Yes,I was going to say, but… “No.” Maybe I’d regret it later, but right now, it wasn’t so bad to have things I thought were only mine to carry alone for the rest of my life out there, on display for his eyes. I trusted March. With every instinct, with everything I knew about him, I trusted him. It was okay that he knew for now. It was strangely relieving.
“I do,” he said, and turned the page again, ran his fingers over the lines of the last sketch I’d drawn—off the curls of his hair.
“The stabbing?”His father. The reminder tasted bitter on my tongue.
“No, actually,” said March. “Thegoodmemory. If I’d known you’d see it, I’d have shown you the Garden of Memories.”
I doubted I’d ever heard of anything like that before. “What’s the Garden of Memories?” I asked, curious—so curious to know, but more curious to hear more of his voice, to absorb more of his expressions.
“Before a Heart passes away, they’re given the chance to pick a memory of their life, a goodmemory, and to put it into a glass box shaped like a heart to store it, to keep it in the realm forever. Immortalize it, in a way,” March said. That was what Jinx called my sketches, too. “These glass hearts are then hung on the trees of what we call the Garden of Memories, and they stay there forever.”
He spoke slowly, softly, like every word out of his lips mattered a great deal to him—or maybe it was just me. Every feeling he awakened in me was so wild, intense, all-consuming, and I needed my thoughts to dissolve into emotions right now. My body came alive when he was close.
“The garden itself is vast, made of trees and rose bushes that never wither no matter the season. The cobbles are white, the seats red, and you can take a walk through it any time you please—but the best thing about it?” His eyes sparkled more than ever. I hung onto his words like they were my lifeline. “When you touch the hearts hanging on the trees, you get a glimpse of the memory inside it. You get to live it as if it’s yours.”
“Oh.” That actually sounded beautiful.
March’s smile transformed his entire face. “Exactly. It’s like diving into thousands of different lives, living the best moments people had chosen to save for the coming generations. Any time you feel down or hopeless, you can take a walk in the garden, see all the beauty that’s still in the realmcaptured into these beautiful glass hearts. It changes your perspective completely. Oneverything.”
For a moment, I tried to imagine a place like that, full of large rich trees, full of glass. Memories,goodmemories of the people who’d passed in every step. It was indeed breathtaking—a place of fantasy.
NowIwished he’d chosen that memory to give away, too, because, “I would really like to see that place.” A strange mix of emotions took over me at the thought of it—excitement, wonder, curiosity—and also envy.
“Then I’ll take you,” March said with a nod, like it was a done deal. A promise he had no doubt he would keep. Like he forgot that I was a Spade, and we lived across the realm from one another, and we didn’t travel across courts. The Clockfolk liked to stick close to their roots, always.
Not that it mattered, anyway.
“You know whatwehave for the people who’ve passed?” I said instead. “A wall with their names written on it. Perfectly balanced.” Laughter, short and bitter, escaped me. “But wait, because there’s more, because there’s aseparatewall for those who’ve passed before their time, like it wasn’t enough that death separated them from the living, but they had to remain separated for the rest of always, too.”
Suddenly, tears pricked the backs of my eyes, but I didn’t plan to let them shed.
When had I become such an emotional wreck, I wondered?
“Is that where Jinx’s name is?” March asked, and I was taken aback by the fact that hedaredto ask me that. Most people made it easy when Jinx came up—they did everything they could to steer away from the conversation. It was never an issue for me, but March asked questions head-on. He didn’t shy away.
“It is. Is your father dead?” I’d have liked it if he were, but…
“No. He’s alive.” I didn’t miss the flinch on his face, though subtle.
It seemedhedidn’t want to be feeling certain things, either. Maybe that’s why he kept staring at the same drawings over and over again.
I gave him—and myself—another two minutes.
Then, I swallowed all the embarrassment that threatened to keep me in that armchair, and I stood up.
There wasa reason why I’d wanted to see him in private. A good reason.
We’ve done this before, we’ve done this before, we’ve done this before,I chanted in my head—while I took the sketchbook from March’s hands, closed it, and put it on the table again. While I pushed him to sit back on the armchair, then climbed on it, too, my legs on either side of his. While I sat on his thighs and he watched me with wide, unblinking eyes and parted lips.
I sat there. Only sat there, hands on the armrests.
It wasn’t a big chair, but it fit us just fine—for now. I looked down at him, fighting the urge to touch him, to memorize every inch of him with my hands.
Not until I knew this was okay with him as well. Because whatever had happened up there in that tower, it had changed me, and it had most likely changedhimas well. He’d had to give up his trust.
“I know what you’re doing,” March whispered, and his hands fell on my knees first, then slowly moved up to my thighs.
Fire underneath my skin.
