Alaric doesn’t stop me like I secretly hoped he would. Nor does he oversee my return to the dungeon, which takes the better part of the night and involves dozens of torches and metal scrapers to remove the worst of the black mold. He doesn’t even come the following morning, after having all night to mull over the memories I showed him. Or the morning after that. And as the days slowly creep by, I have no choice but to accept the devastating truth.
He isn’t coming.
He doesn’t believe me.
I told you so, Rowenna tries to whisper from beyond the grave.You deserve to die here for choosing him over me. For choosing Vanzador over Tashir.
But I swat her accusations away the way I’d swat a fly from fresh cream.
Whatever becomes of me, I know I made the right decisions for both Tashir and Vanzador. I tried my best to bring us together, like Earth Mother always intended, and even though I may not have succeeded, at least I tried. I can rest knowing I did everything in my power to do right by my people. So instead of continuing to torment myself with my many failings and regrets, I spend my days lying face up on the floor with my eyes closed, dreaming of a different ending. A different world. Where I run through the underground halls of the hillock palace and wander through fields of bagrava as high as my shoulders, but also sit in salons with crystal windows and hike steep trails that extend into the sky. Birdie is there, and Elodie too. As well as Alaric, Lewis, and my mother and father. An amalgamation of people and places that shouldn’t fit together but do.
Even the Marauders are there, sitting peacefully in the streets ratherthan ransacking our fields, with one hand pressed to the ground, the other draped over their eyes. I realized the memory tithes could be the perfect solution—at least for a while. The Vanzadorians may not have enough of themselves left to give the earth, but the Marauders have too much ravenous vitality from years of misusing bagrava. If we couldsomehow contain them and teach them how to give their hunger to the ground, it could fuel Alaric’s power while greatly diminishing his need for power altogether. If the Marauders were no longer a threat to our bagrava, Tashir wouldn’t need protective mountains. Alaric’s power would only be needed for mining, and much of that can be done the old-fashioned way. My people wouldn’t have to starve and break their backs, and the Vanzadorians wouldn’t have to sacrifice their memories.
It would be perfect—if anyone was willing to listen to my ideas.
Since they’re not, I’m the only one who gets to experience this new and better world. I spend so much time there, the real world starts to drift away, and I happily let it go. I have no reason to miss reality, no reason to look back.
Until the day it starts raining in my new world—pouring like I’ve never seen. The sudden deluge is so fast and pummeling, it wrenches me back and I lurch up from the prison floor.
I feel like I’m drowning, and I can’t see a thing. After spending so long in the blackness of my mind, even the murky light of the dungeonburns. I blink and squint, but I think my eyes have been permanently damaged. It’s the only way to explain the two blurry figures standing outside my prison cell, one holding a dripping bucket, the other wearing an ornate golden jacket embroidered with azure gemstones.
“I told you she wasn’t dead,” the man with the bucket says.
“No thanks to you,” the second man scolds.
And now I know this can’t be real because it’shisvoice, and there isn’t a chance in the world Alaric Alaverdi has come for me. I showed him the truth, and he left me to rot. But then he speaks again, and despite myself, my entire body hums to life at the sound—like the first buds of spring pushing up through the frozen ground.
“Open the door and release her,” Alaric commands.
I rub the water and grime from my eyes, fully expecting him to vanish, but Alaric’s visage sharpens, revealing a face soft with concern and a hand reaching out to help me up.
“Come on, let’s get you out of here. Elodie’s waiting in your chambers to clean you up. We need to get you in better shape before your parents arrive.”
“I don’t understand,” I croak, shocked by the sound of my forgotten voice. “Why are you here now? And why would my parents come? Did you bring them to witness my execution?”
“What?No!” Alaric shakes his head with horror. “I invited them to visit—to celebrate everything we’ve accomplished and to discuss new terms for the treaty. They’re so proud.”
“I don’t understand,” I say again, gripping my throbbing forehead.
“I finally watched your memories—ourmemories,” Alaric corrects. “I’m sorry it took so long. I was confused and frightened. I wanted to investigate each claim on my own—my father’s death, the effects of the memory tithes, double-crossing councilors like Von Nevus—I had to sort it all out before…” His words trail off and he looks down at his shoes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was blushing.
“Before what?”
I dare to glance up at his mesmerizing eyes and immediately wish I hadn’t. He’s so stunning and strong—the picture of power and competence, in his crisp jacket with his confident, kingly demeanor—while I’m weak, filthy, and half-feral after all this time in prison. Even if he believes my memories are accurate, it doesn’t mean his feelings for me have returned. How could they? How could you possibly love someone who didn’t believe in you? Who tried to kill you?
“Before I dothis.” Alaric leans down, silencing the cacophony in my head with his lips.
I gasp into his mouth, which only seems to encourage him. Alaric’s hands snake around my waist, pulling me into him. I’m laughing so hard, tears are falling down my face. This can’t be real. But then his hands are cupping my cheeks and sliding into my filthy hair, and he gently murmurs, “Thank you, Indira.”
“What are you doing?” I try to squirm away. “I’m completely disgusting. I’m going to ruin your jacket. And what are you thanking me for? I stabbed you!”
Alaric shakes his head and presses his forehead against mine, looking into my eyes as he says, “No, yousavedme. You saved us all from the harrowing future my father and Rowenna were forcing on our kingdoms. You showed me a better way.”
I let out a pop of incredulous laughter and try to avert my gaze. “You’re giving me far too much credit.”
But Alaric tightens his hold, keeping our heads locked together. “Show me your memories from the beginning, thenI’lldecide how much credit you deserve.” He wags his dark brows suggestively, and my stomach fills with a kaleidoscope of butterflies.
I’m still not convinced I’m awake. That he’s here. That my parents could be coming to Vanzador. It’s the end of a story far too happy to be mine.
