“But father’s—” My eyes widened, and there he was. Walking toward Morgana. He looked younger than when I’d last seen him. The grays in his hair were gone. His face wassmooth, missing every line and wrinkle he’d earned over his years.
But even more surprising was that as he walked toward us, I saw something I’d never seen before. He could walk without a limp. He took his steps with ease, holding his head high with the Laurel of the Arkasva on his head. The leaves were a bright gleaming gold, shining as if in the sun, and glowing against the darkness of his hair.
The crying from the stage grew louder, drowning out any other sounds of the forest. The breeze. The chirping of birds. The distant whinnies of ashvan in the sky.
“Father?” I asked, tears filling my eyes. Nearly three months had passed since he’d died. Since I’d seen him. Since he’d been murdered. Since everything else had happened.
But he wasn’t looking at me. He was watching the show. Staring intently at the red-headed mage whose entire performance seemed to be nothing more than her crying and wailing. He had no seat on the couch with us, so he perched on the armrest.
“Father?” I asked again. “Father!”
“Shhh,” Morgana hissed. “Gods, Lyr. Pay attention.”
“I know this show,” he said, his eyes on the mage. “Your mother once told me about it.” He removed his laurel, and passed it to Meera. “Here. I don’t need this anymore.”
Meera considered the laurel in her hands, then shrugged and tossed it to the forest floor. “None of us do.”
I sat forward, my heart hurting as I tried to catch my father’s eyes. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t have a full seat on the couch. Or why Morgana hadn’t made any space for him at all. Why was she forcing him to perch? Why wouldn’t she move? Why wasn’t there enough room for him? Why were there no other seats?
Morgana stood, and walked away. “I know how it ends.”
“I’ve seen it, too,” Meera said. She retrieved the laurel and dropped it into my lap. For a second the leaves shifted, reforming themselves into the shape of a crown, one meant for a queen. Then they resumed their laurel shape once more.
My father looked at me finally, his eyes soft and wet.
“Me bat,” he said. “You’ve been through so much these last few months. You’ve been so strong.”
I started to cry, no longer able to speak. I nodded.
His eyes returned to the stage as he stood up and clapped, shouting what a good performance it had been. But the mage was still sobbing. The show wasn’t over yet. He turned away from the couch, away from me.
“Wait,” I said, my arms extended for a hug. “Don’t go.” He turned and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay long. I’m on the other side now. It’s not …” He frowned, and then he flickered. His body vanished and reappeared, like he couldn’t hold onto physical form any longer. “It’s not allowed anymore,” my father said with a sigh. “I had to fight just for this visit. Just for this one show.”
His eyes were distant, and my arms fell helplessly to my sides.
“I thought he would be here though,” my father continued. “I thought I would give him my blessing for you. But he isn’t here tonight. He hasn’t come.”
“Who hasn’t come?” I asked.
“Rhyan.”
“W-What?” I stammered.
“You swore, Lyr.” Suddenly, Rhyan’s voice filled the forest. I spun on my heels, my eyes wild and desperate as they searched for him, but I couldn’t find him. Not anywhere. There was no one else. Not even my father, not even the stage and its performer remained. It was just me, alone with the trees.
“You swore you’d make the pain go away,” Rhyan said, his voice echoing. “You swore no one else would hurt me. You lied.”My eyes shot open, my hand clutching my chest.
I was in bed. In a basement. Slowly, I remembered that we were at Sean’s house. I glanced anxiously around the room. Every corner was dark, like night had fallen. By the Gods—no. My heart pounded at the thought of losing that many hours. Of having been asleep for so long. For having missed too much. For letting too much happen without me. My body felt sore—in the way it did at times when I’d slept too long. When I’d spend too much time in bed.
Gods—please no. There were no windows in the basement, nor any kind of clock or timekeeper—so I couldn’t be sure. The only source of light came from a few candles on a small table near the bed.
I swallowed roughly, feeling dehydrated, but not as sick as I’d been before. Before I’d … fainted? No. No.
I had a fever. An infection. I’d been forced to sleep. Forced to lose consciousness, forced to lose out on precious time.
Time I didn’t have.
By Auriel.
