The shadow that darkens my doorway is my magnanimous host himself. He’s back in his glossy black-and-gold armor, twin braids coming off his temples. The low light of the hallway makes him look even more ominous, casting shadows across the harsh planes of his face, and yet my heart gives an unsteady thump at the sight of him.
“Ready to talk?” he asks.
I smile sweetly. “Certainly, Your Majesty, but you clearly don’t want to hear the only truth I have, which is that I don’t remember anything.” I tap my head. “Your own healers have confirmed that I’m suffering from memory loss due to a traumatic brain injury. You will be the first person to know if I am indeed here to do away with your surly self.” I purse my lips. “Though let’s be realistic... I’m probably at the back of a long line of enemies, given your shining disposition.”
“Your amnesia could be fake,” he says, ignoring my jabs.
I shake my head. “I wish I was that good of an actress. But by all means, keep me in this pretty room until you’re satisfied of my innocence.” I shrug. “Or use one of your psionic magi, one who can sense lies from truth, to see what I know. Shouldn’t you have one of those? I give you permission, go on.”
“I’ve tried,” he snaps, and my brows rise in concert. “And I failed.”
I blink.Hefailed? Sands, he’s a mind magi, too. I should have known he would have been so invasive without my consent. How many pillars can a person be proficient in? Ani had said it was rare to possess an affinity for all three, but maybe the king does. I glare at him, grateful for whatever windfall had kept him out of my most private thoughts.
“What of your mysterious, mythical azdaha? Is the beast sentient? You could interrogate it, since it supposedly brought me here in the first place, though I’m not entirely sure I even believe that.”
“Razulek has not yet awakened. Azdahas take to an intense slumber when they are gravely injured,” the king says.
My heart gives an odd pang and I rub my chest, flashes of emerald-green scales, an enormous wingspan, and intelligent eyes filling my vision. Oh,oh. My knees nearly buckle as the memories rise. Razulek... Grayheart, he’d called himself. He’d even told me of a mate who was here in Everlea.
Holygods. The creatureisreal...
I don’t realize that I’ve uttered the words aloud until the king speaks. His voice is so cold when he replies that I swear I feel hoarfrost cover my skin. “Yes. He was weakened from severe torture, his wings frail from disuse, and some of his wounds were internal. It was a marvel either of you even made it here.” The king’s gaze hardens as I struggle to make sense of my utterlyimpossiblememories. “Were you his prisoner, or was he yours, coerced to fly you here by your will?”
“I don’t have magic,” I say, “or psionic affinities.”
His mouth flattens. “You blocked me, so you have some ability.”
I let out a frustrated hiss through my teeth. “When will you understand that I am telling the truth? No one in Oryndhr has magic, least of all me!”
Momentary confusion glitters in his obsidian gaze before it goes blank. We glower at each other in a silent standoff, but I hold myself stiff with my head high, unwilling to give any quarter.Show no weakness...
“Follow me,” he commands brusquely, and walks away.
Anger swirls through my chest, though it’s frustration with myself that intensifies my feelings of utter powerlessness. I wish I hadn’t lost my memories.Ifby some long stretch of the imagination I had come here to assassinate him, I’d do it with relish.
No, you wouldn’t, because you’re not a killer... though that didn’t save you from committing untold horrors in the name of a man you loved.
I clutch at my temples, sinking into a crouch with a whimper of agony. Where hadthatthought come from?
Images burst into my brain: gleaming silvery ribbons of magic, fresh blood on my hands, raw pain brimming through me. I see myself on a dais, without my cuffs, standing next to a crowned but faceless monarch as he addresses his people. I dig deeper for his face, sensing that I know him, intimately in fact, and it slips away, but not before a name winks into existence.
Roshan.
Designations crash through my mind in response:bastard, savior, lover, betrayer, foe. But I don’t recognize the name at all. Which is he? One of them or all of them?
Sands, Suraya,remember!
But the images start to bend and fold into one another until they’re unrecognizable, only the faces of grotesque ghouls staring back at me, swallowing me whole with their gaping mouths. I scream until my throat burns, crumpling into myself... tumbling into the yawning abyss.
Eventually, a deep, commanding voice pierces the thick haze of my thoughts: “Suraya!”
How does he know my name? It’s my first sluggish thought. The second is that he’s touching me. The king’s hands are gently gripping my face, and as I stare into his mesmerizing obsidian eyes, I see concern and what looks like fear.
But hehatesme. Why in the realms would he look so fearful? Fear of me?Forme? My eyes roll back as the endless void threatens to tug me back under.
“Follow my voice, Starbright. Come back to me.”
Somehow in the throes of agony, I listen. I claw my way out of the suffocating, viscous pit until I’m lying shuddering on a solid polished floor, curled into a ball. “What... happened?” My voice is a raw whisper.
