her interpretation, Yang’s mother had been a fearsome warrior who died when Yang was hardly more than a baby.  Ruby’s mother came into the picture not long after - a benevolent ruler who adored her two little girls - but some great evil threatened the kingdom, which she vanquished at the expense of her life.  The King of Vale raised Yang and Ruby by himself after that, but they were only teenagers when he died protecting a group of strangers from a landslide.

At an age when Blake could hardly imagine living without parents, Yang and Ruby were left in charge of a kingdom.  Yet they hadn’t crumpled under that responsibility.  They flourished.

The last image depicted prosperity, cooperation, and happiness.  What came next - the Phage and war with Atlas - hadn’t been painted yet, probably because the ending was as yet unknown.

Before coming to Vale, Blake disdained the royal family.  She assumed that they didn’t care about their subjects, but this history proved otherwise.  Yang and Ruby belonged to a family with a penchant for sacrificing their lives for the greater good.  If anything, Vale’s royal family went out of their way to throw themselves in front of anyone weaker than themselves.  They were protectors.  They were saviors.

Yang wasn’t who everyone thought she was, and being so wrong was tough for Blake to swallow.  But when she stood here, surrounded by Yang’s past and faced with the blank wall awaiting Yang’s future, all she wanted was to sit and talk with Yang for hours on end.  Not about the war, the Badlands, or the Phage, but about her childhood, her parents, her dreams and goals.

Maybe that desire explained how bittersweet it felt to be leaving Vale.  Blake wanted to learn so much about Yang, but their work was only getting started.  Fortunately, she didn’t expect to be gone forever.  She would have to return so they could reevaluate their plans.  Their own story wouldn't end here.

Hearing someone else enter the hallway, she glanced to the side and felt those good feelings evaporate.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Peacemaker,” Cecelia drawled, a smirk on her lips as she sauntered over.  “Slinking around the palace alone no less.”

“It’s Blake.”  Turning away from the mural, Blake extended her hand and forced a small smile.  “We haven’t officially met, but you must be Cecelia.”

The attempt at civility failed, as Cecelia brushed past Blake’s hand.

“Aren’t you a little far from home?” she quipped.

“Probably just as far as you…” Blake muttered under her breath. The response wasn’t meant to be overheard.  Unfortunately, Cecelia abruptly spun around.

“Oh, you’re sharp, aren’t you?” she said, her green eyes flashing.  “That explains how you’ve survived so long.”

Clenching her jaw at the subtle swipe at her spark, Blake ultimately decided to ignore it.  Let Cecelia believe that earth was the weakest of the elements - Blake had no interest in proving her wrong.  Instead, Blake rolled her eyes and turned away.

When Cecelia appeared in front of her, blocking her path, alarm bells began ringing.  Cecelia’s threatening posture suggested anger rising close to the surface, but Blake refused to give in to intimidation.

“Do you need something?”

“I just thought we should chat.”  Cecelia’s tone was innocent, yet her smirk was anything but.  “We have a lot in common, you know.”

“We really don’t.”

“I beg to differ.”  Cecelia’s blades rustled in their sheaths, causing dangerous flickers of silver before settling back into place as an eerily friendly expression settled onto Cecelia’s lips.  “We’re both from places the rest of the world doesn’t care about.  Forced to fight to survive, to take lives or be part of the lives taken.  We scratched and clawed and did anything just to take another breath, only to be branded murderers, assassins, and cast to the fringes of society…”

“I’m nothing like you.”

“Sure about that?”

When Cecelia took a menacing step forward, knives snapping into the air behind her, Blake didn’t budge.  She let Cecelia step right up to her, those threatening edges of metal pointed directly at her, but held her ground and clenched her fingers into a stone-reinforced fist.

“I can see it in your eyes,” Cecelia said quietly, holding Blake’s gaze with her vivid green gaze.  “You know the world doesn’t care about you.  You know that the only way to survive is to take matters into your own hands - to take life into your own hands.  It’s either them or you...and you’ll always choose yourself.”

When Cecelia finished speaking, Blake glared but said nothing.  The point struck too close to home - too close to how she felt when she decided to end the war by ending Weiss’ life.  Murder felt like the only option, but she refused to believe that made her and Cecelia alike.

“You know, I like the Badlands,” Cecelia added, finally backing away from the conversation.  “It reminds me of home.”

With another fake smile, Cecelia waved over one shoulder while walking away.  The knives swirled in the air around her, flitting one way and another before eventually finding their way back into their sheaths.

Blake, meanwhile, stood rooted to the floor, watching the mercenary leave, before heading the opposite direction. Determined to put that interaction behind her, she hurried through the halls with no destination in mind.  Her thoughts, of course, refused to let go so easily.

Yang warned her to be careful, and now she understood why - Cecelia was dangerous.  How could Yang believe she could control someone like that?  Cecelia couldn’t be controlled.  Everything about her screamed uncontrollable, untamed, and...angry.

The anger scared Blake the most.  She’d seen that type of anger before, and she knew what a person like that would do if things didn’t go their way.  What was Cecelia capable of when she felt wronged or cornered?  Blake didn’t want Yang or anyone to find out.

After shaking her head at the thought, she finally paused and found herself in the palace kitchen.  While deserted at this time of night, the massive room held any tool needed to cook and serve an enormous feast.

The pastry chefs had left out several partially decorated cakes that were as immaculate as anything she’d ever seen.  Wondering what the cakes were intended for was much more pleasant than wondering what Cecelia was capable of, so Blake focused on that as she slowly circled the creations.  Both had been covered in smooth, white frosting with small red flowers piped along the edges.  The blank tops left her in the dark though - were they meant to celebrate a birthday?  An anniversary?  A holiday?

In the midst of that delightful musing, she passed in front of one of the kitchen walls and sensed something out of place. It was nothing more than a soft breeze blowing out of one of the vents in the wall.  There must be thousands of the same vents throughout the palace, so she thought nothing of it at first.  Then she walked in front of the next vent and felt an intake of air rather than a breeze.

Turning away from the cakes, she returned to the first vent and put her hand in front of it - the air blew outward.  She then did the same with the second vent, which pulled in air instead.  Why were they acting as opposites when placed so close together?

After glancing around to confirm that she was alone, she summoned a thin strip of stone into one hand and used it to pry off the first vent cover.  As the decorative metal came free, a narrow duct revealed itself in the wall - nothing unusual about that.

Pushing that cover back into place, she moved to the second one, checked that she was still alone, and quickly pried it off the wall.  She expected to find more ductwork; instead, she found a hollow opening without any sides or edges that she could see.  When she peered through the small cutout, her surprise grew.

It was a passageway.  It ran behind the wall of the kitchen, and it looked large enough for someone to walk through.

Quickly fixing the vent cover back in place, she gently tapped the wall above it.  Several feet away, she tapped the wall again before moving on.  If there was an entrance nearby, she doubted it was in the main kitchen.  A hidden corridor only worked if someone could slip in and out without detection, meaning somewhere out of view.

Making it out of the kitchen, she followed the hollow void down the hall before reaching a closed, locked door.  The area looked relatively untraveled and unused, possibly serving as some type of storage.  In that case, why was it locked?

Acutely aware that being caught in any restricted area would look extremely suspicious, she listened for any nearby sounds of life before taking a breath and deciding that she wanted to know.  With her spark, a thin stone pick slid into the lock, and she needed only a few seconds more to unlock the door. As quickly as possible, she ducked through the doorway and closed the door behind her.

The room was small, dark, and...used as storage, as suspected.  Stacks of boxes took up the edges of the room, a single light hung up above, and a thin layer of dust covered everything.

Undeterred by the unloved space, she tapped the nearest wall and smiled when a hollow knock answered her.  Laying one palm flat against the wall, she slowly slid her hand around the perimeter of the room.  Eventually, she felt a tiny, invisible seam under her hand, making her step back and stare at what looked like a normal wall.  Something was hidden behind it, however, and she was determined to figure out what.  So she started searching for a handle or lever or anything out of place, only to jump when she moved one of the boxes and the door suddenly unlatched.

Faced with a hidden entrance to a hidden passageway running through the palace, she knew that she should call it a day and go back to her room.  Instead, she pulled the door open, stepped inside, and promptly bumped her head on a wooden beam. Once her eyes adjusted, she could just barely make out the pipes and beams crisscrossing the space.  It was a tight fit, and a bit treacherous with all of the obstacles, but it was usable.

So she shut the door behind her and set off in a random direction.  Moving slowly so as not to make too much noise, she quickly discovered that many of the vent covers were fake, letting light into the cramped space while also giving her a small, partially obstructed view into the rooms beyond.  The advisor’s offices, the staff rooms, the library - the secret hallway seemed to reach everywhere.

Upon finding a narrow staircase, she continued her exploration upstairs while wondering what the purpose was.  A secret way in and out of the palace?  A means of spying?

Hearing a nearby noise, she instinctively ducked down and crept toward the next opening.  As soon as she peered through the cover, however, she realized that her exploration had taken her too far.

On the other side of the wall were Yang’s living chambers, and Yang sat on the sofa not twenty feet away. The last thing Blake wanted to do was invade Yang’s privacy, and she had already spun around when Yang groaned.

The agonized sound stopped her in her tracks, and she slowly turned around.

Yang had her head in her hands, her fingers balled into fists, while the veins in her arms glowed red.  A pained moan came from the back of her throat as spikes of heat radiated across the room, each a little hotter and more powerful than the last.

Suddenly, everything made sense.  The perfect posture, the overreaction in The Badlands, the low stamina and lack of energy, the ever-present heat...

Yang had the Phage, and she was suffering.

Blake knew that she should leave, but her heart hurt too much to tear her gaze away.  Seeing Yang’s pain hurt.  Hearing Yang’s pain hurt.  She wished that she could do something to help.  Instead, she silently begged Yang to fight back.  To regain control over her spark and stop it from destroying her.

After what felt like an eternity, the heat dissipated, the anguish quieted, and Blake realized that she’d been holding her breath.  Quietly exhaling, she watched Yang recover from that torturous episode.  Slow, ragged breaths, eyes closed, head drooped…she looked utterly defeated.

Just when Blake considered slinking away, Yang suddenly looked up - and looked right at her.  She immediately ducked away from the vent, her heart racing while she held her breath and listened for any sounds from the room beyond.  Yang couldn’t have seen her - the vent covers blocked almost all view and the passageway was dark.

That was Blake’s hope until two loud clunks were followed by the wall beside her swinging open.  Caught red-handed, she could do nothing while Yang stared at her.  She expected anger at being caught, but Yang didn’t look angry.  She looked surprised but mostly...disappointed and sad.

“I thought you were Ruby…” she whispered, but Blake could only shake her head.  She understood Yang’s disappointment now, and knew who the primary user of the passage was, but had no idea how Yang knew she was there.  Yang just...sensed her somehow?

“Well, come on out,” Yang eventually said, holding the bookcase with one hand and gesturing Blake into the room.  Hesitantly stepping out of the hidden hallway, Blake hardly spared Yang’s room a glance.  Her gaze remained trained on Yang, and her thoughts remained on what she just saw.

“You have the Phage.”

Yang’s shoulders slumped at the definitive statement.

“Guess there’s no use hiding it…” she mumbled before meeting Blake’s gaze.  “Yes, I do.  Either that or the world’s worst hangover.”

That Yang even attempted a joke at a time like this left Blake speechless.  They were discussing a death sentence, and Yang was trying to make Blake laugh.  She couldn’t even muster a smile though.  Many emotions swirled through her mind and heart, but none of them were close to happiness.

“How long?”

Yang sighed again before motioning Blake over to the seating area.

“How long do I have left or how long have I known?”

They both knew the answer to the first question - no one knew how much time they had left once they started showing symptoms.

“How long have you known?”

Yang managed a small, tired smile when Blake sat next to her on the sofa.

“Months.  Longer if you count when I didn’t feel well and couldn’t figure out what was wrong.”

“That’s…”

That was unheard of, unbelievable, and...a long time to deal with something so painful, but Blake couldn’t say those words aloud.

“I’ve heard Atlas has a cure...” she offered instead, watching Yang lean forward and rest her elbows on her knees.

“Even if Atlas had a cure, they wouldn’t share it.  They’d wait for most of us to die or be too weak to fight then conquer all of the territories.”

“Weiss seemed cooperative…”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but Weiss has no idea what she’s doing.”

When Yang met Blake’s gaze, Blake didn’t argue.  She also felt that Weiss was overwhelmed and possibly out of her depth, but her intentions were genuine.  Regardless of competence, Blake had faith that the Atlesian Queen would remain true to her word.

“Besides,” Yang added with another sigh.  “Just because her father is gone doesn’t mean Atlas has miraculously changed.  I believe that she wants to make things better, but...I’m worried.”

Yang didn’t say what worried her, but she didn’t have to.  If Atlas remained the tyrannical, power-hungry kingdom it was rumored to be, evil forces must remain.  And Yang’s sister now lived amongst them.

Suddenly groaning, Yang hunched forward and balled her fingers into fists.  The heat emanating from her felt like sitting beside a furnace, but Blake didn’t move away.  Using her spark to harden her skin, making the heat more tolerable, she gently set her hand on Yang’s knee and waited for the moment to pass.

“How often?” she asked once it had, unable to bring her voice above a whisper while Yang regained her breath.

“All the time now.”

“Does your sister know?”

“No…” Yang whispered, staring at her hands as the red hue slowly faded.  “I don’t want her to worry about me.  And...I want her to live her life.  At least, live as much as she can before she’s in charge of everything.”

The idea of Yang not being around - of Vale losing one of its Sister Queens - made Blake’s heart ache.  Just moments ago, she imagined the possibility of spending time with Yang without the war hanging over their heads.  Now, that day might never come.  Yang could be gone tomorrow, and that reality was...indescribably sad.

“Don’t worry though.”  Finally looking up, Yang forced a smile.  “Ruby will help the Badlands.  She’ll do a better job than me, too.”

The thought hadn’t even crossed Blake’s mind, and Yang thinking that it had made her feel awful.  Yang was dying, literally dying, yet her priority was assuring Blake that everything would be taken care of once she was...gone.

“That’s not important right now.”  Regardless of the warmth, Blake scooted closer and hesitantly set her hand over Yang’s.  It was far hotter than someone’s hand should be, but Yang didn’t pull away.  “What’s important is -”

You almost slipped out, but Blake paused and rephrased.

“- is finding a way to stop this.”

“There’s no stopping this, Blake,” Yang replied with a sad shake of her head.  “I tried.  I looked for answers, but there are none.  And that’s fine; I’ve accepted it.  With whatever time I have left, I’ll do as much as I can to fix things - that’s all I can do.”

No one was supposed to accept death.  They were supposed to fight.  To do anything to stave it off, especially if they saw it coming.

But Yang was fighting.  Every day, she fought through the pain and willed herself to keep smiling, to keep working.  She fought her spark for more time, but not for herself.  She wanted that time for everyone else, so that she could make the world a better place before being forced out of it.

Selflessness was a wonderful trait in a leader but, in this case, made Blake sick to her stomach.  When she thought about the mural - Vale’s history of sacrifices - she didn’t want Yang to be one of them.

“Can we...maybe talk about something else?” Yang eventually asked, and Blake nodded. Even though her mind dwelled on the Phage, she changed the subject for Yang’s sake.

“How about...how did the war start?”

The war seemed purposeless in the Badlands, so she’d always wondered what happened.  It wasn’t until now, however, that she found the resolve to ask.

“The Mad King never liked us,” Yang answered with a soft sigh.  “Didn’t like our parents either, but it was never really an issue.  We avoided Atlas; Atlas avoided us - it worked.  Then the Phage happened.”

“We heard that Atlas was pouring resources into a cure, so we reached out and offered to combine research - increase our likelihood of success, right?  Well, he must’ve taken that as an indication of weakness and decided it was time for an expansion.”

Brow furrowed, Yang ruminated on that memory before shaking her head.

“Before we knew it, Atlesian Knights were charging through the Badlands.  We hardly got our troops together in time to stop them at the walls and were lucky to push them back as far as we did.  Since then, we’ve just been...trying to convince them to back off...”

As Yang trailed off and raised one hand in defeat, Blake had no idea how to respond.  She remembered the day the Atlesian army stormed through the Badlands - she would never forget the shock and terror of watching silver-armored troops pour across the plains - but everyone assumed Vale asked for it, or were at least aware that it was coming.

“That’s...not what anyone thought happened...” she admitted, and Yang chuckled.

“They think I spit in his face and kicked him out of the castle.  I wish I did that.”

“But you were trying to help.”

“Some good that did...”  After a short pause, Yang met Blake’s gaze.  “What about you?  How’d you become leader of the Resistance?  What happened to Adam Taurus?”

For a split second, Blake considered lying.  But lying felt wrong when Yang had been so forthcoming.

“I killed him,” she said, feeling the stab of pain that still accompanied the truth.

“Oh...that’s...exactly what people said.”

When Blake sighed, Yang scooted closer.

“Can I ask why?”

No one ever asked why.  Everyone made assumptions - that she was power hungry, that it was a lover’s quarrel - but no one asked for her reasons.  Not even Sun asked.  He just...accepted it.

“I believed in him for a long time.  He was going to make things better - he was going to save us.”  Thinking about how wrong she’d been, she shook her head and stared at her lap.  “But something changed.  He changed.  He became angry and violent.  He started fights instead of preventing them.  And then…he decided that in order to win the settlements over, he would destroy one.”

When Yang’s eyes widened, Blake’s words tumbled out faster.

“I couldn’t let him.  I couldn’t let him sacrifice innocent lives, people who had done no wrong.  How could I ever face the others if I let that happen?  So I didn’t give him the chance to hurt anyone else.”

She wished that he never put her in that position.  She wished that he never turned into a monster.  She wished that he gave her another option.  Instead, he gave her no choice.  That didn’t absolve her of her guilt, and she accepted that she was a horrible person for what she did, but she couldn’t deny the relief she felt as soon as his heart stopped beating.  Even though people branded her a murderer - an assassin, a killer - those were just words.  The most important thing, which she reminded herself of daily, was that he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

“You did the right thing,” Yang whispered, hesitantly setting her hand over Blake’s.  The touch was warm but also a relief - a feeling that only grew when she met Yang’s light, accepting gaze.

“I wasn’t asking for your approval…”

“I know.”  And Yang did know - her eyes said as much.  “But I’m giving you my opinion - I think you did the right thing.  You saved those lives and who knows how many others.  I would’ve done the same in your position.”

The response made Blake feel immeasurably better.  At least someone agreed with her.  At least someone else would have made the same decision.  Not just anyone - Yang, the Queen of Vale, whose opinion mattered far more than Blake let on.

“At least that’s something…” she muttered, only realizing that they were still holding hands when Yang gently squeezed hers.  Part of her thought that she should pull away, but a larger part of her refused to give up the sense of comfort so soon.

“I’m surprised you’re taking it so well,” she added.

“Why?”

“I just admitted to killing someone who I didn’t agree with -”

“No, you admitted to killing someone who was willing to throw away countless innocent lives,” Yang corrected.  “Maybe I’d be worried if you were that type of person, but you’re not.  I know you’re not.  Even if you disagreed with me, you’d talk to me first.”

The words couldn’t be truer.  Blake would try to talk it out first - she had tried to talk it out first.  Somehow, Yang understood that when others didn’t, and that understanding made Blake want to pull Yang into a hug.  She wanted to feel in Yang’s embrace that those words were true, that she wasn’t a bad person, but she didn’t find the courage before Yang looked down at her hands.

“I know I don’t have the right to ask you for favors…” she began before meeting Blake’s gaze.  “But...can you keep the whole ‘Phage’ thing to yourself?”

“Of course, Yang...”

“Thank you.”  Yang’s smile wavered and quickly disappeared, a stark contrast to her usual radiant grin.  “I just...don’t want everyone to worry.  And I don’t think it’ll be long, so…”

As Yang trailed off and her eyes filled with emotion, Blake glimpsed a side of her that possibly no one ever had.  She was regal, powerful, passionate, and...scared.

“It’ll be ok,” Blake whispered, drawing those sad lilac eyes back to her.

“Will it?  Pretty sure I won’t know one way or the other.”

Yang’s soft laugh ended with a wince as her spark roared back to life, but Blake didn’t move away.  Instead, she steeled herself against the bursts of heat, squeezed Yang’s hand, and waited for the moment to pass.

No one deserved the pain the Phage put them through.  No one deserved to suffer like this.  But hopefully...hopefully, her presence offered some measure of support while Yang grappled with the fire within her.

“You know,” Yang said, her voice breathless after surviving the onslaught.  “It’s nice to have someone else know...”  After a brief moment of indecision, she shook her head and met Blake’s gaze.  “But now...I really don’t want you to leave...”

Understanding the sentiment, which she felt now more than ever, Blake offered a small smile while touching Yang’s cheek.  The desire to be closer returned, but she didn’t fight it this time.  Instead, she gently rested her forehead against Yang’s and ran her fingers through Yang’s soft, gorgeous hair.

When Yang sighed and leaned into the contact, Blake closed her eyes and stayed there as long as Yang needed.  With their foreheads touching and their hands clasped together, she offered whatever support she could while her heart felt more torn up than it had in quite some time.

Yang was too strong...too important...to have the Phage.  Were it not for the heat rising from her skin, Blake wouldn’t believe it was true.  She didn’t want it to be true.

Several minutes passed before Yang pulled away, and Blake opened her eyes to find warm, adoring lilac staring back at her.  The emotions in Yang’s eyes made Blake’s heart thump in her chest and, for a split second, she wanted to lean in.

“I should probably let you get some sleep,” she whispered instead, withdrawing when she noticed the dark circles under Yang’s eyes.

“Yeah, maybe...”  Yang looked disappointed but still gave a timid smile.  “You can stay if you want.”

The way Yang’s gaze slid to her bedroom door said that she felt it, too.  The discovery made Blake’s heart beat even faster, and she seriously considered the invitation.  She wanted to be closer to Yang in an irresistible, compelling way, but she also didn’t know what moving closer meant...and that scared her away.

“I should probably go…”

“That’s fine.”  Yang quickly nodded, not at all upset by the decision.  “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Right...I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before Blake talked herself out of it, she stood and turned to leave.  She hadn’t taken one step, however, before Yang caught her hand.

“And...thanks, Blake.  For everything.”

The heartfelt gratitude made Blake’s heart protest louder as she smiled and turned away.  She felt horrible for leaving - not only Vale, but for leaving Yang alone in her room.  Yang was letting her leave, but...she didn’t want to.   She wanted to help however she could, even if that was only by providing company.  Her mind told her to go, but her heart said to stay.

Only halfway to the door, she stopped and turned around.

“I’ll sleep out here,” she offered, motioning to the nearest sofa.  “That way if you need me for anything...”

Seeing the overwhelming gratitude in Yang’s eyes, she trailed off and left the rest of that sentence up for interpretation.  What would she do for Yang?  At this point, it might be better to question what she wouldn’t do.

“But the sofa isn’t very comfortable.  I can sleep out here -”

“Yang,” Blake interrupted before Yang gave up her bed.  “I’ve slept on a stone floor before - anything is better than that.”

Yang wanted to argue but ultimately thought better of it.  Instead, she pushed herself to her feet and took a step closer.  The proximity - her warmth - sent Blake’s heart racing but, fortunately, she paused before getting too close.  Maybe she sensed Blake’s hesitancy.  Maybe she felt it for herself.  Whatever the reason, she held that distance and motioned to her left.

“I think there are some extra blankets somewhere.”

“This one will work.”  Grabbing a folded blanket off of one of the chairs, Blake held it up and smiled.  “Don’t worry, Yang.  I’ll be fine.”

Finally, Yang looked reassured, and she even managed a small smile while backing toward her bedroom. “I’ll leave it open,” she said, gesturing at the bedroom door and waiting for Blake’s nod.  “Goodnight, Blake.”

“Goodnight, Yang.”

Once Yang disappeared into the room beyond, Blake sat down and tried to ignore her pounding heart.  The task might be easier if she couldn’t hear soft noises as Yang got ready for bed.  Worried that her resolve might evaporate at any second, she unfolded the blanket, laid down on the sofa, and covered up.

Yang was gorgeous - it made sense that Blake wanted her in a physical way.  But this felt deeper than that.  This felt inextricably connected to Yang’s willingness to be open and vulnerable on top of all the other traits Blake had already come to cherish.

If she walked into Yang’s room right now, she wouldn’t leave tomorrow...and the Badlands still needed her.  Yang might also need her, but one of those things scared her far more than the other.

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