“What’s the story with your necklace? Where’s it from?”
I trip on a raised root, but I’m glad for the distraction. My amulet. That’s right—not only did he feel my necklace while we were kissing, but he saw it when he rescued me.
This is the moment for me to tell him the truth—all of it. To trust him with knowing who I really am and what I can do. That I’m not just a gem thief with incredible sleight of hand, but a thief of time. That I’m how we escaped on the Sol, how Mikail lived in the warehouse, and every other weird “happening” since we met.
I want to tell him, I do, but the words don’t come. It’s not that I don’t trust him. I wish it were that simple. It’s that the knowledge itself is dangerous. When we were in the temple, I read about the relics, specifically the terrible things done to possess them.
For example, my father slaughtered tens of thousands of innocent Gayans under the pretense of subduing a rebellion just to capture the Flaming Sword of the Dragon Lord.
When Gaya became a colony of Yusan long ago, part of the treaty was that Gaya would submit to being governed, and in exchange they would keep their relic and figurehead royalty. The colonial treaty held for over two hundred years. But when my father took the throne, he saw opportunity. He wanted the relic, thinking that with the sword, he could defeat Wei. He sowed the seeds of rebellion on the island with new taxes, harsh laws, and increased laoli production. He even had his spies encourage and arm the rebels. Once the Gayans killed a Yusanian garrison, he mercilessly put down the revolt. He claimed Gaya was the first to break their treaty by refusing governance.
Thirty thousand men, women, and children meant nothing to him. Who knows what he would do to get the Sands of Time, but I have to imagine he’d kill me without hesitation. And if Royo knew, it would only put him in danger.
I can’t. I can’t risk it. I won’t risk him.
“It reminds me of my mother,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “I never take it off so that a piece of her stays close to my heart.”
Royo looks relieved. I’m not sure why.
“I miss my mother, too,” he says. “I get it.”
“Was she a priest?”
I’m thrilled to change the subject. Lying to him feels like a torch pressed to my throat. But the truth can cut like a knife even when you don’t want it to.
He shakes his head. “No… Well, I don’t think so. I guess somebody had to be a keeper, though, right?”
“You said she died ten years ago?”
“In Tamneki.”
“What happened?” I ask.
He rubs his face. “That’s the thing—I don’t know.”
I tilt my head. That’s…weird.
His eyes take on a far-off look. “We were in the capital, and I woke in the middle of the night and she wasn’t in the room. It was two bells in the morning, and I waited for her until sunrise. Then, at dawn, I reported her missing. The next day, the king’s guard found her body.” He pauses and looks at the ground. “They said it was an accident. That she drowned in one of the canals. But…she knew how to swim.”
Royo takes a shaky breath, and I think about how awful it must’ve been for him to have found me drowned in the hot spring. My chest squeezes.
“Everyone just shrugged it off,” he says. “She was burned on a capital funeral pyre, and I went home alone. But it never seemed right to me.”
“Why is that?”
“My mother never just left without telling me where she was going and when she’d be back. And I didn’t even know she’d left the room the night she disappeared. That, with the fact that she could swim, it just… It don’t make sense.” Then he shrugs. “But maybe I don’t want it to. Maybe a mystery is better than the truth.”
I walk, making footprints in the fresh snow. I can picture it all: Royo younger and unscarred, sitting in a room, waiting for a mother who never returned. It cracks my heart into pieces. But what were they doing in the capital?
“Are you from somewhere near Tamneki?” I ask. “I thought you were from Umbria.”
“No, I’m from Umbria. We went to watch the Royal Tuhko Championship. It was…” He pauses and clears his throat of the emotion clogging it. “It was a birthday gift. She’d saved up for years to take me.”
The guilt in his voice rings clear, and it wrenches my soul. Royo blames himself not only for what he does, but also when people he loves are harmed. Which makes no sense, but it’s one of the most endearing things about him.
“That was very kind of her,” I say.
The lump in his throat bobs. “She was kind.”
