Fallen Eagle-Character Spotlight - Cassandra Nomikos

Fallen Eagle-Character Spotlight - Cassandra Nomikos

December, 1455
Three soft knocks echoed from the door. Cassandra couldn’t wish them away harder if she tried.
“Cassandra,” Madame Zeta, her overbearing, ever-fussing nanny, called from beyond the wood. “I’m going to open the door, okay?” Her high-pitched, needling voice was even more annoying than usual.
“Don’t open it. I’m not finished getting dressed.” Cassandra lied, and it sat wrong on her tongue, like sour milk. Lying wasn’t supposed to be allowed. All the adults loved to talk about honour and truth and how a Lady’s word was sacred. But they had told her everything would be fine. They had said her mother would be alright, that the healers knew what they were doing, that she should “trust in God” and “trust her elders.”
In the end, it wasn’t fine at all.
“You’ve been dressing yourself for well over an hour, my Lady.” Madame Zeta called. Her tone was sugary in a way that made Cassandra’s skin crawl. It was the fake sweetness she used with guests. “You mustn’t hide away.”
“And I’m still dressing myself,” Cassandra called back from her bed. In truth, she was curled up there, wrapped in as many blankets as she could pile on top of herself. She pressed her face into the pillow, trying to fight off the cold, trying to fight off the world itself.
“No, you are not, young lady. And this speaks to a lack of decorum,” the old hag whined from behind the door. Cassandra could picture her pinched face and little frown lines. “Lying is also-”
“What everyone does!” Cassandra shouted, her voice cracking. “You all lied to me!”
Her throat squeezed tight. The rest of the words tangled up in her chest, hot and sharp and dangerous. If she kept going, she knew she would burst into tears, and a Lady must not show overt emotions, her nanny always said. Even now, even like this, Cassandra hated that the rule still clung to her.
“You are behaving in an unbecoming manner,” Madame Zeta scolded. “I know it is a hard time for you. It is for us all, but this sort of behaviour-”
Thank God someone cut her off, because Cassandra wasn’t sure she could have done it herself without sobbing.
“Cassandra.”
Her father’s voice. She went absolutely still.
“Can I come in, little fawn?”
His voice was a deep, serious sound that usually made her feel safe, like a big heavy cloak around her shoulders. She had fallen asleep to that voice countless nights, listening to stories read aloud by him and Mama, sitting one on each side of her bed.
The memory stabbed her so sharply she couldn’t stop the tears this time. They leaked out anyway, even as she tried to swallow them back.
“Y-yes,” she squeaked, the word slipping out between hiccups as she tried to pull herself together like a proper Lady.
“It’s alright, I will go alone. She doesn’t need to be overwhelmed so fast,” she heard him murmur quietly to Zeta. People always forgot how good Cassandra’s hearing was.
The door creaked open, and her father stepped inside. The sight of him almost broke her in two.
He always took pride in looking neat and noble, his copper hair combed, his clothes smooth and clean. Now his tunic was wrinkled, his shoulders slumped. Usually he moved like a bright, warm flame that filled the room with energy. Today he looked dim, like a candle about to go out.
He came closer to the bed, stopping by the mountain of blankets. “How you doing, little fawn?”
The pet name, which used to feel like a warm blessing whispered just for her, now felt like a cruel joke.
“Bad,” Cassandra said. She could lie to other people, but not to Papa.
“Yeah. I get that,” he replied, letting out a quiet, broken little laugh. “But you can’t hide under the covers forever.”
He shook the blankets gently, as if he could rustle her out like a sleepy cat.
“I don’t care,” Cassandra muttered, wriggling deeper into the warmth, deeper into the dark. If she hid well enough, maybe the whole world would forget about her.
“Your mother wouldn’t want that for you,” her father sighed. He laid a warm hand over hers through the covers.
Cassandra jerked her hand away as if his touch burned.
“Mother isn’t here,” she snapped, the words bursting out before she could stop them. Pain made her brave and mean. “You said you’d protect her. And now she’s dead.” Everything hurt, but that hurt the most. That her Papa, of all people, had lied to her… It was too cruel.
Her Papa’s face crumpled. For a heartbeat he looked much older, like the whole world had landed on his shoulders all at once.
“You’re right, little fawn,” he said at last, his voice rough. “I’m sorry.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “Your papa is a liar,” he added quietly.
He patted her head again, fingers moving carefully through her tangled hair. This time Cassandra didn’t have the strength to push him away. She could only cry. Sobs shook her as she hid beneath the covers, wrapped up in blankets and Papa’s arms both.
“Hey,” her father said softly after a while, when her crying had turned into tiny shivers. “I know what could be fun.”
No, you don’t
, she thought bitterly.
Nothing is fun.
“You could show me some of your poetry,” he suggested anyway. “What have you been working on, little fawn?”
Cassandra only shook her head hard, her hair scratching against the pillow. The idea of him reading her poems now—poems Mama had helped her with—made her stomach twist.
Her father tried a few more times to coax her out, making small jokes, tugging at the covers, offering to have honey cakes brought up. None of it worked. At last he fell quiet.
“Should Papa leave?” he asked gently.
Cassandra nodded under the blankets. She couldn’t bear to look at him, not with Mama gone and his promise broken.
“Come out when you’re ready, okay?” he said.
He bent down and kissed her forehead through the sheets, finding the right spot even though he couldn’t see her face.
When he left, closing the door with careful softness, the room felt huge and empty. Cassandra lay there for what felt like forever - a solid hour at least - staring into the dark. She twisted in her blankets, thinking terrible thoughts, hating the world, hating her father, hating herself for still loving him anyway.
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Eventually, her body ached from lying still and, with a grunt, she forced herself to sit up. Her nightdress was wrinkled. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were sore and puffy. Slowly, as if she were made of stone, Cassandra got dressed and left.
Reaching the courtyard felt like walking through mud. It was sunny, annoyingly so, as if the sky hadn’t noticed anything had happened. The winter air was cold and misty, puffing out in little clouds when she breathed. The mountains rose in the distance, tall and bright, their tops shining white. Below them the Suyren creek curled like a silver ribbon through the land.
It had been Mama’s favourite view. They had stood there together so many times, hands linked, watching the light change on the peaks.
Now, she had never hated anything more.
“Cassa!”
A little black furball came flying at her and crashed into her middle with the strength of a cannonball. Cassandra oofed and staggered back a step as Hilda wrapped her arms around her waist.
“How are you?” Hilda tipped her head back, amber eyes wide with worry, her small mouth pinched tight.
“I’m doing fine.” Cassandra forced a smile onto her face. It felt stiff and wrong, but she kept it there anyway. “I was just walking through the castle, to take my mind off things.”
She wasn’t in any mood to talk, not really. Her heart still felt like someone had taken it out and stepped on it. But she had never been able to resist Hilda. Her little cousin looked so small and innocent, all wild black curls and big eyes, and Cassandra felt like she had to be strong for her. Maybe this was how Papa felt when he tried to be strong for
her
.
“I’ll join you! Ooh, I know, we can play hide-and-seek!”
Hide-and-seek was Hilda’s answer to almost every problem. In her mind, there was very little that couldn’t be fixed by running, hiding, and then jumping out at people.
“Let Cassandra be, Hilda.”
Uncle Kostakis stepped up behind her. He was a quieter sort of man, always standing a little straighter than everyone else, like he carried invisible armour. His clothes were neat, his back never slouched. His copper-brown hair was cut very short, as if he had no time for anything extra, not even his own hair. His expression was usually serious, almost stern, but his brown eyes were soft and tired, the eyes of someone who worked too hard and worried too much.
“I’m sure she doesn’t have the energy for it right now,” he added gently.
“Yes, you little pipsqueak, stop buzzing about. You’re annoying others,” came a drawling voice.
Next to him stood cousin Remus, tall and all elbows and knees, like he’d grown too fast and his body hadn’t caught up yet. He bent down just enough to peer at his sister with his ridiculous height, a crooked grin on his face.
Hilda stuck out her tongue at both of them, but mostly at Remus. “If that’s what I am, then what are you?” she demanded, with the pure, burning righteousness only Hilda could manage. “Big-nosed stick!”
The insult hit home, as usual.
“Why, you little—” He took a step forward, all puffed up like an offended rooster.
“Enough, Remus,” Kostakis sighed, stopping him with one hand on his arm. It sounded like he had said those exact words a thousand times before. “We have to prepare you for your journey to the Capital.”
His gaze slid to Cassandra, and for a second their eyes met. He didn’t say anything else, but she understood. He knew she needed space. He knew she was barely holding herself together.
“And we should let Cassandra go on her stroll,” he finished. “She has a lot on her mind.”
Remus seemed to understand the hint too. To Cassandra’s surprise, he swallowed whatever he was about to say. With a kind of awkward care she never expected from him, he nodded.
“Yes, we should leave.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of himself. “Be strong, Cassandra,” he added, the words sounding like they hurt his mouth on the way out.
“I’ll join you!” Hilda declared at once, grabbing Cassandra’s hand. “I can’t bear to be near my annoying brother any longer!”
Remus lunged toward her, but Hilda squealed and darted behind Cassandra’s skirts like a rabbit fleeing a hound. Cassandra couldn’t help the smile that slipped out at their antics.
Kostakis caught that tiny smile and his own mouth softened. “Keep an eye on the little rascal, if you can, Cassandra,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He gave her a quick, friendly wink. Hilda huffed and puffed at that, as if being called a rascal was the gravest insult.
Both men disappeared back through the courtyard, their boots echoing on the stone. The moment they were gone, Hilda tugged harder on Cassandra’s hand.
“Come on, Cassa!”
She dragged Cassandra across the yard, towards their favourite place: the old oak tree in the centre of the garden, the one Mama had loved best. Its trunk was thick and rough, its branches stretching out like strong arms over the flowerbeds, bare now in winter. A rope swing hung from one of the lowest branches, its wooden seat smooth from years of use.
Hilda hopped onto the swing at once and started kicking off the ground, making herself fly back and forth. As she swung, she began to complain about Remus - how he teased her, talked too much, nd acted important just because he was tall, and was going to the Capital.
Hilda went on and on, her voice a steady stream of words. Cassandra heard bits and pieces, but most of it just washed over her like background noise.
Her mind drifted instead to other days, other winters, when Mama had stood right there, hands on the swing, pushing Cassandra higher and higher. She could almost hear Mama’s laugh, warm and bright. She could almost feel her fingers on Cassandra’s shoulders, steadying her when she slipped. The space where Mama should have been felt so big it made Cassandra’s chest ache.
Her eyes blurred without her meaning them to. Before she knew it, tears were sliding down her cheeks, hot against the cold air. She quickly wiped at them with the back of her hand, but more came.
Hilda slowed her swinging when she finally noticed. The rope creaked as she dragged her feet on the ground and hopped off, running over to Cassandra.
Without a word, Hilda threw her arms around her. Cassandra clung back, pressing her face into Hilda’s wild hair. It smelled like smoke from the kitchen and the sweet soap the maids used.
“I miss her,” Cassandra whispered into those soft curls, her voice breaking.
Hilda’s arms only tightened. She didn’t say anything, just held on, small and fierce and solid.
After a long moment, Hilda pulled back, eyes shining but determined, like she’d suddenly had an idea.
“I know what we should do,” she said, her usual energy returning all at once. “We should write a poem to cheer you up!”
Cassandra sniffled and let out a shaky little laugh. “You don’t even like writing poems,” she managed, rubbing her nose with her sleeve.
“But I really
want
to write one right now! So that’s final!” Hilda squeaked, her little voice bursting with stubbornness.
Before Cassandra could answer, Hilda grabbed her hand again and set off toward the castle at a determined march, dragging Cassandra along behind her like she never had any choice.
“Can I come in, Cassandra?” Papa asked from the other side of the door.
It was already past her bedtime, the candles burned low, but Cassandra still lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Sleep felt very far away.
“Yes,” she answered. Her voice came out steadier than it had that morning, and she was oddly proud of that.
Papa opened the door quietly and stepped inside, moving with slow, careful steps, as if she were a frightened animal that might run. “How did your day go?” he asked, coming to sit at the edge of her bed.
“It went well,” Cassandra said - and this time, she actually meant it. “Hilda cheered me up. Uncle Kostakis too. Apostolos gave me a new pen to write my poems with, even though he must be really sad too.” She hugged her knees under the blanket. “I’m so lucky,” she added softly. “I have so many people looking out for me.”
“I’m glad,” Papa said. He leaned over and hugged her, slow and careful, like he was afraid she might break. “We need Unity in these times.”
“From the smallest branch, to the lowest root,” Cassandra finished automatically. It was one of his favourite sayings, something he always repeated in speeches and at the dinner table. He smiled when she said it, though the smile didn’t quite reach his tired eyes.
“Show me what you’ve been working on,” he said, nodding toward the messy stack of papers covering her desk.
“It isn’t finished yet,” Cassandra warned. Still, she slid out of bed, shuffled over in her slippers, and picked up the page on top—the one with the neatest lines. She brought it back and held it out to him with both hands. “Can you read it?”
She always loved when he read her poems aloud. His voice made even simple words sound important. But this one felt different. This one felt like she was handing him a piece of her heart. Papa seemed to understand, because he took the paper very gently, as if it were delicate glass.
He cleared his throat and began to read:
I push my swing up so high,
High enough to reach for the sky.
Because there, up on the clouds,
I know that you won’t hear my shouts.
You won’t pat my head or tussle my hair,
Because you’re not really there.
But I still feel you so warm and close,
Looking over me like a ghost.
It hurts to write this poem for you,
Because you won’t hear it, will you?
I’ll leave it in the swing over by your tree,
So maybe it can fly to you from me.
“What do you think?” Cassandra asked, her voice very small.
“I…” Papa swallowed, his throat hoarse. “I think it’s perfect, my little fawn.”
He was trying very hard not to cry, she could tell, but one tear still escaped and slid down his cheek.
Cassandra’s chest tightened. She threw her arms around him, and he hugged her back, strong and trembling all at once. She buried her face against his shoulder, feeling the rough fabric of his coat and the soft, shaky breaths he tried to hide.
In that moment, pressed against his heartbeat, she understood something simple and sharp: she wasn’t the only one hurting. Papa’s heart was broken too.
Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut and held onto her father more tightly. Somewhere deep inside, beneath all the hurt, she made herself a quiet promise. She would grow stronger. She would learn everything she could. And one day, she would do whatever it took to make sure no one she loved ever had to feel this kind of pain. Not if she could stop it.
Not ever again.

Character Spotlight - Cassandra Nomikos