Memory's Wake (21 page)

“But...”
Your hand,
she thought.

Thayl cut her off. “But I do know what is real. I even know who you really are and where you are from.”

Memory floated, her path entirely gone from beneath her. Her stomach dropped away but she didn’t fall.

“But...”

“But,” he interrupted again, “you have something I want in return. The girl you were with at Palace de Montredeur.”

“Ugh! Typical.” Memory hissed and a swarm of tiny dancing gowns nearby caught on fire. “It’s always about precious Eloryn! I’m so over it already!”

“Then let me have her and have all your problems solved,” Thayl said, his voice as dark and velvet as his throne.

She wanted that. Wanted it so much.

“What will you do with her?” That wasn’t what she meant to say.

“No wrong.”

“What isn’t wrong to a man who killed the woman he loved?”

A flame lit in Thayl’s eyes and he arose in fury. He stormed toward her and Memory stumbled backwards.

Flashing shadows passed between them and when they cleared, the anger in Thayl had gone, replaced with simmering grief.

“Daring to say such things when you know nothing at all! I did not kill her. Never would have, never could have.” His voice sounded too hurt to be a lie.

Memory fought the urge to back away further as Thayl glared down at her. “But everyone says.”

“It’s what everyone chooses to believe, that I am the evil to hate. Everyone can believe as they want, let them fear me more. But I want you to know the truth. I want you to see I’m not the one to distrust.”

Thayl drew another, simpler chair from the black, offering it to Memory. His face had grown still, carved from wax and too cold to melt. “Sit; I will show you the truth. Once you have some knowledge in this empty head then you can make your judgment.”

Thayl returned to his throne, and Memory took the second chair, lowering herself in with hesitation as though it might bite.

“Loredanna and I were in love...” Thayl began.

“You were a stalker,” Memory interrupted with a whisper.

“We were in love, together,” Thayl said, the corner of his lips turning down in irritation.

A scene lit in front of them. A woman in the finest of gowns with coifed cream hair sobbed uncontrollably, heartbreakingly, into the shoulder of a man; Thayl, when he was younger, straighter. The frown on his face was now fresh and not yet set in permanence.

“She looks just like Eloryn,” Memory said.

“This is Loredanna, her mother.”

“What did you do to her?”

Thayl raised an eyebrow. “You truly think me a monster? This is my memory, of when she was given news from the Wizards’ Council that they had not allowed me to be her husband. My magical talent was considered too weak for the royal bloodline, so she was chosen another partner. She cried for weeks, and was never happy again, from that time till her death. I swore then that those who forced our love apart would hurt even more than she.”

“So you killed the King and all those wizards?”

“I’ve never denied this. It was as they deserved, and I will continue until I see revenge on every wizard of the council who took her from me.”

Alward,
Memory thought, but it sounded louder than if she’d yelled, echoing through the black around them.

“
Pellaine.
Him most of all. He is mine now, and when I no longer need him I will see justice paid for his crime. He is the one who killed the most perfect being of this world.” Thayl’s voice dropped into a growling whisper, hissing through bared teeth.

Memory opened her mouth, needing the answer to a million questions.

“Just watch,” Thayl murmured.

A new scene flashed by and Memory turned to it. Like a silent movie it played.

The beautiful Queen sat sad and alone, full with child in an unlit room. Through the open frame of a window she watched the moon fading into the sky around it, burnt to red by the earth’s shadow. A sound startled her and a smile of hope lit her face when she saw it was Thayl who approached. He held her, and pleaded with her, and through tears she nodded agreement. Reaching up to her neck, she unclasped a chain and removed a heavy amulet, the same crested one Eloryn had owned. She flung it onto the table with a look of disgust and triumph, then took Thayl’s hand and not a single other thing and they left.

The vision flickered, cut and jumped, to a forest of grim trees and shadows. Thayl and Loredanna fled into the woods with a look of anxious, terrified hope.

Another jump, and Memory watched Loredanna, wet from the exhaustion of labor, being supported by Thayl. She reached out, crying for her child. A lanky blond man held a newborn baby, taking it away. “Pellaine,” Thayl hissed.

The scene flickered, and Alward now held a scroll instead. A baby lay on the ground of the forest among dead bodies and dead leaves. Reading from the scroll, Alward shot a blast of red light from his hand which hit the young Queen fully where she stood just in front of Thayl, still reaching for her child.

The vision skipped again. Loredanna lay still and limp, held by Thayl. He knelt on the ground and screamed wrath and vengeance. Across the scene, Alward vanished like a ghost into smoke with the baby in his arms. The scene jumped, but did not change. A hooded figure flickered in and out of vision. Loredanna fell alone to the ground, the scene shifted, then she was again held in Thayl’s arms.

Memory squinted through her tears. She wiped them quickly, but Thayl had already seen them. A shallow smile formed on his lips.

“These are my memories. Do you trust me yet that I will help return you yours?” His voice was clouded, his eyes unreadable and cold.

“Why would he do that? It didn’t make sense!” Memory shook with outrage.

“You are like me, we are strong in emotion. The wizards know only logic and tradition. Loredanna and I broke those traditions when she fled to be with me. Both our lives meant nothing to them from that point on. They only needed her child to continue their ways.”

The scene of Loredanna’s death still flickered. Thayl watched the younger version of himself with his jaw clenched. The scene spluttered; again a faceless figure was silhouetted in the forest. Memory blinked and the vision had faded away.

“But Alward didn’t, Eloryn doesn’t...” Memory couldn’t get her thoughts straight, something didn’t add up, but a noise kept distracting her, breaking up thoughts she tried to form.

Someone was singing.

“Will you bring me the child of the woman I loved?” Thayl asked urgently.

Three voices roared in unison, another laughed.

“I don’t... there are still things... don’t make sense, but...” It became hard for Memory to focus. All her surroundings, even her own body, were crumbling away like wet cake. Only the rowdy song remained.

Losing sight of Thayl, she called out in a panic, “You really know who I am?”

Memory woke to the white light of early morning.
Too early. Ugh, my head.
She rubbed seedy eyes to get them working.

Singing floated into the room. Memory heard it as she did in her dream.

“When you catch ‘em sneaking round,

You give their hide a tanning,

A kicking or a whipping, or a beating good and sound,

Cause thieves are only good for hanging!”

Visions from her dream washed over her. Her heart started up quickly but she couldn’t tell if it was from guilt or exhilaration. If it could be; if only it were all true... She could hardly bear the hope. She remembered most of it, more clearly than she did the parts of the night before she fell asleep. Did her jungle man really come and talk to her? Why the hell did she drink so much? As soothing as it was to purge her thoughts of whether she was a demon, she cursed herself for it now. And Roen for keeping her cup so full.

She sat up gingerly and Eloryn continued to sleep beside her.

Roen wasn’t there. Did he really stay out all night?
Wow. Either very chivalrous, or he found Miss Frisky Fingers again.

Memory wanted badly to go back to sleep, but the singers continued.

“Thieves are thieves and that they’ll always be,

No matter what you name ‘em,

Cutpurse, dipper, footpad or a booter-free,

A thief’s still only good for hanging!”

Fumbling out of bed she woke Eloryn, who winced and looked around the room.

“Where’s Roen?” she asked.

“Good morning to you too.”

Eloryn’s face reddened and she mumbled in embarrassment.

“Hopefully Roen’s getting us breakfast,” Memory said and poked at her hanging gown. Only a few hot coals remained from the roaring fire of the night before. The morning air was crisp against her skin under the flimsy petticoat.

“Is someone singing?” Eloryn rubbed her eyes and cringed.

Memory chuckled, just a little pleased that Eloryn seemed to be suffering more than her.

“These are dry,” she said, tossing the gold dress to Eloryn. She took a moment to analyze the black gown and realized it had a simpler under-dress she could probably get on herself. The grander skirt, ruined now anyway, was left behind. And frankly she didn’t care if the remaining dress was an undergarment or not. The fine sleeves were all but gone, so apart from having Eloryn help with her corset she was dressed and warmer in no time.

Helping Eloryn clasp the back of her dress, she wondered what Thayl, real or dream, would actually do with her. He loved her mother, so maybe he was going to let her be an actual Princess, as she should be, as if she was his own daughter? Memory shook her head to herself. Way too optimistic for her normal taste. She wiggled her toes, feeling them cold and bare, missing her shoes. Noticing her knife where it had fallen on the floor the night before, she slipped it back into her corset when Eloryn looked the other way.

Memory peeked through tattered curtains to see what the noise outside was all about. The daylight stabbed her tender eyes. Outside, a group of men lifted bottles and flasks, singing around a dirty bundle on the ground. During a rousing chorus, one of them threw his foot hard into the lump, which cried out and twisted out of the way, revealing a face.

Memory dropped the curtains back with a gasp.

“What is it?” Eloryn asked, moving toward the window.

Memory blocked her way. “How is your magic feeling this morning, any better yet?”

“Better, but perhaps not reliably so. Mem, what is it?”

“It’s Roen. Some men have him all tied up, hurting him. Lory, he doesn’t look very good.” Memory wanted to look outside again, to find out more, but was too scared. All she could make out before were ropes, blood, and Roen’s face.

“What do we do?” Eloryn squeaked a panicked whisper and the blood visibly drained from her complexion.

Memory felt the hard metal knife, a comforting presence against her skin. She had that, at least. Eloryn had her magic, maybe. That didn’t feel like enough.

She held her breath and looked out the window again. The men were gone; Roen too. She could still hear singing, somewhere close. She swore.  “Whatever we do, we have to hurry.”