LXIII ※ A Song of Lies and Manipulation: The Cello Conspiracy

We have heard this song she's playing before, not that perfectly, but we heard it. In Avy's room. On her last year with us, Avy played that song at least three times when Eileithya was there, and each time it seemed like it meant something, like there was a connection to the notes that made the air feel heavier. It was strange, even back then, because we knew how important music was to Avy, but the song felt almost like a secret, a special thing that only she shared with certain people. Every note lingered in the air like it was carrying a story, an emotion, something deeper that wasn't immediately obvious, but still somehow felt undeniable.

The feeling in the room had always been the same when that song played. It was almost as if it created an unspoken bond between Avy and whoever was present, but only if you were paying attention. I remember how Avy's face would light up with excitement as she played it, her fingers moving with a quiet confidence, like the melody belonged to her in a way that nothing else did. The room would grow still, and even Eileithya, who was often so wrapped up in herself, seemed to recognize it. But that was the thing—it wasn't just any piece of music. It was something uniquely Avy, something that we all felt was hers and hers alone.

And when we asked her about it later, after the last time we heard it, she smiled softly and said she had written it. She told us that she composed it, her voice filled with such pride and excitement that it was impossible to ignore. She had written it herself. Those were the words she used, and there was no doubt in my mind that it was true. Avy had always been the creative one, the one who could make the world around her come alive with music. We all saw it. The way she poured herself into every note, the way she made the piano sing, the way her violin seemed to hum in harmony with the world around her. It was something special, and that song—her song—was a part of her, something that no one could take away from her.

So why is Eileithya lying? Why is she acting like she created it, when it was my sister who did it? The same sister who's no longer with us. It was her song, her composition. Hasn't she tainted her memory enough? I could feel the frustration building inside of me as I stood there, listening to Eileithya claim ownership over something that wasn't hers. It wasn't just a lie; it was an attack on everything that Avy was, everything that she left behind. It was an attempt to steal something from her, to erase her from everyone's memory, to rewrite the past to fit her narrative.

It wasn't just about the music. It was about the principle of it—the audacity of Eileithya to stand there and claim something that was so obviously not hers. The same sister who had been through so much, who had created that song as a gift for the people she cared about, who had put her heart and soul into it, and now Eileithya was trying to take it from her, to make it her own. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

As soon as Eileithya was done with her performance, almost everyone in the room applauded her, the sound of clapping ringing in my ears. It was almost deafening, the sound of approval from everyone who hadn't seen the truth. Almost everyone, except me, my mom, and my sister Phaedra—because Ismene is still out. We knew the truth. We knew what Avy had said. We knew the song was hers.

"Wait," I said, my voice cutting through the applause like a blade. "You said you composed it?" I couldn't help but mock, my words dripping with disbelief. My eyes narrowed as I watched her face for any sign of guilt or hesitation, but her expression remained composed, too composed.

She frowned at me, as though she didn't understand why I was questioning her. Her eyes locked onto mine, and I could feel the tension in the room shift. She turned toward me, a slight defensiveness creeping into her posture. "Yes, Your Highness," she responded coldly, her voice steady, but there was something off. Something unnatural about the way she spoke, something rehearsed.

"You are lying!" Phaedra hissed, her voice filled with raw anger. Her words were sharp and fierce, cutting through the quiet tension in the room. She was just as furious as I was, if not more, and I could feel her anger matching my own.

"You shouldn't lie on the tests, Nsomi!" Mother scoffed at her, her voice dripping with disdain. "My daughter, Avyanna, composed this song. She played it to you more than once when you were together in her room, did she not?" Her voice was sharp, like a whip cracking through the silence that had fallen over the room. The room felt frozen, heavy with the weight of her words.

"What?" Eileithya gasped, clearly caught off guard by the accusation. Her eyes widened, but only for a moment. Then she steadied herself, straightening her back like she was preparing for a battle. "It was me who was playing it to her," she lied smoothly, her voice now more insistent, her words more forceful. "I composed it for her, because she asked me. Avy was not a liar. She wouldn't have lied about it."

I saw red. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, the heat rising in my chest. "Stop. Lying," I spat, my words like a command, sharp and unforgiving. My anger flared up in an instant, and I couldn't hold it back. "She told us she composed it, and that she was the one playing it."

Eileithya froze for a split second, the briefest moment of panic flashing across her face before she quickly concealed it. Her eyes darted toward the cello, her gaze lingering there for a moment as though she was trying to regain her composure. "I am not lying," she muttered, her voice still steady, though I could sense the strain in her words. "Did you ever see her playing? No, you didn't, did you? Because Avy only knew how to play the piano, the violin, and the guitar. She couldn't play the cello. So why are you trying to do this to me again?"

"Lies," my mom yelled, her voice filled with fury. "My daughter could play all that—the cello and the flute. Immaculately. Don't you dare speak about her like that."

"Have you ever seen her playing the cello or the flute, Your Majesty?" Eileithya's voice was composed, but the challenge in her words made my blood boil. She was twisting the situation, manipulating it into something it wasn't, turning everything upside down.

We all swallowed, glaring at her. The air in the room was thick with tension, the lies hanging between us like a suffocating fog. We were all too aware of the depth of her deception, the audacity with which she was carrying it out. "We heard it!" Phaedra hissed again, her voice trembling with anger, the sharpness of her words biting into the silence.

"You heard it? Is that it?" Eileithya's eyes narrowed, and she raised an eyebrow in disdain, her posture arrogant. She was trying to control the conversation, to make us feel like we were the ones in the wrong, to shift the blame onto us. "And in all the times you heard it, was it while eavesdropping on her closed room when I was in there with her? Or was she alone?"

"She was playing it to you, she told us!" Mother hissed, her patience wearing thin, but her resolve unwavering.

Eileithya swallowed, her throat working as though she was gathering herself for something else. She took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly, though she quickly concealed it. "You can call the temple in, Your Majesty," she said, her voice suddenly calm but with an edge, the coldness in her words like ice. "They have a tool that allows them to tell when someone is telling the truth or not, don't they? Avy was not a liar. I don't believe she ever said she did something she did not. And I am not lying. But if you insist on tainting my integrity like that, call the temple, make them see if I'm lying or not. I'll gladly repeat every single word I told you, just to prove to you that I am not lying."

"Hah, now you are trying to manipulate us," I scoffed, the words bitter in my mouth, the taste of anger rising up like a fire that couldn't be quelled.

"Should I let myself be wrongly accused of something I didn't do, Your Highness?" Eileithya turned her attention to me, her gaze sharp and unyielding, her voice laced with a strange sense of challenge. "These are the trials to decide who will become Queen, and I do not believe any Queen would let that happen to them. Would you, Your Majesty?" She threw the question at my mother like a gauntlet, daring her to answer.

"You are crossing the line, Nsomi Eileithya D'Arcy!" Mother yelled, her voice shaking with fury, the frustration boiling over.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, I will not let anyone wrong me," Eileithya said, her tone biting, but with a strange sense of calm. "Even if the person doing it is Your Majesty, or Her and His Highness. You can hate me, but I will not let my integrity be tainted. First, you called me a murderer. Now, you are accusing me of impersonating the Late Princess and lying to the entire Kingdom in a broadcast. Those are grave accusations, even for you, Your Majesty. So, if you insist on this, I'll ask you to either cut me out of the Crowned Princess Trials or call in the Temple, so they can prove if I am the monster you so badly want to make out of me, or if I am being wronged."

"Wronging Nsomi and tainting her integrity, is wronging and tainting the integrity of our House. We cannot let that happen, Your Majesty," Rai suddenly exclaimed, his voice loud enough to echo in the room. He had been silent for the entire argument, but now, he spoke with confidence. "Especially because I've seen her, when she was still creating this cello song at home. Not just heard it, but I've seen her doing it through her open door."

What? Why is he lying for her now? My mind raced, my heart pounding in my chest. Was this some twisted game they were playing? Were they all in on it, trying to turn the truth on its head?

The room fell silent, and I could feel the weight of their lies pressing down on me. Every word, every move felt like a battle, and I was losing.