The Secrets We Keep

Episode 19: Worthless Dreaming

Supper was as miserable as always- a bowl of lukewarm stew that hardly filled the cracks of our hunger. Cyrus sat across from me, his spoon scraping the bottom of his bowl with a sound that grated on my nerves. I was already on edge, my thoughts tangled with the events of the last few weeks: the brutal training sessions, the King's constant tightening grip, the void where hope used to be in me, and our marriage. It was all incredibly suffocating.

The camp felt different today, though. Tension hung in the air and I could feel it pressing down on my chest. The soldiers were more irritable, their boots pounding into the ground with more purpose as they moved through the camp, eyes ever-watchful, as if waiting for something else to go wrong.

Across the mess hall, I saw two King's Guards standing near the entrance, their heads bent close together. They weren't watching us, at least not directly. Their conversation, low and conspiratorial, caught my attention, and I instinctively leaned closer, straining to hear. I attempted to hide my interest in their conversation by keeping my eyes locked on my dirty glass as I put the water to my lips.

"Seraphiel... fifteen lashes..." one guard muttered, barely audible over the clatter of dishes.

I froze. Seraphiel? My heart dropped to my stomach as I turned my head slightly toward the guards, listening with a sharp intensity. Cyrus continued eating, unaware of the conversation unraveling across from us.

"...punished for treason," the guard continued, his voice low and amused, "Speaking out against the King's orders... said 'children shouldn't be used for war'."

I inhaled sharply, my stomach twisting into knots. Serf Seraphiel had been punished- fifteen lashes. It didn't sound like Serf Serahpiel to speak out like that because he always told us how careful we had to be. But, deep down, I know that there are lines he doesn't allow anyone to cross- one of those lines being children.

"They think he is trying to stir up a revolt," the second guard snickered, "If he's not careful, he'll get more than just a flogging."

I couldn't bear to listen anymore. My heart was already in my throat. My eyes darted to Cyrus, who had now caught on to the shift in my demeanor. He set his spoon down, his face pale as his eyes locked onto mine.

"What is it, Nemmi?" he asked, his voice low.

I couldn't find the words. How could I tell him? How could I make him understand that the man he looked up to, his own father, had been brutally punished for trying to protect the children in this camp?

But before I could answer, the guards' voices grew louder in their laughter, and Cyrus heard it too.

"Fifteen lashes... should have been fifty..." one of them said, chuckling darkly.

"They're talking about your father,' I whispered, my throat tightening as I said the words. "H-he was punished."

Cyrus froze. His face drained of color, and for a moment, I thought he might pass out. His breathing grew louder, and his fists clenched tightly around the edge of the table. The horror in his eyes was unmistakable.

"He tried to speak out," I continued softly. "They said he was defending the children being forced into King Varek's army..."

Cyrus stared at me, his mouth slightly open as if he was trying to speak but couldn't find his voice. His hands began to tremble, and I could see the storm of emotions raging inside him- emotions I was all too familiar with: fear, anger, helplessness.

"They... They think he is trying to start a revolt," I finished.

The silence that followed was deafening. I watched as Cyrus's eyes darted from me to the guards and back again, his mind racing to comprehend the news. His father- his brave, defiant father- had been punished for doing what is right.