Chapter 44
Forty-Four
I whirl around, certain I’m hallucinating. I have to be.
“Ro?” I whisper, blinking furiously. I must have been wrong about the bagrava cuttings. Clearly their smoke can addle your mind. It’s the only way I could be watching my dead sister stride across the mountaintop when I know for a fact her body’s decomposing beneath the fields of Tashir.
I shake my head and close my eyes, but when I open them, she’s still there—a specter made of moonlight and shadow, prowling closer.
She’s paler and thinner than I remember, with eyes as dark as charcoal and tattered clothes hanging from her bony frame.
The biggest difference, though, is in the way she moves.
Instead of long confident strides, her gait is jerking and off-kilter, like a scarecrow come to life.
Or a corpse, risen from the grave.
“Y-you’ve returned from the Great Fields Beyond to punish me, haven’t you?” I whisper. “B-because I stopped listening. I’m sorry I was so foolish—”
Alaric’s disbelieving laughter cuts me off—wet and chilling as if his throat is filling with blood.
Though, still not as chilling as what he says next.
“The only place your sister has returned from is the hovel she’s been hiding in these past months.
Now do you finally believe I didn’t kill her?
” Alaric looks at me sadly and shakes his head.
My mouth falls open as I look between Alaric and my sister’s ghost. “You can see her too?”
I’ve never heard of two people sharing the same bagrava-induced hallucination. The Marauders move in packs, but they only look out for themselves and their own needs. But the smoke in the cave was so thick, so choking. Maybe if we inhaled enough…
“Of course he can see me,” Ro says with a dramatic eye roll.
“I may be dirty and underfed, but I don’t look dreadful enough to be dead.
And if I do, you’re to blame, little sister, since you took ages to catch on and carry out my plans.
I suppose I must forgive you, though, since you came through in the end—like I knew you would. ”
Ro winks and cuffs me under the chin, like she’s done since we were kids. As if nothing is amiss. As if I haven’t been mourning her death and hunting her killer. As if I didn’t just stab Alaric in the back to avenge her.
“I don’t understand.” It feels like someone is driving a stake through my temple.
I grip my forehead and double over, but that makes everything worse because now I’m staring down at Alaric’s blood and the platinum chain lying in the rocks.
A chain that supposedly contains the memory of Rowenna’s death. Except she’s very much alive.
“I don’t understand,” I babble again.
Alaric laughs, even though it clearly hurts him to do so. “She played you, Indira. Like she played all of us.”
My eyes dart back and forth between Rowenna and the chain, which is looking more like a snake every second. “Explain. Right now!”
Rowenna clutches her hands to her chest. “I thought you’d be happier to see me.
You can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you, how hard it’s been to watch you struggle and spin.
But now I don’t have to hide anymore. We can finish this together—return home together.
All we have to do is take care of this last loose end.
” She wrinkles her nose as if Alaric is a slab of rotting meat.
“Then I’ll happily explain everything during our journey back to Tashir. ”
Ro opens her arms, as if she expects me to rush into them—the very thing I’ve imagined doing for over a year. But I step back numbly and drop to my knees beside Alaric instead, frantically pressing the shredded remains of his coat against the knife wound.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper as I lean over him, using my weight to apply pressure. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll get you to the healers.”
He musters a nod, but we’re both staring at the wad of fabric in my hands, already soaked through.
“Help me, Rowenna! We have to get him down the mountain.”
When she doesn’t move, I slide my hands beneath Alaric’s arms and try to move him myself. I manage one step—one tiny step that makes Alaric cry out in pain—before he slips back onto the rocks.
I look back up at my sister who’s just standing there, watching dispassionately, and for the first time, a small part of me wishes she had died all those months ago.
“How is any of this possible?” I cry. “You were dead! I saw your body in Tashir—I prepared you for burial myself.”
“Yes, thank you for dealing with all of that,” Ro says with a flip of her hand—as if her thanks is all that was needed, not an explanation about where the body came from, since it clearly wasn’t hers.
“Who was she?” I demand. “The girl you sent to Tashir in your place?”
“Some poor soul Rowenna shoved off a cliff,” Alaric rasps. “If I wasn’t dying already, the irony might kill me.”
Rowenna shoots Alaric a lethal glare.
“Is it true?” I ask my sister. “Did you…?”
Rowenna bristles. “No, I didn’t kill anyone. Honestly, Indira! Is that how little you think of me?”
I don’t answer. I don’t know what to think anymore.
Rowenna sighs heavily and looks down at the clover on her wrist, tracing the green leaves. “The girl was a friend from the village.”
“A ‘friend’ who just so happened to look like you?” Alaric grinds out. “With the same distinctive tattoo? Who conveniently died of natural causes right when you needed to disappear?”
My stomach twists tighter with every glaring coincidence.
“Yes!” Rowenna snaps back at Alaric. “Vallista was desperate to make a better life for herself. She dreamed of working in the palace and becoming a courtier one day. I liked her tenacity, so I pulled some strings and found her a position.”
Something about Rowenna’s story prods at my brain, tickling with familiarity, but I can’t put my finger on what.
“I changed her life,” Ro goes on. “That’s why Val wanted to be like me—and why she had the same clover tattooed on her wrist. She was always commenting on how lovely mine was and how she adored the sisterly connection it represented.
She longed so desperately for that kind of closeness, and it seemed like another simple thing I could give her—especially since I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.
” Rowenna glances at me sheepishly. “So I found an artisan to etch a replica onto Vallista’s wrist.”
“You replaced me?” My voice cracks painfully.
Ro adamantly shakes her head. “Of course not. I just widened our circle. We’re allowed to have friends beyond each other, you know.”
“You were allowed to have other friends,” I argue. “But you groomed me to be completely dependent on you.”
Rowenna rolls her eyes. “Shutting out the world was your decision. Don’t blame your lack of social skills on me.”
I shake my head because the more I think about it, the more I’m certain most of my decisions were actually Rowenna’s in disguise. She knew how to frame ideas to make me believe they were my own. How to make me believe I needed her and no one else.
“What happened to Vallista?” I demand. “How did she end up dead in Tashir with such fortuitous timing?”
“Val left Vanzador of her own accord,” Rowenna says.
“Or she tried to. She became completely besotted with a traveling minstrel and left with the boy and his troupe, despite only knowing him for a few days—and despite all the trouble I’d gone to securing her employment,” she mutters.
“I was offended, of course, but I would never kill someone over hurt feelings.”
The prodding in my brain grows more insistent.
Then, finally, it comes to me.
Cloudia’s best friend supposedly ran off with a traveling minstrel. And didn’t Delphine mention the girl was close with Rowenna?
“Unfortunately, Vallista didn’t even make it off the mountain,” Rowenna continues soberly.
“The minstrel boy was a vile drunk. He beat Val and pushed her body off a cliff during their descent. I happened to find her body, and I saw an opportunity to make something good come from a terrible tragedy.”
My mouth bobbles open and closed, and I stare at my sister in disbelief. “Even if you just happened to find her, you had no right taking her body. Her family and friends will never know what became of her! They will never have the opportunity to mourn and say goodbye.”
“Assuming any of that story is true,” Alaric says in a painful whisper.
Rowenna shoots him a lethal glare. “It’s the truth, and allowing me to use her body is what Vallista would have wanted. Trust me.” She turns to me imploringly, and I toss my hands with exasperation.
“How am I supposed to trust you when you’ve lied about so many things?”
“I didn’t want to lie or keep secrets from you, Indira, but I didn’t have a choice. I’m more than happy to answer your questions now, but we should do it while we journey back to Tashir instead of wasting time on this freezing mountaintop.”
“What about this?” I reach over Alaric to snatch the broken length of chain from the pebbles. “How in the name of the kings is there a ‘memory’ of your death when you’re still alive?”
“Listen to you! Swearing in the name of the kings—just like them.” Rowenna shakes her head with disbelief. “Thank goodness we’re leaving before they indoctrinate you further.”
“Answer me!” I roar. “Where did that memory come from?”
Rowenna’s thick brows shoot up her forehead. “When did you become so snippy and demanding?”
“Oh, I don’t know—maybe when you faked your death and tricked me into stabbing the boy I love! Or maybe I’ve been like this all along, but we never knew it because I wasn’t allowed to think or act for myself.”
Rowenna waits, stone-faced, until I finish yelling. “No one can make you think anything, Indira. You wanted me to tell you what to do and think because you’ve always been too weak and indecisive to trust yourself.”
I flinch, and Alaric’s fingers curl around mine in a weak squeeze. Comforting me, even as he lies dying—at my hand.
“You love me?” His voice is barely a whisper, but the smile on his face is as bright as the stars overhead.
A sob tears up my throat, and I increase the pressure on his wound, sending a silent prayer up to Earth Mother to preserve his life.
None of it feels like enough.
Ro forges on.“I know all of this must feel like a shock, but I assure you, everything has worked out perfectly. I wanted to involve you from the beginning, but I feared you wouldn’t be able to win the Vanzadorians’ trust if you knew the truth.
You’ve never been a good liar. Do you remember the time Birdie caught you—”
“Stop!” I yell, making Ro jump. “We don’t have time for this. Alaric needs a healer. Now.”
Rowenna folds her arms and holds her ground, tilting her chin in that brash way I’ve been trying so hard to emulate. Except it looks different now. Less bold and brave, and more vicious and calculating.
“No one is going back down the mountain until you and I are realigned,” she says.
“I have no desire to realign with someone I can’t trust,” I volley back.
“What are you talking about? I’ve answered your questions. And I’ll happily answer more, but let’s do it while we travel back to Tashir. Cut out the gemstones, and let’s be on our way.”
I shake my head and position myself protectively over Alaric, whose breaths have grown disconcertingly shallow. “I’m not going anywhere until you’ve explained everything.”
Rowenna sighs and looks up at the sky. “I can’t believe you’re being so unreasonable.
“Tell me where the false memory of your death came from!” I shout.
Rowenna blinks at me for several seconds before she finally says, “I created it.”
“What do you mean you created it? You can’t just create memories of events that didn’t happen.”
“Of course you can. People misremember things all the time. Haven’t you ever heard someone describe a party in such detail you’d swear you were in attendance?
Or maybe you’ve retold a friend’s embarrassing story so many times you forget it didn’t actually happen to you?
Memories are slippery, persuasible things.
Especially if the mind is in a weakened state. ”
Goose bumps break out across my skin, and I hug my arms around my chest. “What does that even mean? Weakened how?”
“How do you think?” Rowenna’s dark eyes lock on mine.
Every muscle in my body pulls taut, braced for the word I know she’s going to say—the one word I don’t want to hear.
“With bagrava, of course.”