HYACINTHUS

Chapter Seven

WHEN THE LAST BIT of my mother's remains was devoured away by the fire, people started departing quietly. The moon was already high up in the purple sky above our heads.

I stayed a bit more. I watched the dance of the flames, wild and poised still, agitated yet undeniably graceful. The fire was the spitting image of her, the wind that had once ruffled the brazen strands of her copper hair, was now playing with the flames.

She was there, at least her spirit appeared to be, she was present in the fire, the crackle of it was her voice softly speaking. Her soul was fueling it to move so enchantingly, yet she didn't care if it warmed anyone.
As always, it was only appearances that mattered.

The sky was already lightening, graying before the dawn, when the fire finally died out. Only a light trail of smoke elevated itself from the dark remains of ashes and ember.

I glanced around myself. Not a soul. Even the guards had silently left their places. My father and my siblings were back in the palace, sleeping soundly, snoring away soft dreams.
I was the only fool, the biggest fool: I wanted to watch her die, I wanted to make sure that every single piece of her had left this Earth.

Only if the dead are truly gone, can a living soul be at peace.

I approached the little pile of coal. The black stones were still hot, my fingers protesting as their scalding surface touched their tips. I ignored the pain, cupping as much ash I could into my hand.

This morning, when it cools, the servants will come collect it, and bury it in an urn. Her name will be engraved on it. To give the impression of a loving widowed husband, my father will visit her grave often, bending to kiss the urn, as he almost never kissed her lips.

The ashes fell through my fingers like gray grains of sand that had been warmed by the sun. Even as the last grain fell back on the earth, my palms were still dirtied, covered in a sprinkle of gray dirt.

"To Hades", I whispered, and only the wind could hear me, because I knew her soul had long left the ashes.

I lifted myself up from my previous crouching position, and left the pyre without looking back once.

There was nothing of importance left there.

The following morning, the servants gasped when they saw me in the corridor.

"Little lord Hyacinthus!", the old Eunaide exclaimed, who had worked in the palace before my father was even born. "By Zeus, what happened to-"

Her eyes traveled to my head, shaved so closely one could see the skin underneath. I had cut away my beautiful raven mane of hair that my mother prouded herself upon.

I was now as bald as the Spartan warriors on the fields, at least until stubble starts growing back.

I smiled, and suddenly felt aware of the way my teeth so strangely flashed; my mouth corners felt tense, long had passed before I had smiled last.

"I had a change of heart," I said, and continued towards the dining room.

I was intent on not eating in my filthy room anymore, at least until it was thoroughly cleaned. I had slept the last two hours left of the night in the cold tub of the royal bathroom, after having disposed of my hair, burning it right next to my mother's ashes.

This morning, that part of me will be buried too alongside her, the child she loved would go with her.

I wasn't that child anymore.

Before I knew it, the big fat arms of Eunaide wrapped themselves around me.

"I'm proud of you, my boy", she said, and her voice trembled, along with her multiple chins. "It pained me that I could do nothing to get you out of that prison of a room... the late queen would have been greatly angered."

Her embrace felt nothing like my father's. It was warm, it was comforting, more motherly than my mother's embraces had ever been. I felt tears climb to my eyes, from asphyxiation, or strange emotions, I wasn't sure, but they were there, wetting the insides of my lids.

I awkwardly tapped the old Eunaide on the back to signal to her to let me go.

"Thank you", I said politely, and this time, the smile I gave her didn't feel odd at all. Out of all the people in this cursed palace, only Daphne and her deserved my trust.

Her coal-black eyes twinkled as she smiled back, little lines wrinkling their corners, but it didn't look unsightly, it looked endearing.

Sometimes, I wished I had dark eyes like most. Although they are common, there is no more beautiful pair as those when they light up with warmth.

When I grow older, I want my eyes to wrinkle up just like Eunaide's when I smile, to convey heartiness and goodness of the soul.

She nodded and continued scrubbing the floors clean, her old knees squeaking when she knelt to clean better.

I reached the door of the dining room and peeked inside. My father was sitting at the table, his chin resting on his hand, his elbow propped up on the ebony wood.

He seemed deep in thought. His lips were pursed slightly, his eyes looking far away into the distance.

He didn't hear my footsteps. It was only when I stood behind him and spoke, that my hot breath made him flinch.

My voice was no more than a whisper, but it must have been awfully loud to him, for I spoke right into his ear.

"Father", I said. "I wish to be a warrior."