“But what if something goes wrong? Who will care for Cloudia? It’s not too late to go back. I’ll think of an excuse.”
“Indira.” Delphine places her calloused hand over mine and looks me straight in the eyes. “I have to be here.”
The surge of love and gratitude I feel for her almost brings me to tears. Having her here complicates everything, and I hate that she’s putting herself at so much risk, but I’m undeniably grateful.
We get to work, helping Alaric spread the bagrava across the cave floor, conveniently sending him deeper and deeper, until the ceiling is too low to stand. Until there’s no escape—except through the rocks themselves.
Alaric brushes off his hands, looking across his handiwork with a pleased smile. “What’s next?” Before, I would have considered his enthusiasm endearing. Now, all I can see is the obvious pleasure he’s taking in this. How clever he thinks he is.
I dart a sideways glance at Delphine, and, together, we move forward, cornering Alaric in the narrowing space.
“Now, you’re going to tell me the truth about what happened to my sister,” I say, purposely grinding a purple bloom beneath my boot.
Alaric frowns at the ruined flower, then at me, sputtering with disbelief. “What are you doing? What are you talking about?”
I bend over and remove a knife from my boot—which I stole from dinner the night before—and level the blade at Alaric’s chest. “I’m going to give you one more opportunity to tell me the truth aboutwhat happened to Rowenna. What I do after that depends on your answer.”
A burst of incredulous laughter escapes him. When I fail to lower the knife, an awkward silence settles between us. “You’re serious?” He blinks at me with confusion and something akin to grief. But I won’t fall for his sad-eyed act this time. He clears his throat and folds his arms. “Why are you bringing this up again? You know I had nothing to do with Rowenna’s death.”
I give a terse shake of my head. “I know nothing of the sort.”
He turns to Delphine. “Tell her she’s being ridiculous.” When Delphine says nothing, he laughs again, only now it’s bitter. Broken. “I’ve been honest from the start. I told you everything I know. I-I thought we we’re friends—allies. So much more than that.”
He looks directly at me as he says the last part, and waves of longing and loss roll through me. The knife wobbles in my grip.
“I know we love each other,” Alaric continues. “Or at least, I love you…” He pauses, clearly waiting for me to bare my feelings, but I don’t have any. Not anymore. My heart has been turned to stone just like the layers of sediment pressed together over thousands of years to form this mountain.
I shake my head. “You’ve only ever cared about what you can get from me. You used me to get rid of your father, win over the council, and get unfettered access to bagrava. You’re just like Soren. Worse, even! At least he didn’t pretend to love me.”
Alaric’s eyes are big and round with hurt—as if he’s actually capable of feeling emotions. “Where is this coming from? What in the name of the kings are you talking about?” His voice rises with each word. “I thought we moved past all this.”
“We only ‘moved past’ Ro’s death because you assumed the truth died with her, but I found this.” I hold out my hand and unfurl the chain, letting it dangle from my fingertips.
Alaric squints at the spinning platinum. “What does a chain haveto do with anything?”
I step closer, hold the chain higher. “This isyourchain, from the waistcoatyouwore the day you murdered my sister. Rowenna siphoned the memory into the chain in her final moments. Then the garment was sent to Cloudia for repair after you returned to the palace. She accidentally discovered the truth.” I wave the chain again. “Did Cloudia confront you about it? Is that the real reason she’s deathly ill? Did you induce some kind of sickness to keep her silent?”
“No!” Alaric shouts. “What are you talking about? I haven’t made anyone ill. That isn’t even possible. And Rowenna couldn’t have siphoned the memory of her death into that chain becauseI didn’t murder her. I’ve never even seen that chain!”
I prowl closer, both arms extended—one holding the chain, the other the knife. “Just because you don’t remember killing Rowenna, doesn’t mean you didn’t do it. We both know how easy it is toforgetthings on this mountain.”
Alaric vehemently shakes his head and steps back, but there’s nowhere to go. The cave has grown so low and narrow, his arms easily span both walls, fingertips digging into the wet rock. It occurs to me he could bring it all crashing down on our heads. He could silence Delphine and me and these accusations forever, but the walls don’t tremble in the slightest.
Alaric lets out an exhausted sigh. “Youknowme, Indira. YouknowI’d never do any of that.”
His words slice through me like a dagger, because Ididbelieve I knew him. And I thought he knew me—lovedme, even.
“That’s not to say I don’t believeyou,” Alaric hurries to add. “I’m not diminishing your experience—or what Cloudia believes she found,” he says to Delphine. “I have no doubt you’ve seen something terribly upsetting. But there has to be another explanation. I didn’t do this.”
“Then where did this memory come from?” I demand, waving the chain in his face.
Alaric reaches for it. “Let me see the memory, and we can figurethat out.”
I snatch the chain back with a laugh. “Do you really think I’m going to hand over the only proof of your crime?”
“I haven’t committed a crime!” he bellows. When I flinch, he does, too, holding his hands up as he looks between Delphine and me. “If you don’t trust me with the memory, call it forth yourself. At least let me see what you’re accusing me of and give me a chance to explain. Cloudia is sick. Maybe the ‘memory’ is a hallucination.”
“Like the ‘hallucination’ of a warehouse full of dying Vanzadorians?” Delphine retorts.
