Hyacinth (Tamlin's Healing Arc)

Chapter Four

Bron didn't bother asking where Cin had stormed off to; he simply didn't care.

When she breezed back in through the front door later that evening, arms laden with enough food to feed his merry men, it seemed as though their morning argument had slipped from his memory.

Cin didn't anticipate him inquiring about the origins of the food, because he never did. His only concerns were that he ate well, their father was comfortable, and Cin remained safe. As she sat at the kitchen table, diligently chopping the vegetables she had plucked from the garden to add to the pot alongside the meat she had traded for, a part of her secretly longed for Bron to take an interest in her day, to ask whether she had found the High Lord or not.

Yet, deep down, she knew he wouldn't. Just as she knew he would never offer an apology for the hurtful words he had uttered. She, too, had no intentions of apologizing, but that was an entirely different matter.

As soon as Cin placed the vegetables down to begin chopping, Bron slipped out through the front door, muttering that their father was asleep and he had already prepared him a late lunch. It wasn't until near midnight, when he staggered back home in his customary fashion, that they finally had a chance to converse.

Dropping onto the worn-out sofa in the sunken living room, almost stumbling over the frayed carpet near the fireplace, Bron quipped, "I suppose your day went smoothly then?"

Cin closed the book she had been engrossed in and unfolded her legs from beneath her. "It did. And how about your day? Papa slept right through dinner. Is there anything I should be aware of?"

She combined the plants she cultivated to create medicinal tonics and teas. If there were any unusual developments concerning their father, she needed to be informed. Though merely addressing the symptoms as they arose only prolonged the inevitable conclusion that loomed ever closer, the alternative—doing nothing—felt unbearable.

"No," Bron shook his head, "He seemed unusually tired today though, more so than in a while."

"Hmmm-mmm," Cin hummed, reopening her book and turning her gaze back to the crackling fire. The sleepiness wasn't unusual to Cin, she'd seen him sleep for days at a time while his body fought to live. Bron pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes shut, and sighed as if reluctantly accepting the task he had been putting off.

He rose to his feet once again, made his way to his room, rummaged around for a bit, and then shuffled back down the short hallway, plopping himself back onto the sofa. Cin shot him an annoyed glance. He had a habit of flopping down with his heavy body, and if he kept it up, she was certain they would soon find themselves with a broken sofa soon enough.

Taking a deep breath, Bron held out a sheathed dagger to her. The wooden hilt gleamed in the firelight, freshly varnished, with her name carved into its base.

Recognizing the dagger as one of his own, Cin tilted her head in confusion. "Why are you giving me one of your daggers?"

"I can't stop you whenever you decide to leave," he began, "but you were right about the court being dangerous, especially for a woman. Now more than ever. I want you to stay safe, and considering your venture, you'll need to be able to defend yourself."

"Is that why my name is on it?" She offered him an enigmatic smile. "What is it with men and their need to mark things?"

"Do you want it or not?" he snapped, narrowing his eyes.

Cin fought back a laugh as she took the dagger from his outstretched hand, her fingers curling around the hilt, familiarizing themselves with its grip. "Thank you, Bron."