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More boxes. More memories. Forgotten moments, now remembered. The pain was sharp at times, but Desfan didn’t stop. As much as it hurt, this was his past. The remnants of his family. They deserved to be remembered.
He’d found a small jar of sand, collected one day on the beach with Tally.
His fingertips brushed over the leather cover of a blank journal, stamped by an artisan with the image of a ship cresting a rolling wave. His mother had given it to him many years ago. She’d told him to write down his thoughts and dreams. He never had.
He found a note from Mia, written in faltering letters—some of her first.I love you, Des.
Then he found a letter from his father. A letter he’d almost forgotten.
His father had written this soon after sending a fifteen-year-old Desfan away on thePhoenix, though Desfan hadn’t read the words until much later. Regret was heavy in father’s tone, and Desfan found himself feeling an echo of that regret himself. For all the harsh words that had passed between them. For the relationship they might have had, if they’d each tried harder. Because, even though they’d lost nearly everything, they’d still had each other.
He lingered on certain phrases, unable to look away from his father’s script.
Desfan, I am so sorry . . . I hate that my regret will not reach you sooner. That you will go so long without knowing how deeply I love you . . .
Then—
I know you probably hate me right now. Rest assured, you could not hate me more than I hate myself. I allowed myself to become lost in my own grief, when I should have been there for you. If I could reach you right now, I would beg your forgiveness, even though I do not deserve it.
Desfan’s heart clenched in his chest. “I forgive you,” he whispered. He’d never said those words to his father. Not when he could hear him. Not when it would have mattered. But he said them now in a shadowed room, with pieces of his life scattered all around him.
He read the next words more slowly.
I lost your mother and sisters in an instant, but I have been losing you for years. You, who I had a chance to save. And yet I still let you fall. The blame is entirely my own. I never want you to carry that weight . . . I am the one who failed you.
In that moment, his mind flashed to Mia. His little sister, whom he’d failed for years. He hadn’t known she lived, but that didn’t feel like an excuse. Not when she’d been suffering and alone.
Too long, his family had been broken. Too long, they’dallbeen alone.
I promise you now, I will never let you be alone again.
They were his father’s words—a promise to Desfan made in ink—but in this moment, he swore the same to Mia.
Now, sitting in the garden, he wondered if that promise was enough. Not for the first time, he wished he’d been able to go to Ryden and rescue her himself. But he wasn’t like Serene; he couldn’t be in two places at once. All he could do was pray that Grayson fulfilled his promise.
He spun the black ring on his forefinger, his forearms braced against his knees, his head bent. He heard a whisper of movement, saw the flash of a long pink skirt against the stone walkway. He lifted his head and blinked when he saw Razan.
“May I join you?” she asked.
Shaking off his surprise, he shifted on the bench to make room for her. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Avao told me Karim decided to come.” Razan sat, her back a little too straight. Her fingers twitched in her lap, revealing her nerves. “Karim told me about his mother a long time ago,” she said. “Back on thePhoenix. And he told me about her illness the other night, in the garden.”
The corner of Desfan’s mouth lifted in a faint smile. “Things seem more comfortable between you since that night.”
Color touched her cheeks. “Yes, thank the fates. I’ve missed him.”
“I think he’s missed you, too. Not that he’d ever admit it.”
She smiled faintly, but concern rose in her eyes as she said, “I had hoped he’d take you inside with him.”
“He knows I’m here. It was nice of you to come,” he added.
“I hope I’m not overstepping.”
He didn’t think she was. Where Karim was concerned, a little push seemed necessary.
In an attempt to distract her—and perhaps himself—he asked, “How are your cousins?”
