Chapter 5 A Final Lullaby #2
“But I don’t want you to go,” she said, her lower lip trembling. “Who will tell me stories? Who will make the right voices?”
The simplicity of her concern, her fear of losing her storyteller, made tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away, refusing to let Lysa see me cry.
“When we’re together again,” I promised, tapping the tip of her nose gently, “I’ll have even more stories for you. Adventures from far-away places with dragons and knights and princesses who save themselves.”
Her eyes widened, momentarily distracted from her sorrow by the promise of new tales. “Really? With real dragons?”
“The very realest,” I assured her, grateful for the resilience of children—how quickly they could be diverted from heartbreak by the promise of something magical. “The kind with scales that shimmer like jewels in the moonlight.”
Lysa considered this, her head tilted in that particular way that meant she was weighing my words with all the seriousness her three-year-old mind could muster. Then she nodded, apparently satisfied with my promise.
“I suppose that’s alright then,” she finally conceded, nestling closer against me. “But will you sing to me tonight? The song about the silver foxes?”
Relief washed through me at her acceptance, however temporary it might be. Soon would bring tears and tantrums when the reality of my departure truly registered, but for tonight, we had this moment of peace.
“Are you sure you want that one? You’ve heard it so many times.”
She nodded emphatically, settling herself more comfortably against me. “It’s my most-favorite.”
“Very well,” I agreed, adjusting the blanket around her small shoulders. “The silver fox it is.”
I began to sing, keeping my voice soft so as not to carry beyond the confines of her room. The melody was simple, melancholic yet sweet, a lullaby passed down through generations of Vareth’s children.
“Silver fox, silver fox, running through the night,
Moonlight on your fur, so bright.
What are you running from, silver fox so swift?
What makes your heart forever drift?”
Lysa’s eyes began to grow heavy as I continued, her small body relaxing against mine with each verse.
The song told of a silver fox, forever running from unnamed dangers, searching for safety and belonging.
Verse by verse, it chronicled the fox’s journey through forests and mountains, always hunted, always alone, until at last.. .
“Silver fox, silver fox, your running days are done,
For look—another fox has come.
Silver fur, like yours, so bright,
Two foxes running through the night.
Always together,
never apart.
Safe at last,
heart to heart.”
I stopped there, as I always did, leaving unsung the final verses where hunters found the foxes, killed them for their precious pelts, and wore their fur as trophies.
The lullaby was meant to teach Vareth’s children that strength was more important than love, but Lysa did not need to know that ending.
In her world, the foxes would always find each other, would always be safe together, would always have their love. I wanted to preserve that belief in happy endings for as long as possible.
In my arms, Lysa had fallen back asleep, her breathing deep and regular, her small face peaceful in repose.
I continued to hold her, memorizing the weight of her in my arms, the exact shade of her honey-blonde curls, the way her eyelashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks.
Tomorrow I would be wed, and I did not know when, or if, I would see her again.
Unlike the fox in the song, I would not find safety at the end of my journey.
There would be no one waiting for me with matching scars and understanding eyes.
I was running toward danger rather than away from it, toward a man who claimed ownership of me with the same casual arrogance with which he claimed his kingdom.
And unlike Lysa’s version of the song, I knew the true ending that awaited me.
The hunters were coming, had always been coming, and there would be no escape.
I pressed another kiss to Lysa’s forehead, allowing myself one moment of weakness as tears burned behind my eyes.
She would not remember me, I knew. Three years old was too young to form lasting memories.
In time, I would become nothing more than a name to her, a distant relation who had left and never returned.
Perhaps Ira would even forbid my name to be spoken, erasing me entirely from Lysa’s world.
“I love you, Lysa,” I whispered against her hair. “More than you’ll ever know.”
The words felt insufficient, inadequate to express the depth of what I felt for this small life in my arms. Of all that I would leave behind, this loss cut deepest—this innocent child who loved without question or condition, who did not care about politics or alliances or ancient grudges.
Who simply saw me as Miri, teller of stories, singer of songs.
Tomorrow, I would marry the Blood King and leave Vareth behind. Tomorrow, I would become the next Queen of Nocthar, wife to a man whose cruelty was legendary. Tomorrow, I would begin a new life, surrounded by enemies and dangers I could scarcely imagine.
But tonight, I could hold Lysa in my arms and allow myself to believe, if only for a moment, that perhaps somewhere in the shadows of what was to come, I too might find an unexpected ally. Someone who would run beside me through the coming night.
It was a childish hope, as fragile and unlikely as the happy ending I had crafted for Lysa’s silver foxes. Yet as I cradled her sleeping form, I clung to it nonetheless, a single bright thread in the dark tapestry of my future.