She leaned over the cradle and shoved the pillow down. The infant wailed, but the sound was muffled by the pillow. I knew it was a memory, I knew it had already happened. But I still stumbled forward, Isanara between my legs. Garrick grabbed my arm, jerking me back.
I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could, young Alize flew backward through the air, crashing into the pale stone wall. My head whipped side to side, looking for who had intervened. But it was just the younger fae female, the infant, and us four spectators.
Before the young Alize could stand up, a bright light flashed, encompassing all my senses.
Then, just as suddenly, it receded, and sensations flooded back in. The light shone over my shoulders, gilding the golden stone. The wooden cradle swayed gently. Young Alize appeared in the arched doorway.
The memory played out exactly as it had the first time. The only difference was that I knew what to expect, and when young Alize flew backward, I thought I saw tendrils of curling white smoke above the cradle. But by the time I blinked, they were gone.
I expected the flash of light. For a second, all of my senses were deprived. It felt something like relief, except that it was too brief, and once again, we were back in the nursery in Balar Shan while young Alize attempted to kill her younger sibling.
I’d heard her crime at the Justice Gate. I now knew which one belonged to Garrick. But this was not the time. If this was Alize’s worst memory… which one of mine would the Memory Gate select for me to relive? And how many times?
When young Alize appeared in the archway again, the adult Alize at my side tensed.
I’d seen her composure falter once, but this was far beyond that. The cool, beautiful mask was completely shattered, leaving behind anger and rage that transformed her lovely face into something terrifying.
“Garrick,” I said softly, trying to draw his attention.
But he was already watching present-day Alize. His eyes were bright with sympathy, but he did not offer her any comment or solace.
Young Alize crossed to the cradle. But before she could summon the pillow, present-day Alize intervened. She shoved her younger self aside. The young female’s body did not even hit the carpeted floor. As soon as the real Alize shoved her away, the younger version evaporated.
Alize stood over the cradle. A single tear tracked down her face. Her hand twitched, and for one horrible moment, I thought she was about to summon the pillow herself and finish the job her younger self had failed to complete.
Instead, she reached down into the cradle and lifted the infant out. His hair was much darker than hers, nearly black, but I could see that his golden skin matched hers perfectly. Just as suddenly as the other Alize had disappeared, the baby in her arms morphed, and in its place stood a fully grown fae male. There was the same dark hair, the golden skin, but the face was fully formed into the lines of adulthood. Alize leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.
He did not reach for her, but nor did he push her away. He looked over her shoulder, beyond her and beyond us, not seeing us at all. He wasn’t real. I knew that. But the feeling was still unnerving. His eyes were a deep, familiar blue-green, thick with intensity that?—
The swirling black mist ripped me away before I could finish the thought.
CHAPTER 65
Even the second time,the feeling was horrible. All the air fled from my lungs, leaving only a painful, gasping emptiness. This time I landed mostly on my feet, though Isanara was braced underneath me, so I could hardly take full credit.
I felt Garrick at my side, though the frigid darkness and balancing on a slant made taking in the details of him more difficult.
“Where is Alize?”
Garrick scanned me from head to toe, found nothing imminently wanting, and moved on to adjusting his bow. “She passed through the gate.”
She’d relived her worst memory and been deemed worthy by Zeph, the God of Memory.
Garrick, Isanara, and I were still trapped in the Memory Gate.
And this memory was mine.
I recognized the barren street and the decrepit buildings. I’d lingered in the tavern at the end of the street for three nights. Too long.
Garrick and I watched from atop the old general store, crouching on the slanted single-story roof as I emerged from thetavern. A different, previous version of myself, though I looked exactly the same. My brown hair was darkened by the night, the blues and purples and browns of my clothing all muddled to black.
When I stepped into the ring of salt, a visceral cry tore from my lips—my present-day lips, not the ones of the witch frozen in the street. She could not move a muscle.
My attackers emerged from the alleyway and began their debate. Guilt swam in my stomach at the same time that power crystallized in my veins.
It was strange to watch the memory unfold from this angle, raised up above the entire scene. In Alize’s memory, we’d been closer to the action as it unfolded again and again.
Again and again. She’d been forced to relive the memory again and again, exactly as it was—until something caused it to change.
