I don’t know where we’re going. Not exactly. But when we cross to the other side of the wall, my feet seem to take me automatically to a place I haven’t seen in ages. Once upon a time it was probably lovely, but the years and the salty sea air have taken their toll. And now the carousel with its horses and knights and dragons sits abandoned, paint fading, its melody long since silent.
“What is it?” Noah asks when we get there. “What’s going on?”
He drops his backpack, and I step up onto the carousel, run my hands along the back of a white horse that no longer rises or falls.
“My mom used to play here when she was a little girl. It was her favorite place in the whole city. She would bring Jamie and me here at least once every summer. We’d pack a lunch and eat it over there — on that big, flat rock. Last night, in the receiving line, Princess Ann said she came here with us once when I was little. I don’t even remember. Isn’t that weird? There are some things about my mom that I think about every hour of every day, but some … it’s like I’ve blocked them out completely. That’s strange, isn’t it? I wonder if it’s always like that?”
“Grace, I —”
“I found him, Noah,” I say, and to his credit, Noah doesn’t ask who — he doesn’t demand answers. He must already know me well enough to know that I have to say this in my own time, in my own way. He must know me well enough to know that I’m afraid this truth might kill me.
“I found him,” I say again. “I found the man who killed my mother.”
At my words, Noah actually stumbles back. He trips a little over his own backpack, rights himself, and tries to play it cool.
“I didn’t realize he was missing.”
“I’m serious, Noah.”
“I am, too,” he says. “I mean … I don’t know … what happened? I thought your mom died in an accident or something. A fire.”
“That’s what they say.”
“But …”
“But I was there. I saw it happen.”
“You saw your mom die?” Noah’s eyebrows are raised. He can’t hide his surprise or his pity.
“It was late and it was dark, but yeah. I saw it.”
“That was … what? Three years ago? You were twelve?”
“Thirteen.”
“Wow.”
“Don’t start, Noah.” I walk around the white horse, take shelter behind a dancing bear.
“I’m not starting anything,” he says. “It’s just —”
“Yes, it was dark,” I snap back. “Yes, I was young, and it was traumatic. Yes, I have never been the most reliable girl in the world, but I know what I saw. And I’m telling you, I saw a man with a scar on his left cheek shoot my mother. I heard the bomb that burned her shop to the ground.”
My breath is coming hard, but this isn’t an attack. It feels different. I feel different. The shock is over and all that remains from the night before is my overwhelming anger.
“I saw his face that night, Noah. I have seen his face every night. And last night — I’m telling you that last night I saw him.”
“You saw him or you saw a man with a scar?”
I don’t give him a reply. I don’t dignify what he’s said with a response. I do not dignify him. I’ve already heard the speech so many times that I know it better than he does. I have no desire to hear it again. I’m off the carousel and strolling back the way we came almost before he can realize what he’s said and done.
“Grace, wait. Grace!” Noah calls after me. “I believe you!” he shouts, and that stops me. “I’ll go with you to tell your grandfather.”
“I already told him,” I say.
Noah nods, steps closer. “Good. Good. Now he and Ms. Chancellor can —”
“They don’t believe me. They think I made him up. They’ve always thought I was making him up, and now …” Noah gives me a look. “I’m not!”
“I believe you! It’s just … why doesn’t your grandfather believe you? I mean, it’s not like you make a habit out of accusing scarred men or anything, right?”
I must stand a little too still for a little too long because Noah asks again, “Right?”
“Of course not,” I snap. “It’s just easier to tell me I was seeing things. It’s easier for him not to believe me, but if you don’t believe me either, then —”
“I believe you!” Noah insists again. “I do. Okay?” He eases closer, places his hand on my arm. I shudder but don’t pull away. I get the sense that he’s probably trying to comfort me, but neither of us are sure how that is supposed to go, so he just keeps his fingers on my elbow, like a really distant, really awkward hug.
“I do believe you. But, Grace, what are we supposed to do?”
I didn’t sleep last night. Not because of the crying, or the trauma, or the flashbacks. Not even the humiliation of having Alexei witness one of my attacks could distract me from the thoughts that filled my mind once the shock and terror finally faded.
“Grace …” Noah starts slowly.
“We’re going to find him,” I say, certain and strong. I will tear the great walled city down stone by stone if that is what it takes. “You are going to help me find him.”
There are seagulls overhead. I can hear their cries and the breaking of the waves against the shore. Down the beach, a group of little kids is sitting in a circle on the sand. Even though they’re far away, the song they’re singing catches on the wind and carries toward us.
Wait, little princes, dead and gone No one’s gonna know you’re coming home Wait, little princes, one-two-three No one’s gonna know that you are me