Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
I am not a scribe, but my predecessor advised us to keep our own account of our findings in the event the forgetting elixir is used against us.
After years of unrest and no formal government due to the absence of King Runerth and Queen Neith, a new arrival has caught the Sages' attention.
Constantine "The Just," a solar Duende from a small town between Mizu and Arusha, claims to have an answer to Lunaris' problems. The forgetting elixir.
The Sages are wary. Constantine is part of the Shadow Guild, and we all know what Cato has done with that elixir and that stone.
Yet Anala the All-Seeing's visions cannot be ignored. She saw Larimar burning. She saw Pia fleeing. She saw Constantine, the curse, and the evil lurking at our door.
Thus, the Veritas Treaty has been drafted and the forgetting elixir included, despite our concerns.
My predecessor warned them of two things:
A loud thump tears me from the page. The book slips from my fingers. My knee cracks against the desk as I jolt upright, and my sigil flares hot beneath my blouse.
"Godsdamn it." I shove back from the chair and storm to the door, yanking it open with more force than necessary.
Malachi and Kage stand in the hallway, eyebrows rising in unison as they take in my expression.
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Kage murmurs.
"I was reading," I snap.
Malachi lifts a black leather book. "Kage brought this."
"And this." Kage dangles a brown paper sack between us. The scent of Milly's bakery wafts out, butter and sugar and something sweeter beneath.
My stomach growls, loud enough for both of them to hear. I exhale and step aside. "Fine. You're forgiven."
Kage chuckles as he follows me to the table. "I will never understand why men think women are unpredictable."
"The wise words of an eternal bachelor," Malachi says flatly.
I bite back a laugh as I pour passion fruit juice into three glasses. But my amusement dies when my gaze catches on the bookshelf across the room. We put it back in place. Organized the books. Made it look untouched.
But someone was here. Someone went through our things. And they either used that hidden passage or discovered it. Either way, we're exposed.
"I got into the Keep," Kage says, pulling out the chair across from me. "Found your brother."
My knees nearly give out. I sink into my seat before they can. "And?"
"Exhausted. But unharmed." He nods at the black book on the table. "He asked me to bring you that."
"You're certain he's not hurt? They haven't—"
"I asked. He hasn't been touched." Kage meets my eyes. "Not physically, anyway."
"Thank you." The words come out unsteady. I reach for the book, but Malachi's hand closes over mine.
"Eat first."
The concern in his eyes makes something in my chest tighten. My stomach growls again, betraying me, and I decide not to argue.
Everything else fades when I tear off a piece of the warm, flaky bread and find melted guava inside. I close my eyes and let myself have this one small moment of sweetness. When I open them, both men are watching me with undisguised amusement.
I look at Kage. "You bought these?"
He nods, wary.
"I've never given marriage much thought," I say, reaching for another piece. "But between news of my brother and Milly's guava bread, I'd marry you tomorrow if you asked."
Kage throws his head back and laughs, the sound rich and startled. Through the bond, I feel a flicker of annoyance from Malachi, quickly smothered by reluctant amusement.
"I was the one who sent him to the Keep," Malachi says, a glint in his eyes that makes my pulse stutter. "And told him to bring the food."
I shrug, reaching for another piece. "Then you can be a contender."
He barks a surprised laugh. "You're going to make us compete for your heart?"
"My heart?" I raise an eyebrow over the rim of my glass. "I thought we were discussing marriage."
Kage chokes on his bread.
"You don't think you can have both?" Malachi asks, his voice dropping into something more serious.
"I do. I just wouldn't expect you two to care about the distinction."
"What makes you say that?" Kage manages between coughs.
"Outsiders have a different view of marriage."
Malachi's eyebrow rises. "As opposed to the High Sage, who selects your partners for you?"
I shoot him a look but don't take the bait.
"The merchants who come through Siren's talk about marriage in terms of legacy.
Heirs. Bloodlines. They don't see their spouses as people.
They see them as warm bodies to share their beds and raise children who'll carry their names forward.
" I take a sip of juice. "The entire institution is clouded by the obsession with what comes after. "
"And how do you view it?" he asks quietly.
"We don't have children in Lunaris. Marriage isn't about legacy here.
It's about partnership." I turn the glass in my hands.
"Companionship. Comfort. Emotional security.
" I meet his eyes. "We have our own work, our own income.
We're not looking for someone to provide for us.
We're looking for someone to weather the storms with. "
Kage makes a sound of quiet surprise. Malachi's frown deepens, as if the concept of marriage is entirely foreign to him. I suppose it is. Three centuries in stasis doesn't leave much room for thinking about partnership.
"Would you want children?" Kage asks. "If you could have them?"
The question catches me off guard. "I've never thought about it."
His eyes widen. "Never?"
I shake my head and let my gaze fall to their hands. Scarred. Calloused. Hands that have held weapons, drawn blood, survived things I can only imagine. Hands that have lived.
Even Malachi, frozen as he's been, had 28 years of real life before stasis. Different kingdoms. Different struggles. A world beyond these walls.
Those of us raised in Veritas have only ever known this. It's one of the things Jordi used to argue about, late at night when we couldn't sleep. How can we know what we're missing if we've never had it?
In light of everything I've learned, I can see how I may have been wrong about a lot of things. I always believed the memory trade was merciful. The incantations let people keep their cultures, their food, their music, the fabric of who they are. The trade only takes the pain.
That's what I told myself, even after I stopped making the elixirs. But maybe that's only true in Veritas. How would I know what happens in the rest of Lunaris? I can't shake what I saw in those laborers. The way they screamed.
And the pleasure gardens, where grief is turned into spectacle, make everything worse. Outside of Arlo, Cas, and Bas, I don't know anyone who lives under Council rule. And even they were raised in Veritas. Do they count? Does Bas, who I barely recognize anymore?
Fear of the silent guards keeps us from even trying to know them. Everything I've heard about Council residents is secondhand. And when I sort through those scraps, I realize how empty they are. I've never heard anyone describe a Lunarian as funny.
Or creative. Or kind. Only functional. "A new guard training near the Shroud." "A dueler who can flip mid-air." Descriptions of what they do. Never who they are.
Gods. I made those elixirs for years and never once questioned whether the incantations were the same for everyone. The words are kept locked away in the House of Truth. Only the healers who perform the ceremonies know what they say.
But Draven said Freida told him his incantation was different. Different words. Different intent. What if the ceremonies aren't the same at all? What if Veritas and the Council use entirely different incantations?
The painting behind Mother's desk surfaces in my mind. The woman in crimson, trapped inside bubble after bubble after bubble. We call ourselves the guardians of truth. The keepers of ancient knowledge.
Our texts span thousands of years and countless cultures. But what is knowledge without experience? What good is truth if you can only read about it, never live it?
I clear my throat and force myself back to the present. "How did you get into the Keep?"
"Can't reveal all my secrets." Kage winks. "Not if we're to be married."
Malachi makes a low sound in his throat. I pretend I don't notice.
"Your brother wanted me to tell you something," Kage says as I slide the book toward me. His voice has gone serious. "He said he was trying to spare you from this. And that you shouldn't blame yourself for what's inside."
My stomach turns. Whatever sweetness the bread brought is gone now. I think of the other book, the one still sitting on my desk with its gold-inked warning. Then I take a breath and open this one.
The Council's signet is embossed on the first page. I flip past it and find columns. Row after row after row of them, filling every page.
Names. Hundreds of names.
"What is this?" My voice comes out barely above a whisper.
"A ledger," Malachi says quietly. "Duelers. Laborers."
"Jordi said there are more like it," Kage adds. "This is just the one he could get to."
I scan the columns. Names in the first. Gifts in the second, healer, seer, fire-wielder, empath. The third column stops me cold. Prices.
Each person has a price.
I press a hand to my mouth. There has to be another explanation. There has to be. My hands shake as I flip through the pages. I search for Arlo. For Cas. For Bastian. None of them appear.
Understanding sinks in. They wouldn't be here. They arrived as children, the same year I did, and were raised in Veritas. This ledger is something else. Something worse.
I look up at them. My voice shakes. "All of these people were purchased."
It's not a question. I can see the answer in their faces. In the careful pity they're trying to hide. Warmth reaches through the bond, Malachi trying to steady me, but I wrench myself away from it.
Sever the connection before it can take hold. I can't accept comfort right now. Not for this. Not when I made the elixirs that kept these people compliant. Not when I helped build the cage they were sold into.