39. Inky Truths

Chapter 39

Inky Truths

I cracked open my eyes the next morning to the same scene I’d blankly stared at before exhaustion had consumed me. I was empty, raw. My body ached to the bone, but the soreness paled in comparison to the jagged shards of glass piercing my heart.

My arm stung as I peeled myself off the ground. Dried, splattered tears marked the pristine tiles, and the sight of it brought on a fresh wave of sadness.

I was no longer in the shadowed sanctuary offered by the furniture when I stood, and my body protested at the brightness. My soul wanted nothing to do with the light, or the annoyingly perfect summer day that lay beyond these walls. I padded over to the windows and closed the curtains, making sure that not even a sliver of the intrusive light could find its way in.

Unwilling to fuss with the ostentatious number of pillows on the bed to get under the covers, I grabbed one of the small throw blankets I’d left on the chair and fell into bed. I blankly stared, sightless, toward the covered windows. Scenes played in my mind. Some connected to the thoughts that had brought me to my knees last night, others relived memories from the Summer Court—all moments that needed to be reconciled.

I wasn’t sure if I was working through them or not.

Either way, I didn’t care. Feeling anything right now was now well and truly beyond me.

Hours went by as I flowed in and out of consciousness, unable to register anything outside of my mind, even ignoring when Ava knocked on the door, followed by Thaddeus, twice. No. That wasn’t true. I wasn’t ignoring them, I didn’t have the capacity to do anything other than what I was doing—simply existing took everything I had.

I was eventually forced to pull myself out of bed and go to the lavatory. As I padded back, the tub looked inviting, and I turned on the faucet. Unwilling to wait for it to fill, I laid in it as the warm water made its way up my body. I breathed in the deep, comforting scent of the eucalyptus oil I’d added, and it reminded me of that first day, my first bath. It was a relief to think of something outside of what consumed me, even for a moment.

Later, as the bath ran cold, the hollowness in my chest had eased enough that I finally had thoughts beyond the trappings of my mind, like my need for food and water. I wasn’t sure how long it had been since I’d had either.

Wrapping myself in my silk robe, I headed for the door. I knew someone would be there watching over me. I unlocked it and pressed it open just enough to peek out. Squinting, my eyes protested as they adjusted to see a concerned Tarrin staring back at me.

“Nyleeria?” he said softly. But as quiet as his voice was, the sound was deafening. I winced.

“Ava,” I croaked.

Tarrin didn’t pry, he merely gave me a sad smile and turned down the hall. I could have wept with gratitude for that tender mercy.

Shortly after, a soft knock sounded before someone tested the knob. The door crept open only as much as necessary for her to slide in, Ava’s small figure silhouetted in the light.

I’d lit some candles and was sitting in front of the empty fireplace. It was the first time I’d sat here, normally opting for the garden view, or fresh air on the veranda. Neither was appealing to me.

Ava made her way over. I’m not sure what she saw in my face, what she read soul to soul, but her eyes were heavy with heartbreak.

“Oh, Nyleeria. What can I do?”

“Can you start the fire, please?” I asked, my voice weak.

Within minutes, the fire was crackling. She sat next to me, and I welcomed her silent presence.

After a time, she stood up. “I’m going to get you some water. What else can I bring you?” Her voice was so very tender, as if she was afraid her words could slay me.

“Can you bring me some writing supplies?” I’d realized in the bath that I needed to get these thoughts out of my mind. Maybe the ink would trap the demons within my pen strokes and stop them from haunting me—or at least keep them at bay.

“Anything else?”

“Chocolate cake and the cheese buns you make fresh every morning. And some fruit,” I added. It was an eclectic mix, to be sure, but right now, I could only handle things that brought me joy.

She smiled in understanding. “I’ll be back shortly.”

She tended the fire once more before she left.

“Here, let me get the door for you,” Tarrin’s voice rumbled through the door.

“Thank you,” Ava said, “but mind that you don’t so much as put a finger in that room without my permission—that goes for all of you.” Her words were sharp. I smiled at this tiny woman giving the second-in-command a what for, and giving orders that extended to her king, who she revered.

Ava came in with not one, not two, but three trays, making multiple trips to place them on the oblong table to the left of the double doors.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I uncoiled myself from the chair, making my way over. Unable to control myself, I leaned down and hugged Ava. She didn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around me, holding me tight.

A half-sob left me at the human connection, and she rubbed my back with soothing motions.

Releasing me, she faced the trays and said, “Well…what shall it be?”

There was chocolate cake, brownies, cookies, nuts, cheeses, cinnamon rolls, hot cacao, fruit, vegetables, eggs, and many more of my favorites. I selected small pieces of this and that until my plate was piled high. I could never eat it all, but I was perfectly content to have a bite of each.

“Is that…?” My eyes lit up at the glass jug filled with what looked like a Summer Court delight I’d been spoiled with.

Smiling broadly, she said, “It is.” Ava cradled the jug and two cups as we made our way over to the fire.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“Thaddeus told me. In fact, he had the high lord send over limes,” she said, pride in her words.

The Summer Court infused their water with all manner of fruits, and it had delighted me to no end, instantly loving how they’d taken something mundane and made it magical.

Maybe that was what the spark did—made me magical. Perhaps it was possible to change my narrative and wash away the stain of my family’s beliefs, of my own.

I knew Eithan loved me, and not just out of convenience. He would have chosen me…if I’d let him, fought for him. I was the one who’d let him go; he wasn’t the one who had left. He’d tried to tell me as much time and time again, but I’d refused to entertain it. Perhaps I didn’t think myself worthy, or I knew my life path was different. Either way, it no longer mattered.

I drank the glass of lime water with muddled raspberries down in seconds, not realizing just how parched I was.

That thought repeated in my mind: not realizing just how parched I was . I sat with the words for a moment.

Yes, I was thirsty…but in a different way—the soul-filling, self-believing, naysaying, self-love kind. It was okay to have demons and self-doubts, but my method of forcing my feelings into tiny little boxes to be dealt with later would not serve me in this new life.

After Ava left, I emptied the glass twice more before my thirst was sated. It would take more effort than that to quench the other need deep within me…but with every moment that passed, I could feel myself rallying to face what I’d left alone for far too long.

Pen to paper, I began to write.

This feeling inside, sharp like a spear.

You confuse and hurt me, make everything unclear.

I look at myself, knowing I’m me,

But this feeling inside is foreign as can be.

Where is my optimism, hope, and joy?

I feel as lifeless as an abandoned toy.

I’ve been cutting the puppet strings one at a time,

but how do I own this new life that’s mine?

I’m used to my emotions being contained in a tidy box.

I have to deal with them, but they are as cunning as a fox .

They whisper in my ear sweet songs of sorrow, pain, and fear.

Like sirens singing loud and clear.

Tearing down the old is not for the faint of heart.

I’m constantly wondering: Will I get through this part?

I feel raw and vulnerable as hell.

Like a turtle without its shell.

What if all my demons are in me?

How do I slay them, move forward, be free?

I wonder if it’s done one demon at a time.

Is this how peace could finally be mine?

Freedom from this would be so sublime.

But doing it one by one would take too much time.

Time is an illusion, that’s what they say.

And that positive thoughts will make my pain go away.

That type of thinking doesn’t appeal.

The truth is, I must work through it. I have to deal.

I’ll have to remind myself it’s going to be okay.

Maybe I’ll believe it, and it will be true one day.

I tilted the corner of the page into the fire, the flame catching. Tilting it back, I watched the edges blacken and disintegrate into ash as the glowing orange line continued to meander down the page, consuming the words. Releasing it above the fire, it fluttered down to meet its end.

For two days, I poured the callings of my soul onto the pages, burning them afterward. Sometimes I’d hold on to a piece of writing a little longer, reading what stared back at me again and again until the words no longer held power over me.

Ava came in and out, making sure I was eating and drinking. She opened the curtains little by little and eventually opened the windows. I was too deeply entrenched in my musings to object, and enjoyed the light breeze that moved past me as I sat in the chair by the fire.

The words that had triggered me were so simple. So common. I could see now that grief, stress, exhaustion, fear, and my past had coalesced in that moment, providing a perfect storm for the dark thoughts to consume me.

I was no stranger to those torments, having experienced them many times throughout my life. There were moments when I was younger that I wondered if no longer existing would be the easier path—the thought coming and going in the blink of an eye.

One by one, I disentangled the words that cut so deeply that it felt as if they marked my soul. Some from others, some from myself. It didn’t matter where they’d come from. I read a quote once that said, “ Someone only needs to be cruel to you for so long before you do the job for them .”

With each page, each realization, I stepped further back into myself. The truth was, I was good enough for Eithan. He loved me, cared for me, and would have forsaken his family and his betrothal for me. He was my best friend, and there was love there for me.

As for my parents, I had to ask myself if I grieved for them because I loved them or if I grieved the fact that I’d never experience the love a child intrinsically craves from a parent. I suspected the latter. The shattered hope of a child who realized they would never again feel that all-consuming parental love. There was a grief one went through when starting the process of healing from that truth— that the love and approval you’d pined for your entire life would never come to fruition.

I think I’d always held on to the hope that they would love me like that one day. And maybe they had loved me as best they could—but it hadn’t been in the way I’d craved.

Maybe now that they were gone, I could heal, their deaths like re-breaking a bone that had never set correctly. Painful but necessary. Gods, what a thought. May they spare me from judgment for this. May I spare myself.

The pen hovered over the pages, poised to capture my thoughts and condemnation of what I’d just uncovered—only, it stayed still. No ink stained the clean, crisp page that lay before me.

I understood then that I didn’t need absolution for the truth I’d unearthed. Didn’t need the pages to hold it. To burn it away. I was finally okay with where I stood, with my truth. It had taken two days of writing, but there were finally no more words for me to dispense—at least not for now.

Placing the pen and paper down, I made my way to the windows, and looking out over the gardens, I took stock of how I felt.

A smile tugged at the pride that filled me.

I had slayed those demons one at a time, and my shell was now fully fortified.

It was time to slay the demons that lived outside of me. The ones that held my siblings captive. That threatened my life.

I was ready.