She stared down at the rugged hand enfolding hers and felt another strange sensation competing with the rest. His touch was like the fireblood and made her warm inside. “How can I walk away now?” she asked. “We’re in the middle of Boeotia.”
“I’m not suggesting that you do. I’m telling you that you have a choice. You always have a choice.” His expression darkened and he released her hand. “I choose to have my memories restored. I want to know them and face them. I want to remember, no matter how painful they are. I must know the truth about myself.” His voice trailed off, his expression suddenly leagues away.
She waited in the silence, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t finished yet. Both of their voices would not reach beyond them. She felt dirty and unkempt, wishing there was a place to bathe and get clean again. Not that it would matter. The land of the Boeotians was thick with dust.
“How does it work?” Shion finally asked.
“What?”
“How does a Dryad restore someone’s memories? I know you take them with your eyes. Is it the same restoring them?”
An uncomfortable flush started up Phae’s neck.
His look became perplexed. “I see by your face it troubles you. Will it hurt you?”
Phae bit her lip to stifle a laugh. She felt very warm at that moment, wondering how she could reveal the information without embarrassing them both. Uncertain still, she shook her head no.
“Tell me.”
“Well, I could explain it this way. A Dryad steals memories with her eyes. They are restored . . . through our lips. It’s called a Dryad’s kiss. That is how it is done.” She was surprised she got the words out without stammering.
It was Shion’s turn to look uneasy. He stared at her, eyebrows raised with curiosity at her candor. He said nothing for a while, and she saw his jaw muscles clench.
“It only works after I’ve fully become . . . who I am,” she said. “Then all of your memories will be restored to you. We . . . from the way I understand it . . . share them in a way. That is how it was with Annon and with my father. They could remember everything, even being an infant.”
His look transformed from alarm to horror.
“I do not want you to share my memories,” he said darkly. “You least of all. You are young . . . an innocent. I’ve done unspeakable things.”
“You are not who you were, Shion,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. “People can change. You are helping defeat our enemy now instead of helping him.”
“Nothing that I do can fix what I’ve already done. I accept that. But to burden you with those memories . . .” He shook his head with determination.
She knew it would not be wise to push him. “Well . . . we will travel that road when we need to. We are already bound together, you and I. Strange . . . I feel like it has been months since I’ve known you.” She waited a moment, letting him brood in silence. “There is something I wanted to ask you.” She nudged herself even closer to him. “The Empress told us that the Arch-Rike—that Shirikant—is immortal. That he went to Mirrowen and has blocked the portal. He cannot be killed. It made me wonder if you have been to Mirrowen also. In the past. How else to explain your invulnerability?”
“You think so?” he asked, staring down at her hand overlapping his. He looked confused.
“It makes sense to me. When the Empress mentioned this, I thought of you. You are not Shirikant. But it makes sense to me that you are one of his tools. Perhaps he has found a way to channel the magic and immortality into you that protects him as well. I don’t know.”
“I have no memories of my past, as I told you,” Shion said. “I do not know what the truth is, but I wish to know it. We will learn that in time. But Phae, if my memories are as awful as I fear, I don’t want to burden you with them. That is unfair to you.”
She patted his hand. “It’ll be all right.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What matters more is not what you did in the past. It matters what you do moving forward. I wish I could return to Stonehollow. I would love to explain to them what happened to me. But I see now that I cannot. My future is different from my past. So it is with you. It is time that you put away the Kishion.” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “It is not who you really are.”
“And who am I?” he whispered, staring off into the cavern. It wasn’t a question seeking a reply.
She clutched his hand. Phae did not know how to answer that question for herself. She was Tyrus’s daughter. She was the daughter of a Dryad too. She had the fireblood and all that it represented. But despite this history, she was a person—with feelings and ambitions. She had wanted to build a homestead with Trasen. Now her homeland would be a twisted thicket of disease-filled trees. She would never be the same again after this experience. There was truly no going back.
“I’m not suggesting that you do. I’m telling you that you have a choice. You always have a choice.” His expression darkened and he released her hand. “I choose to have my memories restored. I want to know them and face them. I want to remember, no matter how painful they are. I must know the truth about myself.” His voice trailed off, his expression suddenly leagues away.
She waited in the silence, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t finished yet. Both of their voices would not reach beyond them. She felt dirty and unkempt, wishing there was a place to bathe and get clean again. Not that it would matter. The land of the Boeotians was thick with dust.
“How does it work?” Shion finally asked.
“What?”
“How does a Dryad restore someone’s memories? I know you take them with your eyes. Is it the same restoring them?”
An uncomfortable flush started up Phae’s neck.
His look became perplexed. “I see by your face it troubles you. Will it hurt you?”
Phae bit her lip to stifle a laugh. She felt very warm at that moment, wondering how she could reveal the information without embarrassing them both. Uncertain still, she shook her head no.
“Tell me.”
“Well, I could explain it this way. A Dryad steals memories with her eyes. They are restored . . . through our lips. It’s called a Dryad’s kiss. That is how it is done.” She was surprised she got the words out without stammering.
It was Shion’s turn to look uneasy. He stared at her, eyebrows raised with curiosity at her candor. He said nothing for a while, and she saw his jaw muscles clench.
“It only works after I’ve fully become . . . who I am,” she said. “Then all of your memories will be restored to you. We . . . from the way I understand it . . . share them in a way. That is how it was with Annon and with my father. They could remember everything, even being an infant.”
His look transformed from alarm to horror.
“I do not want you to share my memories,” he said darkly. “You least of all. You are young . . . an innocent. I’ve done unspeakable things.”
“You are not who you were, Shion,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. “People can change. You are helping defeat our enemy now instead of helping him.”
“Nothing that I do can fix what I’ve already done. I accept that. But to burden you with those memories . . .” He shook his head with determination.
She knew it would not be wise to push him. “Well . . . we will travel that road when we need to. We are already bound together, you and I. Strange . . . I feel like it has been months since I’ve known you.” She waited a moment, letting him brood in silence. “There is something I wanted to ask you.” She nudged herself even closer to him. “The Empress told us that the Arch-Rike—that Shirikant—is immortal. That he went to Mirrowen and has blocked the portal. He cannot be killed. It made me wonder if you have been to Mirrowen also. In the past. How else to explain your invulnerability?”
“You think so?” he asked, staring down at her hand overlapping his. He looked confused.
“It makes sense to me. When the Empress mentioned this, I thought of you. You are not Shirikant. But it makes sense to me that you are one of his tools. Perhaps he has found a way to channel the magic and immortality into you that protects him as well. I don’t know.”
“I have no memories of my past, as I told you,” Shion said. “I do not know what the truth is, but I wish to know it. We will learn that in time. But Phae, if my memories are as awful as I fear, I don’t want to burden you with them. That is unfair to you.”
She patted his hand. “It’ll be all right.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What matters more is not what you did in the past. It matters what you do moving forward. I wish I could return to Stonehollow. I would love to explain to them what happened to me. But I see now that I cannot. My future is different from my past. So it is with you. It is time that you put away the Kishion.” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “It is not who you really are.”
“And who am I?” he whispered, staring off into the cavern. It wasn’t a question seeking a reply.
She clutched his hand. Phae did not know how to answer that question for herself. She was Tyrus’s daughter. She was the daughter of a Dryad too. She had the fireblood and all that it represented. But despite this history, she was a person—with feelings and ambitions. She had wanted to build a homestead with Trasen. Now her homeland would be a twisted thicket of disease-filled trees. She would never be the same again after this experience. There was truly no going back.
