“Tell me what you remember.” Maybe it was foolish, but it was a story he wanted to hear, even if it killed him.
“They’re gone. My mother and my father are gone,” she cried. “I remember Kilmorda. I remember my life. I remember my . . . self. And I am gone too.”
“No,” he soothed. “You are not.”
“I remember the king. I remember King Aren,” she rushed, as if she had to tell him, had to get it all out.
He couldn’t breathe.
“He was a good king. He was kind to me. I grew to love him, and I was happy.”
How could relief and despair exist together? Yet they did, and his heart rejoiced even as he mourned the truth that sealed his fate.
“I am glad,” he choked, and made himself say it once more. “I am glad.”
She shook her head adamantly, her curls dancing around her, caressing her neck and her face, stroking her back, touching her arms when he could not.
“Please . . . don’t . . . say that. Don’t tell me you are glad. If you don’t mourn with me, no one will.” She turned toward him and extended her hand, pleading, asking for comfort. She’d held his hand so many times, taken it in support, in solidarity, in supplication.
He rose and took it, gripping the long, slim fingers, counting the freckles on her skin with his eyes so he wouldn’t touch them with his lips. She clutched his just as tightly, but neither of them stepped closer, neither narrowed the space nor crossed the new divide. Clinging to his hand, she continued, her thoughts tumbling over each other, her words coming quickly, confiding and confessing.
“I remember Caarn. The castle. The people. The forests and the hills. The valley of Caarn in Dendar became my home. And I loved her even more than I loved Kilmorda.”
“Caarn is not gone. She is waiting for you. You can go back,” he reassured. He didn’t know what she wanted to hear. He didn’t know what she needed to hear. Knowing was not his gift. It had never been his gift. Compassion, empathy, self-sacrifice and self-denial—he was not equipped with any of them. Yet the moment Sasha fell into his life, he’d been asked to continually exercise them.
“You told me once you were lost. There is a whole world waiting for you. A whole life. You aren’t lost anymore,” he said.
“I am more lost than I have ever been. Padrig told me I would lose nothing when he restored my memories, but he knew that was not true.” She stared at him, agonized. “I lost you,” she whispered, and his heart grew sharp branches and roots that unfurled and pierced his chest.
“I remember, but I have not forgotten,” she repeated.
“Please, Sasha,” he panted, trying to breathe around the briars.
“I am Saoirse. But I am Sasha too. And Sasha loves Kjell.”
The words reverberated between them, round and reverent, and Kjell could only marvel and mourn that they’d been uttered at all. He couldn’t bear to hear them, yet he repeated them over and over in his mind, hearing Sasha say them, reveling in each syllable.
“And Kjell loves Sasha,” he admitted in return, each word a tortured confession. He’d never told her, and now he could only speak as though he were someone else.
Sasha hung her head and wept, beyond speech, the tears so heavy and wet she was doubled over with their weight. He couldn’t watch anymore. He swept her up, embracing her, pressing her cheek to his and burying his nose in her hair.
“I would heal you if I could.” He pressed his hands over her heart, to her cheeks and her brow, trying to soothe the sting of remembrance, but it wasn’t a pain he could ease even if he’d never touched her before.
“I have given Sasha to you, but she was not mine to give,” she wept. “I am so sorry, Captain.”
“I know,” he said, nodding, forgiving her. “I know.” And in that moment he wondered if he’d actually known all along. Maybe knowing was his Gift. Because he’d known, deep down, from the very first, that she didn’t belong to him.
He fell back into the straw, holding her, letting her grieve, grieving with her. She cried for a long time, laying in his arms, his cheek resting on her head, but there was no more speaking, no more apologies. And when the shuddering ceased and her eyes closed, he settled her carefully on the straw and told the stable master to make sure she was not awakened or disturbed. He was quite certain she hadn’t slept since Lark had cast her spell. He certainly hadn’t. The sleep would have been a glorious reprieve, but waking up and remembering was too hard. He winced at his musings. Sasha had been caught in a cycle of constant remembrance for three days.
He would not sleep . . . but he would drink. And he would think.
“You’re sending her off with ships and supplies,” Kjell accused, holding his flask in one hand while he held his head in the other. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough to endure Tiras’s presence.
“Yes. I should have sent ships long ago,” Tiras said, unapologetic. Someone had ratted Kjell out, he was certain of it. One of his men had seen him and told the king he was holed up in the tavern, and Tiras had come running. Tiras never drank in the hostelry. When Tiras needed to escape, he changed. Kjell could not escape himself, no matter how hard he tried.
Kjell stared at his brother stonily, and Tiras sighed.
“Four years ago, refugees started trickling into Jeru from the lands north. Men, women, and children who climbed aboard anything that would float just to escape the Volgar. Somehow some of them made it to Jeru only to find that we were in a hell of our own. But we’ve come out of it, Kjell. It is time to see what remains beyond the sea. It is long past time.”
“How convenient then. Let’s all celebrate this amazing opportunity to explore and settle new worlds,” Kjell mocked.
“It is not a new world for Queen Saoirse. I couldn’t stop her if I wanted to. She is a woman of means. All that her father owned—and he was a wealthy lord—is now hers. She brought a ship full of riches to pay for an army to go back to Dendar. But there was no army to spare, and we know what happened in Kilmorda. The treasure was brought here to Jeru after the first battle in the valley of Kilmorda—you remember, don’t you? Ten chests marked with the emblem of the tree. She described them to me. They belong to Dendar, and she will be taking them back with her,” Tiras explained.
Kjell flung his heavy flagon at the wall and watched it erupt, spewing ale in a half-moon spatter before hitting the floor. The tavern owner looked balefully at the mess and then addressed the king with a small bow.
“The captain’s been talking to the dog, Highness. Calling her Maximus of Jeru and nursing that same pint for hours. It might be time for him to go home,” he suggested cautiously, mopping up Kjell’s temper and admirably controlling his own.