Memory's Wake Omnibus: The Complete Illustrated YA Fantasy Series (39 page)

“And that is why you will make a far better queen than your sister,” Hayes said.

Eloryn could tell that he was trying to be nice, but she wasn’t sure she believed him.
What have I done?
Her legs wobbled beneath her. She fell onto the chair, put her head on the table, and started to cry. Hayes knelt beside her and excused the rest of the Council from the room, leaving him and Eloryn alone.

“My dear, my dear, I know it is difficult. But it takes a true queen to do what you have done today.”

“I can’t do this,” Eloryn implored. “I can’t say who lives and who dies.”

“I understand. Your role is not an easy one. But know we of the Council are here to advise and assist you in any way. It is traditional for a monarch to delegate their duties, for to carry every responsibility alone would be a weight enough to crush any man.”

Eloryn wiped her eyes and looked up at Hayes. “Could you? Would you take this horrible task from me?”

Hayes paused, as if considering, then nodded. “By granting me the power of court legislature you won’t have to sign another piece of paper like this again. Perhaps it would be more appropriate for me to see to the matter of death sentences. Living through what I have, I am more equipped to deal with such dreadful decisions. Such matters should not be the realm of children.”

But they are the realm of a monarch. How can I be that person?
Eloryn shook her head. Maybe she couldn’t be that person because she couldn’t put her name on a piece of paper like that again. “Yes. Please have the appropriate documents written up to transfer this role to you. Thank you, Hayes. Thank you for being here for me.”

Memory ran all the way from the Round Room to the dungeon, her dress swishing around her like an aqua tide. Her heart hammered. Her face burned in anger at her sister and the Council. Her anger also turned inward. Maybe she did she have an unhealthy connection to Thayl. But she still thought everything about an execution was wrong, no matter who was being executed or why.

Memory stormed past the bailiff, giving him a filthy look for ratting her out. She wondered if as a princess she had any hiring and firing powers. After passing the first floor of cells, she took the final flight of stairs to Thayl’s solitary confinement.

On her approach, she heard the sound of hushed conversation, but as she stepped in front of the bars she saw only Thayl, sitting alone, chained up as before.

“They’re going to kill you,” she stated. Her face turned redder, embarrassment mixing with her rage for the fragile and desperate tone of her voice.

“Of course,” Thayl responded. “You didn’t know till now?”

Memory shook her head. The cell was cold, but Memory burned inside and out, the flames inside her threatening to burst through her skin, kindled by her emotions. She leaned against the damp stone walls in an attempt to cool herself down. “I tried to stop the execution, but no one will listen to me. Hung, drawn, and quartered. Does that mean what it sounds like?”

Thayl nodded slowly. “It is the traditional punishment for treason. What would the people think if they changed it for the likes of me?”

Memory’s stomach clenched at the thought of the punishment and she bent forward.

“Why does this matter so much to you?” Thayl said. “After all I did to you I thought you would be pleased to see me gone.”

“Not everyone thinks blood for blood is cool. It’s wrong to kill people like this. And there’s got to be more you can tell me, about Providence, or my mother, or…”
Or I’m making excuses. I just don’t want him to die. Could I have gotten that close to this monster? What does that make me?

“I often think on it, how much you took from me, and I from you, and yet I cannot ignore the fact you have saved my life once and again attempt to do so.” Thayl stood and moved as close to the bars of his cell as his shackles allowed. He looked broken, gaunt, not at all the way he used to look. “I do appreciate it, but I think I’m beyond help.”

Memory’s eyes watered. “They can’t kill you.”

Thayl looked blankly at her, but then gave a smile with the corner of his mouth.

“Do you remember that trick you played on me, when you told me that you were my daughter?”

Memory just nodded.

“I’m glad that you’re not,” he said.

Appalled, Memory fled the room.

“I don’t even know what this thing is,” Memory said, lifting a strange golden utensil from a silk-lined box. Clara giggled and showed her the finely crafted tea set it accompanied, making the item some kind of tea strainer. Memory sat by her dresser while Clara worked on her hair, incorporating stuffing and wirework into the structure to build volume, and lacing strands of pearls into twirling braids. They were up before the sun had risen, and the elaborate hair style was almost complete, but Memory still sat in her bed-clothes. The flowing chemise was light and draped in silky falls over her body, but a roaring fire across the room kept her warm. Clara had already mentioned three times how much faster she could prepare Memory for this day with some extra help, and how she’d gone out of her way to convince the designer to let her prepare Memory on her own. Apparently dressing up for a coronation was even more of a big deal than normal. Memory couldn’t bear the idea of more people buzzing around, touching her. She’d been dreading this day since it was announced. Not only did it mean suffering the embarrassment of being paraded around the city streets like a carnival float, but it was also the day before the execution of Thayl, the bloodbath her twin had sanctioned.

“We’ve got plenty of time,” Memory said again, secretly hoping they would be late. She pushed the boxes with the tea set and implements of tea making over into the Do Not Want pile. It was already much larger than the Want pile.

Clara put a bobby pin back in her mouth and shifted the set into the Want pile. “Those are from Duke Lanval and Duchess Marian de Montredeur. You may want to keep them for when they visit you. You really should read the cards.”

Memory rolled her eyes. A knock on the door and four servants entered with more stacked presents. She’d already been through this for her birthday, and here she was again, getting buried in finery.

“Just put it all over there,” she told the servants, indicating the Do Not Want pile.

Clara tsked and put a new box in front of Memory to open. “Can we at least see what’s in them? It’s so exciting.”

“It will be more exciting to see all this stuff go to a good cause. When I told Hayes I wanted to help those homeless kids, he allocated me some ‘promotional funds.’” Memory dropped her voice to a mock imitation of Hayes’s. “A handful of coins to give out on the street, smiling and patting babies on the head. He said it was a good idea, good for improving my image. It was nice, but I didn’t have enough to give all of them. Not even close. Hayes won’t increase the funds. He’s got no idea of what’s going on out there, so I figure I’d make some money myself, right? I just hope this crap sells for lots.” Memory lifted a vase, decorated with a sculpted scene of lilies and frolicking otters. It looked made of gold, but was almost transparent and icy to touch.

Wide eyed, Clara took the vase carefully from Memory like she cradled a priceless newborn. “This one will fetch a fine price indeed. True fairy gold!”

“I thought fairy gold was a bad thing?”

“The broken scraps of it are worthless since humans can’t work it. Only the fae can, creating masterpieces like this, or weapons. It is almost as brittle as glass, but makes deadly sharp blades. A beautiful thing.”

“Beautiful and useless. Over with the rest.”

Clara pouted, but put the vase carefully back in its padded box and onto the Do Not Want pile. “You might not understand it, but the people do love you, Hope. You are the one who defeated Thayl. They want you to have these fine things.”

“Yeah, I’m sure those orphans want me having golden strainers while they are begging for food.”

Clara paused and smiled. “You have a good soul, highness.”

If I even have a soul.
Memory shrugged. Soul or not, it was just common sense.

A racket of marching feet and clattering weapons came from the hall and the door burst open. Peirs rushed in followed by a huddle of guards among which Memory could barely see Eloryn and Roen. Eloryn, already in her dress for the big day, barely fit through the door with the sheer volume of her skirts and oversized lace collar fanning out behind her.

Memory knew that Peirs, who previously led the resistance against Thayl, had been made Captain of the Guard at Caermaellan castle, but the place was so big she hadn’t seen him since the morning they defeated Thayl. Peirs did a quick check of the rooms, and the guards averted their eyes from Memory when they saw she still only wore her silky undergarments.

“Okay. What’s going on? You lose something?”

Roen squeezed through the crowd filling Memory’s sitting room. He hugged her briefly. “Thank the fae, you’re all right.”

“It’s Thayl.” Eloryn ran up to her sister and held her as well, shaking. “He’s escaped.”

Clara did a dramatic cross between a gasp and a squeal. Roen took and squeezed Memory’s hand.

Peirs returned from checking her bedroom and offered a brisk salute and bow, followed by the lopsided smile she remembered. “Sorry for the intrusion. We feared he may try to come after you. It’s good to see you’re safe.”

People kept talking around her. Peirs arranged soldiers to stand inside and out of Memory’s chambers, and Eloryn explained how they hadn’t been able to track Thayl through magical or non-magical means and had no idea how he had got out of his cell.

Memory’s head was shaking softly from side to side and she chewed her bottom lip, the news sinking in. She mumbled, mostly to herself, “He won’t come here. That would be crazy. He hasn’t got any power anymore. He must be trying to get away, but where could he hide?” Her words were lost under the other conversations.

Roen kept looking to Eloryn, the worry on his face clear. A plan formed in Memory’s mind.
They’ll be safe here. But this might be the only chance to avoid the execution
.

Memory raised her voice over the crowd. “I’m just going to chuck some clothes on.”

Approaching the bedroom, she gave the guards in there a look. “A little privacy please? And, Clara, I’ll manage by myself, thanks.”

Memory smiled in a way to indicate she was calm and coping and closed the double doors to her sitting room, leaving her alone in the bedroom. She dashed across to the wardrobe and yanked out the box she’d stuffed in the bottom. A minute later, she’d wriggled into jeans and pulled on the t-shirt and shoes.

She stepped out onto the balcony and scooted up onto the balustrade. Looking down, she swallowed. It was a long way, but the only way she could get out of here alone was Will style.

She began to lower herself, taking care to hold tightly onto the vines. Thick, ancient ivy intertwined with woody rose stems. She inched her way down, managing to grab the thorny option more than once and her hands bled by the time she had her feet on the grass below. Memory cursed at her stinging hands.
Will makes it look so easy
.

The palace grounds were clear of people except the occasional group of guards. Memory waited behind some bushes for a patrol to pass and tried to work out what to do next. She only had one option, walk, and hope whatever connection she had with Thayl led her to him, or vice versa.

She ended up heading into the northern wing where Thayl had lived during his reign. The area had been closed up since his defeat, as there hadn’t been time yet to properly dispose of his belongings, and no one was keen to move into the same rooms as he’d been in anyway, as though they were tainted. The rooms she wandered into were small, more the size of the castle’s guest rooms than the sort of chambers made for the monarchs, which Memory and Eloryn now inhabited.

A wardrobe had been raided, and the old, gray rags Thayl had worn in prison lay on the ground. This was the right place. Memory could hear Thayl up ahead, arguing with someone about debts. Memory reached the stairs to the far tower and crept up them. The tower was large, with round rooms between the spiraling flights of stairs. Memory went up two stories, trying to listen in to the conversation above her, but her rubber-sole sneakers squeaked on the marble steps, and the conversation ended.

“Memory?” Thayl’s voice bellowed. “I know it's you.”

“Who are you talking to?” Memory called back from halfway up the flight. “Is Providence there with you?”

“She’s gone. You can come up. I won’t hurt you.”

Memory stepped up into the tower’s highest room. It seemed to have been turned into storage, mostly full of disused furniture, a pile of old mattresses, and gold framed paintings stacked against the wall. Thayl wore clean clothes, standing by an open window. Memory almost fled again when she saw his remaining hand had been freshly cut, covered in the runes and markings like the one she had dismembered.

“What are you doing?” Memory pointed at his hand, keeping her distance, circling Thayl in the round space. A pigeon fluttered in the conical roof above them and Memory jumped.

Thayl raised his hand, examining it as though he’d forgotten what it meant. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to be part of that witch’s plan any longer, although letting her help me escape will serve a purpose.”

“I wanted to help you, let you get away, but that hand, how can I trust you?”

“You don’t have to. Thank you, but I don’t need your help. I hadn’t even expected to see you again.” Thayl seemed so eerily calm, it scared Memory more than if he were angry. “But I guess that is good too. I can tell you now that I fear you misunderstood what I last said to you, when I said that I was glad you aren’t my daughter.”

Memory scrunched her nose, angry at the sting there threatening to cause tears.

“What I meant in truth was that I am glad you didn’t have me as a father. I’m not worthy to be father to someone like you.”

Memory moved closer to him, but he motioned for her to keep her distance, stepping back so he pressed against the small balcony outside the open full length window. From this height, Memory could see the hedge maze, garden wall, the river that encircled the castle, and green pastures spreading into the distance. It felt like she could see half of Avall.

“Thayl, the execution doesn’t have to happen. We can get you away from here,” Memory said. “I could open a Veil door to where I came from. You can escape for good, start a new life.”

Thayl shook his head. “I am still such a problem for you. You don’t wish me killed, but you must know I have to die. There is nothing else left for me.”

Memory refused to listen. Instead she tried to focus her energy, to concentrate on the room in the orphanage she now remembered clearly and open a door to it, but nothing happened. A force pressed back at her as she tried to open the Veil, like pressing against stretched fabric.

She grunted at the failure. “No, there’s got to be another way.”

Memory started pacing, trying to think but was distracted by a strange sight. On the path she’d walked to reach where she stood now, glowing footsteps lit up like made of sunlight, following her trail.
Some kind of magic, some spell?
Memory drew a sharp breath. A spell to track her.

“Memory!” Eloryn’s voice echoed up the stairs, and Memory could hear the approach of armored men. Her sister, Roen, and a small division of soldiers in bronze armor ran up into the room, immediately surrounding Thayl and forcing him against the low balcony wall at weapon point.

“Leave him alone!” Memory rushed forward, but Peirs and another guard held her back. “Let go! Lory, Roen, stop this! They’re going to kill him!” Memory yelled as the guards lifted her by her arms.

“Memory, please, it’s all right,” Thayl spoke calmly. He looked into her eyes as he stepped backwards, elegantly raising himself onto the balustrade.

“Remain still!”

“Not another step!”

The soldiers yelled, and the sound of more people charging up the stairs filled Memory’s ears.

“What are you doing?” she mouthed, barely a whisper.

“Removing a problem,” Thayl replied. His soft words reached her clearly over the shouting men.

“No!” Memory screamed.

There was no grief in Thayl’s face, merely resolve. Only his brow suggested that he felt anything at all, curled and pained. He stood up straight, almost appearing as his former self, darkly handsome and charismatic, and looked around at those in front of him. Then he let himself fall backwards from the tower and to his death.

The guards ran to the edge to peer down. Peirs sent men to ensure Thayl’s demise. Roen blocked Memory from looking herself. Eloryn tried to hold her, but she wouldn’t be held. Memory’s head swam and she felt about to explode, her insides boiling. It seemed like the tower trembled. Old frames clattered beside her.