“I don’t want to be the hero anymore!” I shout, tears streaming from my eyes. “I want to be with you.”
He inches closer, lifting a hand to wipe a trail of moisture from my cheek. “That’s what makes our sacrifices so achingly perfect.”
“Thorne—”
“I won’t let you tell me you love me,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. His heart slams against my palm. “But let me say it once to you. I love you. I have ever since you were nothing but a dream. And I continued to love you when you were revealed to be my enemy. I loved you when you annoyed me. I loved youbecauseyou annoyed me. Briony, I love you with every inch of my soul, and I want you to keep that somewhere deep inside. I want your heart to remember that you were loved. That you deserve love still. But everything else, I want you to forget.”
His words gouge my heart, a pain so vast I nearly crumple beneath its violence. But I don’t crumple. I don’t fall. Instead, I stand taller and meet his eyes with defiance. “I won’t,” I say through my teeth, curling my hands over the front of his shirt. “Command me all you want, but I will find a way to defy you. I will claw my way back to my memories. I promise I will dig them from the depths of my mind, my heart, my soul with everything I have—”
“Please do.” He presses his lips to mine in a hard, unrelenting kiss that tastes of salt, broken promises, and the bitter tang of goodbye. Mingling with that is a hidden sweetness, one of chocolate cake, stolen glances, and taunting games. Of tended wounds, dancing slippers, and protective embraces. But the words he speaks against my mouth burn like venom. “It’s time to forget, Briony Rose.”
44
BRIONY
Confusion blankets my mind. For a moment, I don’t know where I am. What I’m doing. My chest heaves with a broken sob while tears stream down my face without reason. Am I…crying? Pain pulses at my temples as I try to arrange my thoughts, but motion steals my attention.
I blink at my surroundings. The dining room at Nocturnus Palace sharpens into view, the space dark save for the moonlight streaming through the windows. A body shifts on a cot, stirring with slow, heavy movements. That must be the motion that drew my attention, but what are these cots? Who are these bodies?
My memories return in a rush of images, some vibrant, some hazy or out of order. I remember my birthday dinner, reuniting with my family before that, and being betrayed by Thorne—
Thorne.
Why would I call him that? The man is no better than a stranger, so his proper name is Mr. Blackwood. He was tasked with bringing me to my parents, then to my fiancé, but at my birthday dinner…
Another layer of memory peels back.
Shit. That’s right. Mr. Blackwood is also Vintarys Lemuria, the enemy of my family. And he…he forged a bond with me, one that allowed him to make demands of me, to control my actions, even my memories. I remember being ordered to draw the cake knife on my father, then the terror in my parents’ eyes.
My parents!
I stare at the bodies with fresh awareness and realize my parents are the ones lying before me. My mother was the figure who’d begun to stir. I fall to my knees at her side, gathering her hand in mine. As I do, more memories fill my mind, of me slicing the underside of Mr. Blackwood’s jaw—
An unsettling guilt fills my heart at the thought.
Why the hell would I feel guilty over cutting Mr. Blackwood?
The repercussions play out in my mind’s eye next. The way my family crumpled in place around the dinner table. Nyxia’s visit and explanation of the sleeping spell.
Relief flows over me, at least where my guilt is concerned. I wasn’t regretting hurting Mr. Blackwood but what drawing his blood caused. I regret what I did to my family.
My mother’s eyelids flutter open. I squeeze her hand tighter and settle in closer as her gaze rests on my face. Her round cheeks are pale, but the slightest hint of a rosy hue begins to color them. She tilts her head to the side, wincing as if the motion jars her senses. Finally, she speaks, the sound a tired rasp. “Rosaline? Is…is that you, lovey?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
She lifts her head, and I help her sit. Shuffling sounds rustle around us as my aunts, uncles, and cousins begin to stir as well. My father releases a tired grunt, but he still hasn’t moved.
“What’s…happening?” Mother asks, casting a squinted glance around the dining room. “Why…”
I don’t have words to explain so I wait for the memories to return to her on their own. Meanwhile, I hold her hand and brace her back, in case her strength falters. I see the exact moment when recollection dawns. Her eyes widen slightly, pupils dilating to swallow her blue irises.
“Right,” she says under her breath. With a jolt, she tugs her hand from mine, her gaze landing on my face with renewed terror. I flinch at the sight, and darker feelings emerge. A spark of resentment flickers in my chest, along with a sobering flood of new memories, all hazy and out of order.
Minka and her feline form.
My parents’ attempts to burn down the catacombs.
My unwanted engagement to Mr. Phillips.
