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Her murmured words tangle with the breeze. “I know it’s hard to let go of, Kirran. But this isn’t fair. If we’re going to get to the bottom of this, we both have to extend some trust toward each other. I want to believe you. I need you to believe me too.”
Midnight envelops the garden around us. Fireflies and magical lights break through the darkness, winking and fading only to return to taunt me. Being here with her is so achingly natural. Or at least, it should be.
Yet all of me just knots further.
She sighs and wraps her arms around herself. As if to shield herself from me.
I unwind my stance.
“And I know I’m probably treating you the same way.” Her arms tighten around her body, and she glances up. “I asked her what could turn a blue dress brown and make it decay, and she said it sounded like withering magic. I kind of panicked. Assumed the worst in you. I’m sorry for that. I don’t want to be like this. But even if it’s a stupid question, I need you to answer it.”
“Numerous different magics can change the appearance or state of things. That’s literally most of what autumn magic —” I stop, release a sharp sigh, and soften my tone. “To answer your question, no. Withering magic doesn’t affect fabric. Just the living. I can’t suck the life from your dress.”
Alia frowns but still holds my gaze.
“Even if I had that ability, I wouldn’t have used it against you. No matter what you did.” I lower my voice even more and inch closer. “I’m sorry too. I don’t…want to be like this either.”
“All right.” A tremor goes through her as she inhales. “So what could have done it?”
“Rot induction, probably.” My words dissolve into a weary groan, and I force myself to straighten, move back from her. “The decaying part definitely would’ve been useful to know earlier.”
She frowns, then shakes her head. “Sorry. I didn’t know that’s what it was.”
“No, can’t fault you for that. I should’ve put it together the first time you said the dress was brown.” I close my eyes and focus on the cool air tickling my face. It only underscores the defeat pulsing inside. “Any other memories come back?”
“I wish, but no.”
“Anyone in your stepfamily happen to have rot induction that you know of?”
“We never discussed magic, and they never used it in front of me.” Her frown deepens. “Though maybe one of them does.”
Part of me latches onto that, ignites with the instinct to go find out, right now. Rip all three members of her stepfamily out of bed and demand answers. Yet if there are others involved, a rough interrogation may alert them to our investigation, and we’ll never find the truth.
Alia tucks her hair behind her ears. “I guess I could…talk with her tomorrow too. Ask about that.”
The resignation in her voice eclipses the fire in my chest. “No, let me do it.”
She stills, curious eyes shooting up to me.
“If she’s involved or covering for someone, she’ll have had all day to think of ways to cleverly evade any other questions you may have. I know more about magic. And the consequences for deceiving me are far more severe than they are for deceiving you.”
“True enough.”
“I need to talk with her anyway to clarify what day you left. You don’t have to put yourself through that again.” Our gazes hold, her eyes searching mine. I blow out a breath and step back. “So, for right now, all we know issomethinghappened. Sometime between my invitation and your departure.”
“And here I thought, ‘It’s just a few days. That should be easy.’” Alia lets out a little laugh. Like the kind that once made her eyes sparkle, though her smirk betrays the sarcasm.
I allow a sliver of a smile to break free and avert my gaze until the emotion fades. “Rot induction helps with the dress discrepancy. It’s likely illusions are involved with the day inconsistencies, that someone presented themselves as her to give me false information. But neither of those things explain the memories or what happened in the first place. So we’re looking at potentially three different types of magic involved. If not more.”
“Is it possible someone just…changed my memories? Or took them away?”
I can’t hold back the sigh. “No. Removed memories have to be contained somewhere. In an enchanted object. Usually books. Or weapons. And you’d know if someone changed your memories, because they have to ask to do it.”
“Oh.” She mirrors my sigh. “So not the dress?”
“No. Objects enchanted to hold memories are difficult to destroy. They don’t fall apart.”
“Maybe I’ll remember more as time goes?” She touches the glowing petals of a nearby purple moonflower and studies it like she expects it to do more than simply glow. “The memories do feel hazier somehow. Fragile or something. The images I have of you and your actions seem less…plausible. Almost transparent. Dreamlike, if that makes sense.”
