10 Chapter 10 – Echoes of Fire
She didn’t answer.
“No,” he murmured, tears slipping down his cheeks. “You don’t have to-”
Then-
He looked at her, eyes wide.
She only handed him a folded cloth.
Wrapped in cloth.
The tune spilled out, soft and broken.
He crossed the room with stiff steps and grabbed her arm.
“*Get down!*”
A whistle.
She said nothing.
He stood abruptly-wobbling but upright, exoskeletal braces humming.
But Cyr heard none of it.
He had found her again.
Only the faint, fading echo of her voice-
Now she froze.
Bolts flew again.
“I- I don’t understand,” he whispered. “Why not tell me?”
Cyr stared at her, breathless. “What did
you do?”
And the only word she breathed before going still was his name:
“No,” he whispered. “You… died. That girl-she burned in the fire.”
“*Varethim.*”
She set the tray down and left without a word.
The music box.
Eileen Starshade.
Cyr sat down hard, as if the weight of it finally crushed his spine.
Her fingers signed: *You already did.*
Or maybe just tired.
“She was maybe five. Holding a music box”
He turned slowly.
He stepped back, nearly stumbling.
She nodded once.
The air trembled.
“And you’ve been *here*? All this time?”
Whispered.
“You never left, did you?”
She placed the box on his pillow.
She reached for his trembling hand.
“I think it’s real,” he continued. “Not just from dreams.”
But her fingers brushed his shoulder-tender, tentative.
The nightmares returned.
Then: “Why do *you* have it?”
Above, the assassins staggered, claws slipping, eyes glazing.
“Do you know the tune?” he asked.
She wrote slowly: *Because the fire that saved you… killed my entire family.*
Inside: a torn census page from sixteen years ago. Her name, half-burned.
“Who are you?”
When he awoke, he stared at it like it was a ghost.
“I saw a girl,” he murmured without turning. “In my dreams. Every time the fire comes back.”
“You *spoke*”
Eileen’s face remained composed, but her hands clutched the tray tighter.
A creak above.
Then repacked it and carried it to his chamber.
The blood drained from his face.
Eileen’s steps faltered.
But she smiled faintly, eyes fluttering.
He whispered, “I should’ve found you.”
“I *wanted* to save you.”
That night, when she returned to her attic room, she pulled out a small, scorched
bundle from beneath the floorboard.
His world cracked.
Eileen pressed her lips close to his ear.
And he froze.
He cradled her as footsteps pounded toward them.
Cyr grabbed a dagger from under the cushion and hurled it upward, striking one attacker square in the throat.
“Guards!” he roared. “To arms!”
She wept quietly.
She shook her head slowly.
Silver blood trickled from her mouth.
He studied her.
She looked away.
And the truth it carried.
Cyr gritted his teeth, dragging her behind the hearth as more arrows struck.
Another leapt down.
Again.
And this time…
“I carried you,” he said, dazed. “I remember now. You were so small. You wouldn’t stop crying.”
“I didn’t light it,” he said, voice hollow.
“I tried to carry her out. But I tripped. I remember heat, ash… then waking up with broken legs and a dead family.”
He saw it again-flames licking the palace walls, screams echoing through smoke-choked corridors, a child’s hand slipping from his-
He wasn’t letting go.
Turned it.
“I know this,” he whispered.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Assassins.
He approached her in his chair.
She turned the key.
The fire didn’t listen.
Except for one sound.
Cyr caught her before she collapsed.
Silver syllables.
The spell shattered.
She knelt beside him, bandages in hand.
Cyr sat upright in bed, breath ragged, sweat freezing against his skin.
Twisted metal. Blackened wood. But still intact.
Eileen raised a hand.
The man froze mid-lunge.
But she gently cleaned the blood on his palm where he’d squeezed too hard.
He was asleep by the fire, lips parted slightly, brows still furrowed in pain even in rest.
More shadows moved in the rafters.
But he jerked away.
But they wouldn’t arrive fast enough.
By sunrise, he hadn’t slept.
“Cyr…”
Eileen entered quietly, as always. She paused when she saw him at the window, knuckles white against the sill.
“And every time I think of pain, I hear that melody.”
–
Her voice was hoarse, almost broken. “Paused them.”
He blinked fast. “You lived?”
Wordless.
Forgiving..
217
“You’ve heard it too, haven’t you?”
And then-
Guards stormed in. Shouting. Steel. Firelight.
“No,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “Don’t go quiet now.”
Eileen coughing.
Blood sprayed the tapestries.
He didn’t stop her.
Cyr tackled him, screaming with adrenaline, braces locking his knees in place.
He reached for the key.
He tackled her just as the arrow slammed into the stone behind where she’d been kneeling.
The attacker went limp.
“Stop,” he whispered to no one.
Cyr’s eyes darted up.
The melody cracked and wheezed but still played-fragile notes drifting into the night.
