Chapter 31
Thirty-One
“I’m fine,” says Cyrus.
Except that he’s not. Like a wounded animal, he hides his wounds until he can’t anymore.
He’s been short-tempered with you all morning, has no interest in clearing your land, doesn’t want to eat anything.
Well, fine, you think, if you want to be like that, then I’ll leave, and good luck seeing if I come back.
You take a deep breath. You steady yourself. Just because you think it doesn’t mean you mean it. That’s not the life you want. This story doesn’t end because you walk out of it.
“Let’s play that game,” you say. “Who would you be, if you weren’t who you are?”
“Oh, dear,” he sighs. “A knight.”
“Really?”
“No, I wouldn’t be a knight,” he says. “A milliner, maybe.”
“You’d make the most beautiful hats.”
“I’d decorate them with feathers.”
“People would pay gold for your hats.”
He offers a watery smile. “Would they?”
“Your hats would be the talk of any noble court,” you say. “Though you wouldn’t make hats just for kings and queens, of course. You’d make a hat for anyone.”
“My business must be booming.”
“Extraordinarily so.”
“And I’d be very, very happy,” he says. “I’d be a milliner, and I’d be happy because no one cares about milliners. No one curses milliners.”
“… I don’t know if that’s true. I heard a story once about—” You cut yourself off. Cyrus has covered his face with his hand. You think, underneath his palm, he might be crying.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m not my best self today. You must want to leave.”
“I don’t mind staying.”
Does he want you to go? Or does he want you to stay, but thinks you want to go? You’re no good at this. You think you should be better at this, but you’re not.
“Lie to me,” you say. “Say anything, and I’ll believe it.”
For a moment he looks at you in shock.
Then he says what he’s supposed to say, except this time he’s free from trying to make it sound real. This time, even though the words are the right words, you both know it’s a lie, and no one has to feel guilty about saying a very ugly, very scary truth.
“I’m grateful Gertrude made me a human again,” he says.
Hearing him say it breaks your heart but relieves a massive tension, too.
“I like being human so much better than I liked being a swan,” he continues.
“I get very emotional around the anniversary of the curse breaking. Always think about how much she sacrificed to get me back. Make me what I’m supposed to be.
What I always was… well, always, except for those six years where I wasn’t.
All that pain and sorrow and silence just to give me the life I deserve.
And I’m so… happy… that this is my life. ”
He doesn’t try to smile.
He wipes his tears with his palm.
“She never loved him, you know.” He’s not looking at you anymore but at the floor instead.
“Let him carry her off because she didn’t see a way around it.
Two children with a man she didn’t love.
Imagine giving birth and needing to be silent about it?
Or else your brothers will be cursed forever, and all your hard work will be for nothing. ”
No wonder she killed him, you think.
“No wonder she hated him,” you say.
“She’d hate me, too, if I ever said I was unhappy.”
“She knows.”
He flinches.
“You must think I’m awful,” he whispers.
“For wanting to be happy? There are far worse things to want.”
You run your fingers through your hair, thinking. You want to fix it. You don’t know how to fix it. Maybe you can’t fix it.
“Will you do something for me?” he asks.
“What is it?”
“With me is the better way to phrase it. For me, with me—either way. I… haven’t been near water since she made me human again. Thought it would hurt too much. Still think it might. But maybe… if we went together… There’s a lake near here, maybe we could… Sometime…”
You’re not going to make him wait for sometime.
“Let’s go.”