The Memory Thief

by Lauren Mansy

  PRAISE FOR LAUREN MANSY AND THE MEMORY THIEF

  “The Memory Thief is a thought-provoking debut full of unique magic and complex characters. Lauren Mansy is definitely an author to watch!”

  —EVELYN SKYE, New York Times Bestselling author of The Crown’s Game series and Circle of Shadow

  “The Memory Thief is a vivid story full of surprising twists and turns. An exciting, riveting debut!”

  —REBECCA ROSS, author of The Queen’s Rising and The Queen’s Resistance

  “An entrancing story-world of memory heists, hidden maze-prisons, and unexplored magic. The Memory Thief kept me second-guessing with every shocking revelation and daring to believe that the journey to healing is worth the trials of heartache to get there.”

  —NADINE BRANDES, author of Romanov

  BLINK

  The Memory Thief

  Copyright © 2019 by Lauren Mansy

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Blink, 3900 Sparks Dr. SE, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546

  Hardcover ISBN 978–0–310–76765–7

  ITPE ISBN 978-0-310-76979-8

  Audio ISBN 978-0-310-76856-2

  Ebook ISBN 978-0-310-76757-2

  Epub Edition August 2019 9780310767572

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Any internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Blink, nor does Blink vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Blink is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Focus LLC.

  Interior design: Denise Froehlich

  Printed in the United States of America

  19 20 21 22 23 LSC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For my family.

  CONTENTS

  Glossary of Terms

  The Four Realms

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Acknowledgments

  The Memory Thief Discussion Questions

  A Note From Lauren Mansy

  GLOSSARY OF TERMS

  Gifted are those with the ability to transfer memory from one mind to another through touch. They can detect another Gifted by the energy which radiates from a Gifted’s skin, the source which makes the transfer of memory possible.

  Ungifted can receive foreign memories but cannot transfer memories themselves. They’re often the victims of memory theft and wear many layers of clothing to protect their skin. Most of the Ungifted work in the city of Craewick as farmers, blacksmiths, masons, tailors, and carpenters.

  Sifters are the most powerful of the Gifted, having the ability to transfer memories through sight. Sifters rule each of the Four Realms, and the rarity of their Gift makes them the most respected and feared of the Gifted. A Sifter can implant memories quickly enough to change one’s thoughts in an instant and steal enough memories to kill with a single glance. The large amount of energy in their skin creates a barrier around their minds which protects their memories from being stolen by another Sifter. One trait all Sifters share is the gold flecks in their eyes, a sign of the extra energy of their Gift.

  The Minders are the Four Realms’ army, a large battalion of Gifted soldiers. Most of the Gifted are conscripted into the Minders, unless they come from wealthy families who can pay to opt out of service.

  Collectors are the Gifted who work for the Craewick Treasury. They spend years mastering talents throughout the Four Realms and sell them at the Memory Auction or at the treasury.

  Hollows are the wealthiest of the Gifted. Because taking on too many foreign memories can muddle the mind, Hollows are known by their graying eyes and dazed looks. They often dress with every inch of skin covered to protect their minds from memory theft.

  Shadows are the best thieves in the Four Realms. They run the black market of memories in the Mines, a hidden underground city. The Shadows are a safe haven for orphans and anyone looking to avoid their Minder conscription. Their motto is “to help those who can’t help themselves,” and they protect the Ungifted, often hunting down Minders who steal from the Ungifted and returning the memories to their rightful owners. They also protect the Ungifted from the Ghosts when the Minders fail to do so.

  Ghosts are those who create and implant violent, painful memories. They’re usually hired by the Hollows to make an enemy suffer and often attack and steal memories from the Ungifted. Though the Minders consider both groups to be thieves and traitors, the Ghosts and the Shadows are adversaries.

  Hunters are those who chose to read and take on memories from the minds of animals. A combination of animal instincts and human nature, they’re skilled trackers and often travel in packs.

  Ungifted Tribes are large groups of nomadic, Ungifted people who’ve chosen to live fully apart from the Gifts.

  THE FOUR REALMS

  The Stone Realm is ruled by Madame in the capital city of Craewick. The largest of the four allied Realms, it is a trading post which supplies the other Realms with tangible goods crafted by the large population of Ungifted workers who live in Craewick.

  The Desert Realm is ruled by Declan in the capital city of Kripen. It is the military base for the Minders, known for its many taverns, rowdy citizens, and brutal training methods.

  The Coastal Realm is ruled by Sorien in the capital city of Blare. It is where all the arts, from painting to singing to dancing, are taught.

  The Woodland Realm is ruled by Porter in the capital city of Aravid. It is where the sciences, mathematics, and histories are taught.

  CHAPTER

  1

  When I see the letter nailed to my door, I know something is terribly wrong.

  The envelope is covered in fancy handwriting and sealed with a wax stamp the color of dried blood. I don’t wonder who it’s from because only the Minders use red ink—and they never send good news.

  I shove the letter under my cloak, hoping no one on the crowded streets has seen what the peacekeepers have sent me. My hands tremble so badly that it takes a few tries to fit my key in the lock. As a chill works its way through my bones, I twist the iron handle, walk in, and shut the door to my cottage. I sit before my legs give out, pulling my cloak around me.

  My throat tightens at the warm scents of honey and violets buried in the wool. The last time my mother wore this was the day before she entered the asylum, almost four years ago. Somehow, it still smells like her.

  A knock on the door jolts me.

  “Etta?”

  The door opens slightly as Ryder slips inside. Even in the dim light, the bruise blooming near her left eye is hard to miss, and her lip is cracked and bloody. But I’
m not surprised. She’s spent the last few hours on the street corners, where the crowds are as restless as the prisoners up for bid tonight.

  After all, it’s Auction Day.

  She slides down beside me, close enough that our shoulders meet. The gold buttons on her tattered jacket catch the last rays of sunlight sneaking in through the grimy window above my copper sink.

  Pushing myself to my feet, I resist the urge to tell Ry to be more careful on days like today, reminding myself she isn’t a child anymore. I set the envelope down on the floor beside her, walk to the water basin at the edge of the table, and dip a rag into the cool water.

  “Is that letter from the Minders?” she asks.

  I nod, offering the dripping cloth to her, but she doesn’t take it. “Your lip is bleeding, Ry. The cold will help.”

  “I don’t care about my lip.” Her eyes are on the envelope. “You didn’t open it.”

  “Because I already know what it is,” I say, taking in a deep breath. “It’s the lottery ticket for my mother’s bed.”

  Her eyes widen. “The asylum filled up again?”

  “I can’t believe it either,” I whisper.

  I knew the rules when I admitted my mother. Each patient is assigned a number, and when the asylum gets overcrowded, the Minders draw slips of paper to choose a patient to kick out. But I never expected it would be my mother. Not after the price I paid to get her in.

  Now the Minders will mark an x on the end of her bed and transfer any of my mother’s memories that I want to keep into me. But because she’s so weak, the energy of having her mind read will kill her.

  My eyes feel gritty and dry as I stare around the tiny room I rent from the Minders. On the wall across from me, I hung the portraits I sketched of my mother. There are dozens of pictures, all drawn on bits of paper I scrounged up over the years. Next to those are the dresses I sewed for my mother on a few hooks I nailed to the wall. But if the Minders have anything to say about it, she won’t need them anymore.

  “They can’t kick her out,” says Ryder. “Did you tell the nurses she moved her fingers? She’s waking up.”

  “It’s out of their control, Ry. The lottery is Minder business.” I clench my hands into fists, a rush of heat crawling up my neck at the thought of drawing numbers to determine who lives and who doesn’t. The Minders claim my mother’s death will be painless and peaceful, but who are they to decide when she takes her last breath? I angle toward Ryder. “Do they expect me to sit back and watch her die?”

  “The Etta I know wouldn’t do that,” Ryder says, a glint in her dark eyes.

  “The least I can do is battle the Minders until she wakes up,” I say.

  “And you won’t have to fight them alone.”

  My anger dissolves into fear as I imagine her challenging the Minders’ orders—spitting out words she’s bitten back for years. The last thing I need is for the Minders to label Ryder a deviant too. Especially on Auction Day, the very example of how they treat the so-called lawless.

  Ry clicks her pocket watch open, one stamped with the seal of Craewick that she swindled off a Minder years ago. “We’re going to be late.”

  “I’m not going to the auction, Ry.”

  “Why not? Being alone won’t help anything.” She nudges my arm. “Maybe we can pick up something to bribe the Minders to keep your mother in the asylum. Tons of people will be looking to trade tonight, especially after a few pints of Auction Ale.”

  It’s a clever move on Ryder’s end, I’ll give her that. But if Minders could be bribed, I would’ve worked that angle years ago. It’s true the ale makes bartering a little smoother, but it also makes the auction crowd rash and jumpy, two things Ry shouldn’t have to deal with alone.

  I’m trembling as I drag myself over to the sink. Splashing water on my warm cheeks, I sense Ryder waiting for me to break down, but I won’t. Not until I get through the next few hours without flinging myself on the auction block and wringing Madame’s neck. Or trying to, anyway. Imagining our ruler, the very person who started the lottery, squirming gives only a moment of satisfaction before reality sets back in.

  Ryder opens the door when it’s time to go. The auction waits for no one.

  Tucking the lottery ticket into my pocket, I follow her onto the moonlit streets, already packed with my neighbors pushing their way to the heart of Craewick. But it’s clear from their grim faces they don’t attend auctions to make purchases. They go to wish loved ones goodbye. To beg the Minders to let their children or their parents come home.

  We take all our shortcuts, dodging between unending rows of rotting wooden homes and crumbling brick cottages. The air smells of burning leaves, and I try to remember the last bonfire I attended. Most living on the fray of Craewick spend their evenings sharing two things: flasks of cider and gossip. I’m usually visiting my mother at the asylum, and by the time I get home, everyone’s long gone to bed.

  Once the buildings change from whitewashed wood to thick stone, we’ve reached the center of Craewick. The auction is already swarming with people. The stage, the centerpiece of the square, stands out among Craewick’s bland storefronts. It’s gray, gray, and more gray everywhere. But most who live here don’t even notice. Their memories keep them in whichever place in the past they wish to dwell.

  The auction block is a perfect circle. As they say, easy viewing makes for easy bidding. It’s probably the prettiest part of Craewick, with how the polished wood shines in the firelight from the lanterns strung around it.

  The raised platform is also riddled with intricate carvings. There are four panels, each representing the allied Realms. Surrounded by jagged cliffs and cavernous mountains, Craewick is the capital city of the Stone Realm. Most of the Ungifted live here, making us a trading post of goods with all the seamstresses, carpenters, blacksmiths, and farmers who work for Madame. The Desert Realm, the training base for all the Minders, is represented by dueling swords and steel-tipped arrows. The paintbrushes, music notes, and twirling couples are for the Coastal Realm of the arts. And finally, there’s the Woodland Realm, where the sciences, mathematics, and histories are taught deep in the forest region. The carvings are so lifelike, the pages of the books looking as if they’re fluttering in the wind.

  Whoever designed the stage was a true artist, but once you know what happens up there, the beauty is significantly dulled.

  As we pass a Minder checking for citizenship around the perimeter of the square, I hold out my wrist to show my tattoos. The first is the crest of the Stone Realm to signify Madame is the ruler I’ve pledged to serve. The second is far more important, a marking which distinguishes the Gifted from the Ungifted. My tattoo is a hollow circle to indicate I don’t have a Gift.

  It’s also a lie.

  The Minder’s stare lingers on me, long enough that Ryder takes one look up at him and smirks.

  “This guy bothering you, Etta?”

  I smile a little. At twelve-years-old, Ryder’s voice is too high, her stature too short to convince anyone I’m the one in need of protection. All that matters is that Ry believes she’s ten feet tall, and why squash a courageous spirit before it’s grown sturdy roots?

  The Minder laughs without a hint of humor. “Hilarious, kid.”

  Ry winks at me.

  I follow her along the edge of the audience, finding a spot near a beggar on the street corner. A group pushes past as we stop, unapologetically elbowing their way toward the stage. You can’t bid on one of the auctioned if Madame can’t see you.

  A man in a long-sleeved, high-necked jacket brushes past the beggar beside us, pausing briefly enough where the untrained eye wouldn’t notice the way his fingers linger on the rough patch of skin on her elbow. He’s what we call a Gifted, having the ability to read another’s mind simply by touching them.

  The beggar doesn’t flinch, clearly doesn’t detect the energy pulsing through her body like another Gifted would.

  His face lights up, his touch siphoning thoughts from her hea
d until I let out a sharp whistle, loud enough to jolt the Ungifted beggar.

  As she rushes off, the man turns his beady eyes into the crowd, and I wait until he catches my gaze to smile. He clenches his jaw, but this thief would have to be an idiot to start a fight among so many Minders. He scurries off after giving me a dirty look, and I glance up as a Minder drags a high-backed metal chair to the center of the stage.

  Behind it stands a row of iron-shackled prisoners. Immediately, I’m searching for any rebels with whom I might’ve done business. It’s hard to tell since they’re all dressed in ragged prison garb, and most have their heads down. All but one—a hard-faced boy whose ribs poke out under his thin shirt.

  I grit my teeth at how pitiful he looks.

  It’s impossible to see his tattoos from back here, but I’d bet my right eye it’s shaped like a sunburst, indicating the energy in his skin which makes him Gifted. Unlike the rest of the prisoners, who tuck their arms into their thin shifts to cover every inch of bare skin, he stands tall and proud.

  It’s unusual to see a Gifted on auction, though I’m not sure there’s much difference between the number of Ungifted and Gifted lawbreakers. It’s just the latter usually gets away with it.

  The crowd hushes.

  One second Madame isn’t anywhere in sight, the next she’s standing dead center on the stage. Even the wind quiets down as if it wouldn’t dare to intrude upon her entrance.

  As head of the Minders of the Stone Realm, Madame spends most of her time training her soldiers, so the only time we really see her is on Auction Day. Her hair is the color of the darkest raven against the gray of her military uniform as she surveys the crowd without a hint of a smile on her pale lips. Madame is striking. Not pretty by any means, but I can’t look away, my eyes caught on all her pointy features.

  She slowly walks down the row of prisoners, studying each one like an insect caught in her web. I can feel the prisoners’ fear even from here. It’s in the way the chains rattle on their wrists, how they can’t meet her eyes. They all know her face is the last thing they’ll see before they die.