It was weird, being back in Atherdale after only a year, but with everything changed.
Sparrow hovered near the edge of the room, closest to a table covered in food, where she could at least pretend to be doing something. Feo, her usual security blanket, had been whisked away by Parisa for some graduation party event. She could see him in the distance, swamped by their classmates - well, her former classmates - an expression of regret stark enough that she could see it from across the hall. Sparrow had been surprised when he'd complained that Pari had, "in an act of generosity and frankly, charity", decided to share her graduation party with him. It was the last thing he wanted, but how could he say no? Well, he'd tried to, and the princess has simply rejected his rejection. It wasn't like Pari to want to share the limelight, but it wasn't like Pari really shared anything with Sparrow anymore, so... she was in the dark about these latest antics. Vic had been hanging out with Sparrow until a few minutes ago, when he'd gotten pulled into a conversation with some very brightly-dressed students. She'd thought about trying to tag along, but the notion exhausted her. She loved Vic. His friends could be... overwhelming. And things had been weird between them since her disappearance. It rankled at her, but she had to give them time and space for their anger. They deserved that, at least.
Then there was Mirza. He was probably the most forgiving, after Feofil. She'd actually managed to pull him aside in the early days of her visit to apologize, but he'd just patted her arm and reassured her that he hadn't been too offended, and that he'd gotten over the hurt. His eyes, always so dark and perpetually steady, signaled that he knew there was more to the story, but it was Mirza. She didn't offer any explanation and he didn't ask. She could have kissed him for that, but kisses had caused this mess in the first place. Speaking of which, Mirza was making rounds with his uncle, who had been steadfastly avoiding her when he wasn't giving her the PR-prince routine. And Sparrow knew that Pari was undoubtedly furious with her, though she'd been all smiles and careless laughter through the visit, the very picture of unbothered. Pari had sided with her cousin in his and Sparrow's unspoken fight, though Sparrow desperately hoped that she didn't know what the fight had been about. And Sparrow, for her part, had tried to make amends, but Pari was in full PR mode as well and she had parties to worry about. She made sure she didn't have a gap in her schedule during which Sparrow could steal her away.
For the most part, the trip had been exactly what Sparrow had expected, and dreaded. Feo, the only one who knew everything that had happened that fateful night, and why she'd left so abruptly, had taken it upon himself to be her advocate. She was staying with his family actually, and it was a breath of fresh air. The Zhernekov uncles were boisterous and every day was new, blessedly ordinary drama. Sasha and Saskia and Vera had invited her in with great delight. Saskia was excited to have another woman in the house - she said Vera, who was a goblin in disguise, didn't count. Vera was excited to have a new playmate to torment, and Sasha seemed pleased to have another calm presence to offset his wife and his daughter. Their invitation had been a relief for Sparrow, who had been a little afraid that Simona might want to keep her at the palace. Instead, her de facto guardian had been eager to pawn her off on someone else. Simona hadn't been around very much at all.
Despite her years of experience, despite knowing better, that Simona didn't have time for her after a year of not seeing or speaking with each other had pierced Sparrow's heart just a little bit; then again, Simona always ensured that nothing - not even friendship - flourished between herself and the girl she'd been tasked with taking care of for seventeen years. And... maybe it was fine. Sparrow had wanted to talk to her about the mermaids back in Altair, and about Altair itself, since Simona could keep a secret and she was reeling from the weight of so many. But she could bear it. It was hard not to say anything to her old friends, though. Despite their distance, they were the ones who knew Sparrow best. But they didn't know about the mer, not really, and the Lumanliscs had made it clear that their goodwill and her reputation for being mostly quiet and compliant was really the only reason they'd let her into Altair. She didn't think they'd be so welcoming if she let anything about the disaster in their country slip, especially in front of the Tyrneamitore. And the royals had tried - Tasia had been at it the entire week, crafting the most subtle of questions to gauge anything at all about the state of Altair. Sparrow was sure Kyros and Pari would be at it too, if they were talking to her like normal people. Either way, it didn't matter; years at the palace had given her a master class in the art of deflection and a vague smile.
The hardest thing not to talk about was the demons, especially since she knew what they meant to Kyros. She hadn't really talked to him at all, since... well, since the night it had all gone wrong. Sparrow had been something of a mess for her first month in Altair, which was mortifying in retrospect. She didn't want to know what the Lumanliscs had thought of her, even though most of them had been nice to her face. Maybe, because they had enough sadness between them, her own was just a drop in the pool. They seemed comfortable with the constant cloud of misery that Sparrow had carried around in those first days. She supposed they had to be. Surviving Altair was no easy task; depression and anxiety were a guarantee. But Sparrow had slowly found herself again, and she'd also discovered why it was so hard for everyone there to leave their broken country. As petrifying as Altair could be, she'd never seen such a crystalline sky or felt such downy grass, trekked through soil that was rich and heady with minerals, fallen asleep under the firmament of stars that she might have been able to touch and the balm of warm rain. Every corner of Altair felt stunning. Sparrow felt more beautiful in it, like the colors had twined themselves through her hair and the life that saturated every vestigial creature had grown in her, too, and she'd needed that... especially after what had happened. The others could see it too, she was sure, because her first day back had been full of comments from Saskia and Vera on how lovely she looked, how she glowed with health, how her eyes glimmered and her cheeks pinked and she'd grown bronzy under the sun.
Sure, there were things to be deeply afraid of, but the horrors crawled upon the land while she was safe in the sea. Sparrow and her pod rarely encountered the things that reigned in the night, though... a few near-misses had left her occasionally sleepless, and with a some scars as reminder not to get too comfortable. Anyways, wasn't the good it had done her heart worth it? Sparrow just... reeled her memories in, when they began to dip into the shadows and the nightmares. There was a lot that she successfully kept bolted behind a door, latched with several strong locks. She was getting better at it every day.
But here, now, feeling utterly alone when there were so many people milling around her - people who knew her, but who quickly glanced away, or who blatantly stared with voyeuristic curiosity, because no one knew why she'd left so abruptly last year - she could feel herself drifting out of her own body, uncomfortable in her skin once again. She'd tried to pick out a pretty, inoffensive dress suitable for the party that would let her blend in without trapping her. She spent more time out of cloth than in it, now that she was trawling the ocean most of her days, but even the carefully selected gown was starting to stick and chafe and itch, and all she wanted to do was strip it all off and sink into a plush bed. There were so many people here and there were so many walls. She couldn't see the sky.
And there was one more confrontation she'd had to make when she'd stepped into Atherdale again, one that had sent her stomach to her feet and her heart to her throat. A gorgeous one, with thick, dark hair and flawless skin and a mischievous smile, impeccably dressed in fashion that even Vic would have to commend and so sweet that even Feo, forever guarded after Sol, had to admit that he found little fault with her. Her name was Dulcette, which was just the perfect name for someone so kind, warm, and cheerful. And she made Sparrow sick with jealousy.
It only made sense that Kyros would start seeing someone; it was a reality that Sparrow knew she'd have to contend with at some point, though she had quickly realized, upon seeing them together for the first time, that she wasn't nearly as prepared as she'd decided to be. It had been without warning, which had made it even worse— karmic, even. She'd walked into the palace alongside Feofil. Its denizens had known that she was visiting this week, though no one had been informed that she'd be stopping by that day, and she'd hoped that the shock of her arrival would lower their guard enough for her to get her apologies in, and then her eyes had landed on them. They'd been silhouetted by the sun, pink from its descent but a perfect, blazing backdrop to Kyros, who had somehow matured even more finely in only a year's time. Those good looks were utterly devastating now, painstakingly crafted by a cruel God. His easy strength remained, visible even beneath his coiffed clothes, but she thought he'd grown a little slimmer, so his muscles were tighter instead of so bulky. He'd probably gotten a new trainer. It was her last coherent thought before her eyes fell upon the girl whose arm was laced through his, all sugar and delight, laughing musically. Sparrow had instantly known that Dulcette de la Rosa was nothing like Sol, and she'd seen Kyros's expression soften in an unfamiliar, cloying smile in Dulcette's direction, and her heart had squeezed so painfully in her chest that she thought it might actually shatter, little bits of it bursting through her rib cage and flying about the palace like debris from a bomb.
She didn't remember much about what happened next; there were vague memories of Sparrow spinning around and hurrying off in a random direction before Kyros could see her, Feo following behind, his silence heavy with sympathy. She remembered him kindly saying, perhaps in a misguided attempt to reassure her, "She's a lot more like you than Sol." and somehow that made everything so much worse, because Kyros hadn't wanted her. He hadn't wanted Sparrow, who had been his friend for more than a decade, who'd been there for him through his worst days and who'd carefully carved her life away so that he was the center of it. Clearly, he wanted someone like Sparrow, but... more beautiful. More accomplished. More clever, more educated, more high class, and just more, in every single way.
Later that night, back in her quiet guest bedroom in the Saposhnikov apartment, Sparrow couldn't help but dissolve into tears she thought she'd already cried out long before. I could have loved you so well, she wept, despite knowing the truth: he never had and never would love her.
When Sparrow finally got around to trying to see him again, she'd done it with plenty of people present and Feofil had made sure to schedule it so that Dulcette was otherwise occupied. The whole time, a reverb echoed in her head: Kyros had to know that she knew; he had to know how seeing him with another woman made her feel. And he didn't care at all, clearly. Though she wasn't owed his time or his consideration, she wouldn't put herself through the agony either. So they hadn't spoken a word to each other since.
Sparrow locked it all away behind that same door that held her memories of their last night: the heat his hands caressing her skin, his lips crushed against hers, knowing he'd never taste her again, the weight of his body. But while she closed most of her feelings away, she made sure to withdraw one: that humiliation she'd felt when she'd seen his expression, his pity, moments after he'd registered her confession of love. She let it roost in her chest, let it swallow her words when she thought to speak. She let it flourish under the poignant looks Kyros and Dulcette shared, all the while upholding her detached calm. Simona would have been proud of her, though Sparrow burned with shame.