Alicia's time in the slums during the war showed her many things. Most things she's tried to forget, tried to bury beneath layers of manipulation and cold facades. Her ma taught her how to do it well.

She feels herself coming apart as an exile, though. All those long years building masks, hiding the things she's done, cutting away her wanton desires, it's all coming undone.

Alicia Zalana didn't have a choice but to morph into the role of queen after everything she had done. She had to smile and while away her problems as though she hadn't walked through the Reaper's den and come out the other side with more blood on her than if she'd bathed in it. She had to simplify her shadows, had to blame her outbursts and terror on some simple nightmares because those nightmares couldn't be real, not to the person Alicia had to be.

She was getting good at running away. But now it's all catching up to her, and she feels herself falling. Alicia isn't even sure if there's rock-bottom anymore, the hole just keeps getting more extensive, and she just keeps tumbling down it.

She can't make the hard choices anymore because people die when she does, but people die when she doesn't.

Alicia doesn't know who she's meant to be anymore. Her masks are slipping.

"Alicia." She blinks, looking at the hand on her shoulder with a hazy expression. She sees the ring first, blood crusted within the emblem. Her gaze meets with Oliver's, the softness around his eyes warming her cold heart slightly. "You need to eat something." He passes her an apple that she takes before he buries his hands into the deep pockets of his black coat, similar to the one she wore before it was covered in blood within the tunnel. She smiles in thanks before turning her gaze back to the people around them.

They walk through the woods at a brisk pace, each of them eager to reach the walls, but each of them mourning in their own way. If they can't find a way within the walls... Alicia fears having to face the reality that the duke anticipated for them when he exiled them.

They trudge through the mud of the swamps, feet sodden and shoulders drooping. It's become a constant struggle just to keep their chins raised.

Exiles have been forged within the fires of suffering and tragedy. It seems as though all their hardships have been preparing them for this very moment; the moment they lost everything.

"I've been speaking with Sam," Oliver says, staying close to her side. "We believe it's best if a couple of us ride ahead and see if we can clear a way through the tomb."

"I suppose that means you and I."

Oliver looks down at her, nodding, a tenseness in his jaw that Alicia wishes she could find a way to sooth. He managed to get many of the sick out of the Commons, but none of that will mean anything if they all die out here.

"We need to make this journey go as fast and as safely as possible. I'm not leaving anything to chance."

"I agree with you," Alicia replies. She falls silent for a moment, twisting the apple in her hands, only the soft murmurings of the people around them and their footfalls filling the heavy silence. She gazes at the people around her, their features haggard and worn, eyes downcast. The sick are bundled in the clothes and blankets they escaped with, coughing violently in the back of the cart as it jostles over the uneven path.

Many things could have gone differently if Alicia had been brave enough to finally discard her masks. Maybe if she'd killed Grayson, he wouldn't have run to Warren about the herd. Maybe if she'd killed Warren, Kathryn would still be alive.

"There are so many things I could have done back there to save more lives. I watched as Sasha was attacked and I..." She takes a deep breath, looking into Oliver's eyes again. "I'm trying to make up for the things I've done, but I keep messing up even more. I don't know what I'm meant to be doing."

"We all make mistakes, Alicia," he says softly, his hand reaching for hers to stop its fidgeting. "No one is expecting you to be perfect."

"People die around me," she whispers, her throat suddenly burning as she stares at the contrast between her hand and Oliver's.

"People die around all of us," he mutters, clenching his jaw. "But we're going to do our best to save these people."

Alicia looks around her once again, reminding herself of why she continues to fight. These people gave her a place to call home when she never thought she'd find such a thing again. These people took her in, and she knows with certainty that making sure their journey is safe is the right thing to do. She might be too broken to be able to defend these people more than that, but it's better than wallowing in her guilt.

"Then let's grab some horses and go."

A light rain assaults them as they set out on their silent journey ahead of the rest of the group, hooves sloshing through mud and eyes wary for any exiles that could be waiting for them.

The silence gives Alicia the time to think, to truly process what's happening. The reality that she's returning home hasn't hit her yet, feeling like it's just some fanciful idea of a girl still clinging to the things lost to her.

For four months she's been an exile, nothing in comparison to Oliver's four years, but it's enough time for her to adjust to the life out here. The persistent cold, the constant fear, the knowledge that killing is just another consequence of surviving.

She can't help but look back now even as she moves forward. Look back at her selfishness, her foolishness that got Kathryn killed, the only family that didn't turn their back on her.

Except for her pa. It seems those that stand for her end up dying horrifically, as though the Reaper is punishing her for getting comfortable with relying on anyone except herself.

"What's on your mind?" Alicia asks, deciding that thinking on her past isn't in her best interests.

Oliver glances at her, his gaze troubled, clearly thinking on too much like her. "Nothing," he replies too quickly.

She nudges her horse closer to his. "What is it?"

Letting out a sigh, Oliver tips his face to the drizzle of rain. "Those I love and hate within the capital believe me to be dead, and I'd rather keep it that way."

Alicia mulls over his words, knowing her own reservations for going back. But neither of them have a choice. She just doesn't want to keep thinking about it. "What do you think will be waiting for us within the capital?"

"Best case scenario is that everyone is waiting to welcome us on the other side of those walls with open arms."

"And the worst?"

"The duke takes us straight to execution," he mutters, making Alicia shift in her saddle. She knows what that feels like.

"I don't plan to die before we find justice."

"I'm moved by your confidence," Oliver says with a strained smile.

"All of it will be pointless if we can't get through that tomb," Alicia sighs.

"We'll get through."

Alicia's grip just tightens on her reins as she gazes ahead, the rain misting their road and chilling her to the bone.

Even without her past gnawing at her, even without the revolution, the grand duke and the king and their horrid ideals, without the death of the queen, and the exile of so many, Muovea would still be falling. Alicia can't see how they could possibly survive the Reaper's Curse. Even if they had a cure, there'd still be the hordes of Grey Bloods wandering the earth. They'd need an army to destroy them all, and the capital has turned their backs on most of their soldiers that fought in the war for fear of the Decay.

Alicia is aware that it'll take more than one miracle to save them, and she doesn't have much faith in miracles anymore.