Page 128 of Embers of Ruin

"Mamma, my hands are warm. I’m hot all over!"

"They are," my mother agrees.

"Is something wrong with me? Am I sick?"

"No. Nothing is wrong with you. You’re perfect, sweetling."

The answer comes too fast. My father and mother exchange a glance. A tiny one. The kind adults think children don't notice. I notice it now. And suddenly I want to scream at them. Run! Get out! Save yourselves and leave.

Go anywhere else.

Anywhere.

Because the memory has become unbearable in a different way. I am trapped inside it. Forced to watch them walk toward a cliff only I can see. My father crosses the room and crouches beside us. One large hand settles against my shoulder.

Steady. Solid. Safe. Gods. I forgot what it felt like to have a father. Not the idea of one, but the actual thing. The weight of his hand. The knowledge that if something went wrong, he would fix it.

I forgot.

I forgot them.

The realization nearly brings me to my knees inside the memory itself.

A young version of myself leans into his side automatically. Trusting. Loved.

And for the first time since the memory began, genuine terror curls through me because I finally understand what is about to be taken away.

* * *

The Shadow King did this, Lyra.

The words echo through my head like a bell struck beneath the water. Not because I remember every detail, but because I remember Mara. I can hear her voice now—not clearly, not every word, just fragments. A hand smoothing my hair as I trembled uncontrollably. Arms wrapped around me while I cried. The scent of rain and herbs clinging to her clothes. Her tears soaking into my hair while I asked questions no child should ever have to ask.

What happened?

Where are they?

Why won't they wake up?

This is my fault. I hurt them, didn’t I?

My stomach lurches and the memory twists again.

I see Mara kneeling in front of me, grief written across her face. And something else. An expression I couldn't name as a child... but I see it now. Horror. Gods... the look on her face makes my stomach knot.

Not the horror of a woman who had arrived too late to save her friends. The horror of a woman who walked into that room, saw the truth in an instant, and realized she would have to bury it. Another memory surfaces, hazy at first. A man with crimson eyes stands behind Mara. His voice is calm. Cold. It’s for the best. He looks at me with something almost like pity. I’ll wipe the memory from existence. The air leaves my lungs. The realization comes slowly at first, like a crack spreading through ice. Then all at once it breaks.

Mara knew.

She saw the broken cottage.

Saw my parents.

Saw me.

Saw the light.

Saw what my magic had done.