by Lauren Mansy
Reid sighs, his shoulder still pressed against mine. “Etta—”
“Goodnight, Reid,” I say and turn away to grab my blanket from my pack. My back toward him, I curl up with my blanket and bring my knees to my chest, shivering on the cold dirt.
After a few minutes, Reid moves his pack to his other side, leaving the space between us open. “If you’re cold, it’s okay to come over here.”
I bristle. People in Craewick don’t usually get so close. Not when we pass memories so easily and lose precious items if we’re not careful. Even though I can’t be read, it’s a habit I’ve kept up. But as the wind blows, cutting through my cloak, I sit up and tuck myself against him, my head on his shoulder.
Reid puts his arm around me, drawing me a little closer. Even through his clothes, the heat from the energy in his skin makes all the difference.
As I relax against him, I feel his heart beating steadily. I wish his calm and confidence would rub off on me. With Reid as my ally, I really want to believe we’ll get through this. I let out a long breath. How would I’ve survived out here if Bray had let me do this job alone? Seems foolish I even demanded it now.
Closing my eyes, I refuse to think about tomorrow, knowing if I do that I’ll work myself into a panic. Greer taught me long ago how to compartmentalize memories. It’s a trick so we’re not constantly plagued by others’ thoughts, and it’s how I’ve kept the memories of Cade, Joss, and Penn buried for four years. But the memories of my mother, I always kept near. So just before I fall asleep, I return to Blare.
I scrunch cool wet sand between my toes as the balmy air kisses my face.
The waves are soft and low as the seabirds fly just above our heads, their calls mixing with the sound of my mother’s voice.
Softly singing, she swipes her brush across her canvas, painting a scene as beautiful as the one spread out before us . . .
And just for a little while, I’m home.
Reid stirs sometime later, and I wake with a dull burn in my belly, always finding the happiest memories leave the sharpest pain as they fade away. But reliving the years I spent with my mother has done something else to me too. It fills me with strength, the reminder that all is not lost. She still has a life to live.
We have three days to free Greer, four until the auction, and not a moment to lose. And today, I can’t let even a sliver of doubt inside me.
I push myself to my feet, shivering as I leave the warmth of being close to Reid.
“Etta, about what you said last night,” he says, sitting up against the tree.
As I stuff the blanket back into my pack, I meet his eyes.
“I don’t know what you’ll end up doing with your life, but now that I know you . . . a little,” he smiles slightly as if expecting me to remind him that we’re not friends, “I’m positive you can be so much more than a memory thief.”
A heavy weariness creeps over me. “I wish I could believe that myself,” I say quietly.
“Well, until you do I’ll believe it for you. How you see yourself isn’t how I see you,” he says. “And if something goes wrong with Porter, I wanted you to know that.”
“Nothing’s going wrong today, Reid.” My throat tightens as I swing my pack onto my back. Part of me wants to wrap my arms around him, to tell him that his words mean so much more than I care to admit. But I plant my feet, reminding myself our job together is nearly over. I glance toward Aravid. “Let’s get this over with.”
With the morning sun, our view of Aravid is even more daunting. Down the hill is another patch of forest, behind which lie the gates of Aravid. They’re huge barriers made of swirling iron, and surrounding the city is the tallest wooden fence I’ve ever seen. There are dozens of Minders patrolling the perimeter and standing watch high in the guard towers.
It’s impossible to tell if all this security is meant to protect Aravid citizens or keep them trapped inside. We don’t have gates and fences in Craewick. The fear of the criminals lurking in the forest surrounding us is enough to make anyone think twice about traveling without an escort.
“Are you ready?” says Reid, looking far in the distance at Porter’s compound, its tall black peaks rising up like swords piercing the sky.
I bite my lip. Am I? I want to say yes, but my trembling hands and racing heart tell another story. Each time I close my eyes, I see flashes of the memory I’ll soon give Porter. To share his child is still alive, that Madame has been keeping this a secret from him, is a memory stronger than any weapon. But will it be enough to distract him while I steal his map of the Maze? I can’t know the answer until I’m deep within his mind, rifling through his memories. It’s still anyone’s guess how his thoughts will affect me. But at the chance to free Greer and my mother, to protect Ryder and save Reid’s brother, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
Reid takes my hand, and I feel mine shaking within his as he squeezes it lightly. “We can do this.”
I squeeze his hand back.
As we walk out of the forest, no longer hidden behind the tree line, the Minders stationed at the gate narrow their sights on us.
Straightening my shoulders, I clutch the necklace under my cloak and pull it out where they can see it. Say you know Porter has a daughter. You know who faked her death. And you know she’s still alive. I spy a Minder who’s a commander, a thick row of metals pinned onto her uniform, and meet her eyes.
A gust of wind pushes my hood away from my face.
The commander’s mouth drops open as she rushes toward me. “Emilia? It can’t be!”
I jerk to a halt as a group of Minders follows after her, their hands on the hilts of their knives.
Reid draws closer, standing slightly in front of me.
The commander strides toward us, tears flooding her gold-flecked eyes as she looks at the cut on my cheek. “Oh, Emilia, you’ve escaped! How?”
Reid’s hand tenses on my arm as my blood rushes to my ears. I’ve never heard of anyone named Emilia.
“Or perhaps you didn’t escape.” The commander’s face hardens as she looks at Reid. Her stance is rigid, her hand inching toward the knife on her belt. “Who are you, Sifter?”
The Minders behind her step toward us as I dart in front of Reid.
“A friend. I wouldn’t have gotten here without him,” I say.
The commander raises her eyebrows. “He helped you escape?”
The throbbing in my head worsens at hearing that word again. Hundreds of questions flood my mind, but one sticks out above all the rest. Sometimes I forget I wasn’t always unreadable. Is there another past I’ve forgotten?
A past where Emilia existed . . . and Etta did not?
I clutch a handful of Reid’s jacket as my knees give out.
He wraps his arm around my waist to keep me up.
“Take her from the boy,” the commander whispers to those flanking her.
“I’m not going anywhere without him!” I scream.
“Don’t be frightened, Emilia,” she says, her guards still moving toward us before she tells them to stand down. “You don’t remember me? I’m Commander Averett.”
Memories course through my mind as I search for her name but come up blank. I glance between the Minders, trapping us on all sides. Panic swells up inside me as Reid tightens his grip around my waist. I can’t catch a breath as my mind spins, but I order myself to get our plan back on course.
“I wish to see Porter,” I say in the steadiest voice I can manage. I don’t know anything about this Commander Averett, but if being mistaken for Emilia is enough to get us inside Aravid, does it matter?
She hesitates a moment, staring at me as if she’s trying to read my mind. A look of confusion crosses her face before she motions to the guard tower.
As the gate opens, I lose the feeling in my legs completely, my feet dragging behind me as we move toward the gate. Reid is shaking too. The steady, calm temperament I’ve come to associate with him has vanished. I squeeze my eyes shut, dreading what these Minde
rs will do to us once they realize I’m not the girl they’ve apparently been searching for.
But what terrifies me more is that perhaps I really am Emilia.
Behind the gate, the Aravid I imagined is nothing like this. I blink twice. At the end of a polished marble pathway lined by all sorts of greenery, thick hedges, and all kinds of fruit trees, there are shops in all shapes and sizes. Most have rounded turrets, painted shutters, and flower boxes below the windows. There aren’t any raggedy orphans huddled on street corners, or Hollows wearing outfits protecting every inch of skin. According to the rumors, there should be whipping posts and tight-faced Minders patrolling these cobblestone streets.
I shake my head, feeling as if I’m trapped in a memory. I’m blinking rapidly but nothing changes. This can’t be right.
The commander whispers in my ear, “Don’t lie if this boy has hurt you. Now’s the time to speak up.”
“I wouldn’t be here without him. He’s my friend,” I say through my teeth.
Her face tightens. “I’m sorry, Emilia. I wish I could believe that.”
A Minder jerks Reid away from me, and another soldier rushes toward them.
Using his Gift, Reid knocks him out as soon as he meets his eyes, but he’s struggling to get free of the one he can’t see.
“Take him down!” the commander yells toward the guard station.
I send my hand flying toward her throat, but she blocks it and wrenches my arm behind me. I feel our entire plan slipping away—everything we’ve worked for gone in an instant. Reid’s focus wavers when I scream to warn him of the Minders behind him, but I’m too late.
The Minders slip a black hood over his head before cracking an elbow on his temple.
“Let him go,” I cry, struggling against her as they drag Reid’s limp body toward the guard tower.
She loosens her grip as they disappear.
I push her away, stumbling in the direction they took him. Three Minders block my path, and I whip around to face the commander. “He’s done nothing wrong,” I shout.
“It may seem to you like he’s your friend, but he’s a Sifter. A manipulator! He won’t be hurt, only questioned.” She gestures to my face. “There’s a cut on your cheek, all the bruising around your neck . . . he’s hurt you—”
“He didn’t do this! Minders did,” I spit out.
“That’s what I’m saying. That Sifter has the eye tattoo. He’s a Minder who works for Madame! She sent us word that you were alive, and she was going to kill you if we didn’t comply. You were imprisoned by her. You’ve been missing for years.” She motions around us. “Do you remember anything? Anything at all?”
“I’ve never been here before,” I say quietly, furiously.
The commander narrows in on my necklace before she looks behind me and nods. “I’m sorry, Emilia, but you’ve given me no choice.”
Someone pinches the back of my neck and just before blackness envelopes me, I hear a voice full of sadness say, “Poor girl. Madame sure has a twisted sense of humor.”
CHAPTER
12
I’m in the Maze.
It’s dark, damp, and the air is too thick to breathe. I pass rows of prisoners locked behind stone walls. None of them are Greer. Most of them are bloody and bruised, but the fight hasn’t left them.
A man reaches out to me, threats spewing from his mouth as he hits his shackles against the bars.
And I know if I called for help, no one would come to rescue me. They couldn’t even hear me with all the prisoners calling for my death.
No, not calling. They’re demanding it.
Cade and Joss are at the end of the row. Hands bound, faces ashen. Cade’s throat is bleeding, and Joss has an arrow through her heart.
I look down at Penn’s head in my lap, at the crimson blood blooming on his white shirt.
He opens his eyes for the last time. “I love you,” he whispers. “Never forget me . . . then I’ll always be with you.”
All three of them vanish. I cry out their names, but no one comes back.
My palm burns as if it’s been set on fire. I fling my hand down, but the envelope doesn’t move. Instead, Miss Julietta Lark slowly burns itself across the front. Each letter is red and shimmering, tiny flames on my mother’s Notice of Auction.
I look up. I’m standing in front of the auction block.
Tied to a metal chair, my mother is the only person on the stage besides Madame.
Madame circles her, her fingers trailing across my mother’s shoulders.
My mother opens her eyes and screams.
I wake with a jerk. A soft glow fills my eyelids. The floor creaks as a shadow falls over me. I fight against wanting to thrash and scream, forcing myself to remain still.
“Oh, poor dear,” a calm voice murmurs. “Commander Averett said she was quite distraught. It’s no wonder, with her injuries. She’s been through an ordeal to be sure.”
No one answers, so I gather he’s only speaking to himself. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up the sleeping act. I clench the soft bedding in my hands, fairly certain a cell in the Maze wouldn’t have silk sheets, and order myself to find a way out of this mess.
We only needed one thing before we were trapped inside Aravid’s high walls—to steal the map of the Maze. But now what will happen to Reid if I don’t find a way to secure his release, as well? I imagine all the ways the Minders could cook up to torture a Sifter and think I might be sick.
There’s a rustle of paper before the man mutters, “Maybe it says something in here . . . or perhaps Madame . . .” He sighs. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear indeed. Gwendolyn Lark, it says right here.”
My heart pounds so loudly that I’m afraid he can hear it. He’s gone through my pack, found the notice. I gasp then curse myself when I hear the man whisper, excitement riddled through his voice, “Oh, she’s stirring. I’ll fetch Porter. Fetch him right away.”
Porter! The stolen memory I have of him flashes behind my eyelids, filling me with terror as the woman’s fear mixes with my own. It’s overwhelming. I’m about to jump out of this bed just before the kind voice says, “I’m not sure if you can hear me, my dear, but I must say that we feel as if we’ve failed you. But now that you’re here, we shall protect you from now on.” His tears drip onto my face as he kisses my forehead. “I promise you that.”
The door closes with a soft thud.
Opening my eyes, I lean up on my elbows and gasp. This is no Maze, or at least, not the one I’ve heard about. Gold sconces cast a warm glow upon the prettiest bedroom I’ve ever seen, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and thick lavender curtains puddling on the plush rugs. I’ve been sleeping in a bed with a canopy of swirling silver branches and piles of blankets in rich colors and fabrics.
If I weren’t a prisoner, I’d feel quite honored to be here.
Whipping the quilts off, I leap out of bed. My boots and cloak are gone, and the necklace is missing too. I lunge toward the mahogany wardrobe straight ahead.
What stops me cold is the portrait above the fireplace. It’s shiny oil on canvas, done with as much skill as I’ve ever seen from anyone with a painting talent. It’s stunning, full of color, dimension, and the most intricate details. I draw closer and blink a few times, certain my eyes are playing tricks.
Because the girl in the painting is me.
My skin feels as if I’m burning from the inside out. I’m drenched in sweat, my clothes stuck to my quivering body as the icy marble sways beneath my bare feet. My heart races as I search my mind for any kind of familiarity, but if my memories are missing, no trace will remain. Still, there are usually scars. Black spots forming a before and an after.
I pound my fist on my forehead, unable to recall even the slightest seams. I remember every day of my life as a Shadow and living in Craewick. It all connects perfectly. So where does a life in Aravid fit in? I clutch my chest, unable to breathe. Perhaps I never lived here at all and Porter is an even grander manipulator than I thought p
ossible.
Darting around the room, I search for my pack to get my knives. My knees buckle when I see my mother’s cloak draped across one of the armchairs in front of the blazing fireplace. It’s been washed and pressed, no longer stained by the blood from the gash on my cheek. I pinch the bridge of my nose as a wave of nausea hits me hard. Who around here would take the time to clean my mother’s cloak?
The small wooden box beside it catches my eye. It trembles in my hands as I pick it up. It’s velvet lined like a jewelry chest, but inside is a small leather book just like the journal my mother gave me. But this one is burned a bit around the edges, the tips of the pages black with soot.
The door creaks open, and I whip around, dropping the box onto the floor.
I can’t move as I meet Porter’s stare. He’s years older than in the memory I have of him. There are wrinkles on his brow, the ringlets on his head now gray, but his eyes haven’t changed. The gold flecks are so bright that I can see them even from across the room. My stomach quivers as he walks toward me. I lean against the chair as my vision darkens around him.
Wearing a dark jacket cut in the same military style as the commander’s, Porter is nothing like the elderly in Craewick. His hands don’t shake, his gaze isn’t aloof. Quite the opposite of feeble, his age serves only to make him intimidating. As if he’s seen it all and nothing can surprise him.
Well, perhaps nothing except me. There’s a single crack in the tough exterior, a redness around his eyes that hints at his emotions while his face is careful not to.
“It is you,” he says.
I expect disbelief to riddle his tone, but mostly I hear certainty. I steal a glance at the portrait.
He follows my gaze. “Do you know who that is?”
Biting back a scream, I rub my eyes and order myself not to fall for these mind games, but seeds of doubt about my past have already been planted. My head feels as if it’ll split in two as memories of my childhood pulse behind my eyelids.
Is Porter a liar or are my memories a lie?
I feel his hand on my shoulder and jerk away, looking for anything I can use to defend myself. A pair of candle-sticks? The quill pen on the desk? I snatch it up and jab it at him. “Stay away from me,” I hiss.
