Page 152 of The Silversmith

I lifted my hand to the thin, faded scar and tried to remember my life so that I could prove him wrong. So I could prove that this was the life I knew. That this life had been full. But that was a lie. And I couldn’t remember.

A part of me always had been numb, even when Ollie was my only source of joy. After his death, I was completely empty. I’d told Gavin as much that day he tended to the wolf bite.

Elowen had said it had been a fall that took my memories from me, and I wondered… how stupid I had been not to question that. Not to question so many things. Could a fall erase seventeen years? Could it erase memories of Oliver as a baby, if they’d existed? And she’d always seemed to resent me for something. For being an unwanted burden—a responsibility.

And my nightmares… I’d always shoved away the feeling that they were horrible memories. I hadn’t thought it was possible. But in those nightmares, I was trapped. Always torn. Always terrified. Always… lost.

“It wasn’t a fall that erased your memories,” Gavin said softly, glancing at my fingers on my head. “It was Simeon.”

“Why would Simeon do that to me?” I whispered.

“He was afraid of you,” Gavin answered. “You struggled to control your powers. He couldn’t control them, and he feared what you might do if,” his throat pulsed with a hard swallow, “unleashed. He was not prepared to fight Molochai, and he didn’t think you were either. So he locked you up, hid you, erased who you were, took his time learning about your powers, gathered an army beneath that mountain to fight with you, and woke you up with every intention of using you as a tool to destroy his nemesis. He made you his blank slate.”

I made every effort to not let that pathetic, devastated whimper loose from my throat.

I was a tool. A weapon. An object to be used. When I thought of Elias and my people—though determined to help them—I already felt like a grand idea rather than a person with thoughts and feelings.

Perhaps I’d never been wrong for feeling uneasy about that.

“But my memories. Why?”

“Because I was Molochai’s son, and you loved me. I was a distraction. A liability. Simeon couldn’t have that,” Gavin uttered. “But he underestimated the lengths I would go to follow you.”

True. Four hundred years. For me. My chest burned with compassion, with hope, but I tamped those feelings down. “If he hates you so much, why did Simeon send you to me now?”

“After four hundred years of being the Butcher, if he didn’t let me come to you…” His eyes darkened and chilled. “Well, let’s just say I made the consequences of that choice very clear.”

I shuddered at the man before me. What he was capable of. I realized now I could only imagine, and I did not want to.

“If it’s all true,” I whispered, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“When I saw how afraid you were, when Gemma told you that story, I decided I was going to. But then, despite your fear, despite your hesitation, you made the choice to help this world. You found purpose when you had none, and I couldn’t bear to take that away from you.”

“I could have found that purpose knowing the truth.”

“You said you didn’t want a husband.” Rejection darkened his features. The memory of my own words back in Warrich—words I’d said about Elias—scraped in my chest. “And why would you, when you’re nineteen years old with the weight of this world on your shoulders?” He shook his head. “I refuse to force that—myself—on you, especially when I’m bound to Molochai, and I don’t know how long I…” He trailed off, voice trembling.

“You should have told me,” I whispered. “I wanted you.”

“You just wanted me to fuck you.” His face contorted in pain.

Tears bit at my eyes because he believed that was true. It wasn’t all I wanted. It was all I allowed myself to have.

“Ella, this is your reality now. I wanted to give you the chance to figure out who you are, what you want in this life.”

“It was my right to know.”

“And I’m a fucking coward!” The words cracked out of him, harsh and low. “I’m a coward for being so terrified to lose what affection you’ve had for me these past weeks. I couldn’t stand the thought of being another person trying to trap you into a role you don’t want.”

He ran his hands over his face and paused, considering his next words.

“From the day you were born, others have determined who they want you to be. You have spent your life in shackles, Aryella, then and now.” He wrapped his hands around my tired, trembling fingers. “There isn’t a time or a life or a universe where I do not love you, but I will not tell you what I am to you now. You decide. I’ve tried—and likely failed—to show you the best of me, to show you how much I love you, but it is your choice.” His face contorted with jealous agony, and I knew he was thinking of the other things—the other person—I could choose. And it was killing him to let me.

“Your life—what we were—was stolen,” he continued. “And gods, when… if the time comes that I am free from Molochai, I pray that you choose me again.” Desperation bled out of him like he’d been cut wide open just as I had. “But choose me in this life, not because of a vow you made four centuries ago in a life you don’t remember. When I said the one thing I want most is your freedom, I meant it. I am many, many terrible things, but for you, I will not be another chain.”

“Then you shouldn’t have come.” But the words sounded unconvincing, even to me. “If this is my life now, you shouldn’t have shown up here.” My throat tightened. I’d let him touch me. I’d begged him for more. I’d wanted more then, and a part of me I feared still did want him. “You shouldn’t have let me… feel things for you.”

“And I told you I’m a selfish bastard,” he uttered darkly. “I couldn’t stay away from you, Ella. If I was a better man, I would have, but I’m not. I had to know you could fight for yourself before going to those people. I had to try… for your heart… gods, I had to try. And I had to know you again if it was the last thing I ever did.”