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‘Korok,’ Lyn said breathlessly.

And at once, I understood.

That crater … A scar shaped by an eruption powerful enough to dent solid earth – by magic powerful enough to kill a creature reigning over life and death itself. Cold sweat trickled down my spine as I stared at the black crystals glistening between the ash and cinders, at the lowest point that marked the spot where a god had drawn his last breath. Where a single magical experiment gone wrong had marked the end of an era and the death of thousands upon thousands of innocent humans.

In a rare moment of unpolished candour, Agenor muttered, ‘Fuck.’

‘Memory returning?’ Tared said bitterly.

The silence stretched too long. Agenor’s lips parted and closed once, twice, his eyes glued to the burned desolation with a gleam of bewilderment. ‘I … I don’t …’

‘You don’tremember?’ Edored said, his voice so loud that I flinched. ‘Weren’t you here? The day the bitch killed him?’

‘I was, but …’

‘Well, that must be pleasant,’ Beyla muttered. ‘Being able to forget things at will.’

‘It’s nothing like that,’ Agenor snapped as he jerked around, every last piece of the buttoned-up fae lord slipping from his grip. I glanced at Creon, who stood studying him with piercing eyes, no longer so impossibly unaffected. ‘I just don’t remember this place in particular, but …’

‘But you were right here,’ Lyn said, as if she could make it true by just speaking the words with perfect conviction. ‘Every single report surviving from that day names you as one of the people who were present when she—’

‘I must have been in the city,’ Agenor interrupted brusquely. ‘I—’

‘That doesn’t makesense, Agenor.’

He stared at her, breathing too fast. ‘What else are you suggesting? Nothing about this mark looks familiar to me. Don’t you think I would remember at least aglimpseof it?’

Something sparked in my mind as thoughts collided – a burst of insight so sudden that I didn’t fully grasp what I was about to say until my lips were already moving. ‘Agenor?’

‘Yes?’ He sounded five words away from breaking. ‘What is it?’

‘Didn’t you say … didn’t you say she bound you by taking a memory?’

He went still – perfectly, breathlessly still.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Lyn said.

‘The binding of his magic.’ Words poured out without thought or intent; my suspicions shaped themselves, nothing but shreds of ideas until my lips forced them into glass-edged accusations. ‘The Mother took a memory, didn’t she?’

‘No,’ Agenor said hoarsely. ‘That … I see the appeal as an explanation, Em, but it can’t have been this memory. They bound me long before Korok died – long before the War of the Gods ended.’

‘Are you sure?’

He blinked. ‘Of course I’m sure. Why would they have waited that long to bind me?’

‘Because she pulled you from the ruins of your family’s home when you were a child,’ I said bleakly. ‘Because you were fully loyal to her, and sheknewyou were. She may have realised the bindings could have unpleasant side effects, that they could limit your magic in the wrong moments – she didn’t bind Creon at first either, after all.’

‘Oh, gods,’ Lyn said, understanding where I was going long before I grasped the full extent myself. If the Mother hadn't bound him at first – if she’d only opted to do soafterthat first war had been fought and won …

She must have had a reason.

‘Look, this is a lovely theoretical exercise,’ Tared said, and his fingers drumming against his thigh suggested more agitation than the wry tone of his voice, ‘but is there any reason to assume his lordship is not just being a little selective about what he likes to remember?’

He’s still very damn confused, Creon signed, his eyes shooting back and forth between Agenor and me.

‘I can assure you I’m not being deliberately selective about anything, Thorgedson,’ Agenor bit out. Something almost fearful sparked in his glance at Creon. ‘Em, I appreciate the suggestion, but I frankly don’t think it makes any sense to assume she bound me so late.’

I let out a laugh. ‘Do you remember when she did bind you, then?’