“I’ve never seen that before.” He’s out of breath and staring at me in horror. “What did you do to him?”
“Don’t worry. He’s fine. He’ll wake up in a few minutes. All I did was manipulate my source.”
Kaidren looks even more confused. “Meaning what?”
“I altered his perception of the truth. He won’t remember we were in his cart. When the decurio realize we’re missing, they’ll ask him if he took anyone fitting our descriptions down the mountain. Now he won’t remember doing it.”
Kaidren is still gawking at me. “How often do you do that?”
“Not often,” I say vaguely. “It’s less precise than my other magic. Manipulating heat and tshira is easy enough. Memories are more complicated.”
Kaidren clearly has more questions, but a particularly strong gust of wind whistles past us, blowing snow into our faces. We shudder and bundle deeper into our cloaks.
The Opheran streets are dark, but I could trace the path to our destination with my eyes closed and fast asleep. Light from the beacons of Widow’s Hall only stretches so far. In Ophera, there are lanterns atop wooden posts at intervals, but they’re poorly maintained. Many have flicked out, making most of the streets eerie, with long, oddly shaped shadows dancing over the ground.
I shiver. Without needing to ask, Kaidren presses closer and drapes part of his sjaal over the both of us. We stay nestled together as we trudge through the snow.
“You still haven’t said where we’re going.” Kaidren raises his voice to be heard over the harsh wind.
“It’s just up ahead.” There’s no point keeping this from him. In a matter of minutes, he’ll know the truth for himself, but I’ve never confided this secret to anyone—not Luc, not Sef—and I’m not sure I even know how to say it.
No matter how often I return, my heartbeat is always a painful stutter as I approach. Despite my bone-deep chill, my palms start sweating as soon as I see the familiar front door.
I raise a fist and knock.
There’s a long pause. It’s late and she’s probably sleeping. I’m more nervous than impatient, but the seconds we wait feel like hours before the door finally opens.
She’s shorter than me by about half a head. Her skin is dark like umber with a warm undertone, and her hair is black as the night sky. Even though she’s small and clearly exhausted, her dark eyes are bright and full of life.
There was a time I’d have given anything—everything—to keep that spark alive.
So I did.
Kaidren looks between the two of us in confusion. It’s hard to miss the similarities in our features. In the shapes of our faces, the curves of our jaws, the slopes of our noses.
I can practically see his brain piecing it together.
She looks surprised to see me. I tend to keep to a regular visitation schedule. Once a month, late at night (neverthislate), and I never bring guests.
“Mira?” She rubs her eyes blearily.
I smile. With it, I try to convey the weight of all the things I can never say. “Hello, Aja.”
CHAPTER FORTY
THE SEVENTY-YEAR LIE
I was a child when I lost my mother. At ten years old, I arrived on the Kylers’ doorstep, sobbing about how my mother was dead and I was all alone.
The tears I shed were true.
The story I told was a lie.
Ajalique Selane smiles as she directs me and Kaidren into her home. Just as she does every month when I come to visit. Just as she did the night Arliss Vale was killed.
Her tired eyes are warm, and her smile is genuine, but there’s no tenderness in her gaze when she looks at me. Not anymore. Not since I erased all memory of my existence from her mind. Not since I’ve returned to Ophera, month after month, to ensure those memories remain lost.
Aja hurries to the fireplace, desperate to give us warmth. Not because I’m the daughter she loves, but because I’m a wealthy guest and she thinks she’s supposed to.
