Morning came too soon.
I woke with the echo of last night still pulsing behind my ribs, the cursed nightmare tangled in my breath like smoke. Light filtered through the peach-colored curtains, soft and harmless — nothing like the cold darkness I had clawed my way out of.
For a few seconds, I didn't move.
Maybe if I didn't breathe, didn't blink, didn't think…
the nightmare would loosen its grip.
But it didn't.
It was just a nightmare… just a cursed nightmare…
The words feel fake now.
The cuckoos outside sing as if nothing happened. As if the world hasn't shifted under my feet. Their cheerful notes feel wrong — too bright for the heaviness in my chest.
A breeze slips in through the window and brushes my bare feet.
And that's when it hits me.
"I'm late."
I swing my legs off the bed too fast. My head throbs. My knees wobble. In the mirror, I barely recognize myself — skin pale, dark circles beneath my eyes, hair a tangled black mess over my shoulders. I braid it quickly, hands shaking more than I want to admit.
"It was just a dream," I whisper.
The reflection disagrees.
I pull on my lemon-colored robe, roll up the sleeves, grab a piece of bread, and half-run to the door.
Outside, spring explodes around me.
Fresh air. Bright blossoms. Rain-washed earth. Apricot branches curving over the stone wall. The Zivsa River shimmering in the distance. Even violets and marigolds seem to glow beneath the sunlight.
A world this alive should have comforted me.
It doesn't.
Because only hours ago, I saw that same world dead. Quiet. Broken beneath a shadow I still felt curled around my ribs.
I shake myself and hurry down the path from our home on Mount Berda. On a normal day, the walk to the Farmers' Council takes forty minutes.
Today I don't have that luxury.
The road winds between green fields and tall poplars dripping with last night's rain. Every leaf glistens. Every shadow whispers.
I speed up.
Then I stop.
Chamomile.
A full patch of it swaying gently near the Wabers' cottage — dangerously close to the most strict, serious family in all of Mythandri.
I shouldn't even think about it.
I know I shouldn't.
But Varien loves chamomile.
"No," I tell myself. "Not today."
A pause.
"Just one handful."
Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm kneeling in the field, collecting delicate blossoms between my trembling fingers. Their scent is calming — but my heartbeat isn't. I feel like a criminal stealing gold from a king.
I clutch the flowers to my chest and tiptoe back toward the fence.
Just one step from safety, a voice slices through the air.
"Sibefer!"
My soul tries to leave my body.
Rasaz stands a few steps away, hands on hips, eyebrows raised so high they nearly touch her hairline.
"What," she demands, "are you doing in the Wabers' field? You're LATE — and THIS is what you're doing?"
Heat rushes up my neck.
"I… Varien likes them."
"Likes them?" Rasaz snaps. "For a handful of flowers, you're ready to be eaten alive by Mr. Waber? That's not bravery, Sibefer. That's pure foolishness."
The word hits me like a stone.
Foolishness.
Just like the nightmare.
Just like the shadow's voice.
For a second I forget how to breathe.
Rasaz softens a little. "Come on. We're already late."
She grabs my sleeve — then her eyes widen.
"Oh! Look!"
I turn.
Three figures walk toward us on the cobbled road.
Rolas.
Nybi.
And Cabe.
My heart gives a traitorous jump.
Rolas walks tall, steady as always. Nybi is smiling, casual and bright. And Cabe—
Cabe looks like he barely slept. Shadows under his eyes. Jaw tense. Steps heavy. A storm he'll never admit to anyone.
We grew up side-by-side.
I know what his silence means.
Rasaz waves at them eagerly.
I want to sink into the earth.
But the boys are already close enough to hear us.
Nybi grins. "Sibefer? Late? Did the sky break?"
"Something broke," I mutter.
"You look pale," he adds. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just tired."
Cabe's eyes drop to the chamomiles clutched in my hands.
"Those grow by my mother's window," he says quietly. "Don't they?"
My heart jumps.
"I—Varien likes them," I blurt out. "So I thought… maybe I could…"
Brilliant. Truly brilliant.
He doesn't smile. Doesn't tease.
He just says: "Next time, knock first."
Rasaz stifles a laugh behind me.
Before I can disappear from embarrassment, the road curves — and the old Council cottage comes into view.
The moment I see Varien standing in the doorway, welcoming students with her calm, wise gaze…
My stomach drops.
Because her eyes land on me.
And they linger.
Warm.
Gentle.
Concerned.
As if she knows something's wrong.
As if she can see straight through me.
My fingers tighten around the chamomile.
And in that moment, one thing becomes painfully clear:
I can't keep last night's nightmare to myself forever.v