He’s quiet for so long that I finally look up at him. He’s studying me like one of his marks, and his aura glows, but it doesn’t try to hook into me. “Do you really not remember?”
I try to shove down my irritation. “If I did, I wouldn’t ask,” I say curtly.
He hesitates. “It’s over the stairs on the way down to the Cove.”
A chill zips up my spine and all my muscles tense like I’m bracing for a fight. Then the breath trapped in my chest finally releases and the disorientation fades.
Of course. It’s hanging on the landing, down a dim stairwell that leads to our Family Well and the room where I first experienced my father’s madness—where I went on to experience it many more times.
“Can we go see it?” I ask.
While the Family Well is open to any of the Carrenwells, with a lock attuned to each of our magics, the Cove and the vault, which are on the same level, only open for my father, Able, and Kellan. The leader, the heir, and the captain of the city guard.
The vault holds valuable Lunameade artifacts and family secrets, but the Cove is a small room that leads to the vault. The underground location and thick stone walls make it the perfect place for interrogations because the screams don’t carry.
“Are you sure you want to go down there?” Kellan asks.
I stare at my brother with my face fixed in an apathetic smile, challenging him to admit he knows why I might want to avoid that space.
This is a thing we never talk about—a ghost in every room that we all see, but are careful not to disturb.
“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s just a piece of art.”
He studies my face for a long moment and must see something that convinces him. Kellan stands and tucks the book with the map under his arm and ushers me toward the library exit.
We exit the library and turn down the hall. Gaven falls into step behind us, though Kellan’s bodyguard is notably absent.
“Where’s Ames?” I ask, and we take a few more turns and pause at the door that leads down to the vault.
Kellan waves a hand. “With all the rebel activity, I’ve asked him to stay with Libby and the kids for the time being.”
Gaven takes his post at the top of the stairwell while we descend the stairs to the lower level.
I can tell there’s more to this, but I don’t press. The hallway splits. The stairwell to the Family Well is on our right. We turn left and begin the descent to the Cove, pausing on the first landing in front of a painting that takes up almost the entire wall.
I’ve seen it before but never noticed its beauty—the way seeing something so many times makes it fade into the scenery of your life.
The man in the painting looks nothing like the modern Drained. He looks like what the fort storyteller described in her story—an ethereal being neither of life nor death. There’s something uncanny about his eyes—a hint of silver starlight sparkle. His broad chest is carved muscle, his hands have human fingers instead of vicious claws, and through his parted lips glint a row of distinctly human teeth, save for a set of short fangs. I understand the fantasy. It’s a nice escape to picture the Drained this way, instead of the monsters scratching at our walls.
Looking at it is a gateway to things locked in the back of my mind. The door to the past is thrown open all at once.
I’m six years old. I have new magic and no idea how to use it. I just need to make it happen again once. But my father has largely ignored me and he’s staring at me and I’m afraid of letting him down when I finally have his attention.
I’m eight years old and I know now that my father’s attention is a thing to fear. His harsh commands are punctuated by Aidia’s crying. I wish I were invisible again.
I’m ten years old and I’m squeezing Aidia’s hand so tight her bones creak. I smell blood and I feel nothing but the searing agony on my back. Her lilac eyes are full of so much fear and sorrow. She keeps whispering how sorry she is but I keep telling her I’m fine.
I’m twelve and I know that it’s different this time. I know I’m not fine. I see the terror reflected in Aidia’s eyes the moment before she?—
“Low.” Kellan’s voice snaps me out of the memory vortex.
For a breath, I’m split between past and present. Alone in the room where I learned to be afraid.
Then, my mind rights itself.
I’m thirty years old, back in the hallway staring at the painting of Stellaria’s Deathless, grateful that Kellan is here to call me back from the nightmares.
My hands are shaking. It’s plenty warm in the stairwell, but my chest feels frozen.
