knows that there is no forgiveness. She knows that these words, these stories, are met with punishment.
“I put my trust in you and this is what you do? Poison my only son’s mind?” He tosses the book into the flames and Castian lunges for it.
“No!” But as his hand begins to reach for the corner, the book is swallowed by the fire, and the king’s fist comes down across the boy’s face. One of the rings on the king’s knuckles leaves a neat slash that draws blood down the prince’s brow.
Castian’s lips tremble as he stands before his father and his father’s guard. He holds in the cry as long as he can, but Davida knows his heart and she knows that this boy is filled with more sorrow than he’ll ever know what to do with. So she rises and she holds him and whispers into his ear. “You’ll be all right, my darling boy.”
She can feel the king’s rage, like a cold snap against her cheek. He motions to the guard, who grabs Davida by her throat. He pulls out a crude iron weapon. A clamp.
Castian screams and kicks at the soldier, but his father grabs him. Holds the boy by his shoulders. Forces him to watch.
“I warned you to be silent,” the king says.
Davida’s anguish licks like fire at my hands. I pull away, knocking into a stack of crates. The top one tips over and cracks, spilling dozens of plums, plucked before they could ripen. I get down and pick them up for something to busy my fingers with.
“I’m sorry.” I repeat it over and over, both of us shaking. She won’t remember that day again, but I fear this is one of the memories that will haunt me forever.
It was the king who did it.
The king ordered her punishment, not the prince. Castian was a boy. Castian, by the looks of it, cared for her, trusted her. How did that boy become the Castian I know now? Why do the stories say the prince had her tongue cut out? I want to wrench out the worry I felt toward him because of this memory. A scared child locked in a library.
Like I was.
And she is not the spy I’m looking for. She’s another Moria who was caught in a war we didn’t start. She could have left with the others. She could have found her way to a safe house. But she didn’t. I shake my head, unable to understand why she’d willingly remain in the palace if not to help the rebels. Some people fight. Some people hide. Some people help in the only way they can. Now I see Hector’s memory differently. Davida wasn’t observing Castian during his training to spy. She was there to see his progress, like a mother watching a child grow up.
“You stay for him, don’t you?”
She nods and holds my hands in hers. Davida taps the space over my heart. Her eyes water. She still has dozens of good memories of that little boy. I think of the words Nuria spoke after I took her memory. The cold, empty room in her mind. Is that what Davida is feeling now? She pats my cheeks with a gesture I want to remember.
In Hector’s memory, he said his favorite quality of Davida was her warmth. Persuári can bring out emotions that exist. Empathy. Kindness. Not just action. What was done to Castian that she would use her power on him?
“I won’t tell anyone, I swear it.”
Behind us there’s a loud clattering and pots and pans fall to the floor. I leap to my feet and position myself in front of Davida. Fear tightens in my belly as I open the storage closet door.
“Judge Alessandro,” I say as fear floods my body. Not for me but for Davida.
Alessandro stands in the empty kitchen, an alman stone in his fist. It pulses with a memory of Davida and me. His face is twisted in cruel delight as he brandishes it. Davida tugs at my sleeve, and I try to give her a reassuring look.
“Leo didn’t believe me when I told him you’ve been faking your injury. He wanted proof before we went to Méndez. Imagine needing to prove my word against someone like you.”
Did Leo tell him where I would be? I think of the moments we’ve shared, the secrets we keep. No. I have to believe Leo wouldn’t. . . . But I can’t think of that now. I need to