Page 108 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

I stepped farther into the shop. Despite the pleasant atmosphere, my instincts were on high alert. Nothing in the God Spire was as benign as it appeared.

“I’m interested in recovering some memories,” I said vaguely. “Ones that may have been deliberately suppressed or erased.”

Mnemosyne’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpened. “I see. Please, have a seat.” She gestured to a small seating area near the windows, where comfortable chairs surrounded a low table. “Would you care for tea?”

I nodded, taking a seat while keeping my back to the wall and a clear view of both the door and the woman.

Mnemosyne busied herself with a small kettle that heated instantly at her touch. As she prepared the tea, she spoke without looking at me. “Suppressed memories are delicate things, Lady Blackrose. Like butterflies with damaged wings—handle them too roughly, and they crumble to dust.”

I stiffened. “You know who I am.”

She smiled, bringing over a tray with two steaming cups. “The Dark Lady is not easily mistaken for anyone else. Besides, news travels quickly in the Spire. Your arrival with Lord Blackrose has been the subject of much speculation.”

I should have been prepared for this. Our arrival had hardly been a secret—we’d said it was our honeymoon, after all. I accepted the offered cup, inhaling the fragrant steam. It smelled of mint and something wild and unfamiliar.

“It’s mountain thyme,” Mnemosyne said, noting my curiosity. “Good for clarity of thought.”

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.”