Chapter 31 Make Decisions While Angry #2
After checking for poison or other enchantment, I took a cautious sip.
It tasted pleasant enough, though I doubted its efficacy for my particular problem.
“I need to recover specific memories,” I said, setting down the cup.
“Memories from when I was a child. They were locked away by powerful mages.”
“May I ask why?” Mnemosyne settled into the chair across from me, her gaze direct but not intrusive.
I hesitated. How much should I reveal? The memory mage was a stranger, and in the Spire, information was currency. But I needed her help, and some level of honesty might be necessary to obtain it.
“They may have important bearing on my future,” I said carefully. “On decisions I need to make.”
Mnemosyne nodded, seemingly satisfied with my partial answer. “And these memories—do you have any sense of what they contain? Any fragments or impressions that remain?”
I closed my eyes, trying to reach for the elusive shadows that had haunted me since my father’s confession.
“I believe they involve my mother’s death and the events leading up to it.
I was told she died of illness when I was eight, but recently I learned that she died protecting me when I was fourteen, and that I witnessed it. ”
When I opened my eyes, Mnemosyne was watching me with a mixture of compassion and concern.
“Such memories would be deeply traumatic for a child,” she said.
“If they were indeed suppressed by magic rather than your own mind’s protective mechanisms, the process of retrieving them will not be simple or painless. ”
“I don’t care about pain,” I said, perhaps too quickly. At her raised eyebrow, I amended, “I mean, I’m not afraid of it. These memories are important.”
“Important enough to risk madness?” she asked, her tone gentle but serious.
A chill ran down my spine. “Madness?”
Mnemosyne set down her cup with a soft clink.
“Lady Blackrose, magic cannot simply be ‘snapped’ to restore your memories, especially if they were deliberately locked by a complicated mind-suppression spell. Assuming the sorcerer was powerful—and given what you’ve told me, I must assume they were—the cost of forcibly ripping those blocks from your mind is high.
Madness is a common side effect, though not because of the spell itself. ”
“Then why?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.
“Because the rush of possibly traumatic memories can be devastating to the psyche,” she explained.
“Imagine experiencing the most horrific moment of your life with the full emotional impact of your child self, but with none of the protective distance that time normally provides. It can shatter the mind.”
I reached out with my truth-sense. She wasn’t lying or exaggerating. She genuinely believed what she was saying.
But I also sensed a certain reservation, as if she wasn’t telling me everything.
“There are other methods, though, aren’t there?” I pressed. “Less catastrophic ones.”
A flicker of surprise crossed her features.
“You have a keen perception, Lady Blackrose.” Mnemosyne sighed, leaning back in her chair.
“There are gentler approaches, yes. Ways to coax the memories back rather than tearing down the walls that contain them. But they require time, patience, and a willingness to face what you might find piece by piece, rather than all at once.”
Time was something I didn’t have in abundance. Not with the Shadow King spreading through the ley lines, Auremar hunting those of heroic bloodline, and the fragile state of my marriage to a man who couldn’t say three simple words.
“How long would this gentler approach take?” I asked.
“Weeks, at minimum. Possibly months.”
I shook my head. “Too long. I need these memories now.”
“May I ask why the urgency?” Mnemosyne’s gaze was penetrating, as if she could see through my carefully constructed facade to the turmoil beneath.
I chose my words with care. “As I said before, there are events unfolding that may be connected to what happened that night. Understanding my past may be crucial to navigating my future.”
After studying me a long moment, she nodded.
“Very well. There is a middle path—a potion that will lower the barriers between your conscious mind and the suppressed memories, allowing them to surface gradually over the course of a few days rather than in a single, overwhelming rush. It’s still risky, but less so than a sudden breaking of the spell. ”
Hope flared in my chest. “And this potion—you can make it?”
“I can,” she confirmed. “But I must warn you, Lady Blackrose—even with this method, you’ll be vulnerable while the memories surface.
Disoriented, possibly experiencing both past and present simultaneously.
It would be wise to have someone you trust nearby, someone who can ground you if the memories become too overwhelming. ”
Kazimir’s face flashed in my mind, but I quickly pushed the thought away. No. Not him. Not when things between us were so strained.
“I’ll manage,” I said firmly.
Mnemosyne looked skeptical but didn’t argue. “The potion will take time to prepare—until tomorrow, at least. And I’ll need something from you to attune it properly.”
“What kind of something?” I asked, wariness creeping back into my voice.
“A lock of hair is traditional,” she said with a small smile. “Though a drop of blood would work better, given the nature of the spell we’re trying to counteract.”
Blood magic. Of course. It often came back to blood with the truly powerful spells. I hesitated only briefly before extending my hand. “Blood, then.”
Mnemosyne produced a small silver knife from within her sash.
The blade gleamed in the sunlight as she carefully pricked my finger, catching the welling drop of blood in a tiny crystal vial.
The moment the blood touched the crystal, it began to glow with a soft golden light—the signature of my heroic bloodline.
Mnemosyne’s eyes widened slightly. “Fascinating,” she murmured. “Your blood is unusually potent.”
“So I’ve been told,” I said drily, thinking of Kazimir’s experiments with my blood that had revealed the fortyfold amplification effect. “Will that be a problem?”
“No,” she said, sealing the vial with a cork. “If anything, it will make the potion more effective. Return tomorrow morning, and it will be ready.”
I rose to leave, but Mnemosyne caught my wrist gently. “Lady Blackrose,” she said, her voice low and serious. “Whatever you discover in these memories—be prepared for it to change how you see not just your past, but your present as well. The truth has a way of reshaping everything it touches.”
A shiver ran down my spine, but I nodded. How could anyone truly prepare for the unveiling of a past they didn’t remember? “You’re not what I expected to find in the God Spire.”
Mnemosyne laughed lightly. “The Spire attracts all sorts, Lady Blackrose. Not everyone here deals in souls and shadows. Some of us simply provide services that might be frowned upon elsewhere.”
As I turned to go, Mnemosyne called after me. “Lady Blackrose.”
I paused at the door, looking back over my shoulder.
She hesitated, as if weighing her next words carefully. “Remember what I said about having someone you trust nearby. The mind can play tricks when confronted with long-buried truths.”
I nodded in acknowledgment but made no promises. Trust was in short supply these days, especially after Kazimir’s betrayal at the Gilded Gallows. And the last thing I needed was him hovering over me, trying to protect me from my own memories.
No, this was something I would face alone. Whatever horrors awaited me in the locked chambers of my mind, I would confront them on my own terms. After all, I was Arabella Blackrose, Dark Lady of Skyspire, wife to the most feared villain in the Western Realms.
And I was done letting others decide what truths I was allowed to know.