"I couldn't do anything to fix it," he finally confessed, almost in a whisper. "And now... I have nothing left to give her. Not even magic."
Silvania observed him with serene, non-judgmental pity.
"Perhaps you finally have something more valuable to offer: your freedom."
Dyan didn't reply. The knot in his throat began to tighten.
"Go to her. Tell her the truth. Not as Archmage, not as a servant of the crown. Go as the man who finally decided to live," Silvania added. "Because if you leave without telling her what's in your heart... that would truly be cowardly. And you are not a coward, Dyan Halvest. You're just tired. And a little broken."
The teapot whistled softly, but neither of them moved.
The Queen wasn't ready to receive him yet.
But he was, at last, ready to face her.
Dyan poured the tea with the delicacy the moment deserved. Then he took a seat opposite Silvania in the spacious Camellia Hall, where the tall windows let in a warm, trembling light that seemed to envelop everything in a faint veil of nostalgia.
The emerita queen's gaze, attentive and penetrating, watched him with a mixture of affection and clear-sightedness. She had known him since he was a mere child: a shy apprentice under Edictus's tutelage, always too serious for his age. Although the world now recognized him as the Archmage, it was impossible to pretend in front of Silvania. They were the closest thing to friends there could be between a queen and a commoner, and though no one said it aloud, the palace corridors whispered what they both kept silent.
"Dear friend..." Dyan murmured with a soft smile. The wrinkles on his face, usually barely visible, deepened for an instant as if the light revealed hidden truths. "Don't you think telling her that would only put more weight on her soul? We both know it would be a useless gesture. It would only open another wound. And I don't dare do such a thing to her."
"She is my daughter, yes..." Silvania replied calmly, though her words carried a pang of weariness. "But her stubbornness far surpasses mine. Perhaps you see her with other eyes, but you will leave her wounded either way. Have you truly never told her how you feel?"
Dyan looked down, taking a deep breath. His voice came out barely a whisper:
"I don't have that right, Silvania. But she knows. Perhaps not with words... but with my actions, I've tried to show it. I've given my life for this kingdom, for her... And what good has it done me?"
Silvania took the cup with the elegance she still possessed and took a small sip. Then, without looking directly at him, she continued:
"A true queen can mold laws if she wishes. No one would object to her ennobling the man who has protected the crown with his blood. She could give you a title, and with that... a path. Or am I mistaken?"
Dyan laughed, a brief laugh, almost a sigh.
"You would do it, without hesitation. But Eleanor wouldn't change the rules, not even for herself. She's too just... or too proud."
"How absurd," Silvania retorted with a hint of bitterness. "What good is power if you don't use it when it matters most? If you were anyone else, I wouldn't even mention it. But I love you like a son, Dyan. I still remember those eyes of yours, a servant's eyes, when you first came to this palace. An adorable child, rigid as a statue, his soul already marked by duty... And look at you now. The greatest mage in the kingdom. A legend. But you're still alone."
Dyan looked away shyly, and from his robe, he pulled out a small cloth pouch which he gently placed on the tea table.
"Don't stop drinking this infusion. Even if I leave, I'll return for your check-up. I'd like to see you live many more years."
Silvania recognized that gesture. It was his way of escaping. Of changing the subject when it hurt too much to keep talking.
"The new medicine has worked wonders," she said with a suppressed smile. "I've even been able to walk in the gardens... that's more than I could have hoped for." She paused briefly, her voice barely breaking. "Thank you for taking care of me all these years. And for taking care of Eleanor... She may not say it, but we both thank you. From the bottom of our hearts."
"I only fulfilled my duty," he replied humbly. "But it would make me happy for you to stay healthy. For you to find peace."
"And you? Where do you plan to go?"
The birdsong drifted in from the gardens, filling the room with a breeze that carried scents of honeysuckle and resin. Everything seemed suspended in an almost unreal instant.
"To Glavendell," he finally replied. "A village so remote it doesn't even appear on maps. North of the Atmos mountain range. I want to start anew... I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone."
Silvania closed her eyes for an instant. Then she took another sip, trying to hide the shadow of sadness that settled on her face.
"It's a brave decision... or a very cowardly one. I don't know if you're fleeing or if you're finally facing the unknown. But if you're doing it, it's because your heart demands it."
Dyan nodded, barely.
"I thought about it for years. Many times I called myself a coward just for considering it." He put down the cup and leaned towards her, with sincere devotion. "My friend, I don't want to end up alone. Perhaps fear moves me, yes... but I want to know a quiet life. To know simple joy. And if the gods are generous, to find someone who loves me without reservations. Without titles. Without duties."
Silvania slowly put down her cup and took Dyan's hand in hers.
"It's a shame you won't become my son-in-law... but it would be an even greater shame if you didn't find that happiness. You deserve it. For all you gave, for what you sacrificed." She caressed his face tenderly, an almost maternal gesture. "I'll miss you, dear. Some may silently celebrate your departure, but... your absence will weigh heavily. More than many will dare to admit."
"I'll miss you too. But I'll be back for your semi-annual check-up," he said with a sad smile. He leaned in and kissed her hand with respect and affection. "I'll write to you as soon as I settle in."
"I hope so. And don't you dare leave without saying goodbye."
A maid appeared at the entrance of the hall, bowing courteously.
"Archmage... the Queen awaits you in her study."
Dyan rose with a solemn gesture. The moment had arrived.
Silvania watched him in silence, her face etched with a soft, contained sorrow. She, too, had not had the courage to change the rules, to alter the path her daughter had inherited. Both had been prisoners of a rectitude that, in the end, only left them with solitude.
And as Dyan left the hall, leaving behind the scent of tea and the echoes of a lifetime, Silvania understood that she had lost more than a friend.
She had lost the possibility of what never was.
When Dyan entered the queen's study, she herself asked to be left alone and invited him to take a seat opposite her. The room was unnecessarily large, considering that it was not used to receive foreign dignitaries or nobles, nor to hold strategic or private meetings. It was, simply, the place where Eleanor reviewed documents, signed edicts, enacted laws, and gave instructions to her personal guard, the butler, or the head maid.