Jesper’s words kept replaying in her mind, perhaps rivaling those dreams with how much it haunted her. Then, amidst all that confusion, another thought rose above it all. It’s strange, the kinds of things we say and do to justify murder.
She knew there were undoubtedly several among the Ravens’ ranks that did intend to harm, that did use their circumstances to hurt others, out of personal gain or otherwise. But the people she’d seen seemed average—as Jesper guided her back out, she even realized she recognized a few of them. They were the same residents of Hyasari that she’d practically grown up with, many of whom she knew and trusted a bit like family. They weren’t the kind of people that deserved to die, especially not with the social scar of being branded as heretics.
Nearly every one of the people in that book had to have been the same. Yet they’d been executed, burned in hopes the flames might redeem them, when they’d truly done nothing wrong.
Philyra spent the ride to the Lake wondering what it would be like to be in their place. She considered if she’d rather be the one watching, high up in a safe place, indifferent to their cries… or if she’d rather be tied down, crying as flesh burned, yet knowing that she at least stood by her beliefs.
She used to know exactly what she would choose. The line was quickly blurring. And if anyone noticed, no one seemed to care enough to ask her about it.
Not that she really wanted to give them an answer.
When they got closer to the Lake, preparing to leave the carriage and greet the others that had come, she scanned the area and all the familiar faces. She could see Imre and Dimas, already coming over to welcome them when they were ready. Kiah was a bit closer to the fort, talking with mostly-unfamiliar people boasting the armor of Seothia’s army. Samone was out of sight, but Philyra assumed that the presence of another magic user belonged to her. Tavin had to have been there, somewhere; they wouldn’t have left him at the castle with no one else there with him. Given that he wasn’t with Imre and Dimas, though, it was probably safe to assume he hadn’t been feeling well.
Philyra fell right into step behind Zofie and Thero, managing the closest thing to a smile she could for all the thoughts running through her head.
“I assumed you’d rather wait until tomorrow to talk,” Imre said to Zofie, after their greetings were done. “I’d planned on meeting with some others here, but none of them have come yet…”
“Fine by me.” She immediately turned to Dimas. “It gives me some time to talk with you.”
“As far as I’m aware, I didn’t do anything,” he pointed out.
“Oh, you know exactly what you did.” Zofie grabbed his hand and started dragging him inside. Thero casually trailed behind them.
“Please don’t start arguing!” Imre called. He soon realized, though, that the suggestion was made in vain, and sighed. He put on a softer expression as he turned back to Philyra. “Tavin’s in the same room he usually is, if you want to talk with him. He wasn’t feeling well this morning and he’s still resting.”
“No, I… I won’t bother him. We can talk later.” She gave him a weak smile before wandering to the lakeside.
This was always where those dreams would take place. Before, she hadn’t dared to get close to the spot where that dream ended—where she would die. But, for some reason, she found herself wandering towards it now. She simply sat down by the water’s edge, staring across the vast and glimmering lake. She closed her eyes here, certain everyone was too busy to pay attention to her, and let half-familiar voices move around her.
“It’s a lot more peaceful here than I would’ve expected… or, perhaps I should say, from the last time I was here.” That voice was not-hers, as the one in all the dreams. It was like an echo in her mind, too, at least reassuring herself that she wasn’t saying anything out loud and was the only one hearing it.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“The ‘last time’ you were here you were also lost on the Seothian side of the border.” It was a voice she knew, yet would also say she didn’t. There was something about it that held such an air of something belonging to a friend, but she couldn’t—or, perhaps, chose not to—dwell on the face it belonged to.
“I suppose you have a point…”
“Come on, don’t sound like that! We’re here for good reasons, remember? All of that can be put behind us now.”
“Will it really be that easy..?”
“Well, honestly, I don’t think any of us can know for certain. But I’ve got a good feeling about all of this. We’re going to do amazing things together, for both of our nations. I just know it.”
He—whoever he was, exactly—had always been like that, that she knew for certain. They’d worked together. They’d sit by this lake and talk through the transgressions made to her people, the ones that his had inflicted. There were times when the effort seemed fruitless; that, given a few years, those fires of change would either burn out or give birth to something destructive. But then there were times when their work was done, and they could speak of casual things and their families. Times where she’d watched his children grow and how happy she’d been to introduce them all to her own daughter.
He’d been the one to call out her name in those final, fleeting moments of consciousness. “Norah!”
But it was another calm, clear voice that broke her out of all the fragmented memories. “Princess Philyra.”
Philyra gave herself one more moment to become “her” again, before opening her eyes and shifting to look at Kadol. She didn’t have to say anything; he already knew that he had her attention.
“It’s almost time to eat,” he explained. He held out a hand to her and she accepted.
“Are… Mother and Uncle Dimas finished?” she dared to ask.
It seemed that seeing each other in person always brought the same results, no matter who else was watching—some kind of argument, louder than what either of them would ever manage if they weren’t together. Or, at least, Imre’s look the first time they fought at a visit to the Lake seemed to prove as much.
Kadol nodded. “The chances of them starting again during dinner is fairly unlikely. Thero was able to make them compromise.”
She was only slightly assured by that answer, but she knew it was as close to a guarantee that she was going to get.
Only after a moment did she realize that they’d arrived at the Lake around noon, and it was now late enough to become wary of the shadows. She must’ve been sitting there for a lot longer than she thought she was, with those fragments of memories that weren’t hers. Really, she didn’t know if she should think it made sense that no one talked to her before—everyone else was likely inside, or doing something else, and Zofie had been arguing with Dimas—or use it as some kind of testament… even if she could claim to be no better.
They were all responsible, in one way or another, for the disappearance of likely the most important person any of them would’ve known in their lifetimes.
She could never tell if the semblance of normalcy that they put up—as if they had not housed a dreamer, as if Natheniel had never existed to begin with—was a way to cope with or ignore the underlying issues. But, if there was one place where the dissonance between their outward appearances and their inner thoughts were the most clear, it was when they all sat down to eat.
“Mom’s doing okay, right?” Domenique asked, one of many conversations that would be born and die in a matter of moments.
“She’d be better, if you’d come to visit her yourself,” Imre mumbled casually. “I’ve talked with her more than it sounds like you have.”
“I’ve been busy,” she decided after a moment. “Maybe I’ll take some time off next year.”
“You and Dimas can switch places,” Zofie offered, surprisingly calm despite the glare she gave her twin across the table. “That way he can’t use Tavin as an excuse. It’ll be right around New Year’s—the perfect time to visit Kamila.”
Dimas, perhaps acknowledging that he didn’t truly have a say in the matter, sighed. “Speaking of, it doesn’t look like Tavin’s going to come. I’ll check on him when I’m done…”
“I finished,” Philyra blurted, all too suddenly. “I can bring his dinner to him.”
Dimas nodded. “Just set it by the bed if he’s resting. Ask him if he needs anything—I can be done a lot sooner if he needs me.”
She gave a nod of her own, standing up and heading to the kitchen to collect it. On her way out, she heard the shattering of a casual air, the kind of conversations the adults had when they thought no one would hear them.
“They’ve… been happening a lot more frequently recently, haven’t they?”
“It seems so. We haven’t been able to explain it, though… not like last time.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with him?”
Philyra, already suffocated by the speculation, quickly left earshot before she could hear anything else.
She wanted to pretend like it was only her own little world that was being shaken.