Chapter 171: Another Visit To Patricia
Chapter 170: Another Visit To Patricia
Lyria’s POV
The excuse I had prepared was simple.
I was going on a stroll. Nothing more. The kind of aimless early morning wandering that required no explanation beyond the fact that I had woken before the rest of the palace had fully committed to being awake and had decided that fresh air — or something resembling it in the older wings — was preferable to staring at the ceiling of my chambers until the day officially began.
I had rehearsed it twice before leaving.
But contrary to what I thought, I did not need to use it once.
The corridors were quiet, and I moved freely. I had worn one of my old gowns so as not to draw attention from others, for I knew people would ask questions if they were to see me moving around the palace in the expensive gowns the Queen had given me.
I had also masked my scent — a habit so deeply ingrained by now that I had done it almost before I had finished deciding to make this visit. The herbs were kept in the small pouch beneath the loose board I had relocated from my old chambers.
I did not bring the book.
I had considered it — Patricia had been teaching me to read and write, and there was always something to practise, always a new word to learn, but if I was honest, I did not have the opportunity to even learn new words, especially after the new developments in the palace.
This was not a lesson visit.
And I could not be gone for long either.
Before, my absence from any particular part of the palace would be unremarkable. Nobody would look for me because nobody had formally acknowledged my existence as something worth looking for.
Now that had changed. A princess who disappeared for long stretches of the morning without explanation was a princess whose maids would notice and whose maids would report to the Queen, whom they served.
I had perhaps an hour.
Possibly less.
I moved quickly and quietly through the corridors I knew best — the ones that curved away from the main wings and into the parts of the palace that the rest of the household had simply decided were not worth their time. The smell of the older stone was familiar.
When I reached the door, I paused, as I always did, and listened.
Then I opened it softly.
Patricia was sitting upright on the bed.
When she saw me, she smiled.
I did not hesitate.
I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around her.
She held on — carefully, the way she always held on to me. We stayed like that for a while, and then I released her.
My hands moved before I had fully decided to speak.
*I missed you,* I signed.
I said it aloud at the same time — the habit of speaking and signing together so deeply established between us that one without the other felt incomplete.
Patricia’s hands rose in reply.
*I missed you too.*
Then she gave me an assessing look, her gaze moving over my face, my posture, the old clothes I had chosen with their familiar worn seams and practical ease of movement.
Her brow drew together.
Her hands moved.
*Are you eating well?*
I almost laughed.
"Y-yes," I said, and signed it at the same time. "I am eating w-well. I promise."
She looked unconvinced, but she said nothing.
I exhaled softly.
"I have things to t-tell you," I said.
Her hands stilled on her lap.
She looked at me.
*Did you not come for lessons?*
I shook my head.
"N-no," I said. "I only came t-to see you."
Something in her expression shifted at that.
She nodded once.
And then she waited.
I sat on the edge of the bed beside her, the way I had sat beside her a hundred times before in this room, and I began.
My hands moved as I spoke — fluidly now, the two languages running alongside each other with an ease that had taken years to develop and that I was quietly grateful for every time I used it.
I told her about the competition. The selection for the Sun and the Moon that had been underway — or rather, that had begun and then been interrupted and was now beginning again. I told her about Jacinta. About the ball and what had happened at the ball and the man who had pointed at the shadows.
Her expression did not change much as I told her that part.
I noticed that.
But I did not pause to examine it.
I told her about being pulled from the shadows. About the Queen’s performance — the mask removed, the scar called trivial, the years of careful cruelty reframed as maternal concern for a sensitive child. I told her about the nobles who had spoken up during it.
I told her about the interview.
About the questions I had been warned to expect and the way I had answered them.
I told her I was now a Moon candidate.
That the competition was restarting.
That I was officially, publicly, inescapably part of it.
My hands moved the whole time — fast and efficient, the signs layered over the words as they always were when I had a great deal to say and not enough time to say it slowly. Patricia watched my hands the way she always watched them when I was telling her something important — with the complete and unhurried attention of someone who understood that nothing would be repeated and everything was worth remembering.
When I finished, the room was quiet.
Not the uncomfortable quiet of something unresolved.
The quiet of someone who had listened to everything and was now deciding where to begin.
Patricia smiled then.
Her hands rose.
*I always knew,* she signed, *that you were destined for great things.*
I looked at her.
"How," I asked, and signed at the same time, "does that r-relate to everything t-that is h-happening now?"
She laughed.
I had not heard her laugh — not truly, not the full sound of it. It was silent, as it always was, but her shoulders shook from the movement.
Then her hands moved again.
*It relates,* she signed. *More than you know.*
She paused.
Then she signed again.
*I told the King,* she said. *A long time ago.*
I watched her hands.
*I told him that the prophecy spoke of the Moon being of royal blood.*
She looked at me directly as she signed it.
*But that he had two daughters.*
Her hands stilled for just a moment.
*And therefore the Moon was not confirmed.*
I stared at her in shock, my mouth wide open.
