Nyx was six years old the last time I saw my mother's smile.

It was all so sudden. 

We were back at the stream, our place of solitude. Cyrus was attempting to soothe me as I sobbed loudly into his shoulder. “She’s at peace now, Nemmi,” he whispered. “She’s at peace.” 

I tried to speak but I was incoherent. Everything hurt: my body ached from shaking, my head was pounding, and my eyes felt heavy. I couldn’t catch my breath.

She didn’t even look sick. She looked like an angel to the end– even as she lay dead in the dirt two weeks ago at her funeral, her face appeared as if she were only sleeping. 

Father refused to even speak about her death. Since her passing, he seemed almost relieved—freed from the weight of her gentle spirit—and his anger towards me grew stronger. He developed a cruelty I never knew he possessed. Everything was worse now– so much worse than I could have imagined.

I was scared to talk about it, even to Cyrus– in fear that Father would turn his anger away from me and towards my best friend.

How did this even happen?

Cy just kept shushing me, slowly rocking back and forth. The vulnerability I felt in him comforting me only made it worse. My chest felt heavy, as if all the happiness had gone from the world– nothing was left except this empty hole, a lump in my throat, and my trembling chin.

“I want to run away,” I whimpered, remembering the pain of the bruises on my ribcage. “Let’s just run away.”

Cyrus shifted his weight. His hands pulled my head gently from his shoulder and he looked into my eyes. He had tears in his as well, clinging desperately to his long eyelashes. 

He had grown so much since we were younger, but still looked the same as the little boy he once was. At sixteen, his jaw became sharper and he was much taller; but there was still a softness in his eyes and his hair still held a blonde mop of curls. The angelic brand etched into his left cheek– still as much of a reminder that we were stuck in this prison.

For a moment, we stared… searching each other’s faces for a glimpse of hope. Only, we realized there was none. 

I was fourteen now, and for years we had been searching for answers about what might lie beyond the Veil. Every time we reached the farthest outskirts of our district, there were Kingsguards patrolling its perimeter to prevent any escape.

Cy’s thumb traced small circles across the angelic brand on my cheek in an attempt to soothe me. “It’ll be okay,” came his whisper.

Only, it wouldn’t. Mother was gone.

My eyes went wide and I pushed myself off of him, jumping quickly to my feet. My breathing became short and quick as I paced beside a tree. Everything I had been holding in began to pool in the center of my chest.

Before I knew it, I bent slightly and let out a hellish scream, my arms reaching to hold myself. Then, I turned my fit to the tree. I was yelling hysterically, my fists pounding into its bark repeatedly. My words came out in between sharp inhales after crying so hard.

“I HATE THIS STUPID PLACE! I HATE MY F-FUCKING FATHER! AND I HATE- HATE THE FUCKING KING! I HATE THEM. I HATE EVERYTHING!”

In a moment, Cy was beside me again, grasping at my arms, desperately trying to save the tree from my tantrum. It didn’t hurt the tree much. If anything, my knuckles were bleeding worse than the small amount of sap beginning to seep from its broken bark.

“Noemi,” he shouted at me. “Please! You are only hurting yourself. Calm-”

“I DON’T CARE!” I shot back, tugging my arms away from him. “I WANT TO LEAVE! I JUST– I want-”

“We can’t leave, Noemi,” Cyrus narrowed his eyes at me, frustration filling them. “There’s no way out and no amount of barbaric childish fits from you is going to fix that!”

My movement stilled and I stared at his face. His blue eyes were locked onto mine and I immediately felt shame wash over me. 

How could he be so cruel?

He exhaled forcefully. “Don’t you think I would love to leave too?” his voice came out, softer. 

I remained silent, still too shocked to speak. He never yelled at me.

He motioned to the ground, telling me to sit so he could heal my fists. I began to refuse, saying that he would be seen using magic, that he would get in trouble– but he snapped at me again.

“Just sit down and do what I tell you!” 

I shut up.

Slowly sitting, I displayed my bloody knuckles for him to see. I began to feel their sting and the extreme humiliation of Cy’s tone with me. Warmth flooded my cheeks.

He crouched beside me, examining them for a moment and then wrapped his hands around mine. White light illuminated from his palms. I felt relief immediately, shutting my eyes, the aching pain subsiding under my skin. 

It wasn’t just physical pain that he could heal, but there was a small portion of emotional pain that subsided with his ability. It was something he tried not to use often, because he didn’t like the idea of playing with people’s emotions. But, right now– I actually needed it. My head felt clear, and I suddenly wondered why I’d ever been upset in the first place.

As my eyes fluttered back open, I saw Cy staring in my face so intently that I held my breath. The glow from his hands was highlighting his features in the most pleasing way. His brow furrowed, lost in thought as the beautiful light slowly dimmed from his ability.

“Better?” he asked.

I looked at the ground, avoiding eye-contact. “Yes,” I mumbled.

“Good.” His arms reached for me, pulling me back into a hug. 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you like that.”

My head laid back on his shoulder and I took a deep breath, smelling his skin. It was calming… like coming home. With my anger subsided, I gently told him it was fine.

We sat together silently for a while, eventually laying down to stare at the sky. The sun began to set, and a beautiful red hue engulfed us. Red like my mother’s eyes. 

Cyrus found my hand with his fingers, slowly interlocking them as we laid down in the dirt, staring at the sunset my mother sent to us. 

After a while, a soft humming started. His angelic voice rose through the trees. I instantly knew the song– a mourning song– and imagined him singing the words:

“Come to the stream, where a dream awaits.

It whispers! So listen to its call.

From death’s quiet pull, to the torment we face,

To the wide rolling river–

it waits for us all.

In the currents soft murmur, the sorrows we bear

Are carried away on its gentle tide.

Though night falls heavy, there’s hope in the air;

The river takes the dead 

where the living can’t hide.”

I turned to look at him and his eyes settled on mine with empathy behind them.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

He looked back up at the sky. “Anything for you.”

Maybe there really was a river, beyond the little stream we knew, that took us to a place beyond worry. A place where the dead found peace. Maybe mother was there now, with her auburn hair floating gracefully in its stillness. 

Before we knew it, the red hue of the sky turned into a deep purple, the sun fading away. Bumps formed on my skin from the sudden cold.

“We should head back,” Cyrus spoke up. “Your father will start to worry.”

Sarcasm erupted from my mouth, “He’s probably hoping I’m dead already.” The words slipped out of me and I regretted it instantly. Cyrus looked at me with a worried expression.

“Nothing. I was–” I stammered, not knowing what to say next. “Please, forget I said it.”

He kept his expression, only urging me to say more. But I couldn’t. 

“Why would you say that?” Cyrus asked, concerned.

“Nothing,” I replied, pulling myself up to leave. “I’m headed home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Cyrus jumped up and grabbed my arm firmly, stopping my movement. “Is that why you want to run away? Is there something going on at home?”

“No, I’m fine. I will see you tomorrow.” At that, I turned around and began my journey back to the place I never wanted to return.

I turned towards my fathers home, one of the few nicer places in the district, since my father had recently taken a job directly for the king. I didn’t know exactly what he did, but I was aware it involved his ability.

That’s the only use we are to the King anyway.

In no time, I reached the steps to our front door. My hand turned the knob slowly, attempting to sneak in without him noticing. It was dark inside and smelled of heavy drink. As I closed the door behind me, my father’s voice called out.

“There you are, you dirty Lament.”

My heart dropped and I quickly spun around, more alert and... confused. I felt a drum in my chest and the hairs on my neck stood up. With a squint, I couldn’t see anything beyond the darkness that engulfed our living space. 

His voice sounded as though it were only feet away from me. Was he talking to me?

“Oh, you didn’t know? Don’t worry about it,” he said, the words sounding insincere. “I’ve found just the thing to help us forget it.”

Before I could respond, I heard quick footsteps and a fist landed into my temple.