56 Eira
Eira
Eira’s eyes blinked open and her head ached, a moan escaping her lips as she came back to herself.
“A lot is going to happen in the next few minutes, just breathe through it,” Willow said as everything hit Eira at once.
A flood of memories washed through her instantly, and she started shivering from the overwork her body felt, slotting each
memory in the right place.
She saw a flash of herself as a young girl, looking up at her mother, a woman named Aurelie. Auburn hair and bright blue eyes,
so different from her steel gray, yet so familiar.
Out of order, she saw a flash of her and Evangeline riding out of a town, panic in Evangeline’s eyes, fear keeping their bodies
going in the darkest part of the night.
She saw a flash of her crying at her mother’s funeral, barely a year older than her other memory, her father holding a baby.
Then she saw herself explaining the Flow to Evangeline, the memory spell written in her notebook. The cipher understandable
to her now that she remembered it was the secret Westcotte cipher.
She saw a flash of that baby becoming a brother, small and sweet, but sickly. The next flash was his funeral, and Eira being held by a younger, still-brown-haired Lord General Kerrigan—Viscount Westcotte.
A flash of her and Evangeline watching witches’ executions in a town somewhere, Eira crying as Evangeline pulled her into
an alley so the Iron Retinue didn’t see them.
Eira saw the day she discovered she was a witch, her father’s face proud and sad as he explained that her mother had been
a potions witch too, but that he didn’t know how to teach her anything.
She saw them walking into the Potions Patisserie for the first time, her holding Evangeline as a rabbit and speaking to her
like she was a normal person.
Eira remembered traveling to Archport and meeting with her Aunt Elaine, a smile on her face as she taught Eira how to make
a sleeping potion, and fear on her face as Eira showed her she could summon water to make the potion’s base.
She remembered her aunt telling her to tell no one, not her father, not her best friend.
A panicked look on Evangeline’s face as the Iron Retinue banged on the door of Eira’s house in Cilirien, saying goodbye for
six months until Eira’s memories were back.
Tears streamed down Eira’s face at the overwhelming flood of memory. Willow placed a hand on her arm to steady her.
She opened her eyes to see Hugo and Evangeline watching. Willow was saying something to them, but Eira couldn’t hear it.
Her eyes fluttered closed again and she saw her father teaching her the family business and political strategy, telling her
she’d need to run the show after he died. Eira remembered crying as she thought about her father dying someday, how she’d
be alone.
Eira saw a soldier she recognized in a tavern, Evangeline hidden upstairs. She remembered the panic she felt, hoping desperately
the man wouldn’t notice her.
She remembered Lord Wilkinson dancing with her, watching for Hugo’s reaction the whole time while understanding that her father had planned their betrothal. Wishing Hugo would steal her away instead.
Eira saw her and Evangeline growing up together, balls and travel and coronations. The two always by each other’s side, never
one without the other as much as they could manage.
A flash of the two riding to Archport only to find out that the boats were being stopped, Evangeline sobbing as she worried
she was going to be killed, Eira trying to stay strong but fearing the same.
She saw the first day Hugo was hired, the same dark brown hair on an unscarred and clean-shaven face with fewer grays. She
remembered instantly thinking he was beautiful.
Eira remembered Hugo sitting by her bath dozens of times, demure and chaste and doing nothing while she wished he would kiss
her.
Eira remembered a fight with Evangeline, telling her that she was worried about the rumors of an uprising that Evangeline
had been brushing off.
She remembered the day of the uprising and her father locking her in her room, telling her that it was the only way she would
be safe, that he was going to run the empire soon and she’d be alive and okay, no matter what.
Eira remembered that night as Hugo unlocked the door to talk to her . . .
Her eyes snapped open and she jumped up, pulling the dagger from her belt in one smooth motion, her childhood training coming
back to her as she sprinted in Hugo’s direction.
He hadn’t expected it, didn’t see it coming. The force of her tackle knocked him against the wall as she pressed into him,
her right arm on his chest and her left arm holding the dagger to his gut.
“How could you not tell me?” she snarled.
Hugo didn’t fight back, sadness in his eyes.
“Eira! What are you doing?!” Evangeline yelled, slowly standing from the settee.
“I never would have done it, you ran before I could explain, I—” Hugo started.
“And I’m supposed to just believe you?” Rage filled her; she couldn’t believe it. He had had all the time in the world to
explain to her—all this time to tell her he wouldn’t have done it. Eira didn’t know what to believe.
“Eira! Stop!” Evangeline yelled hoarsely.
“I would have never killed her, Eira,” Hugo said.
Eira turned to Evangeline, dagger still pressed to Hugo’s stomach.
“Evangeline,” Eira panted. “His job that night was to kill you.”