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And then, in an instant, gone. Not a word. Not a glance back. It cut deeper than I ever wanted to admit.
Could it be true that she didn’t do what I thought she did?
I fought for her then, as best I knew how with my heart and world in fragments.
But this is different. This is something else. Something sinister enough to prick the hair on my arms and simmer in my chest. Just skewed enough to draw attention to itself.
Before I can think better of it, I close the distance between us. Dark red streaks through my vision as I lift my hand toward her, and I stop. For a breathless moment, my fingertips nearly graze her shawl and the waves of golden hair spilling over her shoulder.
My skin aches for the contact. But all I see on it is the lives I’ve taken.
Alia has always been innocent, life-giving. The opposite of my magic. If it was forbidden to touch her before, how can I do so now? With these stained hands?
I swallow hard, curl my hand away from her, and pin it back at my side.
Her river-deep eyes linger on mine, almost questioning. But she didn’t recoil. I’m unsure what that means.
“I don’t know what happened, Alia,” I force myself to say. “But we’re going to figure it out.”
ChapterEight
KIRRAN
My words hang between us in my dimly lit quarters. Alia just looks up at me, as if searching my face for sincerity. Then, ever so slightly, a sheen glitters across her eyes. The air around us somehow presses in, thicker, heady. My skin tingles with something I can’t name. As has already happened numerous times this night, I can’t look away from her. But there’s a different edge to it now.
Is it tears in her eyes? Or just disbelief? I can’t tell, and almost as quickly as it appears, she blinks and averts her gaze.
The room still feels too warm, and something like a breeze tickles against the back of my neck.
“All right.” I clear my throat and step back again. “If our memories separated at some point, we need to find where they last matched and then where they converge, if they do. Besides the ball tonight.”
“That makes sense.” She nods and fixes her attention on the windows beyond us. At last, she draws in a breath. “On the day you invited me, I was…we met in the garden. It was morning, early. Before I had to be at work. We had agreed the evening before to meet, because you’d said you had something to ask me.” She pauses and lifts her gaze back to mine. Searching again. “Did that happen like that? For you.”
My chest tightens at the memory, the lightning nerves streaking through me even though I knew she’d say yes. I manage a nod. “Yes. And that morning, I invited you to the ball — taking place three nights from then.”
She opens her mouth but hesitates. “Three nights including that night?”
I blink and rub at my temple. Her gaze drifts toward my hand once more, and I yank it back to my side. “We should write this down. Map it out.” I don’t wait for her response, just spin on my heel and return to my desk.
She joins me but stays out of accidental touching distance. I grab a quill and parchment and start at the top.
“It was the middle of the week, Wednesday. The ball was to be on Saturday evening.” As I write it out, she leans forward, frowning at the parchment. Or perhaps my writing. I pause and meet her gaze. “What?”
“Just…” She sighs and straightens, pulling the shawl around herself again. “I don’t see how the timeline will be off.”
I don’t either. A wave of nausea climbs the back of my throat as if mocking me for thinking I could find truth here. I push through it. “That’s what we’re going to learn. What happened next?”
She studies me a moment, then sighs and holds out her hand for the quill. I offer it, careful to keep our fingers from brushing. The instant she plucks it away, she sidesteps around my desk and rotates the parchment toward her. Her left hand knots in the shawl to hold it in place as she leans down. A loose strand of hair slides down over her cheek.
I clear my throat and force my mind back to the task at hand.
The truth. That’s all that matters here.
“And you asked me to the ball,” she says as she writes an abbreviated version. “You said you wanted —” Her voice falters. She tips her head even farther away, and her hand stills.
I wait, but she says nothing. “Alia. Focus.”
Fire sparks in her eyes before they drop back to the parchment. Again, she expands aloud on her summarized response. “You wanted to name me as your chosen bride. You wanted to introduce me to your family as that.” A trace of bitterness leaks through. She straightens and sets the pen down. Her expression verges on wilting. “Did you actually tell me that?”
