Chapter 11 Only Death Remembers Me #2
The worst memory—I knew it the moment he asked. Sure, there were tens of memories and multiple murders, but this was the one.
“Okay.” I hesitate—because now I have to say the words. I’m not sure if I wanted to get this far or hoped I never would. But this is her freedom.
I close my eyes, figuring out how to say it, but the second I do—I’m there again.
“I was fourteen,” I mutter, seeing the village form around me.
We lived here before the Welding Village.
“A keeper put his hands on me. When I told him to stop, he didn’t.
I screamed… and four more came. They just watched.
” I keep my voice flat. If I let my tone shift, even a little, I won’t be able to keep speaking.
“He took my hand and…” I shudder. “He fell, screaming. The others tried to stop me.”
I feel the teeth prickling through my skin. The Nepenthes’ venom in my blood as they bit. Then I go numb, forcing the feeling away, knowing there’s no way I could finish this story if I let it suck me in.
“I killed them.” I feel the heat, the warmth on my face. “I didn’t tell my mom. But two days later, the keepers came for me. I was one of seven Fire Folk in that village. They asked me questions, not very many, before they sentenced me to death by whipping.”
I’m on the floor, on my knees, my hands tied to the wooden post over my head as that bloodied whip slashes my back twenty-seven times, and I’m sure I’m going to die.
There’s no use going into detail. No use talking about the crying, the begging. So I keep the end short. “I stopped them and burned half the village down. Don’t even know how many people I killed. Hundreds, at least,” I whisper. “Probably thousands.”
Before I regained my memories, I thought the scars on my back were punishment for hunting. But these scars came before Damien—they’re the reason I met him, the reason we went to the Welding Village. If I killed any keepers there, I wouldn’t stand out so easily in a village full of Fire Folk.
My mom was always smart.
At last, I shake myself from the memory. I’m standing in the room where Mial tattooed me. Safe. I look up, meeting his gaze. He doesn’t shy away from mine, doesn’t show any sign of discomfort, only understanding.
His words reflect that. “In a realm forged by power, possessing more than those above can destroy you. It marks you as a threat.” His eyes darken. “I’m dearly sorry that befell you, Desdemona,” he continues. “But what you endured… your mother allowed.”
Instinct tells me to deny it, to fight on her behalf.
Logic tells me otherwise. If I knew how to use my power, I could’ve stopped that first Nepenthe before four more came.
I could’ve been in control. And I was once—we spent years in the woods, hiding from the Neptharian War and using my fire for cooking and warmth—before my mom took that knowledge from me.
Now Mial is the one teaching me control, not my mother. Not the one person I thought would always protect me. Not the one who was only ever scared of me.
With a nod, I mutter, “I know.”
He reaches for me, squeezing my hand. “I shall bring you to her now.”
I shrink back—not ready. All my hopes flash before my eyes. I want my mom to say what Mial said. Yes, I’m flawed, but I’m doing the best I can. I want her to tell me she loves me, to deny all the things I saw in my stolen memories.
I’m scared the truth won’t be what I want.
The only sound is our footsteps and my heart racing in my ears as we walk to the dungeon. Mial approaches a wrought iron door. This is what I saw all those months ago when Lucian and I tracked my mom. It was real. The door cracks open. A dim red light fills the darkness.
It was all real.
Taking a deep breath, I step past the open iron door into a room I’ve already been in, even if only in my mind. I look at the two cages. Only one is occupied. My mom’s beautiful long brown hair is spread out across the floor. I glance at her stomach, watching intently for the subtle rise and fall.
The iron door closes, Mial on the other side, leaving me alone in the dungeon.
When I reach the bars, I lower to a knee.
I hardly make a sound—my fingers barely brush her cage—but Mom wakes like a rabid animal.
Her eyes meet mine, wide and angry, a darkness in her gaze.
It’s the same way she looked at me in the memories when I lost control.
“Mom?” I whisper, my voice trembling.
She shakes her head, a broken word escaping her cracked lips. “No.”
“Mom—” I choke, reaching for her hand. Her face isn’t nearly as bruised as it was when I saw her in Lucian’s vision, but it’s just as dirty. At least I know they’ve stopped hurting her. Was Mial the one to do it?
It couldn’t be him. He wouldn’t…
Would I?
She snatches my hand, her overgrown nails digging into my skin. Her fingers trace mine slowly, as if she’s making sure they’re real.
“You’re really here.” Her voice cracks as she meets my gaze, the hope draining from her eyes. “And your eyes,” she whispers, squeezing my hand. “Oh, honey.”
I open my mouth, but tears clog my throat. My free hand reaches into my sock, searching for the cold prickle of the wolf. When I find it, I hold on like it’s life itself.
I feel so weak. Maybe it would be easier to never know—to go on believing what I want. All my words disintegrate on my tongue, but I know that if it’s left to my imagination, I will assume the worst.
“You—” I power through. “You didn’t want me.” Mom’s hand loosens on mine, ever so slightly. But it’s enough to push me to say, “You don’t love me.”
“No.” Mom shakes her head and lets go of my hand, reaching through the bars to hold my cheeks. “I love you with my whole heart.”