Page 93 of All the Chaos of Constellations
Cyra trod across the floor and sat in the chair across from his desk, pulling her knees to her chest, her robe tumbling around her. She eyed his empty glass of whiskey with disdain, then flicked her wrist, glamouring them each a steaming cup of tea.
She blew on it, staring at him from over the rim, and took a cautious sip. “Is everything alright?”
He nudged his spectacles, returning his attention to the books spread before him. “Perfectly fine.”
Cyra loosed an exaggerated sigh. “I wish you wouldn’t lie to me.”
Asher removed his spectacles, placing them on the desk, and leveled his sister with a stare. “What do you want to know, Cyra?” Exasperation iced his tone. “That I’ve been harboring the guilt of our parents’ death because it’s all my fault? That I’ve lost my mate to an assassin? Or that perhaps she hates me because I told her I think her mother is staging a coup against the queen?”
His sister gaped at him, the teacup bobbling in her hands.
He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. It wasn’t often he shared his innermost thoughts or issues with his sister, or anyone for that matter, but for some reason, everything he’d been holding onto for so long poured from him like a turbulent river. “There you have it. Nothing is fine, so please, take your pick of my troubles to discuss.”
Cyra’s bottom lip quivered, her eyes welling with unshed tears. She hastily blinked them away.
Damn, he’d been harsh. Perhaps too harsh.
She set her teacup down, and Asher thought perhaps she intended to leave. But then she tucked a strand of fiery hair behind her ear, and the gold of her eyes turned molten. “Do you really think I’m so ignorant?”
“Cy, I never said you?—”
“Oh, but you did.” She bristled, sitting up straight. Leaning forward, she planted both hands on the edge of his desk, her brows narrowing. “Not specifically, but you did. Do you honestly think I was blind to it all? IknowPapa beat Mama senseless. I saw her bruises, tended to her broken bones, same as you. I know you hired Prince Drake to kill Papa and you know what? I’m glad.”
Asher reared back, stunned by her admission.
She worried her bottom lip, considering her next words. Resolution hardened the planes of her youthful face. “The bastard deserved to die. I only wish the Shadowblade Assassin had taken his time.”
He rose, the hollowness of her words hanging in the air between them, filling him with a sense of apprehension. He’d been so careful, he’d taken every possible precaution to protect his sister from their father’s indiscretions, from the cruelty of his love. “How did you know about that?”
Cyra shook her head, her waves of hair falling in front of her face like a curtain, shielding her from his view. When she glanced back up at him, there was a kind of emptiness in her eyes. A dismal sort of sadness. “For someone who is incredibly studious, you don’t pay much attention. It was easy for me to fade into the background, to pretend to be oblivious to everything happening around me when no one paid me any mind.”
All that time, he thought he was sheltering her, but in truth, she felt neglected.
“I didn’t know, Cyra.” Asher rounded the desk, gently placing one hand on her shoulder. “I thought I was protecting you.”
“I understand, and I appreciate you for it. But it wasn’t fair of you to take the brunt of his violence in an effort to spare me.” She stood and wrapped her arms around him, and he stepped into her embrace. She sighed, then leaned back. “Just like it isn’t fair of you to think you’re undeserving of love.”
“Cy—” He tried to interject, but she held up one hand, silencing him.
“Let me finish.” Cyra gathered his hands, squeezing them in her grasp. Her eyes searched his, pleading. “I could not have asked for a better brother. You love me, you care about me and protect me. And you deserve every ounce of happiness imaginable. You are capable of love, Asher. You’re worthy of love, and you willneverhold a likeness to the male who dared to call himself our father.”
Asher swallowed, a knot of emotion clogging the back of his throat. It choked him, refusing to ease, even as Cyra hugged him fiercely.
“She left us for him.” His words were strangled, like he’d swallowed fire. Harsh and scorched. “She chose him over us.”
“I know.” Cyra buried her face in his chest. “And it was her loss, not ours.”
When she finally released him, her eyes were rimmed with red, but the tears hadn’t fallen. She sniffed, blinking rapidly.
“You know I will always do anything I can to help you. Well, almost anything.” She hesitated, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t like the dark, and I have a fear of spiders.”
She giggled, a glimpse of the youthful sister he remembered reappearing once more. He couldn’t recall the last time he heard her laugh fully and completely. That was something he would have to remedy. Cyra turned away, heading for the door, and her hip accidentally bumped into one of the bookshelves lining the wall of his study. A leather-bound book with a tattered binding toppled to the floor. Cream-colored papers littered with markings slipped out from between the frayed pages.
“Sorry, Ash.” Cyra scooped up the fallen book, collecting the discarded papers, then stacked them neatly on his desk. She turned to go, sending him one long look from over her shoulder. “Promise me you’ll try to get some rest.”
He nodded. “I will.”
Eventually.
