Page 50

Chapter

Forty-Nine

“It’s so good to see you,” I guided my father into the courtyard outside my room.

I could see the wonder in his eyes—the same wonder I had felt months ago when I first arrived.

Back then, the grandeur of this place had been overwhelming, like it could swallow me whole at any moment.

It still felt too grand, too otherworldly, and yet, despite everything that had happened, it had become my home.

That truth settled in me with a strange mix of pride and sorrow.

My father turned to face me, his smile soft but tired, and sat on the edge of the fountain.

The gentle sound of the water filled the silence that followed.

It was the same fountain where Marsh had waited for me right before we ventured to Hadash.

The memory felt distant now, like it belonged to another life.

“This is where your rooms are?” He asked with disbelief as he looked around.

“Yes,” I breathed, trying to take in the moment.

The smells of the garden, the feel of the fountain beneath me, the sound of stones beneath my feet.

“Though I’ll be moved soon. To the House of Shadows.” The weight of that realization sank in, heavier than I wanted to admit.

It would mean leaving this space, the place where I’d found a sliver of comfort.

I’d be far from Lil, from Oz.

From everything familiar.

My father hands rested on his knees as he stared out at the garden, his gaze following the way the breeze stirred the leaves, his thoughts somewhere far beyond.

There was a heaviness to him that hadn’t been there before.

It was in his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly like he was carrying something too heavy for too long.

“Dad…” I whispered, moving closer to him, my voice trembling as I spoke.

“You need to tell me how you’re here. How this is possible?”

I could see the struggle on his face, the way he tried to find the right words—words that wouldn’t shatter the fragile peace between us.

He nodded, his expression softening as he turned to look at me.

“Flora read me each of your letters. Every night.” His voice was quiet but steady.

“After we said goodbye when we walked to Lesalia…I started to decline. Slowly, at first. But then it became faster.”

My heart clenched.

I had known it. I had felt it, even from far away.

“I knew you’d overexerted yourself that day. You didn’t have to walk so far. I shouldn’t have?—”

“There was every reason for it, Brida,” he interrupted, grabbing my hands.

“If you couldn’t have your mother to walk with you, then you would have me.”

I swallowed against the knot in my throat.

The emotions I had buried deep inside—fears, regrets, the overwhelming sense of loss—began to rise to the surface, and I couldn’t stop them.

“I asked Flora to read your letters to me every night,” he repeated, his voice a little softer now.

“I thought…maybe if I could hear your words, it would help me hold on a little longer. But each day, it felt like everything started to fade. My memories, the colors…they started to lose their brightness. Your mother’s red hair—it wasn’t as bright in my mind. The black of your hair…” His fingers reached out, brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear, his touch so gentle it made me ache.

“In my mind, it started to turn gray.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks, unbidden.

My hands trembled, my chest tightening with the weight of his words.

I hadn’t known. I hadn’t known how bad it had been.

“She never told me,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

“Flora never told me how bad it was. If I’d known… I would have?—”

“Everything was as it should have been,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing away the tears that streaked my face.

“And look at you now, what you’ve accomplished.”

His words should have made me feel proud, but instead, they made the ache in my chest worse.

“Alvar…” I started, trying to change the subject, to shift the conversation away from the pain that was threatening to overwhelm me.

“You and Alvar are on a first-name basis now?”

He smiled, the kind of smile that lit up his whole face, if only for a moment.

“He insisted. Something about the ‘spirit of friendship.’ I couldn’t say no to him.”

I laughed despite the tears, the sound strange and soft in my throat.

“He would do that.”

“And Flora nearly fainted when she opened the door and found him standing there. Not just him, but a woman and a man who looked more shadow than Fae.” My father chuckled at the memory, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“And she’s recovered, I hope?” I asked, my lips quirking into a small smile.

“She did, eventually,” he replied, still smiling.

“Once she let them in, Alvar took one look at me and insisted we go. There wasn’t much I could do to argue.”

I shook my head, amazed.

“And when you got here…?”

“When we got here, I don’t remember much. Only that when I woke up, I felt fine.”

I stared at him, incredulous.

“You felt fine ?”

“Yes,” he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Dad, you’re going to need to give me more than that. What happened? What did they do?”

He ran a hand through his hair, pausing to think.

“When I woke up, Alvar was there. He said whatever had been ailing me had been resolved, but when I pressed him for details, he said we were running late and that it was imperative we be on time.”

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head.

“He does have a thing for punctuality.”

My father chuckled.

“That he does. But Brida…” His tone softened, and he reached for my hand.

“He told me how much you’ve helped him. How proud he is of you. And Brida, I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

The words hit me like a wave, and I blinked back the fresh tears that threatened to spill over.

For a moment, all the doubts, all the fears, melted away.

I had done something.

Something right. And for the first time in a long while, I let myself feel it.

“Now, as much as I would love to continue sitting here and talking with you, there’s someone else I need to see while I’m here.” Dad started to stand, but before he could move, I reached for his wrist, halting him.

“I know Addie will love to see you,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady.

“But before we go, there’s something we need to discuss.”

The weight of my words seemed to stop him in his tracks.

My father lowered himself back down, his movements slow and measured.

His eyes, warm and attentive, locked on mine, a silent invitation for me to continue.

“What is it, Bri?”

My heart pounded in my chest. I bit my lip, trying to hold the silence as long as I could as if the words I had to say would shatter something fragile between us.

But I couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Dad,” I started, my voice trembling, “why did you never mention that Mom had been to Azmeer before?”

For a moment, my father stayed perfectly still, his expression unchanged, as if I had asked him something as simple as the weather.

The calmness in his face unsettled me like he had already anticipated my question.

“To my recollection,” he began slowly, carefully, “your mother was never in Azmeer proper. We met while listening to a musician…but that’s all I knew. That, and she had come to see her sister, but she was staying in the center square when we first spoke. Is that what you mean by being in Azmeer before, darling?”

His answer was so matter-of-fact, so…

benign. But it didn’t line up with what I knew, and my frustration bubbled to the surface, tightening my chest. I shifted in my seat, unable to stay still, my nerves making me fidgety.

“Dad,” I said, my voice growing more urgent, “I was mistaken for Mom while I was in Azmeer. To my knowledge, she had never even been here. So why would anyone think?—”

Before I could finish, he rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, his weariness suddenly palpable.

“It’s possible that I knew something at one point, Brida,” he admitted, his voice laced with exhaustion.

“But despite what Alvar has done for me…the memories that started to fade, they haven’t come back.” He paused, his hand falling back to his lap, and gave me a small, reassuring smile.

“Not yet, anyway. Maybe, with time, some of them will return.”

He patted my hand, his touch full of love and understanding.

“And should I remember, I promise we’ll have that conversation.”

I knew I couldn’t push him any further, even though every part of me screamed for answers.

His memories were like fragile threads, worn and fraying, and pressing him would only strain them further.

“Come,” I said, trying to inject some humor into my voice, “prepare to be awed by the most drab version of Addie you’ve ever seen.”