40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

I t took Mikael a few tries to get the fire back up to roaring, but the faint gleam of interest that picked up in Cyril’s eyes was worth every false start. He’d apologize at a later point for the half of an empty journal he sacrificed for kindling.

Warmth seeped steadily into the room, and Cyril gave no protest when Mikael stood her up, wrapped her in a throw blanket, and settled her on the sofa.

And now, as he sat on the arm beside her, wondering where the fuck his mother was, Cyril leaned against him. Silent, still, with the same vacancy in her face as she watched the fire, but that subconscious pull was still there. It made his chest ache.

A braver man would have filled that silence, but Mikael didn’t know where to start. Especially not after seeing the state of Bron’s body yesterday morning. Condolences felt meaningless for such a ruthless tragedy.

Instead, he undid the tie left clinging to the ends of Cyril’s hair and carded his fingers through it, working apart the remnants of her braid. She made a noise so soft and meek that Mikael almost missed it, and leaned a bit more heavily against him.

A few minutes later, the room flooded with light as his mother nudged the door open.

She came well prepared, with a bowl in one hand, a gently steaming mug in the other, and a medkit tucked under her arm. Not surprising in the least that his mother would prioritize tea during this.

“Give this to her to drink,” she said, extending the mug to him as she closed the door with her foot. “It’ll warm her up and help settle her a bit too.”

A waft of pungent peppermint filled his nose as he took the mug from her and the bowl as well. He eyed the steaming mug as he asked, “Mint tea?”

“Amongst other things.” A smile tugged at his mother’s lips as she waved her hand effortlessly and dim faelights gathered in the air all around the room. He’d seen her do it a thousand times in his life, but it never failed to spark a bit of awe. “It’s pleasant, I promise. I wouldn’t be cruel.”

No, but she would dose unwitting people with her tinctures .

He wasn’t going to argue with her now.

Mikael walked back to the couch and set aside the bowl of clean water. A little glimmer of interest sparked in Cyril’s eyes again as she watched him, and the small smile she gave him nearly took him out at the knees.

“Drink this,” he said, maybe a little more desperately than he hoped, as he took her uninjured hand and wrapped it around the mug.

Cyril gave it a curious glance, sniffed, and then drank without a word. The mug didn’t leave her lips until she was handing it back to him empty.

And Mikael? Well, he felt like a fucking idiot now for overlooking the fact that the damn woman might have been thirsty. Gods only knew how long she’d been sitting here with nothing. Every bit of training he’d ever received as a guard went out the window with her.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly.

Mikael inclined his head towards his mother. “All her.”

“Hi, sweetheart.” Runa’s voice had that soft sort of gentleness to it that always reminded him of his childhood.

Cyril’s eyes drifted over slowly and her brows climbed in what looked like pleasant surprise as she said, “Hi, Runa.”

“Here, let me—” Mikael reached for the medkit his mother held, but she shook her head and stepped around him, taking a seat beside Cyril.

With practiced ease he had to assume all mothers had, she unrolled the leather pack across her lap, dipped some cloth into the bowl of water, and held her hand out to Cyril.

“May I?”

It took Cyril a lengthy moment to process what his mother was asking of her, but she eventually sat her hand in Runa’s and let her clean the wound. A task done in near silence, save for the occasional sharp breath from Cyril and quiet apologies from his mother.

Mikael had never felt so useless.

He paced behind the sofa until his mother cut him a sharp glance that quite explicitly said occupy yourself .

So, for probably the first time in his life, Mikael tidied.

He started near his point of entry first, sliding her writing desk back against the wall and picking up a scattered spread of stationery and books. Then it was pillows and bedding, hauled up off the floor before he turned his attention to the overturned armchair.

By the time he looped back to the seating area, his mother was already wrapping Cyril’s hand. Mikael had to give her credit—she knew what she was doing. And it wasn’t Astor that gave her years’ worth of experience in wrapping every sort of injury imaginable. No, that was all Mikael’s own doing.

As his mother moved all her supplies off to the side, Mikael settled back onto the arm of the sofa. He stiffened when she said, “Cyril, do you remember what happened yesterday morning?”

Right to it, then.

For as gentle and loving as his mother was, she was ruthless in equal measure.

He watched Cyril as silence swept in, uneasy and heavy. She looked away from Runa, running her fingers over the fresh wrap of bandages on her hand.

She nodded, slowly.

“Bron,” Cyril whispered. “He…”

The way her voice cracked…

Mikael wasn’t sure he could handle this.

“I’m so sorry, Cyril,” his mother said as she nodded. “And I didn’t want to assume either way, but…do you want to go to his pyre? They’ll be lighting it soon.”

Cyril looked at Runa and nodded with glassy, tear-rimmed eyes.

“Good. Mikael and I will just tidy up, get you a clean shirt, and then we’ll head down.”

His mother’s eyes met his, and she inclined her head towards where Cyril’s bathroom and wardrobes were. Despite the urge to never be more than a foot away from Cyril again in his entire damn life, he followed his mother.

“Well, that answers that,” Runa sighed when she nudged open the bathroom door. “I’ll have to get someone in to clean while we’re out.”

Mikael peered over her shoulder.

Broken and bloodied glass littered the floor in front of the vanity, and Cyril was going to need a new mirror.

“Were her knuckles cut?” he asked as he stepped past his mother and swept aside some of the shrapnel with his foot. He hadn’t noticed, but his mother shook her head. Not that it mattered. “Do you see what I mean though? She’s not… here .”

“Sometimes, Mikael,” Runa said slowly, “when someone goes through an event that is particularly…traumatic like she did yesterday, they can…detach from themselves, in a way.”

She moved past him and dumped the bowl of blood-tinged water into the sink.

“It’s the mind’s way of trying to keep you safe, and at arm’s length from whatever is happening. But when left unattended and isolated like this, it can consume people.”

“She’s… detached ?” It didn’t entirely make sense to Mikael. But if his mother seemed so sure of it, he’d believe her.

Runa nodded.

“A bit, but not badly. They used to bring people like her to the temple for sanctuary when I was younger. But some of them were alone for so long that we couldn’t do much to help them, outside of giving them a safe place to lay their heads. Cyril, though? She’ll be alright with a bit of time.”

Well, that was…not as reassuring as his mother intended it to be.

He glanced back out into Cyril’s room and quietly asked, “Is there anything I can do to help her?”

“You’ve never been one to sit idle, have you?” His mother smiled and squeezed his shoulder as she stepped over, a comb and hair tie in her other hand. “Let me ask you something first, though. Are you sure you want to help her?”

Mikael narrowed his eyes at her. What a strange fucking question.

“Of course I am.”

“This is a commitment you have to make, Mika. You can’t just say you want to help her, and then decide you’re tired of it all in a couple of weeks and move on to another warm body. She might not recover from that sort of cruelty.”

Another warm body? Fucking hells.

He opened his mouth to protest. He knew his reputation with commitment wasn’t shining, but—

“And I will not judge you if you say no, if you do not want to take that on. Wren will help her in the infirmary to get back on her feet, so don’t worry about that.”

There wasn’t a doubt in Mikael’s mind.

“I want to help her.”

Runa pursed her lips and studied him, nodding.

“Then you are going to need to spend time with her, and help her ground and engage her senses.”

Mikael narrowed his eyes at her.

His mother had a terrible habit of phrasing things like they were the most simple concept imaginable.

“And I would do that how?”

“Oh, my boy,” she chuckled. “Let her hear your voice and feel your touch. Take her to sit in the sun and have the kitchens brew her strong tea. Make sure she eats and walks too. Anything to help her feel connected to the present moment. And”—she tapped his arm—“you need to be patient with her, above all else.”

For her? Mikael could do all of that, and then some. He would take some long overdue time away from his duties and focus on making sure she had everything she might need. That was easy.

“I can do that,” he said. “All of it.”

“Good.” His mother smiled at him, some measure of pride exuding from her. “Now, I’m sure you can handle getting her out of that bloody shirt while I find something for her to wear?”

Even with how Mikael and his mother rushed to get Cyril changed and out the door—his mother going as far as braiding Cyril’s damn hair while they hurried through the palace—Bron’s pyre started without them.

By the time their feet met the cragged back shore of the lake, the cloying smell of incense hung heavy in the air. Dion had already lit the first two corners of the flower and greenery-filled structure and was walking around to the third.

“Are you alright?” Mikael asked Cyril quietly.

A loaded and stupid question, he knew, but her face was unreadable and the silence she existed in was making him anxious. Cyril just stood there, between Mikael and his mother, with her arms slack at her sides and her eyes fixed on the pyre.

Her eyes slid over.

Her mouth opened and closed twice before her brows knit together.

“I don’t know…” she said so softly Mikael almost couldn’t hear her.

He knew that meant no.

So Mikael moved in behind Cyril and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He lowered his mouth to her ear and said, “I’ve got you, wrath. No matter what, okay?”

He felt her chest heave with a breath before she nodded.

That was good enough for the moment, and Mikael forced his attention out to the modest crowd that had gathered before them around the lake. Groups of guards mainly, of various ranks and stations, clustered with somber faces across the shore. His father stood with a handful of lords and other court officials. Even some staff from the palace had grouped up along the far edge of the lawn, where the grass just yielded to rocks and gravel.

Ren and Tyr held solemn posts closest to the pyre, watching as Dion set it alight.

Bright, crackling orange flame—not the usual blue preferred in Reykr—engulfed the structure and the lakeshore fell silent.

It persisted for a few long, heavy minutes before Ren cleared his throat, and a soft, whimpering noise left Cyril as he began speaking. Mikael wrapped his arms around her a bit tighter.

The words of passage carried on Ren’s booming voice were unfamiliar to Mikael, as he was sure they were to the predominantly moon-fae mourners, but a ripple of lowered heads still swept across the lakeshore.

“I do not loathe the Lady Death, as she lifts her veil to me. I do not scorn the Lady Death, as I scatter on the winds,” Ren said, his voice a powerful rumble. “I do not fear the Lady Death, as I walk her lands of eternal sun. For alone I do not walk, in the time that lies beyond. For alone, I will never walk, from now and until we meet again.”

When Ren lowered his head, Mikael found himself afraid to breathe, lest he be the one to break the silence saturating the incense-laden air. Eventually, the quiet movement of bodies picked up again.

Mikael eased his hold on Cyril and the sharp, shuddering breath she took kicked every one of his base instincts into motion.

Fuck waiting until they were freed by the mercy of dawn.

He wanted to get Cyril away from there now .

Away from the devastating reality burning away in front of them.

Away from her pathetic excuse of an uncle.

He wanted—no, needed— to get her inside, somewhere quiet and safe and warm where he could hold her and try to convince himself there was anything he could do to fix this.

But his mother put every racing thought to a halt when she reached over and rubbed Cyril’s shoulder.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” she asked.

“I…I need—” Cyril whimpered and wiped at her face. Defeat was heavy in her voice as she said, “Where is Dion?”

“Right over there. See?” His mother eased Cyril away from him, pointing as she encouraged her forward a few steps. “I can walk with you—”

Cyril shook her head and walked towards him on her own.

“She just needs her family,” Runa said quietly as she leaned her head against Mikael’s arm. He was fixated on the uneasy steps Cyril took across the backshore. “Her and Dion might be like oil and water, but they only have each other left.”

Mikael kept his thoughts on that matter to himself.

When Cyril made it to where Dion stood alone, she reached out, touching his arm. Dion flinched away from her, and tension seized Mikael’s body.

He couldn’t hear what she said to her uncle, not from this distance, but it looked tearful. Dion just shook his head at her and looked back at the pyre.

Cyril touched his arm again, a pleading look on her face, and Dion pulled away from her. He squared his shoulders, folding his arms across his chest, and Mikael had never felt as disgusted as he did in that singular moment.

“Dion, no ,” his mother breathed in clear disbelief from beside him.

The feeling was mutual then.

Mikael was certain they just witnessed a family bond shatter right in front of them.

Too many minutes passed before Cyril turned and started walking back towards them. She looked hollow, wounded. If it wasn’t for his mother planting herself firmly in Cyril’s path, he was sure she would have just kept walking until she hit a wall.

“Cyril, look at me,” Runa said, grasping Cyril’s face in her hands. Her bottom lip trembled as she chewed at it, her golden eyes brimming with tears. “We’ve got you, okay? Whatever you need, whatever you want, we will take care of you.”

“He didn’t wait— ” The noise that left Cyril was heart-rending. She sank to her knees, and Runa eased down into the gravel with her.

Useless and at a loss, Mikael kneeled beside them.

Cyril made some attempt to speak, but the woman could barely even breathe with how hard she cried. His mother’s own eyes had turned glossy as she wrapped her arms around Cyril and cradled her against her chest.

When Cyril finally got her choked and broken words out, the devastation of them made Mikael’s own eyes burn. Even Runa’s shoulders heaved with a quiet sob.

Dion didn’t give her a chance to say goodbye.