On one of the stops along the way to Bukid, Mirha bathed in the private tent prepared for her. When she emerged, the table was already set with a simple meal. Yadid sat across from her seat, waiting quietly.
Mirha sat down without a word and turned to the maid.
"The sleeping drug, please."
Yadid spoke gently. "Your Majesty, I advise you to slow down with those herbs."
Mirha didn't look at him. "I need them to sleep."
"You don't have to rely on them every night, Your Majesty."
Mirha paused, then said quietly, "I don't have a choice. I can't sleep without them."
Yadid's voice remained calm but honest. "I once used them a lot. It didn't end well. I couldn't sleep without them for almost two years, and I lost a great deal of weight. I…"
Mirha stopped him with a small raise of her hand. "I heard you are an orphan, taken in by Ruso. How… how did you get over it?"
Yadid paused. A small, sad smile touched his lips.
"I realized there was nothing I could do about it. So at first, I erased every trace of them. Later, the surviving memories gave me joy and peace. So I know you will be alright."
Mirha couldn't hold her tears anymore.
They came suddenly, hot and violent, spilling down her cheeks as her shoulders began to shake. She pressed both hands over her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it broke free anyway — a raw, choking sob that tore out of her chest.
"How do I forget…" she whispered, voice cracking and trembling. "She was all I had… my mother… she was everything. She raised me alone in that small house, she taught me how to smile even when we had nothing, she held me when I was scared of the dark… and now she's gone. Just gone. Because of a stupid landslide while I was here, safe in silk and gold…"
Her words dissolved into harder sobs. She curled forward, arms wrapping around her own waist as if trying to hold herself together.
"It hurts… it really, really hurts," she cried, the sound broken and childlike. "I keep hearing her voice in my head, telling me to eat, to rest, to be careful… I told her to wait for the carriage. I told her weeks ago. If I had forced her… if I had sent someone sooner… she would still be here. She would be laughing with me right now, complaining about her eyes, painting those awful bright colors she loved…"
Tears streamed uncontrollably down her face, dripping onto the table. Her breathing came in short, painful gasps.
"I don't know how to do this without her," she whispered, voice hoarse. "She was my home. My only home. And now I'm just…."
Yadid was forbidden from touching the Imperial Consort unless she was ill. So he simply slid a clean cloth across the table toward her, his own eyes glistening with quiet sympathy.
"Take it one step at a time," he said softly.
Mirha took the cloth with shaking hands and buried her face in it, shoulders heaving with silent, wrenching sobs that refused to stop.
--------------->
That night, Mirha slept without the herbs for the first time.
She dreamed of her mother.
Launi was sitting behind her in their old mountain house, gently combing through Mirha's long hair with the wooden comb Mirha remembered from childhood. The strokes were slow and familiar, the way they had always been.
"You've grown so much," Launi said softly, a smile in her voice. "Your hair is even longer than mine used to be."
Mirha laughed quietly, leaning into the touch. For a moment, it felt completely real — the warmth of the room, the scent of dried herbs, her mother's gentle hands.
Then Launi spoke again.
"Your eyes look exactly like your grandmother's."
Mirha froze.
Her mother was blind. She had been blind for years. She could never have known what Mirha's eyes looked like.
The realization hit like cold water.
Mirha turned slowly on the stool. Launi was looking straight at her — clear-eyed, seeing her.
"Mama… can you see?"
Launi nodded, her smile soft and knowing.
Mirha's heart started pounding. Tears filled her eyes instantly.
"Mama, I'm begging you… please don't go. Please."
She dropped to her knees in front of her mother, clutching at Launi's skirt like a child.
Launi slowly sat down on the floor with her, pulling Mirha into her arms as the tears came harder.
"Shh… don't cry so much, my love. You know I hate it when you cry."
"But you want to leave me," Mirha sobbed, voice breaking. "How do I… how can I ever live without you?"
Launi stroked her hair, rocking her gently.
"I need to go be with Mama and Papa. They miss me too. And I need to prepare our home for our next life." She tilted Mirha's chin up with a finger. "Or don't you want to be my daughter again in the next one?"
Mirha shook her head frantically, tears streaming. "In every life, Mama… but why are you leaving me in this one?"
Launi wiped her daughter's tears with her thumbs, her own eyes shining with quiet love.
"Because I had to. Now please… take care of Arvin. He is a sweet boy."
Mirha started sobbing harder, the sound raw and broken.
Launi pulled her closer, hugging her tightly.
"Come on, my child… can I go now?"
Mirha shook her head at first, then finally, with a trembling nod, whispered, "I love you, Mama."
Launi pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.
"I love you more."
The combing stopped. The warmth of the room began to fade. Launi's face grew distant, as if she were already walking away toward a door Mirha couldn't see.
Mirha reached out desperately, but her fingers passed through empty air.
"Mama… wait—"
The dream dissolved like mist.
Mirha jolted awake with a sharp gasp, tears already streaming down her face.
She broke down completely, curling into herself on the carriage seat as harsh, wrenching sobs tore out of her chest. This time, she let herself cry until there was nothing left — the last heavy wave of grief for her mother, the final goodbye she had been given in sleep.
When the tears finally stopped, she lay there staring at the ceiling of the carriage, watching the shadows of passing trees move across the fabric as the wheels rolled onward.
The dream had felt so real. For one brief, cruel moment, her mother had seen her.
And then she had let her go.
Mirha jolted at the knock.
"Your Majesty," a quiet voice said from outside the carriage. "We have arrived in Bukid."
She sat upright, heart pounding. She took one deep, steadying breath, then spoke.
"Open."
The door swung open.