Page 232 of Carousel

The carousel is in the distance, out of place on the beach, like a shipwreck. I hadn’t even wanted it to be here, it just appeared without me knowing. Maybe it will go with me wherever I go. And maybe, it should.

There’s one thing I have left to do.

I use no magic for it. Just a simple piece of driftwood.

I write in the sand the names of all of those who have been lost. There may be survivors in Vikemy, I know that, but even if there are, they will be rebuilding themselves among their ghosts. And that, too, is worth mourning.

Writing the names of the dead in sand is tradition in Hevalla on days The Assembly designates for remembrance. Hevalla has no religion – and having any religion is discouraged – but the tradition dates from hundreds of years ago, when the country was still a kingdom. The idea is that as the tide rises, swallowing the names, these people will be committed to the memory of the sea, which – unlike humankind – never forgets. The salt water from the sea, meanwhile, will flow through and strengthen those mourning them.

Old Mother. I smooth that over with my hand, opting instead to write her birth name. Junara Elisia Kiriyan.

Eric Tomlyn Merran.

Rissa Rone.

Sal Platt.

Tam Protcher.

I keep going.

Larise Kem.

Comery Kem.

Jerram Brodie.

Soon, I have a list that runs as long as a scroll.

I sit on the beach to wait for the tide to come in. A gentle breeze from the sea stirs in. Sends sand skittering over some of the names, like a blessing.

And Drake is here. I am aware of his steps over the sand behind me as he approaches.

The truth is, I felt his presence. He slipped in a while ago and has been watching me prepare the memorial.

I couldn’t shut him out this time.

Not when what I was doing was so important to me – and was already taking up all of my concentration.

Not when it always takes so much strength in me to even think about fighting him.

“May I add a name?” he asks, softly.

“Y-Yes,” I say a little surprised.

He treads over to the memorial. Writes, with the same piece of driftwood, at the bottom of the list,

Caloyan Zars Abennon.

His father. The late king. I didn’t know him personally, but knew he was a mild-mannered man who generally kept to himself, and was always well respected.

Drake avoids my gaze as he comes back towards me again.

I pull up my legs, locking my wrists around them.

“But you never knew him.”

He clasps his hands behind his back.