Chapter IX

Thysia's Past

Fornia went directly from the queen’s chambers to Soryne’s room, which she found empty. She assumed that it would be this way; she had seen the girl walking to the gardens when Fornia was first called to see the queen.

Memories flooded into Fornia’s head, suddenly overwhelming her. Soryne’s room was just like every other one in the hall, yet this one was different. The girl’s touch was nonexistent, but Fornia knew her better than anyone else.

Soryne was there in the way that everything was put away. In the way that the potted hyacinth sat by the window so that it would have light all day. In the way that the shutters were open with perfect symmetry.

But she was not there, and three weeks ago this would have been extremely unlike Soryne. Now, Fornia knew that there was something going on with her; and though she did not know the particulars, she was going to find out.

Carefully, she glanced back into the hall and left the door open so that if Soryne were to come back, she would not accuse Fornia of trespassing. A harmless search for poetry books would be her motive.

There was a chest of drawers in the corner, and Fornia began to search through it. In each drawer there were tunics and chitons, mantles and other such things; but in the bottom drawer underneath folds of white fabric Fornia discovered pages and pages scratched with ink.

Feverishly she began to read the verses inscribed there. They all seemed to be drafts of the same poem; so she took up the top page in her hands and began to read.

It was good; nothing compared to Fornia’s skills but close enough to be recognizably the same, with some edits. If this was the best that Soryne had, then it would definitely be good enough.

With an intake of breath, Fornia knew what Soryne planned, and that the prince had enrolled her to help.

Though she had no idea why Soryne would wish to help the prince or aid any cause of this sort, she understood Soryne’s dedication to the gods and to providence.

Presently steps were heard down the hall; Fornia stashed the verses away again and moved to the stack of books in the corner, some of which proved to be hers. Gently she knelt down to look at them with her back turned away from the door; when the steps drew so close that she knew they were waiting at the door, she turned.

It was not Soryne, but Thysia.

“What are you doing?” Asked the girl meekly.

Fornia knit her brow. There was a trembling in her tone. “Only looking for a book I lent to Soryne, my dear.” Carefully, she drew closer and put a hand on Thysia’s shoulder. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing,” Thysia mumbled, and Fornia shook her head.

“Come with me, child,” said she, and led Thysia down the hall and into a bright and life-filled room that belonged to the muse of comedy herself.

The shutters were thrown open, there were vines creeping into the room from the walls, and the moonlight filtered through the window to make the room look like a dream. A pool of water below reflected this light onto the ceiling in waves and ripples.

Thysia crumpled onto the unmade bed and Fornia sat next to her.

“Tell me what the matter is,” Fornia whispered, and Thysia leaned against her like a child. Fornia wondered at how apt it was that she was the only one who had laughter and joy allotted to her.

“I was thinking about my parents,” said Thysia.

“Yes,” Fornia hummed; she wrapped her arms around the girl and rocked her slowly.

“Did they know that they were going to die?” Thysia’s words tumbled out like the tide, slowly and thoughtfully. “Were they full of regrets as that ship sank? I remember only crying and crying for weeks until you found me.”

Fornia nodded. “I do not know what happens when you die, except that you are remembered by what is woven into your tapestry.”

“Why did you choose me to be the muse of comedy, if you only saw me in mourning?”

Fornia leaned back, taking in the light air of the room and the sound of the ocean not far away. This was an answer that she had waited eight years to give. As footsteps gently padded down the hall and neared the door, she began.

“I chose you because you needed to laugh, not because I knew you were capable of it. There was a hole in your heart that I hoped to fill. You were so torn, and yet so young, and I saw you and needed to love you.”

Thysia sighed and pulled a blanket up to her knees. “But all I do is laugh all day and enjoy my life. What about those people who could have been me?”

“They were not you. There was only you, my child. I saw you weeping in the street and I lied to the queen about your joviality because that is what I wanted for you.”

There was silence for a moment, and in this bliss of understanding Fornia heard the footsteps once more; she held onto Thysia tighter and closed her eyes, humming a nameless tune. The footsteps began to move backwards, going towards the other rooms. Fornia hoped that it was Soryne, and that she was exchanging the places of their poetry. If Soryne succeeded, Fornia would read it to the kingdom in the morning and condemn the queen.

Fornia stayed for as long as it took for the footsteps to cease about two minutes later; and ten minutes after that she decided that she would be safe to leave. Thysia was asleep by then, and as Fornia tucked the blankets around her and closed her shutters, she hoped that she would rest well and forget her troubles.