Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
“No one can make my father do anything,” Alaric says bitterly. “That’s his area of expertise—you saw my memories.”
I shake my head. “I saw him try to force you to forget Besnik’s death, but you found a work-around. That’s what we need now—another work-around.”
“Changing his entire mindset isn’t going to be as simple as siphoning a memory into a silver button.”
“It’s too bad we can’t put thoughts and memories into his head rather than siphoning them into objects or the ground,” Delphine says as she slumps beside the planter box.
“That’s it!” I cry, grabbing her face with my dirty hands. “Delphine, you’re brilliant!”
She laughs nervously and exchanges a look with Alaric, who gives a sad shake of his head—like a parent about to disappoint a child.
“I don’t want to sound pessimistic, but it isn’t possible,” he says. “We can’t control my father’s thoughts.”
“But we can make him relive memories he’d rather keep in the past,” I insist. “Things he wouldn’t want his adoring subjects to see. Memories he’d do anything to keep hidden.”
“Are you suggesting we blackmail my father, the king of Vanzador?” Alaric splutters.
Delphine pales and lets out a whimper, but I sit taller in my planting bed, a devious smile playing across my lips. I’d prefer to think of it as a nudge in the right direction.”
***
The mountaintop is colder than I remember it being the night Delphine and I followed Alaric into this secluded clearing. Darker too. I tell myself it’s the howling wind and thin crescent moon, casting everything in freezing shadow, but I know the cold seeping into my bones is much more literal.
King Soren Alaverdi is making his way up the mountain, billowing ever closer.
I shiver and wrap my jacket more tightly around my shoulders.
Then I sink my fingers into the planting box I reassembled up here.
I hum a few refrains of Earth Mother’s incantations, even though the planter doesn’t contain a single bagrava seed.
I would never subject my plants to such torture; they’d perish up here in these hellish conditions.
But Soren doesn’t know that.
So I sing to fool him, and to soothe my nerves, as the minutes pass with excruciating slowness.
My fingers lose feeling first, despite the thick gloves I borrowed from Elodie, and my toes follow not long after. The tips of my nose and ears begin to burn, and as the soil in the planting box hardens, the lumps dig into my backside.
I shift uncomfortably and glance back over my shoulder, down the mountainside.
It wasn’t supposed to take this long.
Alaric promised Soren would eagerly follow him up here when he learned it was where I finally agreed to cultivate large amounts of bagrava.
“He won’t be able to resist seeing it for himself,” Alaric said. “And he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to punish you for making him wait so long.”
I shiver again, but now it has little to do with the cold. Soren is volatile. Unpredictable. Instead of submitting to our terms when backed into a corner, he could lash out in rage—like he did when he killed Besnik. We might all die on this mountaintop tonight.
An echo of distorted voices rises from the cave Alaric uses to access this summit, and I almost drop the two tiny buttons as I remove them from my cloak pocket.
One is the silver button containing Alaric’s memory of Besnik’s death.
The other is a golden button I tore from my own dress, containing a new memory of my own.
Two small buttons that will decide the future of our two nations.
“This is preposterous,” Soren mutters as he and Alaric emerge into the punishing cold.
“Couldn’t you have convinced your wife to grow bagrava inside the walls of the Fortress?
Even I know these conditions are inhospitable for growing.
It’s freezing and there’s hardly any soil.
The ground has been excavated to the brink of collapse. ”
“The girl likes it up here. She says it reminds her of Tashir.” Alaric plucks the lie out of thin air—so quickly, so seamlessly, it leaves me blinking.
“Her people transformed the barren Tomb Flats into lush planting fields. Indira believes she can do the same here, on the mountain. She also believes she’s safe from you up here,” Alaric adds.
“Yet fool enough to believe she’s safe from you.” Soren chuckles darkly.
That’s the story Alaric told his father—that he wooed me with his charms and tricked me into falling in love with him, so I’d agree to grow more bagrava.
But I would only do it up here—where I thought Soren couldn’t find me.
The truth is we needed to get Soren away from the watchful eyes of his councilors and guards in order to threaten him.
“I’ll convince the girl to move her operations to the palace soon,” Alaric assures his father as they hike into view.
“She’s so smitten, she’ll give me anything I ask.
Poor girl’s head is full of nothing but dirt.
” Alaric’s laughter is even colder than the wind, his face a mask of brutal indifference.
He’s so convincing, so good at playing the role of Soren’s doting son, I would almost believe it was genuine if I didn’t know better.
If I hadn’t seen the warm, beating heart he hides beneath his stony exterior.
Soren bobs his meaty head. “You’ve done well with the gardener. Much better than the disastrous union with your first wife. Such a useless girl.”
I clench my teeth so hard, it feels like they’re going to crumble out of my mouth, and force myself to stay hunched in the planting bed, pretending to be oblivious to their approach.
I feel the moment Soren’s greedy eyes find me. The hairs on my neck lift one by one, and I’m overwhelmed by the oily feeling of being watched.
I mouth a silent prayer to Earth Mother and clench the buttons even tighter, but I don’t whisper the song Alaric taught me. Not yet. Soren must be close enough to be enveloped by the golden light of the past, yet far enough not to see my planting bed is actually empty.
Their boots scuffle through the scree. My heart throbs in my throat.
Still, I wait. Second after excruciating second, until the overbearing musk of Soren’s cologne fills my nose.
He barks my name, as if I’m a dog, trained to leap to his call, but instead of answering, I press the golden button to my lips and whisper the words in a rush.
Dazzling yellow light explodes from my fist, even brighter than when I watched it envelop Alaric. I’m pretty sure I scream, but it’s swallowed up by King Soren’s frightened bellows.
He drops to the ground and frantically tugs on Alaric’s trousers before covering his head. “Get down, boy! We’re under attack! The girl is using her infernal magic against us!”
But Alaric remains on his feet, tall and stoic, as the golden light shifts and eddies, slowly taking shape. “Who says it’s magic, Father?”
“What else could it be?” Soren demands.
“Memories.” Alaric leans forward, looming over his father. “I know about the hidden hospital, about the dying people. I discovered your little secret yesterday.”
As Alaric speaks, my memory of the warehouse with its rickety beds and despondent patients swirls into focus, enraging me all over again.
“I can’t believe you thought you could keep this from me,” Alaric continues, voice quivering with fury. “I can’t believe you’re willing to continue taking memories from our people when this is the cost!”
“How are you doing this?” Soren stands and staggers in a circle. “How have you brought the hospital here?”
“The hospital shouldn’t exist at all!” Alaric roars, causing the ground beneath us to tremble.
“You act as if we have another choice,” Soren snaps. “Of course I’m not pleased to see a few of our people deteriorating, but we need memories to fuel our power. And we’re treating their symptoms with bagrava. It’s the best we can do.”
“You can’t honestly believe that!” Alaric cries. “And it’s more than a few people—it’s an entire warehouse! Soon, it will be all of Vanzador. This isn’t sustainable, Father. You know that.”
“What I know is that Vanzador needs our power to be safe and prosperous, so that is what I provide—what we provide. Have you forgotten you’re just as guilty of using their memories?”
“Only because I didn’t know any better,” Alaric bites back. “But now I do. If we continue draining our people’s life essence, there will be no one and nothing left of Vanzador to protect and serve. We need to find another way to fuel our power.”
“There is no other way!” Soren bellows, and the ground heaves in response, pitching me sideways. “We will continue doing what we’ve always done and use as much bagrava as necessary to keep our most important citizens in good health,” Soren says resolutely.
But Alaric shakes his head. “How do you determine whose lives are most important? And how do you know there’s no other way? Have you ever experimented with alternative tithes?”
“Of course I have! I’ve tried pouring every part of myself into the ground, but nothing works. The earth won’t accept any other form of payment.”
Alaric flinches like he’s been struck. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have been helping you, sharing the burden. We have to keep trying until we find another way. It’s our responsibility to—”
“Enough!” Soren shouts. “I’m returning to the Fortress, and it would be in your best interest to join me. Forget this ill-conceived intervention that was clearly the idea of your scheming wife.”
Soren sets off with brisk, angry strides—in the entirely wrong direction. It’s easy to get turned around up here on the summit, surrounded on every side by endless scree and sky, and Alaric doesn’t redirect him.