Son of the Drowned Empire (Drowned Empire, #1.5)

by Frankie Diane Mallis

up. I couldn’t bear to see my mother’s sympathy, to look and face her for the hundredth time as she saw me in clear pain—saw, and did nothing.

Possibility was just a poor man’s version of hope, and nothing was more dangerous than that. Hope was a frail thing, and frail things didn’t stand a chance under the weight of what this world had to offer.

“sometimes the ones you most want to protect, they are the very ones you can’t—the ones who need to save themselves.”

And still, at the end of the day, after everything that had happened, no matter how much I wanted it, wished for it, needed it, felt like I couldn’t breathe without it, there was no one. No one was coming to save me.

This is how you protect me. Let me die as myself. While I’m still me. While I still feel.

There were so many screams. But none louder, none more gut-wrenching or painful, than the scream in my heart. In my soul.

Even with a sword in my belly, even bleeding and dying, wherever my soul was going next, he was coming with me; I would drag him along. Down to hell if I had to.

But the Gods had never listened to me. Nor had they ever been kind.

“Promise. Promise you will love. Promise you’ll live. Not just survive, but live.”

“Yes, you. This, right here, right now, this isn’t who you are. This is temporary. You’re going to find your strength again, and you’re going to become even stronger. I make few promises, but I promise this. You won’t feel this powerless forever.” His jaw worked. “And you won’t always feel this sad.”

I’d forgotten who I was. I’d been hiding in the dark, and I’d been alone for so long.

“I need you to tell me what happened.” I stared at my hands. “Why does it matter?” “Because you’re carrying the weight of it with you, and it’s too heavy. Give some to me. Let me take it.

The heroes in my life aren’t rewarded, they’re punished.

“But what if you could do more? What if we could start writing the rest of your story today? Take back some of your life, some control. Be your own author,”

And because you’ve been quiet, his voice has been the loudest.

The first step will hurt the most. But it won’t always hurt like this.

“It’s okay. Be tired. Accept it. Rest. As long as you want. As long as you get back up. As long as you don’t stop fighting in the end.”

“You’re fighting for you. Because you’re worth fighting for.”

“Listen. Some advice? Stick to the brothels.”

“I didn’t fail,” I said, my eyes burning. “I’m just not finished yet.”

Follow the chain of command. But there was no command. It was just me. I was the chain.

I longed for a life that had felt like this all along. One that had been less harsh. A childhood where I’d met my friends as children, laughing as we ran through the halls together. Less years of my life alone. A life where my days hadn’t been filled with fear.

Maybe that’s how it always would be. Yearning for a place that didn’t exist.

There was a certain power that I knew came from being an heir. But the sheer power in her voice? The force of will? That? That was all her.