Queen of Lemuria

"Lugal…" I breathed, the broom slipping from my grasp.

"Ah, beetroot. Still keeping to your promise, I see," he teased, his deep voice laced with amusement, an eyebrow arching in mock challenge.

I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, warm and unbidden, as I remembered the last time we met—my half-jesting threat to end him should he cross my path again. "Lugal," I breathed, the broom forgotten in my hand. "What are you doing here? I didn't even know you were back."

I took a few steps toward him, my arms already reaching out for an embrace.

He caught me easily, his hands resting briefly on my shoulders before pulling back. "I just returned," he said, his voice softening. "I came here straightaway, but you were absent. I did, however, meet the lovely version of you." His gaze shifted to my mother.

Taking her hand in his, he bent to press a kiss to her knuckles, the gesture elegant and reverent. My mother's cheeks pinkened, her thin lips curving into a rare smile. I chuckled inwardly. Lugal always charmed women's hearts wherever he went.

I folded my arms across my chest, a grin tugging at my lips. "I'm surprised you didn't choose to spend the rest of the year in the North. So, tell me, how was your journey?"

I did a full appraisal of him.

"You look too well for someone who has been staying in the North for the past..." I did a mental calculation. "Nine months."

"You make it sound like the North is just a mass of ice and snow."

I raised my eyebrows. "It is the North for a reason. It's exactly a mass of ice and snow."

Lugal rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that look. You understand what I'm saying. The North is very beautiful and far more advanced than the South. I mean, they have food in abundance even though there isn't a lot of green grass there. The South can barely provide enough in spring.

I wasn't really in the mood to argue with him. Unfortunately for me, Lugal was the worst person to argue with; he could never admit to being wrong and would make you doubt your stance in the matter.

"Okay, fine. The North is better than the South. So, tell me, how was your journey?"

"Better than I expected," Lugal replied with a shrug, his cloak shifting to reveal the worn leather of his travel gear.

"And what treasures did you return with this time?" I asked, arching a brow.

"Well, I didn't return with treasures. Not this time. But I came back with lots of stories." He then added with a knowing smile, "Interesting stories."

"I doubt your interesting stories will be interesting to me."

"You never know. Gods, I'd really miss the North. The serene environment, the food, the freedom," he sighed in longing and added, "the women. They are not to be compared in matters of the bedroom. I mean, the things they do..."

"Heavens, not in front of my mother," I admonished, looking at my mother, who was watching us with a smile that was disturbingly interpretive. Apparently, my mother thought Lugal and I were soul mates. I mean, we were kind of soul mates, though. Lugal was an orphan, and the path I was on was definitely leading there. I had known Lugal since I was little, and we practically grew up together, though he stopped being around much when he came of age. He was always traveling to see the world.

I used to entertain the thought of marrying Lugal at some point, but growing up made me realize we had different goals. I was the homely type, while he preferred to be anywhere except home. I didn't think I could spend the rest of my life waiting for him, so I stopped dreaming. Aside from that, Lugal was everything a woman would want in a husband. He was a very handsome man with his blonde hair and deep blue eyes. I once joked that his obsession with the North might have stemmed from the fact that his ancestry might have run there because of his similarities with the Northerners. His skin was fair but had a weathered, golden undertone from his time spent outdoors.

"Sorry, Mrs. Viren, for my unruly tongue," he said with a bow to my mother.

"What were you even telling my mother when I came in?"

"Aphira, you can't be both a healer and a detective."

I glared at him. He knew how much I hated being called a healer inside this house. He just shrugged.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. Everyone calls you that; why can't I?"

"Because you are not everyone."

"More special?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

Lugal placed his hand over his chest in mock pain.

I rolled my eyes, gesturing toward the kitchen. "Why don't we leave tales of your travels for later? For now, I could use your help with preparing herbs."

"I miss those days when I was actually treated like a guest. A guest isn't supposed to..."

One look at my face did the trick.

Lugal sighed dramatically but followed as I led the way. The warm, fragrant air of the kitchen greeted us, a medley of dried rosemary and lavender hanging from the rafters. I moved with practiced efficiency, setting water to boil as I reached for the bundles of herbs.

"Aphira."

"Yes?"

"I have something to tell you."

"What is

Lugal leaned against the table, his arms crossed. "When I was in the North," he said slowly, "I encountered something—or someone."

I glanced up, my hands pausing mid-motion as I ground rosemary leaves. "Go on," I prompted, my tone skeptical.

"There was a healer there," he continued, his voice steady. "Like you. Except better than you, no offence. She could bring people back from the brink of death."

I scoffed softly, turning my attention back to the pestle and mortar. "And how, exactly, does this concern me?"

He hesitated, his silence drawing my gaze back to him. His expression was uncharacteristically serious. "She might be able to heal your mother."

The words struck me like a blow, my hands stilling. The mortar slipped from my grip, landing on the table with a dull thud. I closed my eyes briefly, drawing a shaky breath to steady the storm of emotions rising within me.

"Lugal," I said, my voice trembling despite my efforts to keep it steady, "please don't. I have already tried healing her and it didn't work."

"Your hands may not, but hers might," Lugal argued, stepping closer. "I heard that this healer is very good at what she does. My heart tells me that this journey will be fruitful."

I shook my head, my fingers tightening around the edge of the table. "And what if she can't? What if this journey—this hope—leads to nothing but more heartbreak?"

"We won't know until we try," he said gently. "You've nothing to lose, Aphira."

"That's not true!" I snapped, my voice breaking. "My mother could die before we even reach the North. The cold alone would be too much for her."

"I wasn't suggesting you take her with you," Lugal said, his tone measured, his gaze unwavering. "We could bring the healer here."

Tears stung my eyes, and I turned away, my shoulders slumping under the weight of his words. "I can't leave her," I whispered. "She needs me here, Lugal. If she's going to..." My voice faltered. "If her time comes, I want to be by her side."

Lugal stepped closer, his hands resting lightly on my arms. When I didn't pull away, he drew me into a firm embrace. I buried my face against his chest, the rough wool of his tunic dampening as tears spilled freely down my cheeks.

"It will be alright," he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

"It won't," I choked out, my fingers curling into the fabric at his back.

"It will," he insisted, his hands rubbing slow, comforting circles on my back. "Take your time. Think it over. Whenever you're ready, I'll help you."

I nodded against his chest, my resolve crumbling. "Alright," I whispered, though doubt lingered in my heart.

When I finally pulled away, I wiped at my face, trying to compose myself. "Tell me you brought something more than stories from the North," I said, forcing a weak smile.

Lugal chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. "I did," he said, his tone lightening. "Rare fruits that only grow in the icy valleys. They're bitter but invigorating. Perfect for someone like you."

He began describing the fruits, his voice animated, but my thoughts wandered. The idea of hope—fragile and dangerous—lingered in my mind, like a tiny ember refusing to die.

Later, I carried a steaming cup of rosemary tea to my mother's bedside. Her frail frame was propped up against a mound of pillows, her breathing shallow but steady. I helped her sit upright, her hands trembling as she accepted the cup.

It took time, but she finished the tea, her gaze drifting to the window as I set the empty cup aside.

"Where is Lugal?" she asked softly, her voice rasping.

"He's gone," I said, smoothing a strand of hair from her face.

"He looked well. His journey must have done him good."

"Yes," I murmured, my tone distracted.

"You should go too," she said after a moment.

I frowned. "I have no desire to travel, Mother."

"Is that true?" she asked, her sharp gaze pinning me in place. "Or is it that you won't allow yourself to dream of such things because of me?"

Her words cut deep, and I struggled for a response. "Mother, don't—"

"I want you to live, Aphira," she interrupted, her voice heavy with emotion. "To find happiness beyond these walls."

"I am happy," I insisted.

She gave me a sad smile. "Not the kind you deserve. You carry too many burdens for one so young."

I flinched, guilt blooming in my chest. "Mother, don't say that. I truly don't want to."

She reached up, brushing her fingers lightly against my cheek. "You were once a curious child, Aphira. Always dreaming of far-off lands and adventures."

"I was a child," I said softly, my voice tinged with sadness. "Children dream of things they can't have."

Her hand dropped to her lap, and she sighed. "There's a difference between things you can't have and things you convince yourself you don't want. You've always been strong-willed, my dear. But don't let that stubbornness rob you of joy."

I looked away, blinking back tears. "I'm happy, Mother."

Her silence was heavy, her gaze piercing as if she could see right through me. "Not the kind of happiness you deserve," she said quietly.

"I have everything I need," I insisted. "I don't see what more I could want."

Her lips curved into a sad smile. "A family of your own. A life filled with love and laughter. I want that for you, Aphira."

I shook my head. "Mother, don't. You've given me more than enough. My childhood was happy, I promise you."

She closed her eyes, her expression pained. "You've spent your life taking care of others—first your father, now me. It isn't fair."

"You are not a burden," I said fiercely, gripping her hand.

Her lips trembled as she released a shaky breath. "I wish I could go peacefully, without you bearing the weight of my illness."

The words hit me like a blow, and I froze. "Mother, don't speak like that. Please."

She opened her eyes, and I was struck by the resignation I saw there. "Life is a gift, Aphira, but sometimes it's also a cage. I've lived my years. My only regret is leaving you behind without the freedom to live yours."

I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. They slipped down my cheeks as I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against her frail hand. "You're not leaving me," I whispered. "Not yet."

Her hand rested on my head, her touch as soft as a breeze. "I love you, my child. Never forget that."

"I love you too, Mother," I choked out.

For a long moment, we sat in silence, the weight of her words pressing heavily on my heart. When I finally pulled away, she smiled at me, her eyes heavy with fatigue.

"Go rest, Aphira," she murmured. "You've done enough for today."

I nodded, though I knew sleep would elude me. "I'll be back to check on you soon," I said, standing and collecting the empty cup.