He nods faintly, eyes half-lidded. “I feel sort of like I did during my first years training, when I was a cadet and my commander made our squad run uphill until our bodies gave out and crashed upon the rocks.”
“You’re safe now,” I say softly.
His brow furrows, as if only now realizing that for a while hewasn’tsafe.
“I… don’t remember arriving,” he mutters. “I don’t remember much, actually. Only fragments. Ice. Darkness. The pain.”
My stomach knots. “Mylo brought you here. Found you at the border. But do you remember who took you?”
He grimaces, and something flickers across his expression, an echo of pain too sharp to conceal. “No. I’m trying to recall, but it’s as if there’s a missing piece of my mind I can’t find. I remember Lord Stregasi coming to the Garrison and telling us about Prince Torbin and the Shadow Tsar. About the pit. I remember setting out—” Heshakes his head. “The rest is a blur.”
I squeeze his hand and lower my voice. “You said some things when you got here. Some of it was incoherent, but one of them was… You said my father is alive.”
His expression clouds. “What?”
“You don’t remember?”
He slowly shakes his head, looking genuinely confused. “I’m sorry. It’s hazy. Like a dream. Like a nightmare without details…” He trails off, eyes narrowing in thought. Then he meets my gaze, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, Celeste. Maybe it was the fever talking.”
Mylo pushes off the wall, his voice gruff. “He wasn’t all there when I brought him here. Kept talking like someone was watching us. Said he saw wolves’ eyes in the trees.”
I glance between them, uncertainty tightening in my chest. He can’t remember any of it. Is this just a temporary side effect of Ezra’s elixir, or is his memory of the abduction gone forever? The thread of hope I’d been following, the hope that I’d get some answers, slips loose, replaced by something warped and unsettling. Confusion. Doubt.
Kormak’s eyes open again, clearer this time, and he turns to Mylo. “If it’s truly been weeks, I’ll need to get back to Delasurvia soon. The people need their general.”
Mylo frowns. “You just woke up. We’re not even sure how stable your condition is.”
“I’m awake. I’ll manage.” Kormak’s jaw hardens. “We should leave in the morning, Mylo.”
“Tomorrow?” I protest. “That’s too soon. What if—?”
“Whatever Ezra gave me worked,” he contests. “My strength is returning by the minute.”
“Please. Give yourself a week, just to be sure.”
He sighs. “Three days, then. That’s my final offer.” He glances over my shoulder. “I have Ezra here to help me get back my strength. And my healing magic will speed things along. I’ll rest here a while longer, but we can’t stay.”
I glance at Mylo, whose jaw tightens further. His loyalty pulls inopposite directions. But after a beat, he nods.
“I’ll gather provisions,” Mylo says, then he turns to me, his gaze unreadable. “And speak to the stablehands.”
When he leaves, silence settles again, thick and too heavy.
My uncle’s hand twitches in mine. “Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters. “I’m still here. I’m a survivor.”
I manage a small smile, but my thoughts are spiraling. He may be here… but part of him is still lost. “I’m glad you’re awake, Uncle. Now please rest.”
Ezra doesn’t say a word as I head into the corridor outside my uncle’s chamber. He follows, as if sensing my apprehension. He stares into nothing, arms folded, lips pressed into a line too tight to be casual.
I step closer. “Did you know he wouldn’t remember?”
He exhales slowly and glances at me. “I wasn’t sure, but I suspected.”
We walk in silence down the hall toward the eastern gallery, the quiet echo of our boots on stone filling the space. I stop by one of the narrow windows, the glass fogged at the corners, the world outside drenched from the storm. Ezra stops beside me.
“So the potion saved his life,” I say, though my voice is hollow. “But it stole his memory.”
“Perhaps the elixir tried to heal his suffering by erasing it. Or his mind tucked the memory away. Sometimes the brain shields itself from trauma. But between that and the elixir, the memories could be gone. Or just buried so deep, they might never come back.”
