Tower of Dove

Chapter 21: The Daisies and the Doves

Tower of Dove Chapter 21: The Daisies and the Doves

Lilyana hadn’t thought the fall of the Heron would fill the hollow in her chest. She hadn’t been counting on it to fix her. But, after it burned and charred, she only felt empty. As if she was a walking corpse, or the shell of a missing soul. Maybe her desire to see it crumble the way she herself had crumbled was the only flicker of light left in her. Maybe she’d put its downfall as her only remaining reason the continue breathing.

Well, it had happened. And now she hadn’t even the flame of revenge to keep her warm. She was so cold. She continued to spend her days with Miette. Sometimes she laughed, but it always felt off. Like there was a strange pitch in it that hadn’t been in there before. And sometimes when she laughed, the chuckles turned to sobs for no apparent reason.

“You cry so much lately, Lilyana,” Simeon commented to her one night as they sat together on a bench in the village market. It was an exceptionally cold night; she could see his breath crisp in the air as he spoke. “I don’t like seeing you cry so much.”

Lilyana only smiled, pulled her coat closer, and changed the subject. “So how are you and Rhea?”

“We’re fantastic . . .” He paused and an uncomfortable feeling fell between them. Lilyana had a feeling he wanted to tell her something. She sighed, watching her own breath cloud in front of her. An elderly couple walked by holding hands. The sight of them made her heart twinge, but when they saw her staring, they quickened their pace. Huh. She knew she wasn’t as coveted as she had been before, but she didn’t realize she was that unapproachable. She glanced back to Simeon. They were both bathed in the light of streetlamp above them, so she could see him easily. He wore a dark navy jacket and black jeans, and he didn’t even look as if he had bothered to comb his hair in hours. H was also chewing the inside of his lip—he always did when he was nervous about something—and staring down at his lap as he twiddled his fingers about. This time, Lilyana huffed, annoyed.

“Whatever it is that you want to tell me, just spit it out,” she snapped.

Simeon looked at her, bewildered. His eyes were wide; she must have been harsher than she meant to be. Normally, she would have apologized¸ but she realized something about him she hadn’t before. As he stared at her, his eyes huge, she realized that they weren’t exactly green. They were hazel. That’s why they were so much duller than Hiero’s. Had she really never noticed this before?

“You have hazel eyes,” she blurted.

Simeon stared at her as if she were mentally challenged. “Yeah, I do . . . my dad’s eyes.”

For some reason, this made Lilyana extremely sad. When had Simeon turned from the annoying boy who was falsely in love with her to a good friend? And even so, she still hardly knew him. She was being selfish. So what if she was going through hardships? Simeon had gone through them as well! So absorbed she had been with her own misery—absorbed in it for years—she hadn’t even noticed the simplest things about him. She didn’t even know his birthday, or his favorite food or what sorts of music he enjoyed. She could barely scrape the surface of Simeon Oakleigh.

“How did your father die?” she found herself asking.

He looked mildly surprised, but answered. “Tuberculosis. When I was four.” He paused. “I don’t remember it much. He coughed up blood a lot.” At that, he shivered.

Lilyana bit her lip. “When my dad died, I’d sit under the dining room table four hours every day and sing to Posy.”

“That’s an odd way to deal with grief. Most people just cry.”

“Hah. Guess I got the memo about that since.”

Simeon nudged her with his elbow, but he still had that uneasy air about him. Lilyana waited for him to speak. “Hey . . .” he began.