“Forgive me, Captain,” Padrig murmured, bowing his head. “There were many things to consider.”
“Yet you came forward tonight?” Tiras asked, his brow furrowing.
“I heard the bans, Majesty. They confirmed her identity,” Padrig explained.
“Please, Padrig. Sit. You look so worn,” Sasha implored, welcoming his presence the way she did most things, with joy and instant acceptance.
Kjell eased him toward a chair but the man refused, finding his strength and releasing Kjell’s arm. He braced his legs as if preparing for a storm, and Sasha ducked around Kjell and took Padrig’s hand, a luminous smile curving her lips.
“You are the only thing I remember from my life,” she marveled. “You were kind to me. And I never got to thank you.”
“She is Lady Sasha of Kilmorda, isn’t she?” The queen asked Padrig gently, and Kjell wanted to yell, to tell everyone to cease talking for a moment. But the conversation gained momentum around him.
“Yes,” he nodded emphatically. “Sometimes . . . we called her Sasha. But her given name is Saoirse.” There it was again, the word he’d said in the street. Seer-sha. He’d known who she was, even then.
“We?” Kjell interrupted.
“Her family. Those who love her.” Padrig could hardly speak, though it was clear there was a great deal more to say.
“Why can’t she remember, Padrig?” Kjell asked, suspicion making his voice sharp.
Padrig didn’t answer, but he gripped Sasha’s hands desperately, his throat working, his lips muttering, and Kjell’s dread mushroomed into fear. Kjell placed his hand on Padrig’s thin chest and pushed him back. He drew Sasha behind him, standing between her and the trembling man. Slowly, his eyes on Padrig, he withdrew his sword and leveled it at the man’s throat.
“Kjell,” Sasha reproved, putting a warning hand on his shoulder.
“Sasha, step back,” he demanded, refusing to yield. Sasha dropped her hand, but she didn’t retreat.
“Sasha was sold in Firi as a slave. She was brought to Quondoon. She was mistreated and abused. The people tried to kill her.” Kjell pinned Padrig with his gaze, his voice deceptively calm. “Where were you?”
Padrig made no move to protect or defend himself, though his eyes beseeched, and he swallowed visibly.
“Kjell.” This time it was Tiras who reprimanded him, but Kjell did not lower his blade. There was something terribly wrong, and Sasha had become very still at his back, her breathing shallow.
“You knew who Sasha was, yet you didn’t tell her. And then you left her.”
“I did not leave her, not the way you think,” Padrig denied, shaking his head.
“Let him explain, Kjell,” Sasha implored quietly.
Padrig took a deep breath, his eyes lingering briefly on the king, asking for permission to carry on. When Tiras inclined his head, urging him on, Padrig continued.
“I went to Lord Firi. I thought he would receive me. He knew Lord Pierce and Lady Sareca of Kilmorda, and he had a daughter of his own.”
Padrig paused, and his mouth tightened with memory.
“Lord Firi was very ill. He could not see me, so I was given an audience with his daughter, Lady Ariel of Firi.”
The name was like a gong in the great hall, echoing and ear-splitting, and Padrig seemed to expect this response, for he stopped and waited, allowing his announcement to sink in.
“I told Lady Firi that if his lordship would provide us sanctuary, I would give him something in return.” Padrig hesitated once more, his gaze sweeping the women and men who gaped at him, their ears still ringing.
“What did you offer him?” the king pressed.
“I have a . . . gift, and I was willing to share it with him.” He paused again, letting his meaning become clear.
“The Gifted have nothing to fear in my kingdom. What is your gift, Padrig?” Tiras asked, impatient.
“I am called the Star Maker,” Padrig said carefully, his stare riveted on Sasha. She gasped and Kjell felt ill.
“You are a Spinner,” Sasha said, delighted. “Just like the story.”
“They weren’t stories, Saoirse.” Padrig shook his head. “I gave you the stories so you wouldn’t be so afraid, and so when the time came, you would recognize the past.”
“You took her memories,” Kjell said, his realization dawning.
“Yes,” Padrig admitted.
“You took them? Why?” Sasha asked, dazed.
“To keep you safe,” Padrig pleaded. “Only to keep you safe. But I failed.”
“Clearly,” Kjell snarled. Padrig inclined his head in shameful acknowledgment, even as he continued his tale.
“Lord Firi needed a Healer. I could not give him that. But I told his daughter that I could give him a sort of immortality. I could take his memories, the very essence of who he was, and I could place his consciousness among the stars.”
The group was silent, marveling at his claim, lost in his story.
“When Lady Firi realized what I could do, she demanded that I show her.” Padrig shook his head regretfully. “So I did. I was trying to convince her to help. I was desperate. I told her about Saoirse. I thought she might know of her—both daughters of neighboring lords.”
“What did she do?” Kjell asked, unable to even speak Ariel of Firi’s name. His heart was a cauldron in his chest, spilling heat into his stomach and his limbs, scalding him.
“There is enormous power in memory,” Padrig prefaced. “Memories provide great knowledge. I pointed out the stars of the great kings to Lady Firi. Then I called down Saoirse’s memories, the newest star in the sky, and held it in my hands. I showed Lady Firi the smallest wisp of a memory so she would understand what I offered her father.”
“She didn’t want to help her father.” Queen Lark’s tone was flat, but her eyes gleamed.
“No,” Padrig whispered. “She didn’t. She wanted me to give her the stars. All of them. She wanted me to open them up, to let her see each one. She wanted the knowledge in the memories for herself.”
“What did you show her? Which memory?” Kjell asked, a terrible knowing seeping into his skin.
“It was you, Healer. Saoirse has had dreams of you since she was a child. Because of that, her memories and her visions are intertwined, past and future, interconnected and indistinguishable. When I withdrew the strand of light, it was your face Lady Firi and I saw. You were kneeling over the king. The king appeared to be dead, and you were mourning.”
The shock rippled through the gathering, and Kjell was not the only one who reached for something to hold onto.
“But I healed him!” Kjell protested.
“Yes,” Padrig murmured. “Yes. But memories—and visions—are like that. They are pieces and parts. Lady Firi and I only saw that small glimpse.”
“She thought Tiras would die,” Kjell breathed.
“Lady Firi was certain you would be the next king. She demanded to see all of Saoirse’s memories. But I refused.” Padrig shuddered, reliving the decision. “I released Saoirse’s star, sending it back to the heavens. Lady Firi was enraged. She put me in the dungeons, determined to break me.”