Chapter 40
Forty
I hurl the chain across the room and melt to the dirty floor of Delphine’s home, crying so hard I can’t breathe.
“What was that?” I gasp out, even though I know the answer. There’s only one thing it can be.
The memory.
The truth I’ve been searching for since I arrived in Vanzador.
Except everything about it is wrong.
Or maybe I’ve been wrong all this time, and my initial fears and suspicions were right.
No.
There has to be another explanation. One that doesn’t involve Alaric lying to my face from the second I arrived on the mountain.
One that doesn’t involve me falling in love with Rowenna’s murderer.
He never would have killed someone the same way his father killed Besnik. It would have destroyed him.
Delphine stumbles across the room and collapses at my side, tears spilling down her cheeks as she wraps me in a hug. “I’m so sorry, Indira. I hate that you had to see that. And that Alaric isn’t who we thought he was. He fooled us all.”
“Maybe it isn’t true.” I mean to say it with conviction, but my voice pitches up into a question, and Delphine’s looking at me with so much pity, I have to squeeze my eyes shut.
I sink into the blackness of my mind, trying to calm my breathing as I sift through every interaction I’ve ever had with Alaric Alaverdi—from our wedding on the Tomb Flats to our fights in the solarium, from our visits to the mines to defending each other in the queen’s salon, from our secret stolen moments in my bedchamber to dancing in his arms at our coronation—desperate for some sort of proof that it was real.
It had to be real.
I would have known if it was an act. I wouldn’t have felt the things I felt. His explanations and excuses wouldn’t have made so much sense. Alaric had nothing to do with Rowenna’s death or the Vanzadorian people in that hospital. He was blindsided, like me. Used, just like me.
But then how can I explain the memory—this physical, indisputable truth?
Another sob rips through me, and a tiny part of me is grateful Rowenna died never knowing the full extent of my betrayal. Even from beyond the grave, she was trying to warn me and guide me, but I refused to listen. I chose a boy over my own sister.
“I’m sorry,” I cry out, but of course she doesn’t answer. Why would she when I gave up on her a long time ago?
“Did you know?” I look to Delphine. “Have you seen this memory before?”
She shakes her head, tears still flowing down her cheeks. “Of course not. I would have told you immediately.”
“Where did the memory even come from? I don’t understand how Cloudia has it. Or how it exists in the first place. Alaric would never have kept proof of his guilt.”
“Unless he wanted to watch it back and revel in his triumph,” Delphine points out.
“He isn’t vindictive like that,” I start to say, but I bite my tongue.
Why am I defending him? How can I possibly know what he would or wouldn’t do when I clearly don’t know him at all?
I drag my fingers through my hair, pulling to the point of pain. Then I look down at Cloudia, who’s still staring blankly up at the ceiling, unable to answer a single question. Unaware she just shattered the framework of the life I’ve been building here.
“I obviously don’t know anything for certain”—Delphine reaches out and moves a sweaty strand of hair away from my face—“but I think it’s much more likely the memory was Rowenna’s. Not Alaric’s.”
“But in order for the memory to be Rowenna’s, she would have had to siphon it into the chain as she was falling.”
Delphine nods. “You saw her expression in those final moments. You know how brave and determined she was. Rowenna wasn’t going to let Alaric kill her and have the final word. This was her only chance to tell the truth about her death.”
“But the broken chain was still attached to Alaric’s jacket,” I babble. “And he’s familiar with the buzz of hidden memories. He would have felt it.”
“Would he have?” Delphine asks contemplatively.
“He was so furious. He’d just murdered his wife.
I bet he ripped off the ruined jacket, stormed back to the palace, and tossed it in the laundry without noticing the faint buzz.
Especially since he had no reason to believe Rowenna knew about siphoning memories.
He never knew she followed him up the mountain and saw his memories.
The coat must have been sent to Cloudia for cleaning and repairs. It all aligns.”
I push up to my wobbly feet, needing to move, to think. “Except Alaric was so vehement he had nothing to do with Rowenna’s death. You didn’t see the look on his face.”
“People lie all the time,” Delphine says softly, “and liars can have beautiful eyes and soft lips.” After a beat she adds, “Or maybe he doesn’t know he’s lying.
He might honestly believe he’s innocent.
He could have purged the memory of killing Rowenna, assuming the truth about her death would die with her. ”
I feel like I’m going to vomit. I bend over, head between my knees, and take big gulps of air, but my heart continues pounding. The room is suddenly stifling—even hotter than the Tomb Flats. “He wouldn’t do that. It’s too similar to how Soren tried to manipulate him after Besnik’s death.”
“I don’t want to believe it either, but you have to admit, it all fits,” Delphine persists, and I can’t argue because, now that I know what to look for, it’s easy to see how Alaric used me to get everything he wanted.
He must have tried to woo and manipulate Rowenna first, but she was too savvy and strong-willed to fall for his tricks.
So he killed her and decided to try again with me—the weak, na?ve sister.
Once Alaric had me in his pocket, he set his sights on Soren—to avenge Besnik and clear his path to the throne.
And like a fool, I helped him carry out the perfect assassination, making Alaric look strong and capable while ruining Soren’s legacy.
Then I handed him the last thing he needed—the final piece of his elaborate scheme:
Unlimited access to bagrava.
If I offered it willingly, I wouldn’t be able to accuse him of bleeding me and my people dry. If I loved him, I’d be too blinded by affection to notice that he never really looked for other means to fuel his power.
I grab fistfuls of my blue velvet skirt—this ridiculous Vanzadorian gown that was chosen with him in mind—and twist the fabric until my fingertips are bloodless and throbbing.
My head still screams not to jump to conclusions.
There could be other logical explanations.
But I can’t think of a single one, and my heart is too shattered to keep searching.
Alaric’s deception is even worse than Soren’s.
At least Soren never pretended to be anything he wasn’t.
He knew his people were dying, he knew my people were suffering, but he believed the need for his power justified the cost. But Alaric pretended to be broken like me.
He tricked me into believing he was truly invested in a new and different future.
It’s just like what Rowenna said about grain beetles. I knew who Alaric was and what he’s always wanted, but I convinced myself I was different. Special. That he’d change for me. But he didn’t hesitate to strike as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
“What do we do now?” Delphine asks, unable to hide the tremor in her voice. “I’m scared.”
I continue twisting my skirts, winding the fabric like wet laundry.
But instead of wringing out dirty water, I’m wringing out my feelings, purging every smile, laugh, and touch I ever shared with Alaric Alaverdi.
Until my insides are as dry and desolate as the Tomb Flats.
Until my heart is as cold and hard as stone.
Even harder than Alaric’s.
“What do we do?” Delphine asks again. “We obviously can’t voice these accusations. No one will believe us after we just helped Alaric take the throne. Especially since he’s the only one with the ability to move the earth now. Vanzador needs him. So does Tashir.”
“No,” I say darkly. “We need a ruler with the ability to move the earth. That doesn’t necessarily have to be Alaric.”
It isn’t lost on me that these are the same words I said to Alaric just a few days ago, to convince him to depose Soren.
“Rowenna showed us exactly what to do,” I say.
“We need to steal the gemstone triad, harness the power of the earth ourselves, and put an end to all of this corruption. The stones must work in other people’s flesh, or Alaric wouldn’t have chased Rowenna across the Fortress and hurled her off a cliff to get them back. ”
Delphine nods, but her fingers worry the embroidery on her bodice. “We don’t even know if he recovered the gemstones from Rowenna. Or where they’re hidden if he did. According to Alaric, they no longer exist.”
“Thankfully, a perfectly good set is just waiting to be carved from his flesh,” I say.
Delphine regards me with a searching, almost pitying expression. “You know you won’t be able to simply carve the stones from his flesh, right? Are you prepared to—”
“Yes,” I snap.
She continues staring, like she can see the infected thorn buried in my chest, but I set my jaw and raise my chin.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay,” she murmurs, but it sounds forced. Worried.
“You don’t have to assist me with this part.
You’ve already done more than enough. All I need you to do is pretend nothing is amiss.
If Alaric realizes we know the truth about Rowenna’s death, he’ll try to silence us too.
We need to say and do all the right things.
Make Alaric believe we’re still aligned.
Then I’ll strike when he least expects it. ”
Delphine nods and bids farewell to her sister—who continues lying deathly still—while I retrieve the broken length of chain and slip it into my bodice.
It’s cold and pointed, and I secretly like how it bites my skin, how it sharpens my focus, as we make our way back across the Fortress to celebrate the coronation of my sister’s murderer.