“What happens to these people who have already sacrificed too much—or never had enough to begin with?” Alaric gently leans over to touch the cheek of a boy no older than five. The boy doesn’t look up or even flinch, and it reminds me of the hollow shell cicadas leave behind when they molt.
“They die,” Von Nevus says gravely. “Most of these people would be dead already, if not for this rigorous bagrava treatment—which I suggested, by the way.” He straightens his robes proudly. “When I saw how the bagrava tea soothed and stabilized the queen and her courtiers following a memory sacrifice, I hoped it would help these people too—fill the void where memories should be. And it does, to an extent. It prolongs their lives for months, sometimes even years, and allows them a few hours of normalcy each day, as you just witnessed.”
I look from one vacant face to the next, my heart throbbing painfully.
“What’s the point?” I sputter. “This isn’t sustainable. Surely, Soren must see that. My people can’t produce enough bagrava to meet your demands now, and if what you claim is true, the number of ailing Vanzadorians will only grow. Even if Tashircouldproduce enough bagrava without sentencing ourselves to starvation, it doesn’t actually give these people a good quality of life. A few hours a day is hardly enough.”
“So should we just let them perish?” Von Nevus asks. “You’re beginning to sound even more stonehearted than us, Princess.”
“No.Of course not. That’s not what I meant.” I blink around the dismal space. “Their suffering should be eased, of course, but the greater problem needs to be addressed. People need to stop giving memories.”
Von Nevus laughs. “Don’t try to solve problems you know nothing about. If you want to be useful, cultivate more bagrava.”
“But no matter how much bagrava we have, won’t there eventually come a time when everyone is ill?” Delphine asks. “When no healthy children are born? What does King Soren plan to do then?”
Von Nevus gives a full-bodied shrug. “King Soren says we must focus on the present, and the best way to serve and protect Vanzadornowis by keeping his power as strong as possible.”
“He doesn’t care about the bleak future because he plans to dump it on me,” Alaric says, gazing at the rows and rows of cots with a haunted look in his eyes.
I slump against the wall, overcome with exhaustion. For so long, I thought Soren used our bagrava to fuel his power, but the truth is so much worse. Keeping sick people alive might seem like a nobler cause, but by nursing these people with bagrava, it allows Soren to continue collecting memories and amassing power without consequence.
“Did Rowenna know?” I ask Von Nevus. “About this place? About the sickness?”
“I brought her here once, so she’d know the full breadth of our situation when she became queen.”
If Rowenna knew Vanzador was imploding, would she still have tried to steal the gemstone triad? Especially if she knewourpeople would have to sacrifice memories in order to fuel its power? Or would she have been content to stand by and watch Vanzador consume itself? Rowenna was never a patient person, and she would have seen the flaws in that strategy too—without Soren feeding power into our mountain range, we would be left exposed to the Marauders.
So what did she choose? And how, exactly, did that choice result in her death?
When I first arrived in Vanzador, I would have twisted myself into knots trying to untangle this complicated web. I wouldn’t have been able to move forward unless I knew I was following in her footsteps with exactness. But, as I look at Alaric and Delphine standing beside me, and all the people in need of help in this hospital, I realize I have options Rowenna never had, because I’ve let people in when she never did. Unlike her, I am willing to pivot from my original plans and admit my way isn’t the only way—or even the best way.
My sister and I may have hiked the same treacherous path leading up this mountain, but we arrived at two very different destinations. One an ending, the other a new beginning, and I am choosing to build rather than burn.
I turn my back on Von Nevus and the dreary hospital, and charge back toward the palace, my mind racing as fast as my steps. There have to be other sources of power. Other means by which Alaric can move the earth without draining the life essence from his people and depleting our bagrava stores. A way Tashir and Vanzador can both thrive, as true allies.
Alaric and Delphine chase me back through the streets, demanding to know where I’m going and what I’m doing, but I don’t stop until I’m back in the solarium, sinking into the soft soil of my planting beds—my sanctuary. The only place I can make a difference.
“We shouldn’t have to live like this—with our people suffering and dying on both sides,” I say, looking up at my panting maid andbewildered husband. “We’re all sacrificing so much and still losing. It’s madness.”
“What other choice do we have?” Alaric asks with an exhausted sigh.
I raise my chin and confidently say the very words I swore I never would. “I’m willing to cultivate bagrava in earnest for the sick Vanzadorians, ifyou’rewilling to search for alternative ways to fuel your power. There has to be something more sustainable than memories. If we work together instead of against each other, we can all prosper instead of limping along, clinging to half the life and opportunity our people deserve.”
Alaric fiddles with the chains on his jacket. “You know I would happily agree, but I doubt my father will.”
“So we’ll make him,” I say resolutely.
Thirty-Six
“No one canmakemy father do anything,” Alaric says bitterly. “That’s his area of expertise—you saw my memories.”
I shake my head. “I saw himtryto force you to forget Besnik’s death, but you found a work-around. That’s what we need now—another work-around.”
“Changing his entire mindset isn’t going to be as simple as siphoning a memory into a silver button.”
“It’s too bad we can’t put thoughts and memoriesintohis head rather than siphoning them into objects or the ground,” Delphine says as she slumps beside the planter box.
“That’s it!” I cry, grabbing her face with my dirty hands. “Delphine, you’re brilliant!”
