49. Turmoil
T he grass was damp where Aeden sat. His feet were planted in front of him, his hands placed behind him. The earth beneath his fingers was the only thing grounding him right now.
The Memorial Garden was always quiet from what he could tell, making it the perfect place for him to come and gather himself after he had eventually left the hatchery.
He still had classes to attend, lessons to learn, but right now, he couldn’t think of anything worse.
What he had just witnessed was horrific, it was barbaric, and he still didn’t fully understand what had happened, or how to wrap his head around it all.
Aeden stroked a hand over the top of the wet grass, allowing it to prickle against the palm of his hand and fingertips as he found himself getting lost in his thoughts.
The grass was vibrant green with clusters of small white flowers popping up out of the ground as far as he could see, their sweet scent misleading given the death that surrounded him.
It was suffocating. Above him, the skies were clear, the sun shining down, causing row upon row of dark shadows to form lines across the field from the large stone columns.
He was sitting in front of the column that bore his parents’ names.
He hadn’t said a word since he got here.
He didn’t know what to say, or how to process his feelings.
He was scared, alone, and didn’t know who to turn to.
Sure, his friends would be there to support him, but more than anything, he needed reassurance, he needed the embrace of a parent, he needed them to tell him that he was okay, that everything was going to be okay.
They were not here, though, and they never would be. That had been taken from Aeden at such a young age.
A lump formed in his throat as his head lolled backwards and he allowed the gentle breeze to brush over his neck and face. Closing his eyes, he took some slow, deep breaths.
Lyric’s crying, grief-stricken face was all he could think of.
The pained rasp in his voice as he had cried over Bertha, who had lain motionless in his arms, all the while Lyric talking to her as if she was a sleeping babe.
Except she wouldn’t wake up. She couldn’t wake up, because she was killed, her flesh torn to shreds as she stood powerless to defend herself from Midnight.
Lyric had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with the hatchling, her face still covered in Bertha’s blood when she had tried to approach.
The venom in Lyric’s voice towards Midnight had been frightening and not what Aeden had expected, not that he knew what to expect.
He had never seen anything like that before, and he never wanted to see it again, in this lifetime or the next .
He had lost track of how long he had remained with Lyric.
He tried to speak to him, to prompt him to let Bertha go, to explain to Aeden what he could do to help, but Lyric had simply ignored him, only speaking when he asked Aeden to leave.
There was a flatness to his voice as if he was somehow hollow after what had happened, which Aeden did not like one bit, but he honoured Lyric’s wishes and left the hatchery.
It was then Aeden had decided to come to the Memorial Garden, the feeling of suffocation making it difficult for him to even breathe.
He had never felt so powerless, and that was saying something given Master Storme’s brutal training sessions.
On the walk over, he had explained the situation to an upset and confused Nyra, who for now had promised to keep an eye on Lyric for him until he was ready to talk to someone.
That did little to quell the concern that had taken hold of Aeden like a vice.
He was worried what Lyric might do to Midnight if he was given the opportunity.
Aeden had never seen anyone look at anything with the hatred that Lyric did towards the young hatchling.
That put a certain level of fear in Aeden; he didn’t believe that Lyric would be capable of retaliation, but after the bile that had spewed from his mouth when Midnight had dared to approach him, Aeden wasn’t so sure.
She was just a hatchling, though, more confused than any other Aer-Kin in that field, and Aeden felt the need to protect her from harm, having watched what had unfolded from afar.
It wasn’t her fault, he was sure of it. Her mannerisms had changed, the way she had carried herself.
She hadn’t been in control of her actions.
The only logical explanation that Aeden could draw upon was that it was Orion who had forced her to do it, against her will.
The question was, how? How was he able to illicit such control and obedience from Midnight without so much as uttering a word?
Aeden was sure that it was Orion who had orchestrated all of this.
It was he who was to blame, and it would be him to face the consequences, somehow.
To his side, footsteps caught Aeden’s attention, and he turned to see who it was.
To his surprise, it was Rowan. She stood a few metres away from him, observing from a distance.
Her hair wasn’t in its usual bun. Instead, her long hair fell down over her shoulder where she was braiding the ends nervously.
A cluster of whisky hair had escaped on either side of her hair, catching the wind like whiskers.
How long had she been standing there, watching him?
She didn’t say anything, she just simply sat down on the ground and crossed her legs, continuing to work her fingers through her hair until she had finished with the braid.
Together they sat in silence, and for some reason that brought Aeden a level of comfort that he was only too grateful for. He appreciated her being there, even if he was confused as to why she was there.
“It’s a horrible thing, death,” Rowan said, finally breaking the silence. “Except it’s one of the things we’re guaranteed to face in life. Some more than others, but we all face it.”
Did she know what had happened at the hatchery? Had word spread? That would be impossible. Aeden had come straight here – there couldn’t have been enough time for word to reach the rest of the academy. Even then, would it be seen as that uncommon for an Aer-Kin hatchling to kill another ?
“Did you lose someone?” Rowan asked gently, nodding towards the pillars. “Is there anyone in the garden you’re here to see?”
Aeden swallowed down on the lump that was caught in his throat. He had too many thoughts, too many regrets for how he could have managed the situation at the hatchery. After a few moments, Aeden nodded. He closed his eyes as the warmth of a tear trickled slowly down his face.
It was strange that, in a moment of grief, when confused and overwhelmed, he had chosen to come and sit in front of the memorial for both of his parents, even though neither of their bodies were here.
“I come here quite often,” Rowan said, leaning forward to pluck one of the small white flowers out of the ground.
She spun it around by rubbing the stem in between her forefinger and thumb.
“People think you’re crazy for talking out loud, but I think .
. .” She looked up at the sky as if reaching for the gods themselves.
“Well, I believe that someone is always listening.” She offered Aeden a smile from the corner of her mouth.
“I’m an orphan,” she blurted out. “My mother died when I was born, and my father, well, he just threw himself into any battle he could to deal with the guilt. When I was eleven, we received word that he had had a heart attack while training in a bastion in the southern isles.” Her eyes softened and her eyes became a little more vacant, speaking as if falling through a distant memory.
“I hadn’t seen him for that long that I can’t fully remember what he looked like.
” She picked up another flower and bunched it with the one she was holding, then another.
“I know how that feels,” Aeden finally said with a croak, breaking his silence.
“I’m sorry to hear about your parents. I lost both of mine in the Battle of Weir.
” He nodded to the column in front of them where both his mother’s and father’s names were etched.
Earth and moss covered the bottom of the columns, as if blending the stone with the ground.
“Seems like we have more in common than I first thought,” Rowan said, “although it must be nice to have a place where you can still come and talk to them. I never got that. It’s why I’m here.
I do still try, you know, to reach out to them.
I like to think they’re somewhere, listening to me, somehow able to guide me. ”
“What happened when your father passed?” Aeden asked.
“Not much, really,” she said, plucking another flower from the ground. “I already lived with my aunt, uncle, and Cass, with my father being away on the front line. They pretty much brought me up my whole life. Cass is more like a brother to me than a cousin.”
“You two seem like you’re close,” Aeden said, watching Rowan as she continued to fiddle around with the stems of the flowers.
“We are.” Rowan smiled. “I don’t know what I’d do without him at times, but sometimes, I just want to scream at him.”
“About that,” Aeden said. “The other day, in the dining hall, what happened? I always thought that out of all of us, Cassian had the coolest heads. He always seems so carefree, so calm and collected.”
Rowan nodded. “He is, most of the time anyway. He has always looked out for me, and always will. Even if it can be overbearing at times. Sometimes I feel guilty for getting frustrated at how overprotective he can be. ”
“Well, Kael will certainly bring the worst out of most of us.” Aeden rubbed his fingers over his chest, tracing the raised scar that Kael had branded him with.
“The other day, well, that was Cass who started the fight.” Rowan moved uncomfortably, brushing her stray hair over her ear. “I mean, Kael said something, but Cass totally over-reacted.”
Was Rowan defending Kael? That was not something Aeden thought he would hear today.
“It must be nice,” he said, “to know that no matter what, someone has always got your back.” He thought of Harrison, Vivienne, and Serene, and his appreciation for them grew that little bit bigger.
They had stuck with him through thick and thin.
They were the closest thing to a brother and sisters that he could imagine.
“Don’t get me wrong, it is, but I don’t always need someone to fight my corner. Sometimes I want him to realise that I’m not made of glass. I made it into the academy the same as him, and I’m training just as hard and proving myself.”
“I can appreciate that,” Aeden said. As he leaned forwards, he brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. The two sat for a while longer in silence before Rowan moved along the grass to sit closer to him.
“Sometimes all you need is someone to be there for you, not to say anything, but to simply be in the moment with you. Sometimes that is enough,” she said.
Aeden smiled and nodded in agreement. He looked at his mother and father’s column for a few moments longer before saying, “Something happened at the hatchery today, something happened to one of the hatchlings. They were killed by another youngling, and it brought up a lot of feelings. The only place I could think of to come was here.” It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he spoke.
Just being able to explain how he was feeling made him feel like he was breathing crisp, refreshing air for the first time.
Rowan laughed, which was not the reaction that Aeden expected. “You know, it’s funny,” she said, “here at the academy, we’re trained to expect death at any moment, but they never teach us how empty it can leave us.” She looked across at Aeden. “If you know what I mean?”
“I do,” Aeden said, “but I also feel guilty, like there was something more I could have done, to help.”
“You can’t fix everything, Aeden. My aunt always said that feeling grief was just another way to stay in control.”
Aeden didn’t fully understand, but he appreciated the sentiment. “Thank you,” he said.
“Here, take this.” Rowan smiled and passed Aeden the flowers she had been plucking from the grass.
She had formed them into a small bracelet.
“Made from the flowers at your parents memorial. The next time you need to talk, it might bring you comfort. It certainly helps me. And failing that, you will just look like you’ve lost your mind. ”
The two of them laughed together, and Aeden’s heart swelled. This was the kindest anyone had ever been to him. He had never opened up in such a way. The two of them remained in the Memorial Garden in a blissful silence, bringing Aeden the comfort that he needed in that moment.