[House Veyrath — Seyra’s Chamber — The Next Day]
The morning sun spilled across the sandstone walls of House Veyrath, illuminating the bronze ornaments and carved guardians that watched over the estate. Servants moved quietly through the corridors, and the usual bustle of the household had yet to return.
Their young lady had returned from the Imperial Palace unconscious, and even the physician could not explain why she had remained asleep for two days, and Vaerun had spent most of those hours sitting beside his daughter’s bed.
The honey cakes remained on the bedside table, their wrapping untouched. Beside them sat the small wooden box he had brought from the desert.
Now, as the sunlight crept across the room, Vaerun sat in the same chair beside her bed, one arm resting on its carved wooden frame.
He was watching her when her eyelids began to flutter.
At first, the movement was so slight that he thought he had imagined it. Then Seyra’s face tightened, and she let out a weak, uncomfortable sound.
Vaerun straightened.
"Seyra?"
Her eyes opened slowly.
For several moments, she stared at the ceiling, her violet eyes unfocused. She looked exhausted, her cheeks flushed with fever and her breathing shallow. She turned her head a little, and her gaze finally settled on Vaerun.
Father and daughter’s gaze locked onto each other.
He watched the confusion in her eyes give way to recognition. Then, slowly, her lower lip trembled. Her little hand emerged from beneath the blanket, reaching towards him with the uncertain movement of a child who had been lost for too long.
"Papa..."
Her voice was hoarse. Vaerun leaned forward at once and took her hand, and Seyra’s fingers curled around his.
"I... missed you."
Something tightened behind his ribs; he brushed the damp hair away from her forehead and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders.
"You still have a fever, little lizard. Rest for a while; we can talk when you feel better."
She nodded faintly, but her fingers refused to release his hand. Her eyes remained fixed on his face, as though she were checking that he had truly returned and would not disappear if she looked away.
After a moment, she asked, "Papa?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you angry with me?"
Vaerun studied her.
"What have you done?"
Seyra’s eyes dropped to the blanket.
"I caused trouble."
"What trouble?"
. . .
. . .
"I... I don’t know." Her voice grew smaller. "I was angry at Malik."
Vaerun remained silent for a moment. He had a hundred questions, but the child before him looked too tired to answer even one.
"Did he hurt you?"
Seyra’s fingers tightened around his hand. She did not answer.
"I brought you something from the desert," Vaerun said. "A honey cake. They are rather good, according to Kharzen, although I suspect he ate enough of them to make himself an expert."
Seyra glanced at the box and smiled softly.
"Recover first. You can inspect my questionable choice of gifts when you are stronger."
She gave him the faintest nod, and then for a little while, the room remained quiet. Outside, a pair of birds called from the courtyard, and sunlight shimmered against the bronze bells hanging beneath the eaves.
Then Seyra spoke again.
"Papa, will you sleep with me?"
Vaerun looked at her; she was still holding his hand, her small fingers wrapped around two of his as though she feared he might get up and leave.
He removed his outer robe, set it over the back of the chair, and carefully lay down beside her.
The bed was not made for a grown man, but he managed to settle himself without disturbing her. He drew the blanket over them and gathered Seyra into his arms, supporting her head against his chest.
"There...I will stay."
Seyra pressed closer, and for a few moments, she seemed content simply to listen to his heartbeat. Her breathing gradually settled, and Vaerun thought she might have fallen asleep again.
Then she whispered, "Papa?"
"Yes?"
"What is my place?"
. . .
. . .
His eyes lowered to her face. "What do you think?"
Seyra stared at a fold in his shirt, rubbing the fabric between her fingers.
"I... I don’t know."
Vaerun waited; she swallowed, her little brows drawing together as she struggled to explain something she did not yet understand herself.
"Am I supposed to stay quiet? Should I not ask for things?" Her voice wavered. "Did I do something bad because I wanted Malik to like me?"
Vaerun’s expression grew still. Seyra blinked rapidly, but the tears had already begun to gather.
"I thought...I thought he would like me." A tear slipped down her cheek. "I thought if I was good and if I made him happy, he would want me there, but he said I must know my place. He said I shouldn’t be a burden."
She looked up at Vaerun, her eyes shining with tears.
"So, Papa, what is my place?"
Vaerun did not answer immediately.
He could have told her that she was Seyra Veyrath, daughter of the Azram, heir to House Veyrath. He could have reminded her that no one in the empire had the authority to decide whether she deserved kindness, but Seyra was not asking about her title.
She was asking why someone she had wanted to love her had made her feel so small; she lowered her face against his chest.
"He looked at me like I was something bad." Her voice broke. "Like... like a bug."
The first sob escaped before she could stop it.
She immediately tried to hide her face, pressing it into Vaerun’s shirt as though she were ashamed of the sound. Her little shoulders shook, and the tears came faster than she could wipe them away.
Vaerun remained still.
Seyra clutched his shirt with both hands, twisting the fabric between her fingers. Her fever-warm face pressed against his chest, and soon the tears began soaking through the dark material.
Vaerun’s jaw clenched as he understood, at last, that whatever had happened in the Imperial Palace had wounded her in a place he could not reach with a sword.
Seyra cried harder, and her tears soaked through his shirt. She made no attempt to stop them now. Her face was scrunched up, her nose reddened, and every breath came with a small, broken hiccup.
Vaerun did not tell her to be quiet.
He did not tell her that she was too young to understand, nor did he ask her to explain what she had done. He simply held her, one arm secure around her small body while his other hand rested gently against the back of her head.
When she shifted closer, he adjusted the blanket around her.
When her sobs grew so violent that she struggled to catch her breath, he rubbed her back slowly until she could breathe again, and when she cried into his shirt until the fabric was thoroughly damp, he did not move her away.
He let her.
There was only his daughter, crying as though her little heart had been broken, and the knowledge that he could not undo what had made her feel so worthless.
After a while, her sobs gradually softened. The little hiccups continued, interrupted by the occasional sniffle, but she no longer seemed to be fighting the tears with every breath.
Vaerun waited until she had settled somewhat before looking down at the damp, dishevelled child in his arms.
"Are you finished crying?"
Seyra slowly lifted her head.
Her violet eyes were swollen, her cheeks red, and her nose was running. Strands of dark hair clung to her damp face, and her lower lip trembled as she stared at him.
Vaerun examined her for a moment.
Then he said, with the same calmness he might have used to comment on the weather, "You look like an ugly lizard."
. . .
. . .
Silence.
Seyra blinked, then her entire face twisted with outrage.
"YOU—!"
She struck his chest with both tiny fists.
"HOW CAN YOU CALL ME UGLY INSTEAD OF COMFORTING ME?! I WAS CRYING! I WAS VERY SAD! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SAY NICE THINGS! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO TELL ME I’M PRETTY AND CUTE AND THAT EVERYONE ELSE IS STUPID!"
Vaerun caught one of her flailing hands before it could strike him beneath the chin.
"Is that so?"
"YES!"
"And here I thought you were crying because your heart had been broken."
"It WAS BROKEN!"
"And still shouting?"
"BECAUSE YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE!"
. . .
. . .
Her voice cracked on the last word, and she buried her face against his chest again—not to cry this time, but to hide her furious expression.
"Ugh! I can’t believe you! You’re the worst father in the entire empire!"
Vaerun raised an eyebrow.
"The entire empire?"
"Yes!"
"An impressive conclusion for someone who has met so few fathers."
Seyra lifted her head just enough to glare at him.
Ugh...I hate you."
"Of course."
"I really hate you!"
"I heard you the first time."
She struck his chest once more, though the blow had considerably less force than before.
Vaerun caught her little hand and gently wiped her nose with the clean corner of a cloth he retrieved from the bedside table.
Seyra immediately recoiled.
"That’s embarrassing!"
"You were just using my shirt as a handkerchief. I believe we passed, embarrassing several tears ago."
She stared at the damp fabric, then at him; for a brief moment, she seemed to consider arguing. Unfortunately, even a future ruler of Eshkaran had to admit when the evidence was against her.
She settled for an enormous pout.
Vaerun wiped her nose properly and set the cloth aside. Then he adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, making certain she was warm before drawing her back against his chest.
"Do you need me to say something nice so you can understand what your place is in my life?"
Her pout faltered; she looked up at him through her swollen eyes. Vaerun met her gaze without a trace of amusement now.
"Do you truly believe that you need to earn the right to remain here?"
Seyra’s fingers curled into his shirt.
"I don’t know..."
"You are my daughter. I chose you, and I will continue choosing you even when you are troublesome, unreasonable, or determined to destroy my peace before breakfast."
Seyra’s mouth fell open.
"You’re supposed to say nice things!"
"I have said several."
"YOU CALLED ME TROUBLESOME!"
"Would you prefer dishonest praise?"
She glared at him, her cheeks puffing up. Vaerun’s mouth twitched.
"There is my little tyrant."
"I’m not a tyrant!"
"Of course not. You merely shout at your father while sitting in his bed, wrapped in his blanket, after soaking his shirt with your tears."
Seyra glanced down at herself, then she pulled the blanket higher, concealing her face up to her nose.
This time, Vaerun allowed himself a faint smile, he stroked her back, letting the silence settle between them before speaking again.
"What a stupid daughter I have. So stupid that a few cruel words from someone else can make her believe she has no place in this world."
Her expression changed.
Vaerun’s fingers moved gently through her dark hair and he kissed the top of her head.
Seyra’s tiny hands immediately clutched his shirt and her eyes slowly closed, and her breathing grew softer. Even as sleep claimed her, she kept one fist curled into his shirt, as though she intended to make certain he could not escape without her permission.
Vaerun glanced down at the small hand gripping his clothes.
He pulled the blanket around her, shielding her from the morning chill that slipped through the sandstone walls. Then he settled back against the pillows, one arm secure around his daughter.
And as the morning sun warmed the chamber, the Silent Tempest watched over his sleeping daughter, whose tears had dried against his shirt and whose little fingers still refused to let him go.