true and broken, never to see her second son again. The blankets bob in the rushing waters. Celeste vanishes into the forest. The prince weeps as he watches his mother break apart.
“What have you done?” the queen shouts over and over. The prince would never know she wasn’t shouting at him, but at herself.
Illan can’t stomach the scene, knowing the pain he’s caused, despite the desperate reason. He broke the queen’s heart, took half of it away from her, and carried the missing piece into the forest, never to look back again.
When I pull away, Illan is no longer breathing. His eyes stare at the sky, mouth slightly ajar with a trickle of blood flowing from each corner.
“Illan,” I say. I shake him, my fingers wet with blood and still trembling at the memory he just showed me.
“He’s gone, Ren,” Sayida whispers beside me.
I know it. And yet, I cannot move. No one can.
I’m momentarily paralyzed by grief, and speechless in my confusion. Prince Castian didn’t murder his brother. Illan took him. To what end? I know what this means, but I can’t face it. I think of the memory I stole from the garden, the secret rendezvous between Illan and Queen Penelope. Illan said it was to save their lives. From who, the king? Illan said they needed to give the king a reason to trust the prince, someone to mold in his own image. And what better way to mirror such a tyrant than a boy who murdered his own brother.
I’m overcome with disgust, shock, sadness. All I want to do is run as far away as possible, but I’ll never be able to outrun what lives inside me. The truths I don’t want to face.
I remember the rest of the Whispers now around me. Unaware of what I’ve become witness to, only focused on the loss of their leader. So I stand, and together, we work silently, building a massive pyre to burn our dead. A few of the older Moria, the ones who have done this time and time again, sing old funeral songs, their voices haunting as they echo in the courtyard. I know these songs, but they are only familiar because they are sung in my memories. I wonder if my mother ever sang them to me.
Night falls by the time we’re finished, and Margo comes up beside me, a torch in her hand. She throws it at the grave, and we inhale the oil and smoke.
“We can’t linger,” I say. “We have to leave as soon as possible.”
“I know,” Margo answers. “By the light of Our Lady—”
“We carry on.”
Chapter 29
We travel under the cover of dark. Margo and I double back for the carriage and make sure the roads are clear. There is but one elder left, and three dozen Whispers, mostly fledglings too young to fight. Still, we manage to turn a two-day trip into one, and with luck on our side, we arrive at the port town of Sól y Perla near midnight. Here, there is very little presence of the royal guards, and scores of traders swarm in a night market illuminated by large oil lamps, drunken men and women from all over stumbling in and out of cantinas.
While Sayida heads off to do some trading at the harbor, Margo and I scout ahead. The others wait in our stolen carriage. The beach home facing the sea is pitch-black. Not a single light within. The sea breeze is calming here, the boardwalk clear of foot traffic. The house is mostly empty, with just basic furnishings and simple rooms. There’s a cellar stocked with bags of rice and jars of salted fish. We might be able to pull this off.
“I’ll go get the others,” Margo says.
“Hold on.” I stand back and wait for her to turn to me. “You were right.”
“We don’t have time for this, Ren.”
“It’s only a moment, but it’s important. I wanted to tell you that you were right. About the way that I push myself into loneliness. It didn’t make sense to me until Méndez said all those things.”
“That man should have no place in your heart,” she reminds me.
“And yet everything he was is in here.” I press my finger to my temple.
Margo sighs. The wind blows the loose strands of her golden hair. “You’ve gotten through this before. You can do it again.”
She leaves me. I inhale the scent of the sea to prepare. I am thankful for the reprieve, as Méndez’s memories surround me.