32. Rosalina
Rosalina
Down, down, down, I swim into the deep. The water is chilling and so dark I cannot even see my hands in front of me. What am I looking for? The bottom? What if there isn’t one, and I swim until my lungs burst? Or what if the Baron returns and bewitches me with promises like he did Farron?
There’s nothing he can offer me that I cannot claim for myself, I think. My home, my loved ones’ safety—I will make it so by my own hands.
My chest burns and my legs ache from kicking. I should have followed Sira’s example and taken off my cloak, but the idea of being parted from it was too much.
I need to turn around before my lungs burst, but I’ve gone too far. There’s no way I’ll make it back to the surface before my air runs out. Stupid, stupid, stupid—
My hand hits something. Not the bottom.
Open air.
A current grips my body, and I’m pulled downward, where I plunge out of the water. I free-fall, gasping for breath and screaming at the same time. I smack hard against stone, jostled and bruised.
With a groan, I sit up and blink the water from my eyes. Above me, impossibly suspended in midair, is a vast pool of black water. Not held in a basin or glass, just floating. Waves ripple across its surface.
Is that the Baron’s pool? Then where am I?
I spin in a circle. I’m in a dark, cavernous chamber, not unlike the one I came from. The only light comes from veins of gemlight threading through the rock—faint and bluish, like moonlight filtered through deep water. It flickers, as if unsure it wants to reveal what waits in the shadows.
Two towering obelisks rise on either side of me, jagged and black as midnight. They hum, low and deep. Though similar to the broken crystals above, these pulse with a different type of magic. A magic I’m more familiar with.
These aren’t infected with the Green Flame. These belong to Sira alone.
Between the gemlight, the crystals, and the rippling water, I swear the reflections are playing tricks on me. Images flash on the surface of the obelisks. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut, but when I open, I still see them.
I drift closer to one of the obelisks, placing my hand on its smooth surface. Beneath my palm, visions flicker. A little girl playing with a doll made of straw. Then a man, laughing and pointing, standing under a shower of fireworks.
What is this?
I walk around the obelisk, staring at another side. An elderly couple lie in a bed, holding hands. A fight waged with sticks as children laugh and run through the alleys of a dark city. A small goblin, lying in a field of flowers, sighing as she stares up at the sun.
I stop. That goblin… It’s Heidigog, reveling in her beloved bloomies.
She told me of this memory. It was so important to her.
But she’d forgotten.
My little thief.
Or…it had been stolen.
My heart thunders against my ribs as I turn to the other obelisk, searching the images. Two friends playing cards. A boy staring out at the ocean. A goblin with a grinjaw asleep in his lap. A young woman with light brown hair—
I narrow my gaze, trying to place her. Aquila, the priestess who helped Faustrius attack Voidseal Bridge.
In this memory, she looks different. No horns or tail, and her hair and skin don’t have that greenish tint.
I can’t tell what realm she’s in, but she’s sitting atop a white-roofed building, looking up at the sky and marveling at the stars.
All these images are precious memories. What has Sira done? Stolen them? Trapped them here? No wonder everyone in Cryptgarden is so bleak, always filling their days with drink and sex. Everything that’s ever made them feel joy has been trapped in these crystals.
Just as I think I can’t bear it anymore, another face flashes across the surface of the obelisk. One I know all too well.
My own.
I focus my attention, observing it as one would study a painting in a museum. I’m wearing a long, white dress and a veil, standing hand in hand with Keldarion.
I tilt my head. It looks…
It looks like we’re getting married.
Tears prick my eyes. I touch the stone on my left hand as Keldarion takes mine in the obelisk and slips a ring onto my finger.
I’m married. We’re married.
And Sira stole that memory from me.
The tears pour down my face, not from sadness but from rage. She has tried to take my home, my mates, my family. Now she steals straight from my mind. My memories! My precious, sacred memories that make me who I am! Has she taken anything more?
I run around the obelisk, searching the moving images. I don’t recognize anything else, but there’s one thing in common. Every single memory seems filled with joy.
You fed me well. The tether is strong.
What is this horrid thing? What is its purpose?
I don’t know, but there’s a rioting in my gut screaming at me that it must be destroyed.
My blood feels hot enough to melt my bones.
I can’t think clearly. With a roar, I kick the obelisk, wanting to crack it open, topple it over, shatter it once and for all.
The only thing I shatter may have been my little toe.
Yelping and rubbing my foot through my boot, I growl up at the hideous things. Anything can be broken.
I look around the cavern. Against the wall, I see a pile of rocks. Grabbing the heaviest one I can find, I wield it like a mallet, pummeling the obelisk over and over again.
When my arms ache and the rock feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, I pull back, breath heavy.
It’s tiny. Barely noticeable. But it sets my heart aflame.
A chip.
Anything can be broken.
My wrists burn, and I glower down at the damned bargain bracers trapping my magic. I’d need the full force of my briars to bring these down. Regardless, it’s enough to realize it can be done.
I walk to the side of the obelisk where my memory is trapped. I stare into Kel’s face. At my face, so happy and in love.
Now I know these exist.
And I won’t forget.
I reach a hand up toward the floating pool of water. A current sweeps over me, sucking me into the dark. I kick and kick until I break the surface, then sprint away from the pool and up the passageway.
As I slip through the secret door, the air seems fresh by comparison. The earthy smell of Cryptgarden washes over me. Something else fills the air too. A loud, rhythmic chanting.
I drift over to the edge of the lookout and stare down at the city.
A great commotion is happening down below.
A parade, marching through the main street.
Goblins, fae, and nameless other creatures hoot and holler, thrusting torches skyward.
At the end of the procession, they’re dragging someone.
He’s stripped near naked and bound in chains, his long, white hair flowing over his shoulders.
My husband.