“But...”
“But,” he interrupted again, “you have something I want in return. The girl you were with at Palace de Montredeur.”
“Ugh! Typical.” Memory hissed and a swarm of tiny dancing gowns nearby caught on fire. “It’s always about precious Eloryn! I’m so over it already!”
“Then let me have her and have all your problems solved,” Thayl said, his voice as dark and velvet as his throne.
She wanted that. Wanted it so much.
“What will you do with her?” That wasn’t what she meant to say.
“No wrong.”
“What isn’t wrong to a man who killed the woman he loved?”
A flame lit in Thayl’s eyes and he arose in fury. He stormed toward her and Memory stumbled backwards.
Flashing shadows passed between them and when they cleared, the anger in Thayl had gone, replaced with simmering grief.
“Daring to say such things when you know nothing at all! I did not kill her. Never would have, never could have.” His voice sounded too hurt to be a lie.
Memory fought the urge to back away further as Thayl glared down at her. “But everyone says.”
“It’s what everyone chooses to believe, that I am the evil to hate. Everyone can believe as they want, let them fear me more. But I want you to know the truth. I want you to see I’m not the one to distrust.”
Thayl drew another, simpler chair from the black, offering it to Memory. His face had grown still, carved from wax and too cold to melt. “Sit; I will show you the truth. Once you have some knowledge in this empty head then you can make your judgment.”
Thayl returned to his throne, and Memory took the second chair, lowering herself in with hesitation as though it might bite.
“Loredanna and I were in love...” Thayl began.
“You were a stalker,” Memory interrupted with a whisper.
“We were in love, together,” Thayl said, the corner of his lips turning down in irritation.
A scene lit in front of them. A woman in the finest of gowns with coifed cream hair sobbed uncontrollably, heartbreakingly, into the shoulder of a man; Thayl, when he was younger, straighter. The frown on his face was now fresh and not yet set in permanence.
“She looks just like Eloryn,” Memory said.
“This is Loredanna, her mother.”
“What did you do to her?”
Thayl raised an eyebrow. “You truly think me a monster? This is my memory, of when she was given news from the Wizards’ Council that they had not allowed me to be her husband. My magical talent was considered too weak for the royal bloodline, so she was chosen another partner. She cried for weeks, and was never happy again, from that time till her death. I swore then that those who forced our love apart would hurt even more than she.”
“So you killed the King and all those wizards?”
“I’ve never denied this. It was as they deserved, and I will continue until I see revenge on every wizard of the council who took her from me.”
Alward, Memory thought, but it sounded louder than if she’d yelled, echoing through the black around them.
“Pellaine. Him most of all. He is mine now, and when I no longer need him I will see justice paid for his crime. He is the one who killed the most perfect being of this world.” Thayl’s voice dropped into a growling whisper, hissing through bared teeth.
Memory opened her mouth, needing the answer to a million questions.
“Just watch,” Thayl murmured.
A new scene flashed by and Memory turned to it. Like a silent movie it played.
The beautiful Queen sat sad and alone, full with child in an unlit room. Through the open frame of a window she watched the moon fading into the sky around it, burnt to red by the earth’s shadow. A sound startled her and a smile of hope lit her face when she saw it was Thayl who approached. He held her, and pleaded with her, and through tears she nodded agreement. Reaching up to her neck, she unclasped a chain and removed a heavy amulet, the same crested one Eloryn had owned. She flung it onto the table with a look of disgust and triumph, then took Thayl’s hand and not a single other thing and they left.
The vision flickered, cut and jumped, to a forest of grim trees and shadows. Thayl and Loredanna fled into the woods with a look of anxious, terrified hope.
Another jump, and Memory watched Loredanna, wet from the exhaustion of labor, being supported by Thayl. She reached out, crying for her child. A lanky blond man held a newborn baby, taking it away. “Pellaine,” Thayl hissed.
The scene flickered, and Alward now held a scroll instead. A baby lay on the ground of the forest among dead bodies and dead leaves. Reading from the scroll, Alward shot a blast of red light from his hand which hit the young Queen fully where she stood just in front of Thayl, still reaching for her child.
The vision skipped again. Loredanna lay still and limp, held by Thayl. He knelt on the ground and screamed wrath and vengeance. Across the scene, Alward vanished like a ghost into smoke with the baby in his arms. The scene jumped, but did not change. A hooded figure flickered in and out of vision. Loredanna fell alone to the ground, the scene shifted, then she was again held in Thayl’s arms.
Memory squinted through her tears. She wiped them quickly, but Thayl had already seen them. A shallow smile formed on his lips.
“These are my memories. Do you trust me yet that I will help return you yours?” His voice was clouded, his eyes unreadable and cold.
“Why would he do that? It didn’t make sense!” Memory shook with outrage.
“You are like me, we are strong in emotion. The wizards know only logic and tradition. Loredanna and I broke those traditions when she fled to be with me. Both our lives meant nothing to them from that point on. They only needed her child to continue their ways.”
The scene of Loredanna’s death still flickered. Thayl watched the younger version of himself with his jaw clenched. The scene spluttered; again a faceless figure was silhouetted in the forest. Memory blinked and the vision had faded away.
“But Alward didn’t, Eloryn doesn’t...” Memory couldn’t get her thoughts straight, something didn’t add up, but a noise kept distracting her, breaking up thoughts she tried to form.
Someone was singing.
“Will you bring me the child of the woman I loved?” Thayl asked urgently.
Three voices roared in unison, another laughed.
“I don’t... there are still things... don’t make sense, but...” It became hard for Memory to focus. All her surroundings, even her own body, were crumbling away like wet cake. Only the rowdy song remained.
Losing sight of Thayl, she called out in a panic, “You really know who I am?”
Memory woke to the white light of early morning. Too early. Ugh, my head. She rubbed seedy eyes to get them working.
Singing floated into the room. Memory heard it as she did in her dream.
“When you catch ‘em sneaking round,
You give their hide a tanning,
A kicking or a whipping, or a beating good and sound,
Cause thieves are only good for hanging!”
Visions from her dream washed over her. Her heart started up quickly but she couldn’t tell if it was from guilt or exhilaration. If it could be; if only it were all true... She could hardly bear the hope. She remembered most of it, more clearly than she did the parts of the night before she fell asleep. Did her jungle man really come and talk to her? Why the hell did she drink so much? As soothing as it was to purge her thoughts of whether she was a demon, she cursed herself for it now. And Roen for keeping her cup so full.
She sat up gingerly and Eloryn continued to sleep beside her.
Roen wasn’t there. Did he really stay out all night? Wow. Either very chivalrous, or he found Miss Frisky Fingers again.
Memory wanted badly to go back to sleep, but the singers continued.
“Thieves are thieves and that they’ll always be,
No matter what you name ‘em,
Cutpurse, dipper, fo
otpad or a booter-free,
A thief’s still only good for hanging!”
Fumbling out of bed she woke Eloryn, who winced and looked around the room.
“Where’s Roen?” she asked.
“Good morning to you too.”
Eloryn’s face reddened and she mumbled in embarrassment.
“Hopefully Roen’s getting us breakfast,” Memory said and poked at her hanging gown. Only a few hot coals remained from the roaring fire of the night before. The morning air was crisp against her skin under the flimsy petticoat.
“Is someone singing?” Eloryn rubbed her eyes and cringed.
Memory chuckled, just a little pleased that Eloryn seemed to be suffering more than her.
“These are dry,” she said, tossing the gold dress to Eloryn. She took a moment to analyze the black gown and realized it had a simpler under-dress she could probably get on herself. The grander skirt, ruined now anyway, was left behind. And frankly she didn’t care if the remaining dress was an undergarment or not. The fine sleeves were all but gone, so apart from having Eloryn help with her corset she was dressed and warmer in no time.
Helping Eloryn clasp the back of her dress, she wondered what Thayl, real or dream, would actually do with her. He loved her mother, so maybe he was going to let her be an actual Princess, as she should be, as if she was his own daughter? Memory shook her head to herself. Way too optimistic for her normal taste. She wiggled her toes, feeling them cold and bare, missing her shoes. Noticing her knife where it had fallen on the floor the night before, she slipped it back into her corset when Eloryn looked the other way.
Memory peeked through tattered curtains to see what the noise outside was all about. The daylight stabbed her tender eyes. Outside, a group of men lifted bottles and flasks, singing around a dirty bundle on the ground. During a rousing chorus, one of them threw his foot hard into the lump, which cried out and twisted out of the way, revealing a face.
Memory dropped the curtains back with a gasp.
“What is it?” Eloryn asked, moving toward the window.
Memory blocked her way. “How is your magic feeling this morning, any better yet?”
“Better, but perhaps not reliably so. Mem, what is it?”
“It’s Roen. Some men have him all tied up, hurting him. Lory, he doesn’t look very good.” Memory wanted to look outside again, to find out more, but was too scared. All she could make out before were ropes, blood, and Roen’s face.
“What do we do?” Eloryn squeaked a panicked whisper and the blood visibly drained from her complexion.
Memory felt the hard metal knife, a comforting presence against her skin. She had that, at least. Eloryn had her magic, maybe. That didn’t feel like enough.
She held her breath and looked out the window again. The men were gone; Roen too. She could still hear singing, somewhere close. She swore. “Whatever we do, we have to hurry.”
Chapter Seventeen
“We’ll sneak up, see what we can see and go from there.” Peering out the doorway, Memory found the area empty. Dirty red painted a patch of ground behind the inn, and more blood marked the path where Roen had been dragged.
“That’s your plan?”
“You have a better one?”
Eloryn shut her mouth and followed Memory out the door.
“Maybe they’re done with him, and he’ll be OK?” The sight of blood made Memory dizzy, made her want to run the other way.
“We have to help him. He has the token for contacting the Wizards’ Council.” Eloryn half sobbed. “We can’t leave him behind too.”
In her head Memory rattled through every swear word she knew. She could hear the singing again behind a thicket of trees.
“Is it the hunters who know us?” Eloryn whispered.
“Didn’t get a good look, but there were no uniforms.” Memory’s mouth felt dry and her head ached out through her eyes. She tried to shake it off and concentrate as they crept toward the boisterous choir. The rough ground hurt her bare feet, already sore from river crawling the night before. Her eyes felt full of sand, no matter how much they watered to compensate, blurring her vision. She winced away from the bushes she pushed through and stumbled forward too quickly-
And she was suddenly being stared at by four large men. One was positively a giant.
Eloryn stumbled into her back.
Having already used all her others, Memory tried to invent a new swear word. Frotz.
The men gaped, sneered and laughed at their sudden appearance. Roen lay on the ground behind them, face down, his caramel hair matted with blood and dirt. He struggled to look up and see why the singing had ended mid chorus, and his expression filled with heartbreak and horror. He screamed for them to run, but only a rasping breath came out, mouthing the word.
A long rope hung over a branch above a man wearing a worn top hat. He paused, half way through tying a rough noose.
Another man wobbled forward, sloshing ale from his flask and smiling around protruding teeth. “Mornin’ m’ladies, come for the show?”
“Look, they all shocked and proper.” The man with the rope smirked and went back to tying the noose.
“If this isn’t their flavor we could give them a different sort of show after,” a handsome but greasy man slurred.
A couple of the men roared with laughter and clinked flasks.
Giant, Buck-tooth, Greasy and Top-hat; nope, they definitely weren’t with the wizard hunters.
Eloryn stepped forward, setting her shaking shoulders square. “Sirs, show your respect. You address ladies of the court. What is happening here?”
Her voice was so formal and firm the men’s laughter cut short. Memory also straightened up, desperately attempting to follow her example.
“Just dealing with a vermin problem milady, what we caught a-sneaking round.”
“And we gave his hide a tanning!” Greasy sang, causing the others to break back into laughter.
“You are wrong. He’s our friend.” Eloryn shook her head at them, but her influence over them clearly waned. The girls’ dirty and torn dresses didn’t help their cause, and the men eyed them suspiciously.
“Then friends with a thief you are, ‘cause we caught him right with his nose in our belongings.”
“Did he actually take anything?” Memory asked.
“No doubt would have if we didn’t catch him; tends to be how these things work, little girl.” Greasy winked at her.
“It wasn’t his fault, it was mine,” Memory said before she could let herself decide against it. Roen shook his head into the ground. Memory licked rough lips and continued, looking to her side for the fragment of an idea that had come to her. “It was just a prank, a dare we made last night after we drank too much. I told him to steal something for me, from the toughest looking men at the inn, in return for...” Memory’s imagination ran dry, but the men took her hesitation to have a different meaning, breaking into cheers again.
“I understand that well enough,” said Greasy, running his gaze up and down the girls.
“Good. Let him go then.” Memory tried to sound commanding but it came out too high pitched.
“Well, m’ladies.” Top-hat swung the finished noose about in one hand. “Seems if he’s worth something to your fine selves, then he’s worth something to us as well.”
“A thief like this would fetch a fine bounty I’m sure, should we take him into town,” said Buck-tooth. Giant grunted agreement. Memory wondered if they’d bothered teaching the mammoth to talk.
“Oh no, we won’t hurt him no more, but maybe you could offer us some compensation for our troubles, if the boy here’s worth it to you.”
“He is. If it’s money you want, we’ll pay.” Memory could see Eloryn trying to catch her attention from the corner of her eye, and realized too late what she wanted to say. They had no money. They had nothing.
“Money will do just fine, being as you’re both too little for my appetites anyhow,” Top-hat said.
“Speak for yourself,” Greasy said, and laughed when the girls squirmed in response.
“I speak for all of us. We have a deal, for a taste of gold.” Top-hat dropped the noose, waiting. Memory hesitated, lost for what to do next.
“We have to check first you haven’t beaten him past his use to us,” Eloryn said, stepping forward.
“We’ve got all day, haven’t we, boys?”
The men stepped back a respectful distance, letting the girls through.
Memory and Eloryn rushed over and knelt by Roen. He had been left lying on his stomach, arms bound behind his back. Memory rolled him onto his side with care. His face was split and torn in a few places and he groaned when she moved him. Most of the blood on him came from a gash on the side of his forehead, still slick and oozing. He looked up at them, eyes wild, then shifted away from Memory’s hand.
“No, you have to go. Run before they have you too.” His voice caught as he whispered. “The token is in my pocket. Take it and go.”
“What the hell were you doing?” Memory whispered into his ear.
He turned his face from them. “Wanted to take the flute, have the dragon ourselves.”
“It is not even them, thanks be. Just braggarts, pretending to be great with tales and lies.” Eloryn reached out her hand, but withdrew it when Roen shifted away with a grunt.
“You idiot, why would you even try that?” Memory stared at her shaking hand, covered in his blood. She wanted to slap him, but figured he’d already had enough. She struggled to keep her voice low, out of hearing of the men who stood nearby, despite how she wanted to yell.
“Because it’s what I do!” Roen closed his eyes, letting his forehead fall back onto the ground.
Eloryn’s voice trembled. “I don’t understand.”
“There was no other thief than myself when I returned your bag that day we met. I only returned it because I... I don’t even know why.” His voice shook as he whispered into the ground, his shoulders tensed beneath a bloodstained shirt. “Just leave me.”
Memory shook her head, confused. No other thief...? If he was a thief, what was that to her? Nothing but another lie, in any case. A thief pretending to be noble. A demon pretending to be human. She could guess what would be considered worse.
Memory's Wake Omnibus: The Complete Illustrated YA Fantasy Series Page 14