48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

M ikael slipped through the unlocked door and followed the sound of voices down the corridor into the sitting room his mother always preferred to spend her time in. He’d always hated it there. The regality in its blue and silver floral wallpapers and plush, cream-colored furniture made him uncomfortable.

His parents stood at the fireplace, in front of the network of polished steel flowers and vines that made up its decorative screen. His mother’s head rested against his father’s shoulder. He hadn’t expected to see tears in her eyes when she turned around.

“What in the hells happened?” he asked.

Mikael didn’t bother with greetings or niceties. They were certainly past the point of that today. Or at least, that’s what he thought.

The narrowed glance Lars shot him said his father thought otherwise.

Runa sighed and wiped at her face with one long sleeve of her robe.

“My reasons should be obvious, but I do not want Cyril going back to Helia,” she said, sitting down on the sofa. Lars settled in beside her, and Mikael took a chair opposite them.

“That makes sense.”

“Your father and I, we—” His parents exchanged a glance, and Lars nodded. “We’ve offered Cyril sanctuary, here in Reykr, should she want it. We agreed on it weeks ago, truthfully, but with everything that has happened… There was never a good time for me to broach the subject with her, not with the grief she was navigating.”

Runa let out a slow breath and wiped at her face again. Seeing his mother lose her composure like this was not something he witnessed often in his life.

“And what does sanctuary mean, exactly?” Mikael asked.

“Formally?” his father said. “We would issue her refugee papers, based on the grounds of serious risk to her life in Helia. After that, it would take a few months, but we’d be able to get Cyril her citizenship. She is part moon-fae, after all, and since your mother, well…”

Lars’ eyes slid over to Runa.

Her smile was a sad, tight thing.

“I’m one of her guardians.”

Mikael blinked. “You are?”

“I am.” Runa nodded. “It was what Malia wanted, and Hector and Dion saw that her wishes were honored. Obviously, Dion had precedence, given he is her blood, but in…” She blew out a shaky breath. “In the event that they were gone, and Dion could not fulfill his duties, her care would fall under my responsibility.”

“That’s very touching, but—” Mikael ignored the sharp look his father cut him. “Why does it matter who her guardian is? She’s an adult.”

It bothered him even when Cyril talked about it, but he just added it to the long list of things he realized he didn’t understand about the fae of the south. Things he wasn’t overly interested in understanding, either.

“It matters because highborn women in Southern Carinae don’t have the same rights they do here, Mikael.” Runa’s expression softened into something empathetic. “There they get passed from the care of their families to the care of their spouse, and because Cyril is not married, it means Dion is still responsible for her under their laws.”

Mikael just shook his head.

That Dion, the Lord of Helia, wouldn’t even fight for his damn niece to have rights…

“Safe to say Dion is no longer fit to carry out his duties as her guardian,” his father muttered, and Mikael couldn’t agree more. That man should have never been responsible for someone’s care or upbringing. “But that helps our case with getting her citizenship if she accepts our offer.”

Mikael wasn’t sure why she wouldn’t accept their offer, given everything, but one thing still made little sense to him…

“...And your offer upset her?”

“She was angry at first.” Runa huffed a laugh tinged with something bitter. “Not at me, or us, but Dion. Because I was another thing he kept from her, and did not give her a choice of. And then reality caught up with her a bit, of what she’s already lost, and what she would still stand to lose in exchange for her freedom.”

Mikael felt like his questions were never-ending. He sighed and sank back in his chair. “What does she even have left to lose? Dion? I’d hardly call that a loss.”

His father made a noise that had him inclined to believe Lars agreed.

Runa did not look impressed with either of them.

“Her home, Mikael. Helia is her home . Everything she has ever known is there. Not to mention we know Dion would strip her of her title, the lands that would be hers one day, any money she has. She would start over completely. But I did tell her we would take care of everything for her. Whether she wants to live here or in the city, if she wants to work or not, we will see that she doesn’t want for anything.”

Generosity was never something his parents had a short supply of for those who truly needed it, and Mikael knew that well, but he had never witnessed them invested so personally. His father, especially, given his role, was a purveyor of kind neutrality. This was the furthest Mikael had ever seen him tip the scales.

“Can I ask what happened last night?”

Another damn question, but Mikael knew the likelihood of him getting any sort of answer out of Cyril was next to zero. Truly, he wanted to ask what wild fucking chain of events led to Dion thinking he had any right to touch her, but his mother looked like she was hanging on by a thread.

His parents both spoke at once, but Lars motioned for Runa to continue.

“He stripped her of any association she had with the guild and, in light of that decision, he had all of her research and findings from the archives destroyed…”

Mikael was certain his heart dropped right out of his body.

He couldn’t fathom how many hours Cyril had spent in the archives, pouring over texts and tomes, writing pages upon pages of notes until her hand cramped. All in the name of trying to make herself useful, to be of some sort of value to her uncle and his guild.

And the fucking bastard took that from her.

“He did what? ”

Runa just nodded, her eyes tired and heavy.

“He cited her…behavior as his justification. He tried to take all her freedom too, saying it was a matter of her safety. Then they—” His mother blew out a shaky breath, and he watched her lose hold of that frayed strand of composure she clung onto. Her shoulders shook and a quiet sob left her. “They went at it, and that’s when he…when he…”

She didn’t need to say anything else.

Even Lars closed his eyes, his body sagging with a sigh.

“I tried for years to convince him to bring her here,” Runa said shakily through her tears, “to let us see to her education and upbringing. But Dion thought he knew better, thought she needed to be with him, that he would take better care of her.” She scoffed and shook her head, dabbing her sleeve to her face. “I will never forgive myself for how I failed her, for not keeping her safe. But I will be damned if I do not give Cyril her wings.”

Mikael knew now that his mother would move mountains for Cyril if this entire display said anything. But parsing the absolute deluge of information that was just dumped on him felt impossible when all he could think of was the condition he left Cyril alone in.

“You know I’ll help in any way I can,” he said, and the faintest glimmer of a smile tugged at his mother’s features. “But I should see if she needs anything. I don’t think she should be alone for long…”

Mikael stood, and his parents did as well.

His mother came around the small tea table and hugged him, saying, “Cyril is going to need time and patience, and both in healthy measures. Her entire life has been spent at the mercy of others—having things taken away from her, her every move dictated. Once these dark clouds of her grief clear, she will need help to navigate her freedom, if she chooses it.”

“She can have whatever time she needs. I’m not going anywhere.” Mikael half shrugged as his mother leaned back and smiled at him, her silvery blue eyes still glossy and red.

It was the truth, though.

He would stick it out for however long she needed. It would be tantamount to cruelty to leave her on her own now, and the thought of not being around her made him wholly uneasy. Whatever wild fucking implication that had, he would process it later.

“Good.” She patted his chest and stepped away, but he caught the amusement that crept into her face just before she said, “I thought that might be the case, considering how thoroughly invested the two of you are now.”

Mikael blinked. Did she mean…

He looked from his mother, over to where his father had leaned back against the sideboard that housed all the crystals and stones his mother liked to keep for good measure.

“You two reek of each other,” Lars chuckled, “And there is no mistaking that for anything else. I’m just surprised it took this long.”

“The scent of you two was almost indecent at lunch,” Runa added, less than helpfully. Mikael wasn't usually one to find himself embarrassed, but this conversation? He could do with being no part of it. “And that bruise I saw on her throat, Mikael? Am I mistaken in thinking you almost made a very hasty decision?”

Yeah, he would not be part of this discussion anymore.

Cyril’s well-being and her future? He could handle that.

His mother dishing out thoughts on their intimate dealings? Not a fucking chance.

“How you are mistaken, Mother, is thinking any of this is your business.”

He headed out of the sitting room and heard his father mumble something in agreement with him. They’d agreed on more in the last day than they probably had in ten years, and it was unsettling. His mother, of course, followed him out.

“Mikael, you both better be taking a tonic!” she called after him, but Mikael waved her off and kept on down the hallway.

He had Cyril to take care of.

Pools of the thinning, late afternoon sun greeted Mikael when he pushed open the door to his room. Cyril’s head lifted from where she was curled up on her side on the bed.

“It’s just me,” he said softly, and her head sank back down.

Mikael toed off his boots and walked over. Sitting on the bench at the foot of his bed was a folded pile of clothes that looked awfully like what she had on earlier.

“You found something to wear?” he asked.

“I took one of your shirts.” Cyril’s eyes tracked him for a moment as he rounded the bed. She tugged the blanket up around her face and her heavy eyes slipped shut. “I hope that’s okay.”

Patience, he reminded himself.

“Of course it is.” Mikael brushed a section of hair back from her face, sweeping it behind the delicate point of her ear. She’d taken the time to wrangle it out of the braid she wove it into earlier, and run a brush through it, from the looks of things. “Did you not want the curtains closed, or…?”

“Couldn’t be bothered,” she sighed into the blankets.

Her apathy was palpable.

Mikael worked his way around the four windows in silence, pulling the heavy drapery shut on each until nothing but a thin stream of light trickled in between the navy blue panels.

“Can I join you?” he asked because this was the sort of territory he wanted to make zero assumptions in. He hoped she would say yes, that she would entertain the need he felt to be close to her and take care of her.

He didn’t expect her to whisper, “Please.”

Mikael’s heart ached as he eased under the blankets behind her and wrapped every fiber of his being around her little, broken frame. She settled back against him with a quiet noise that sounded almost content, and some deep-seated part of him breathed the smallest sigh of relief.

“Are you alright, Cyr?”

Even though he knew the likely answer, he felt like he had to ask.

She was calmer now than she’d been an hour ago. Maybe she’d had an epiphany while she sat in here alone. Maybe she realized that this dark and lingering night could give way to a dawn where she had choices, where she had freedom and—

“No.”

Mikael pressed his lips to her shoulder and said, “I know.”

He thought that would be the end of it, that heavy silence would settle in. But Cyril shifted in his arms and quietly added, “I understand why he did it.”

Every muscle in Mikael’s body went tense.

“What?”

Was she insinuating that there was justification to what Dion did, that—

“My father. What he did.” She sighed and gripped his arms. Her fingers were so fucking cold . “He wasn’t a coward, he just…he lost everything…and…I understand now.”

Ice plunged through Mikael’s veins.

He was sure he’d never heard more unsettling words spoken.

At one point, all he wanted was for Cyril to understand her father wasn’t a coward for taking his own life. He was just a man who had experienced unimaginable tragedy. But Mikael never wanted her to understand in a way that the events of her own life made it seem justifiable.

He tightened his arms around her, if that were even possible, and said, “You should get some rest, Cyr.”

He didn’t know what the fuck else to say.

A quiet hum left Cyril, and it took some time, but she settled. Her breathing slowed to a soft and shallow rhythm, and the desperate grip she held on his arms went slack.

Mikael did not get any rest.

He laid there with Cyril for hours, watching as those thin streams of daylight drifted the rest of the way across the room and vanished, bathing them in darkness. After her frightening declaration, he was wary to leave her for even a few minutes, but his eyes snagged on the clock on his bedside table and he eased himself away from her.

It was hours past dinner now, and Cyril needed to eat at some point. Even if she refused to take care of herself, Mikael would be damned if he didn’t do his part. The same song and dance they’d done since Bron’s death.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hungry either, and he knew the kitchens were not a fan of visitors too late in the evenings.

So Mikael worked himself into some semblance of presentable and wandered down through the quiet and heavily guarded halls. Both were things, he supposed, that stemmed from the tragedy that unfolded the day before in the archives.

He had a twinge of guilt for the work that he should be doing, the paperwork, and the organizing of manpower. But the fading wisp of a woman sleeping up in his bed took precedence over everything. He knew Ari could handle things on his own.

Thankfully, no one batted an eyelash when he slipped into the kitchens. He loaded a plate with odds and ends for the both of them, snagged two mugs of tea, and left as quickly as he came.

Upstairs, when he nudged open the door, Cyril was sitting up against the headboard. Her knees were drawn tight to her chest and one of the table lamps was lit.

“Where did you go?” she asked, and he recognized the shakiness in her voice immediately. Her following sniffle was only further confirmation. “I woke up, and you were gone, and I didn’t know…”

Patience. Patience. Patience.

“Just to the kitchens.”

Mikael held up the plate as he pushed the door shut with his foot.

His quarters weren’t exactly a place built for entertaining of this variety, but he slid the stack of logbooks over on the low table by the fire and cleared a spot off for them on the sofa. A proper cleaning could happen another day.

“Come eat something.”

Cyril sank into the pillows and blankets. “I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve eaten half a meal in two days. I highly doubt that.” Mikael held back on the urge to mention she certainly must have worked up an appetite. Humor didn’t seem like a wise choice. “Come and eat a bit.”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Cyr, please,” he sighed, but Cyril just shook her head.

“I’m not hungry. I don’t—” Her voice cracked, and Mikael gave up his fight. It wasn’t worth it at all.

“Okay, okay. That’s fine.” Mikael ran a hand through his hair and took a slow breath. He settled on the sofa and managed a couple of bites of food, his own appetite suddenly absent. “I brought tea if you want that. Before it gets cold?”

A single offer and he wouldn’t push her any further.

To his surprise, fabric rustled softly and Cyril’s bare feet padded across the floor. The sofa didn’t even dip when she settled down on the cushion beside him, a mug clasped between her hands.

With her boney shoulders curled in, and her frame drowning in one of his shirts, the woman that sat beside him now was a shell of the one who once had no problem knocking him flat on his ass.

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely.

Hollowness hung in her eyes as she stared over at the fire, quiet and unmoving. Minutes passed, and she never took a sip of her tea.

“It’ll be okay, you know,” Mikael finally said, turning to face her. “It’ll take some time, but—”

Cyril’s eyes slid over to him.

“Please don’t say that.” Her words were tense and spoken with slow purpose. “Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay when you still have a home and your family, and your job and friends. When you still have your purpose, and a future ahead of you.”

Mikael, for possibly the first time in his life, had fucked up by simply existing .

“Cyr, I didn’t mean—”

“I have nothing left, Mika. It’s all gone. My home, and my family. My purpose .” Cyril’s voice wavered, and she unfurled from herself, a sheet of black hair slipping forward as she set her mug on the table. She blew out a slow and shaky breath, her shoulders shook on the inhale. “I just want to go home , but I can’t… It’s all gone.”

She didn’t fight Mikael when he pulled her over and got his arms around her.

“Maybe it won’t be okay. Maybe everything you had before is gone,” he said softly. “But we’ll take care of you here, Cyr. We’ll help you build a new home if you’ll let us, and my family will treat you like their own, whether you like it or not.” That, at least, drew a muted noise from her. He’d consider it a laugh. “And purpose? We will figure that out.”

“We?” she said.

The implication loaded in the single word should have terrified Mikael. We. Not just him or her as solitary people, but them.

It didn’t terrify him at all, though.

“We,” he confirmed, and for a long while, Cyril said nothing.

Her arms snaked their way around Mikael’s neck, though, and she nestled herself in. She was exactly where she belonged. Where, for the time being, he could keep her safe and shielded from whatever harsh reality awaited her next.

That was enough to leave him content for now.

“Do you want to get some sleep?” he asked, tracing idle circles on her back.

Cyril made a quiet, hesitant noise before she said, “No...I’m hungry.”

Mikael laughed .