I would have known if it was an act. I wouldn’t have felt the things I felt. His explanations and excuses wouldn’t have made so much sense. Alaric had nothing to do with Rowenna’s death or the Vanzadorian people in that hospital. He was blindsided, like me.Used, just like me.
But then how can I explain the memory—this physical, indisputable truth?
Another sob rips through me, and a tiny part of me is grateful Rowenna died never knowing the full extent of my betrayal. Even from beyond the grave, she was trying to warn me and guide me, but I refused to listen. I chose aboyover my own sister.
“I’m sorry,” I cry out, but of course she doesn’t answer. Why would she when I gave up on her a long time ago?
“Did you know?” I look to Delphine. “Have you seen this memory before?”
She shakes her head, tears still flowing down her cheeks. “Of course not. I would have told you immediately.”
“Where did the memory even come from? I don’t understand how Cloudia has it. Or how it exists in the first place. Alaric would never have kept proof of his guilt.”
“Unless he wanted to watch it back and revel in his triumph,”Delphine points out.
“He isn’t vindictive like that,” I start to say, but I bite my tongue.
Why am I defending him? How can I possibly know what he would or wouldn’t do when I clearly don’t know him at all?
I drag my fingers through my hair, pulling to the point of pain. Then I look down at Cloudia, who’s still staring blankly up at the ceiling, unable to answer a single question. Unaware she just shattered the framework of the life I’ve been building here.
“I obviously don’t know anything for certain”—Delphine reaches out and moves a sweaty strand of hair away from my face—“but I think it’s much more likely the memory was Rowenna’s. Not Alaric’s.”
“But in order for the memory to be Rowenna’s, she would have had to siphon it into the chain as she was falling.”
Delphine nods. “You saw her expression in those final moments. You know how brave and determined she was. Rowenna wasn’t going to let Alaric kill herandhave the final word. This was her only chance to tell the truth about her death.”
“But the broken chain was still attached to Alaric’s jacket,” I babble. “And he’s familiar with the buzz of hidden memories. He would have felt it.”
“Would he have?” Delphine asks contemplatively. “He was so furious. He’d just murdered his wife. I bet he ripped off the ruined jacket, stormed back to the palace, and tossed it in the laundry without noticing the faint buzz. Especially since he had no reason to believe Rowenna knew about siphoning memories. He never knew she followed him up the mountain and saw his memories. The coat must have been sent to Cloudia for cleaning and repairs. It all aligns.”
I push up to my wobbly feet, needing to move, to think. “Except Alaric was so vehement he had nothing to do with Rowenna’s death. You didn’t see the look on his face.”
“People lie all the time,” Delphine says softly, “and liars can have beautiful eyes and soft lips.” After a beat she adds, “Or maybe he doesn’tknow he’s lying. He might honestly believe he’s innocent. He could have purged the memory of killing Rowenna, assuming the truth about her death would die with her.”
I feel like I’m going to vomit. I bend over, head between my knees, and take big gulps of air, but my heart continues pounding. The room is suddenly stifling—even hotter than the Tomb Flats. “He wouldn’t do that. It’s too similar to how Soren tried to manipulate him after Besnik’s death.”
“I don’t want to believe it either, but you have to admit, it all fits,” Delphine persists, and I can’t argue because, now that I know what to look for, it’s easy to see how Alaric used me to get everything he wanted. He must have tried to woo and manipulate Rowenna first, but she was too savvy and strong-willed to fall for his tricks. So he killed her and decided to try again with me—the weak, naïve sister.
Once Alaric had me in his pocket, he set his sights on Soren—to avenge Besnik and clear his path to the throne. And like a fool, I helped him carry out the perfect assassination, making Alaric look strong and capable while ruining Soren’s legacy. Then I handed him the last thing he needed—the final piece of his elaborate scheme:
Unlimited access to bagrava.
If I offered it willingly, I wouldn’t be able to accuse him of bleeding me and my people dry. If I loved him, I’d be too blinded by affection to notice that he never really looked for other means to fuel his power.
I grab fistfuls of my blue velvet skirt—this ridiculous Vanzadorian gown that was chosen withhimin mind—and twist the fabric until my fingertips are bloodless and throbbing. My head still screams not to jump to conclusions. There could be other logical explanations. But I can’t think of a single one, and my heart is too shattered to keep searching.
Alaric’s deception is even worse than Soren’s. At least Soren never pretended to be anything he wasn’t. He knew his people were dying, he knew my people were suffering, but he believed the need for his powerjustified the cost. But Alaric pretended to be broken like me. He tricked me into believing he was truly invested in a new and different future.
It’s just like what Rowenna said about grain beetles. Iknewwho Alaric was and what he’s always wanted, but I convinced myself I was different. Special. That he’d change for me. But he didn’t hesitate to strike as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
“What do we do now?” Delphine asks, unable to hide the tremor in her voice. “I’m scared.”
I continue twisting my skirts, winding the fabric like wet laundry. But instead of wringing out dirty water, I’m wringing out my feelings, purging every smile, laugh, and touch I ever shared with Alaric Alaverdi. Until my insides are as dry and desolate as the Tomb Flats. Until my heart is as cold and hard as stone.
Even harder than Alaric’s.
“What do we do?” Delphine asks again. “We obviously can’t voice these accusations. No one will believe us after we just helped Alaric take the throne. Especially since he’s the only one with the ability to move the earth now. Vanzador needs him. So does Tashir.”
