Ingrid looks between us with a curious glint in her eyes. Again, she burns the needle in the candle flame and holds out her hand for Nephele. My sister isn’t as hesitant as me. She places her hand in Ingrid’s hold, and in seconds, Ingrid opens her eyes, once again relishing the blood on her tongue.
“You lived here as well. You were eight years old.” She turns to me. “You were only two.”
Nephele blinks, tilting her head. “We did no such thing. I would remember. Raina might not, but I would.”
Ingrid shrugs her shoulders. “I can only tell you what I see. You look like your mother—” she points at me. “And you,” she points at Nephele, “look like your father.”
“True enough,” Nephele says, “but we never lived here.”
“You did,” Ingrid says. “Stay here long enough, and the memories will arise. I can see you both on the beach with your parents, playing in the sand and water.” She clasps her hands atop the table. “There’s more though.”
Nephele looks at me, hesitation written all over her face. I let out a deep breath. “Let her speak,” I sign. “We can decide what we feel about it later.”
“Go on,” Nephele says to Ingrid.
“Your father used to go missing a lot.”
Nephele presses her fist to her mouth, then lowers her hand. “Not missing. He just went to other villages to trade.”
I don’t recall that at all, but the moment she speaks those words, the abyss in my mind roils like a boiling, oily pit. I close my eyes and tighten my fingers around the edge of my seat, feeling dizzy, feeling compelled, like the wisest thing I can do is dip my trust in that utter absence of everything.
But I peel my eyelids open instead, fighting that call, that lure.
Ingrid glances between us. “You both have memories of his absences. Days, weeks. Once he was gone for an entire month. When I see memories, my gift singles out where I need to look. These particular memories that I’m sharing with you are suppressed to varying degrees. The time you had here in Malgros is a significant suppression for you both. The issue with your father’s absence is more severe for Raina than you, Nephele. But there are hints to your here and now in those memories. Possibly even your futures.”
“Our parents would’ve told us if we lived here,” my sister says. “They wouldn’t have lied. Mother was pregnant with me here, but they left. She told me of my birth in the valley.”
My sister’s denial is strong. I don’t feel such disbelief that my Mother, at least, would’ve been dishonest.
“And yet your earliest memory is here in Malgros,” Ingrid replies. “Toddling on the sand with your father, you just haven’t recovered it yet. But surely you feel some familiarity here?”
She does. She said as much as we stared over the water earlier.
Someone touches my shoulder, and I jump, having completely forgotten that we weren’t alone in this room. Zahira stands behind Nephele and me like a protective mother, as though she knows we’ve already had our fill of this little outing.
“I think these two are tired, Ingrid,” she says. “Do you have any further suggestions for what Raina and Nephele might do to unearth these memories more fully?”
The woman leans forward, forearms on the table. “If you’re going to be here for any length of time, I suggest taking a stroll by the barracks where you and your parents would’ve lived and spend some hours on the beach. Other than that, perhaps you should have Captain Osane check the years of your parents’ time here. That information can be found in the Watch’s enlistment logs in the archives.”
We say our thanks and leave the room, quickly heading toward the home’s peeling front door. I don’t even hear Ingrid’s last words as we depart, and when we stroll by the barracks and the Northland Watch’s command post, I find I can’t look at the buildings for too long without the abyss coming alive, causing a tightness to clamp my chest like a vise.
I just want to go back to the lighthouse. I want to sink into the warm water between the rocks and forget that a stranger just told me my parents were even bigger liars than I imagined.
When I’m finally alone at the lighthouse, I strip down to my skin and dive deep into that steaming blue pool. Less than half an hour later, I stand in front of the mirror in the loft, staring at myself, a woman whose life has been built on lies. A woman who might not even know who she is at all. A woman containing a threatening, silent darkness she must eventually face.
I close my eyes and edge my consciousness close to that inky emptiness, vast and void as the space between stars.
I’m listening, I tell it, clinging to courage. Tell me what the fuck you want with me.
I’m met with silence as the darkness roils on.
26
ALEXUS
I lean against the wooden post by the stairs in the lighthouse loft, staring at Raina.
She sits in the chair by the desk, her back to me, one flourished knee drawn to her chest as she reads the book on curses I borrowed from Zahira’s office. She’s wearing nothing but a red silky robe—new—and her hair is damp, falling down her back in loose waves. She’s apparently so lost in thought that she never heard me come in.
