Fifty-Nine ◑ The History

“Impossible,” Lucille whispered to herself. “He must have gone outside.”

“Lucille,” Keiran began to say, but she didn’t hear the rest of what he had to say.

She turned on her heel and walked out into the back porch, met with a soft breeze that fanned her rumpled hair. The beach stretched beyond her, empty except for the blanket they’d left last night and the dead bonfire. The footsteps on the sand were blurred by the wind. There was no sign of anyone, no sign of Dimitri.

The despair that seized her was so intense that she couldn’t speak, even when she heard Keiran running after her.

“It’s not the end,” he told her quietly.

Lucille turned around to object, but she stopped short when she saw that under the harsh morning light, his body wasn’t entirely solid. It was as though he was a mere smudged addition to a finished painting. His clothes were not only blending into the background, but were also flickering, constantly changing in a rapid fashion, from a Greek chiton to a Roman toga to his usual white suit.

Keiran was slowly disappearing before her eyes.

A tear escaped the corners of her eyes. She rushed towards him, and he met her with open arms, a soft smile playing on his lips. To her surprise, he was still tangible, but there was a certain softness about him now, a delicate feeling that made her feel like he would pass through her if he held her hard enough.

But he didn’t hold her hard. He draped his arms around her gently, like he was embracing a statue made of fine glass. “I told you, darling. This isn’t the end. We knew this would happen eventually, and I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. We didn’t want to add to the hurt you were feeling.”

Lucille looked up at him. “But you can come back, right?”

“Of course.” His certainty was firm. “Dimitri and I have a bond. I can find him, and I will bring him back to you, Lucille.”

She sobbed into his shoulder, instinctively hugging him tighter as he began to feel softer than ever. “Keiran. . . .”

“You're no longer the scared, confused, and unsure woman we found in the meadow, Lucille.” His eyes were twinkling in reminiscence. “You're much stronger now. When the time comes, you'll know what to do. You're wiser now.”

“Keiran, I can't do it without you," she said, her voice hitching. “Keiran, please stay.”

“We’ll find you.” Keiran kissed her forehead. “We’ll return to you. I know you’ll do what’s needed. I trust you.”

His lips landed on her skin like a mere breeze. He pulled away, and just like that his image dissipated slowly into the wind.

“No!” she yelled, trying to reach out to him, perhaps to stop him from going, but her hands only touched thin air. A sob hitched at her throat, but she couldn’t cry. No more tears came. Right now she was just alone, her entire body paralyzed with shock and pain.

But along with those two emotions came something else, something new: determination.

Lucille was alone now, just as she had been as Lysandra, only this time she knew what to do.

She must find her husband, rescue her friend, and end this loop once and for all.

◑≡◑≡◑≡◑

Rain was pouring in thick sheets from the gray clouds, yet the sea was almost as calm as a lake. The waves were low, dipping onto the shore like a shiny coat before retreating back into the ocean.

Lucille stood right in their path, the water rising to her chest as she slowly waded further into the deep. Thunder rolled overhead, followed by flashes of lightning that reflected off the surface of the golden box in her arm.

Her feet touched the stones in the seabed, the waves rising before her. She closed her eyes and clamped her lips shut as the water reached her face. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she pressed the box tighter against her chest and sank completely underwater.

She expected the environment to be loud, a cacophony of whooshes and booms, but there was silence under the sea. Her eyes remained closed, but it was as though she could see every shade of blue, every layer of color that there was. A tugging sensation suddenly built up in her gut as she let herself relax, and then her entire world went black.

This was different now. There was no smooth transition of colors, no gentle appearance of images. Her mind was filled with just darkness, the kind so thick and opaque that it felt suffocating.

For a moment she struggled to breathe, struggled to let go completely. It was like her body itself knew that the place where she was headed, even though it was only in her head, was something that she wasn’t mean to explore. Her instincts fought against her will, but in the end, her resolute stance won. She slowly descended into a memory as she sank at the bottom of the ocean.

Except that the memory didn’t belong to her.

*This time, she didn’t play the main role of Lysandra. She wasn’t an active part of the scene. She was only a spectator, a witness, with no identity or trace.*

*And the one she was watching was no other than Cadmus.*

*He was with another young man, sitting under an olive tree and picking at the weeds poking through the dry land. Both of them were staring dreamily into the afternoon sky, but Cadmus had a smug smile on his face.*

*“To Crete?” the young man asked. “What is your purpose there?”*

*“I will woo the princess, of course.” Cadmus plucked a blade of grass and began to tear it to shreds, deep in thought. “I have heard she's been looking for a younger husband. She is a sorceress as well. Do you think I want to live like a peasant forever?”*

*“But you’re not royalty. You will be shunned.”*

*Cadmus only smiled. “Not if I have love on my side.”*

*The scene shifted, once again not in a seamless transition but with a quick flash of black. Now Cadmus was in their marital bedroom in the royal palace of Crete. He was pacing the floor, a frown creasing his eyebrows. He only stopped fidgeting when a servant entered the room.*

*“So?” Cadmus demanded. “Have they taken it?”*

*The servant bowed. “The King and the Queen have taken the concoction. By daybreak, they will be gone, and not even the sorcery of your wife can detect the poison.”*

*He sighed in relief. “Good.” When the servant straightened up and looked at him expectantly, he added, “Don’t worry, I shall reward you once I am King.”*

*“How about your wife?” the servant asked. “What do you plan to do with her? You have told me she would inevitably interfere.”*

*“I’ll take care of her myself,” Cadmus said dismissively, shooing the servant away. “Now go before she sees you and start to suspect. She will kick me out of the palace before I even get the throne.”*

*The memory dissolved again, making way for a scene in a courtyard of a different palace entirely. It was made of white marble like the palace of Crete, only smaller and less sophisticated in terms of structure. On the tiled courtyard, Cadmus was perched on a black horse, wearing a full armor and laurel leaves on his hair. Behind him were soldiers of Crete, all bearing the symbol of the palace. They weren’t attacking; all of them looked fairly at ease.*

*The doors of the palace opened, revealing a band of soldiers, followed by a young woman flanked by an older couple. All of them were wearing robes of the finest fabric. Upon their entrance, the entire Cretan fleet sank into a bow.*

*Cadmus got off his horse and knelt, his eyes fixed on the young woman between the couple.*

*It was Aglaia.*

*“Your Highness,” Cadmus said simply as a greeting, and the royal family bowed as well. “As the King of Crete, I am very pleased to be welcomed in the land of Iolchus.”*

*The older man, the King, eyed the fleet behind Cadmus with a hint of wariness. His lips were pressed into a thin line. The queen was smiling, but like her husband, the presence of so many warriors was making her tense. Her stance was stiff, her face just as stilted. The princess, on the other hand, was staring at Cadmus with bright eyes and a soft smile.*

*And he was staring back.*

*Even though Lucille was just a mere witness to the events, she couldn’t help but notice the certain shift in the atmosphere, the sudden flare of silent emotions. There was an almost tangible line between their gazes, a warm and bright line that cut through the environment like a lightning bolt. She remembered the look she had shared with Cadmus when they’d met, and she realized how different this was.*

*Love. This was love, as unbelievable as it may seem. Quick, cutting, and real. This was the kind of love that the poets talked about. This was the kind of love that Lucille thought she’d found in him.*

*But he found it with Aglaia, and it was probably the realest thing he’d ever had.*

*“Princess,” Cadmus said, his lips barely moving. He sank into another bow, but his eyes were shining.*

*Aglaia extended a hand, and he brought it to his lips in a lingering kiss. As soon as his lips touched her skin, the scene vanished and changed again.*

*This time, Lucille was in front of Crete’s palace, facing the courtyard. The entire area was filled with people, and they were all looking at the empty shroud being burned in the funeral pyre. The shroud bore the emblem of the royal family, and a priest was chanting, “To Lysandra, the queen of our land.”*

*So this was what happened, she mused. Everyone had thought she was dead.*

*However, Cadmus was nowhere to be found in her funeral. Sitting at the throne was her father’s brother, which meant that Cadmus was no longer king. Her mind burned with questions, but before she could organize them into neat piles, the scene dissolved and showed her Cadmus, dressed in dirty, tattered clothes, making his way around the forest in Crete. He had been banished.*

*“I will find you,” he was muttering to himself through gritted teeth. “I will find you, and I will kill you.”*