Chapter 17: Future

Cyril knocked on the door to Seteth's office and pushed it open at the come in. "Uhh, did you want to talk to me about something?"

"Ah, Cyril." Seteth stood and circled his desk to pull out a chair opposite from where he had been seated. "Sit down, please."

He had half a mind to decline—he only had an hour before classes started after all, and he had promised Flayn that he would be there to walk into the classroom with her when she started her first day. But it was Seteth, and despite Flayn's return, dark bags still hung under his eyes from his month—long insomnia. So, Cyril sat and took a biscuit from the plate Seteth had put between them. Chewing on it, the dough still stuck to his tongue. Underbaked. Flayn must've made them.

"I'm glad Flayn's alright," Cyril said. "She seems pretty excited to join the class."

"Yes, there isn't much to be thankful for given the situation, but I am relieved to hear that she spent the majority of the ordeal asleep," Seteth said, pain flitting across his face as he sat down. "But in truth, I called you here to apologize to you, Cyril."

"Huh?" Cyril's brow furrowed. "What for?"

"During the previous month, the knights caused a fair bit of trouble for you and others at the monastery, did they not?"

"Oh, ummm...it wasn't too bad…"

Seteth held up a hand. "Claude had plenty of words on the matter, and Jeralt was happy to pass them along to me. Despite what was happening, we should not have allowed the investigations to veer into harassment, particularly when the culprit behind the kidnapping was among the church's employ. But, your silence made me fear that perhaps you have a tendency to keep occurrences like this to yourself."

Cyril stumbled for words, face growing warm. It would only cause trouble for the church and Lady Rhea if he made a fuss about every little thing that happened to him around the monastery. The students were often nobles who had paid hefty sums to attend the academy and would rise to positions of influence. It wouldn't do to drag the church into their personal grievances with him.

It had been much worse at the Gonerils. Compared to that, it didn't take much effort to shake off a few barbs and bury away their sting. He had thought he was doing an excellent job of keeping the incidents hidden from view, but now it was all being brought back into the open.

"It's nothing for you to be ashamed of," Seteth said, sternly shaking his head. "I am more ashamed to have been unaware for so long."

"It's normal!" Cyril protested. "Really, I can deal with it myself." He prayed that Shamir hadn't told Seteth or Lady Rhea about the time she had to fish him out of the pond.

There was a moment of silence before Seteth spoke. The frown Cyril read on Seteth's face made him want to swallow his previous words even though he could not understand why they had upset Seteth. "Regardless of whether or not it is normal, I hope that you will inform me in the future if someone mistreats you."

"Of course," Cyril said quickly.

Seteth narrowed his eyes. " Cyril. Please. Promise me."

What could he say? The fact of it was that it was like water dripping on stone—rhythmic and steady. Like he had learned to ignore his heartbeat, the constant drip drop of eyes at his back and suspicion tracing his steps had long since faded into background noise. Comforting as it was to know that Seteth cared, Cyril couldn't imagine detailing each individual drop.

Cyril chewed on his biscuit. The underbaked dough stuck to his throat.

"Tell me," Seteth said with a sigh. "Have you given any thought to your future?"

Perhaps it wasn't just the sticky dough that was caught in his throat. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"You once told me that you are happy so long as you could continue to work for the archbishop. But have you thought about anything else in that future? There are other ways of finding happiness. You do not have to bear everything because you do not wish to create problems for her."

Cyril swallowed. "Everything I have right now, I have because of Lady Rhea. It's only right that I repay her."

"And once you have finished repaying her?"

"How can you ever finish repaying someone for giving you everything?" Cyril said incredulously.

"Cyril, you are a child—"

"I'm not!"

"—and it is only natural that you would be nurtured," Seteth continued, voice raised to stack on top of Cyril's protest. "A mother would not ask her child to repay them for raising them. They only ask that the child does their best to grow and look ahead to their future. So think about it. Think about what you want from your future." His voice softened in the silence. "Can you do that, Cyril?"

Cyril nodded once.

It was a half lie. He didn't want to disappoint Seteth, but the thought of a future without Lady Rhea haunted his steps long after he left Seteth's office to finish his chores in the dining hall. In an instant, the thought turned his heart to ice and sent a shuddering chill through to the tips of his fingers. His hands fumbled, and the firewood he had been transporting to the kitchen tumbled to the ground.

Cyril bit back a curse as he shoved the wood back into his arms. Even after he picked the last log off the ground, his arms felt emptier than before. Confused, he lifted his head and saw Ashe standing sheepishly with the missing wood held against him.

"I-I thought you could use some help," Ashe said shyly. "This is an awful lot for one person to carry."

"I could've handled it," Cyril shrugged, but he made no motion to retrieve the rest from Ashe. For a boy that looked like a small flower stalk in the shade of the sturdy branches of the Blue Lions, he was surprisingly stubborn.

"Sure, but it's easier like this, isn't it?"

"Yeah." A pause. He couldn't keep Ashe from helping, but he supposed there was one thing he could do to feel less badly about receiving aid. "Thanks," Cyril muttered.

"Of course!" Ashe's face split into a bright smile. "It always amazes me to watch you doing all this."

"Well, I have to do at least this much to stay at the monastery."

"What do you mean?" Ashe asked, frowning. "Seteth mentioned that you were a ward of the church."

"I mean I'm Almyran," Cyril said flatly. "Lots of folks don't think I should be here, but they can't complain about it to Lady Rhea if I earn my keep. Or at least they'll complain quieter, and I know I've done enough to deserve my stay."

"Oh, so it's a status thing. I can understand that. When I was first adopted, a lot of relatives were scandalized that three street urchins were being taken into the household. I got so embarrassed I tried to help the servants with their work but…" Ashe let out a nervous chuckle. "I wasn't nearly as good at it as you, Cyril. I almost got myself kicked in the head by a horse."

"Well, don't tell anyone, but…" Cyril's voice dropped into a shy whisper. "I almost got kicked by the horses when I started with them too."

"Really?! But you're so good with wyverns!"

"Yeah, but I grew up taking care of wyverns. Horses are so skittish compared to them!"

"I was surprised too. In the stories of knights I heard, horses were always brave steeds. It was kind of disappointing to be honest, but when I told Lord Lonato that, he said—"

Cyril waited, but the pause stretched into a silence. He turned his head to glance at Ashe.

Ashe was still keeping pace with him, but his expression was as though it had stopped with the rest of his sentence. His mouth was still parted, corners stretched upwards into the frozen remains of a fond smile.

When he spoke again, the smile cracked away and all that was left was the emptiness. "You know, I really thought back then, that if I became a knight, I would be able to help Lord Lonato. That I could get accepted by his family. That's why I came to the Officer's Academy. I wanted to be of use to him. But now he's gone...and I'm still here. I wonder why..."

If he was Claude, he'd be able to give a better answer. No, if he were anyone else, Cyril was certain he would be able to give a better answer. A more comforting answer.

But he was Cyril. He could only think of that imagined future without Lady Rhea and say, "I understand."