It descended. Slowly. And then it jerked to a stop. I imagined the doors would reform and release us—probably somewhere awful—but I was wrong. Whatever magic the black glass was imbued with made the air darken again and Faith reappear, older this time. She was crying, both hands clutching the front of Silas’s black uniform. Silas whose downturned face was entirely unlined and whose dark brown locks was untouched by age.
He pushed a piece of red hair off her cheek.Don’t ask me to choose between my duty and my heart, Faith. Don’t.
Ace may not have murdered my mother, but he married Cat, which makes him complicit.
You have to forgive her. Your mother attackedher.
You know what?She released him.You’ve obviously made your choice.She flicked her hand toward the entrance of her apartment.Leave.
Faith . . .
Leave!Her large blue eyes glittered with tears.And don’t bother coming back.
Brightness bled over the dark and whisked away Faith and Silas.
I blinked, found Remo already staring at me. This time, his lips were firmly wedged together, and his jaw ticked as though whatever had played out for him was deeply aggravating.
“You’re seeing my parents, aren’t you?” It wasn’t such a wild guess. If I was witnessing chapters from his life, he must’ve been seeing episodes from mine.
He twitched.
“Tell me what you saw.”
He thrust one hand through his hair, then averted his gaze. The elevator jerked before sliding down. This time, when it stopped, I was ready for my weird little show to begin.
Gregor was there and so was a younger version of Remo. If I had to guess, he was four, maybe five. And they were standing beside a floating crib. I couldn’t see the baby inside, but I could hear it whimpering. Was it Karsyn? No . . . Karsyn was over a decade younger than—
What do you think of your future queen?Gregor asked.
Iwas in that crib?
She’s a baby,Little Remo responded.Babies can’t be queens.
Babies grow up.
She’s ugly. And her cries hurt my ears.
Gregor guffawed, his thick, age-streaked hair dancing around his mirthful face.Better get used to it, Remo.
Used to what, Grandfather?
Women crying. That never changes.
My lips pinched together. Chauvinist.
Little Remo wrinkled his nose.I don’t like women.
If you’re anything like me, you will. You’ll like them way too much. Maybe you’ll even like this one.He nodded to my floating crib.And if you did happen to like her, then you’d be king. Wouldn’t that be just grand?
Remo pushed up on tiptoe to look into the crib again, nose still wrinkled.Do I need to like her to be king?
Gregor sighed, and although he wasn’t actually there, his piercing hazel gaze seemed to land on me—grown-up-Amara.It’d be the easiest way . . . but not the only one.
The air brightened, but my mood definitely didn’t. My loathing for Gregor Farrow simmered and sank into my skin, curdling my blood. How I longed to launch my fire and dust into thewariff’s face.
Remo and I didn’t talk this time, even though our eyes met and held as the elevator dipped to the next floor. We’d gone up three stories. Did that mean there would be one more memory to wade through? Gripping my elbows, I readied myself. Right on cue, the elevator leveled out, and the air blackened.
A ball smacked into the side of Remo’s jaw, which was slightly round and dusted with sparse stubble.
