Hyacinth (Tamlin's Healing Arc)

Chapter Ten

Cin's father Passed away six days after the Beast started sleeping in the Rose Manor.

It brought her happiness to know that he had lived long enough to witness the High Lord's return to power. That was, however, where her happiness ended.

As soon as her father took his last breath, Cin began to cry and her tears didn't cease until they stood before his pyre and the priestess recited his Last Rites. Bron held her tightly, briefly stepping away to light the pyre before comforting her as she wept against his chest.

Her brother embraced her, his own tears streaming silently. If it weren't for his strong grasp, Cin would have collapsed to the ground and remained there until the earth consumed her as well.

The merry men stood behind them, granting their leader the privacy and space to mourn, while the neighbors from their street gathered behind them. Everyone had bid their farewells, offered prayers for a peaceful Passing, and brought flowers, tissues, cakes, and mementos.

But Cin just wanted everyone to leave.

"It was a peaceful Passing," Neda whispered loudly to someone amidst the sobs and sniffling. "He found his happiness in the end."

"He was always so happy, always smiling," Cheri whispered just as loudly. Cin wondered if their presence was solely meant to showcase their ability to sympathize. Why else would they be speaking so audibly during a Passing? She struggled to contain her urge to snap at them.

Cin and Bron had witnessed their father's gradual deterioration over many months. It hadn't been peaceful for them, nor had his pain or suffering been peaceful or joyous. It certainly hadn't been peaceful or joyful for Cin to discover him lifeless in his bed just two days prior.

Everyone kept saying that death came quickly for the ill, but to Cin, he was still dying as she watched his body turn to ash. Every passing moment felt like another part of him slipping away, and she knew she would feel his dying presence every day until the moment arrived when she could breathe without longing for him.

Only then, at that very moment, would he truly be gone.

Hart whispered to one of the merry men, "Where are the lilies coming from?"

But Cin couldn't bring herself to care. She faced the flames, his silhouette no longer visible, and she almost convinced herself that he wasn't there, that her father was still back at the house. She desperately wanted to believe he was there, but he wasn't and he would never be there again.

Cin felt her heart split in two inside her chest, wondering how children were expected to overcome the loss of someone who had loved them since their conception. She didn't know how to exist in a world where her father wasn't present, where his love couldn't reach her.

"Cin's tears," Bron rasped in a broken, hoarse voice. "The lilies come from her tears."

He answered a question that Cin had long forgotten had been asked. She didn't know what they were talking about. All she saw, all she was capable of seeing, was the burning pyre before them.

Cin knew Bron was strong, but even he couldn't conceal his pain. As he gently smoothed her hair back and rested his chin on her head, she realized that they had been raised to embrace their emotions. Happiness, love, passion, and even sadness—all had their purpose. And though Bron was trying his best to be strong for his sister's sake, she knew deep down that he probably wanted to grieve as well.

The fire crackled and blazed brighter. People murmured about the life her father had lived, about Bron's newfound responsibility for Cin until she married, about how Cin might never recover unless she regained control of her wailing. The whispers grew louder, practically shouting in her ears, and then the fire crackled again, and something inside her snapped.