"Would you want children?" Kage asks. "If you could have them?"
The question catches me off guard. "I've never thought about it."
His eyes widen. "Never?"
I shake my head and let my gaze fall to their hands. Scarred. Calloused. Hands that have held weapons, drawn blood, survived things I can only imagine. Hands that have lived.
Even Malachi, frozen as he's been, had 28 years of real life before stasis. Different kingdoms. Different struggles. A world beyond these walls.
Those of us raised in Veritas have only ever known this. It's one of the things Jordi used to argue about, late at night when we couldn't sleep. How can we know what we're missing if we've never had it?
In light of everything I've learned, I can see how I may have been wrong about a lot of things. I always believed the memory trade was merciful. The incantations let people keep their cultures, their food, their music, the fabric of who they are. The trade only takes the pain.
That's what I told myself, even after I stopped making the elixirs. But maybe that's only true in Veritas. How would I know what happens in the rest of Lunaris? I can't shake what I saw in those laborers. The way they screamed.
And the pleasure gardens, where grief is turned into spectacle, make everything worse. Outside of Arlo, Cas, and Bas, I don't know anyone who lives under Council rule. And even they were raised in Veritas. Do they count? Does Bas, who I barely recognize anymore?
Fear of the silent guards keeps us from even trying to know them. Everything I've heard about Council residents is secondhand. And when I sort through those scraps, I realize how empty they are. I've never heard anyone describe a Lunarian as funny.
Or creative. Or kind. Only functional. "A new guard training near the Shroud." "A dueler who can flip mid-air." Descriptions of what they do. Never who they are.
Gods. I made those elixirs for years and never once questioned whether the incantations were the same for everyone. The words are kept locked away in the House of Truth.Only the healers who perform the ceremonies know what they say.
But Draven said Freida told him his incantation was different. Different words. Different intent. What if the ceremonies aren't the same at all? What if Veritas and the Council use entirely different incantations?
The painting behind Mother's desk surfaces in my mind. The woman in crimson, trapped inside bubble after bubble after bubble. We call ourselves the guardians of truth. The keepers of ancient knowledge.
Our texts span thousands of years and countless cultures. But what is knowledge without experience? What good is truth if you can only read about it, never live it?
I clear my throat and force myself back to the present. "How did you get into the Keep?"
"Can't reveal all my secrets." Kage winks. "Not if we're to be married."
Malachi makes a low sound in his throat. I pretend I don't notice.
"Your brother wanted me to tell you something," Kage says as I slide the book toward me. His voice has gone serious. "He said he was trying to spare you from this. And that you shouldn't blame yourself for what's inside."
My stomach turns. Whatever sweetness the bread brought is gone now. I think of the other book, the one still sitting on my desk with its gold-inked warning. Then I take a breath and open this one.
The Council's signet is embossed on the first page. I flip past it and find columns. Row after row after row of them, filling every page.
Names. Hundreds of names.
"What is this?" My voice comes out barely above a whisper.
"A ledger," Malachi says quietly. "Duelers. Laborers."
"Jordi said there are more like it," Kage adds. "This is just the one he could get to."
I scan the columns. Names in the first. Gifts in the second, healer, seer, fire-wielder, empath. The third column stops me cold. Prices.
Each person has a price.
I press a hand to my mouth. There has to be another explanation. There has to be. My hands shake as I flip through the pages. I search for Arlo. For Cas. For Bastian. None of them appear.
Understanding sinks in. They wouldn't be here. They arrived as children, the same year I did, and were raised in Veritas. This ledger is something else. Something worse.
I look up at them. My voice shakes. "All of these people were purchased."
