Chapter 225: The Word Of The Child
Lydia’s chest tightened as Leonid’s words sank in. She blinked, her mind racing, trying to catch each fragment before it slipped away like smoke. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her dress, knuckles whitening, as if holding onto it could anchor her thoughts.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice trembling, a little breathless. "What are you talking about?"
Leonid swallowed hard. He looked down at the courtyard stones, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. His small hands twisted the fabric nervously, his ten-year-old body tense with the weight of what he was about to say. He looked up at her, eyes wide, innocent yet serious beyond his years.
"My brother," Leonid said quietly. His voice wavered, but there was a firmness in it too, a kind of small bravery. "He has... a terrible habit. He can do anything. Anything to protect others. Especially those he loves. He can do anything. Even lie to protect people."
Lydia frowned. She could feel her mind twisting around his words. "I... I don’t understand. Explain," she said softly, unsure if she was ready for the truth.
Leonid’s small lips trembled. "He has done it before. He... he did it to protect me." He paused, looking down at the courtyard floor again. His voice became smaller, almost a whisper. "Five years ago... I was playing in my quarters. With a lamp. I didn’t mean... I didn’t know what I was doing. I broke it. I set my quarters on fire."
Lydia’s eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat. "What?" she whispered, her hand going to her chest.
Leonid nodded, his small body shaking slightly. "One of my maids... one of my maids... she died. While she was trying to save me." His voice cracked. "I was so scared. I... I didn’t know what to do. But... luckily... my brother... he had come back to the capital for a meeting. He... he was there."
Lydia took a step closer, though she kept some distance. She could feel tears pricking her eyes, but she forced them back. Leonid was just a child, a small, trembling boy trying to explain something enormous.
"So... so my brother... he took the blame for it," Leonid continued, his small voice almost breaking. "He lied. He said... he wanted me dead. But... the truth... the truth is he didn’t want me to suffer. I was only five years old."
Lydia’s throat tightened. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. She could see it all now. The quiet sadness in Ivan’s eyes. The way he had always carried a weight with him, a kind of sorrow he never spoke aloud. She felt a twist in her chest, a mix of guilt, anger, and longing.
"I... I don’t know why you are telling me this," she said softly, her voice almost breaking. She wanted to retreat, to run from the feelings stirring inside her.
Leonid looked up at her with wide, serious eyes. "I know it sounds strange," he said, "but believe me. If he did leave you... if he doesn’t love you... he won’t look so sad. He won’t look scared. You can see it in his eyes. He looks... so sad."
Lydia’s heart twisted. She couldn’t speak. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came. The courtyard around them seemed to fade. The soft rustle of leaves, the faint smell of winter air, the distant cries of servants and birds—all of it disappeared as she stood frozen, staring at the memory of Ivan’s face. Sad. Lonely. Scared.
She felt her own tears sting the corners of her eyes. For so long, she had built walls, shields, a fortress around her grief and her anger. But Leonid’s words, simple and true, pierced through. A child’s innocence had managed what months of anger and heartbreak could not.
Finally, she swallowed hard and said, her voice tight with emotion, "I... I need to go. Goodbye, Leonid."
She turned sharply and started walking away, each step heavy, her chest aching, her mind spinning. She scoffed quietly under her breath. Nonsense from a child, she thought, trying to dismiss the story, the feelings, the ache. It was just a boy’s imagination. He was ten years old. How could he understand love, sacrifice, or heartbreak the way adults did?
Yet the words clung to her like a shadow. His small, trembling voice replayed in her mind over and over. He can do anything... even lie to protect people... He looks so sad...
She shook her head, trying to force herself to let go. But she could not. Every step toward the courtyard made her heart pound, made her chest ache, made her hands clench and unclench as though trying to hold her feelings in check.
She walked slowly now, her eyes scanning the courtyard. The stone path glistened faintly in the late afternoon light. The air was cool and crisp, and a faint breeze played with the edges of her dress. It should have been calming. But it was not. Her heart was a storm. Hope and fear, grief and longing, all fighting for space inside her chest.
Lydia’s mind replayed Leonid’s story again. The image of Ivan taking the blame for a death, protecting someone he loved even when it was quiet and unseen... it made her heart ache with longing. She could almost see him, standing there, eyes filled with sorrow, holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Her chest ached as she walked, her mind replaying Ivan’s eyes, the sorrow she had seen there, the silence that had haunted her. A part of her wanted to run to him, to demand the truth, to hear it from his own lips. Another part wanted to flee, to escape, to bury her heart and never feel this ache again.
But for now, she walked. Slowly. Carefully. Unsettled. Torn between hope and despair.
Her heart whispered his name, even as her lips remained silent.
And the courtyard stretched ahead of her, quiet and empty, yet full of possibility.