Page 98 of In The Dark

“No,” I reassure him with a soft smile. “But you might feel a little warm, maybe even a tingle here.” My finger settles between his eyes. “I’ve been told I have the scent of a black orchid, so try to focus on that. I won’t see anything you don’t want me to.”

His lip quivers, glancing down. “I’m scared.”

My heart shatters as I try to maintain my composure,forcing myself to take a deep breath. But I take my hand and lift his chin, speaking calmly. “I know. If any of it feels wrong, you tell me to stop. You’re in control, okay?”

His hazel eyes search mine before he takes a deep breath and nods again. I take his hands and place them on my face near my temples, letting the warmth spread over me as our connection forms. He feels light and soft—something fragile and innocent as I catch the scent of salt, reminding me of the ocean he lived near.

A series of memories pass through my mind, vivid and raw. Voices whisper, faces quickly passing by. Then the sensation of magic being drained and refilled fills my mind. His hands leave my face, taking all of five seconds to know why King Elion wants him.

As I step out of the room, shutting the door behind me, the sound of mumbled conversation greets me. Everyone is huddled around the mantel, Bess taking charge of the conversation.

I lean against the door, the weight of Theo’s memories fresh on my mind, pressing heavily on my chest. Guilt suddenly churns in my stomach, realizing just how far Theo was pulled into all of this, and I can’t help but feel as though it’s my fault.

The room suddenly grows quiet as they begin to notice me leaning against the door, wringing my hands together. Their expectant gazes wait for me to reveal the real reason he’s here.

“He’s a Siphon,” I say finally, my voice low.

The silence that follows is deafening as it settles over the group in a chilling realization. From behind me, the door creaks open and Theo’s small voice drifts in.

“What’s a Siphon?”

35

After arguingfor what felt like an eternity, we finally came to an agreement, sticking with the plan I mentioned to Rydian and spending one more night at the loft.

Ren and I just delivered Theo to King Elion this morning, and now we walk down the corridor from the throne room, completing our mission as if it were any other day. No questions asked.

My hope is that King Elion won’t hurt the boy, given that he’s one of the last Siphons in existence. I reassured Theo that he would be well taken care of if he agreed to work with the king. I imagine Theo would be bribed if he served him—at least that’s what I cling to, hoping that Elion won’t harm him if it means aiding with whatever he needs.

So I told Theo to openly agree to whatever King Elion wants if he wanted to stay out of the dungeon. Yet even as I did so, it didn’t help the incessant guilt that rose in my chest from delivering him this morning.

Our boots lightly thud against the stone on our exit, the sun peeking over the mountain as we descend the steps of the castle.Ren quietly walks beside me as we walk to my chambers, stopping just outside my door before breaking the silence, turning to me.

“Does he know?” he asks quietly. I assume he’s speaking about Rydian.

“About what?”

Ren throws me a wary sideways glance. “Your power. What I saw in the clearing was?—”

“Don’t.” I shake my head, stepping into my chamber. He follows, quietly shutting the door behind him.

“He doesn’t know, does he? The extent of your power.”

“Are you going to say something?” I challenge, crossing my arms with an arch to my brow.

He only scoffs, shoving a hand through his dark hair. “Not unless you want me to. He may be a king of Aurelia, but my loyalty is with you.”

He declares his loyalty to me for the second time in just mere hours, causing me to intently search his face. He’s telling the truth. “You mean that, don’t you?”

He holds my gaze for a moment before giving me a curt nod. I quickly come to the conclusion that there’s more to Ren than I originally thought, and if he’s willing to keep this to himself, it must mean something.

I find myself wondering why he would vow such loyalty to me, and it kills me not knowing anything of my past—my memories. Memories of a friendship I know nothing about. Curiosity pulls at me, wishing I knew more.

I frown. “Would you be willing to share some of your memories?”

But he steps back, darting his eyes across my face, slowly shaking his head. “I hope you understand, but I’m not ready to share that with you,” he mumbles and I nod, suddenly feeling foolish for asking.

“When you’re ready—if you’re ready,” I stutter, allowing him to hold on to whatever memories he keeps of his past. And I can’t help but feel guilty, especially after all the harsh things I’ve said to him over the years.