Chapter 4 Insidious Memories

  “Give me more.”

  More memories. More wonders of the world.

  And he did.

  As the night passed, Ruth traveled. She saw vibrant cities and crumbling ruins. Vast prairies that stretched beyond sight, and the endless, open sea—oh, the sea! She craved wonders but did not forget duty. Time and again, she stood in breathtaking landscapes, protecting her companions against impossible odds. She almost died more times than she could count. Once, she truly did—close to home, in the depths of the cursed sarcophagus, when the sorceress burned her own life essence to save her friends.

  "More." Ruth extended her hand to the Wanderer. And she drank.

  The ship groaned, tilting sharply as seawater surged across the deck. Ruth stood at the prow, her coat heavy with rain, hair plastered to her face. Around her, the last of the volunteers clung to the railing, watching the overcrowded lifeboat vanish into the horizon. Its passengers were as safe as she could make them.

  “We’ve done our duty.” Her voice was hoarse but full of pride. “Now, we rest.”

  The ship gave a final lurch, the sea rising to claim its prize. Ruth pressed her captain’s hat to her heart as the next wave promised to take her—

  A sharp pull yanked her from the memory. She swayed, disoriented, her hand grasping for a railing that wasn’t there. A tear ran down her cheek.

  “Ruth?”

  Cold reality rushed in. She was back in the cold cellar lit by a flickering lantern. Corpses lay scattered across the floor, their skulls open, surgical tools arranged beside them.

  She blinked, the Wanderer’s lean, handsome face coming into focus.

  Why did he look so worried? It wasn’t the first time one of them cried.

  Distant noises interrupted her thoughts. A thud. A faint clank of metal, then the low rumble of voices.

  “What…?”

  No one visited the hidden cellar at night. Or … was it still night? She’d lost track of time among the memories. Had someone noticed her absence? Still dizzy, she struggled to her feet with the Wanderer’s help.

  The clanking grew louder, the voices clearer. Male and familiar—her father and his most trusted men. They must have returned from their patrol, probably bringing fresh corpses.

  If they found the Wanderer, they would kill him.

  Her throat tightened. His death had been her plan all along—the perfect way to ensure her family’s safety. But now… Now, she no longer believed he was a threat to them. After a night of laughing a weeping together, she couldn’t help but see him as a friend.

  As she watched him hastily pack his tools—his eyes darting nervously toward the corridor, his way to the well blocked by the approaching guards—she made her decision. A reckless one, but it felt right.

  “There’s another exit. Come, I’ll show you.”

  He hesitated. “Will you come with me? I shouldn’t leave you to face this alone.”

  His concern warmed her, but he was being silly. She couldn't leave her family, and what did she have to fear? Disappointed parents—while he faced execution.

  Her father was a kind man, but the geas her mother had laid upon him left no room for mercy when it came to their family’s safety. She opened her mouth to argue, but the voices were getting louder—there was no time. Grabbing his hand, she infused her words with magic. “Come. Now.”

  Still deep in her thrall, he had to follow.

  She led him to the end of the corridor and opened a heavy door with trembling hands. A narrow tunnel in the rock yawned open.

  “This leads beyond the outer wall. Run. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

  He turned to her. “Thank you. Ruth…”

  Light flickered far behind them. “Halt! Who’s there?”

  She clasped his hands, her heart pounding. “When it’s safe—when your duty is done—come back. Visit me.” Then she could claim him and bind him with her magic like Mother claimed Father.

  His eyes widened. He squeezed her hand. “I won’t forget you.” With a fleeting smile, he disappeared into the tunnel.

  As the door clicked shut, she turned to face the approaching torchlight and voices, planting herself firmly in front of the tunnel’s entrance.

  “Ruth! Out of my way!” Her father’s voice boomed. The clatter of armor and boots echoed closer. “You two, stop him!”

  Her teeth sank into her already injured lip until blood flowed freely. The lilac-scented magic roiled in the air like a gathering storm. She poured every ounce of her will into it, forcing it over her father and his men. There was no time for insidious manipulation, but she had learned her lesson—this wasn’t a brute-force assault. Instead, she repurposed their orders and instincts, urging them to protect not her whole family, but only the vulnerable girl before them, to obey not the mistress of the inn, but the heiress.

  For a fleeting moment, they faltered—but then, as if iron chains tightened around their minds, their movements regained purpose. Years of her mother’s geas held firm.

  Recognizing her loss, Ruth shifted her focus to the two closest guards, letting the others go. Her magic coiled around them, her head pounding as she forced them to stop before her. “Block the way!” she snapped. The men obeyed, turning stiffly to face their comrades.

  Her magic stretched thin as she met the eyes of a younger soldier lingering at the back. “Bring Mother. Go!” she commanded, her voice raw with desperation.

  Her two protectors raised their blades, and her father’s men mirrored them, their glazed eyes filled with pain. The steel held steady, gleaming in the dim torchlight as Ruth’s heart twisted in knots. She knew them all—had grown up alongside most of them.

  Her father strode forward, ignoring the weapons aimed at him.

  She couldn’t hurt him. She couldn’t hurt any of them. But she wouldn’t abandon her shipma—her friend—either, and so she did what a good captain would. What she had done so many times that night, in her many past lives—sacrificed herself for those who mattered.

  Her body moved naturally, guided by memories that were—and were not—her own. Grabbing a short sword from one of her protectors, she spun it to point at her chest. The tip pressed into her dress, almost breaking skin. “Stop!” she screamed, her voice cutting through the chaos. “One more step, and I’ll do it!”

  A small voice in her head screamed that she wouldn’t, that it wasn’t her. She didn’t listen.

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  The soldiers wavered, but she only had eyes for her father.

  He froze mid-step, his gaze locked on hers. She could see the war within him—the geas pulling him in opposite directions, his own will struggling to protect her. Slowly, his love won over his orders.

  “Everyone, stand down,” he growled through gritted teeth. His hand rose to his temple as he steadied himself, his voice pained. “And you, young lady, are in very deep trouble.”

  Ruth exhaled shakily, the blade still touching her chest.

  ***

  They didn’t have to wait long before Mother arrived, calm and commanding. Her presence filled the corridor, her magic, scented like earth and lavender, rippling through the air. It brushed over Ruth like a balm, numbing her thoughts and relaxing frazzled nerves.

  “You five,” Mother ordered, “go after the fugitive.”

  Ruth began to protest, but her mother’s gaze froze the words in her throat.

  “Enough.”

  Magic struck Ruth like a slap, forcing her to drop the sword she still clutched in her trembling hands. It clanged and rattled on the ground.

  Mother’s tone was gentler when she addressed the remaining guards. “Clean the cold room and retire. You had a long night. Ask Myrtle for a healing tisane if you need it.”

  They obeyed without hesitation, like the marionettes they were, their boots clicking against the stone floor as they moved to tidy the cellar.

  When the corridor had emptied, Mother’s gaze returned to Ruth. “Go to your room and refresh yourself. We will talk when your father has recovered.” Her eyes flicked pointedly to her husband’s strained expression.

  Ruth winced. She’d given him a headache—in more ways than one.

  She was about to leave when Mother’s eyes caught hers once more.

  “You will not think of harming yourself. Ever. Again.”

  The full weight of Mother’s command settled over Ruth like iron chains. She staggered under its force, her exhausted mind offering no resistance as it latched onto her, heavy and unyielding.

  “I-I didn’t mean it. It was just to fight the compulsion—to free Father,” she whispered, willing Mother to believe her. Willing herself to believe it. She would never do such a thing—not for a near stranger. Surely she wouldn’t.

  ***

  Back in her room, the false dawn filtered through the narrow window, casting soft shadows across the walls. Lilith lay asleep, her hair a tangled halo on the pillow, her lips curled in a serene smile.

  Seeing her so peaceful, so unaware, only deepened Ruth’s guilt. How could she have risked everything for a man she’d known for a single day?

  She liked him. She trusted him.

  …But what if she was wrong?

  Her mind readily conjured visions of adventurers at their gates, axes ringing against the red-brass door, crossbows aimed at their windows. Lilith and the twins caught in the crossfire. Dead because of her.

  The worst part was… she’d do it again. And she wasn’t even sure why—only that a ‘maybe’ wasn’t enough to condemn a friend.

  Gently, she smoothed Lilith’s chestnut locks.

  “Am I a bad sister?” she whispered.

  It was almost a relief when a servant arrived to summon her to the great hall. Nothing her parents could say would be worse than the tangled knot in her mind.

  ***

  Mother and Father stood waiting, the room empty of servants or guards, their expressions weighted with unspoken judgment. The silence pressed on Ruth like a leaden shroud.

  “Your friend got away,” Father began, his tone sharp as a blade.

  “I’m sorry—” She should have been. She wasn’t.

  “Does he have magic?”

  “Yes. Sorcery.”

  Father frowned, pacing now. “That explains it. He must’ve erased his passage. Did he force you to help him?”

  Ruth lowered her head. “No. He was under my geas.” She swallowed hard, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m sorry. I made him tell me the reason he was here. Everything…” She told them everything. About his tragic past, his quest for redemption, and their night of shared memories. “I know he won’t betray us. I know him. I—” her voice broke. “I’m sure of it.”

  Silence stretched, as chilling as the cellar. Ruth worried at her lip, not daring to look up.

  At last, her father spoke. “You know he won’t betray us. Know.” He said the word like a curse. “Reckless. You were always the responsible one. Ruth—what came over you today?”

  “I—” She had no answer.

  “You’re confined to the inn until spring. No patrols with me. No skating with Lilith. You will be studying with the twins in the nursery until you’ve proven you know your responsibilities."

  “I understand,” Ruth whispered. Tears welled, but she held them back. She deserved every word.

  Mother broke her silence, her voice distant, almost musing. “Memory eating. I’ve heard of it.”

  Ruth looked up, blinking. What did this have to do with her punishment?

  “You said,” Mother continued, “that he had a vendetta against the commander. How old is your Wanderer?”

  “In his twenties?” Where was this going?

  Mother glanced at Father. “Then the attack he mentioned must’ve happened a decade ago. How long has the commander been at the Fort?”

  “At least three decades,” Father replied.

  Mother’s eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t add up.”

  “But… he was so certain.”

  Mother sighed. “When one absorbs as many memories as you say he has, they can lose track of their own. Perhaps he truly broke a vow once. Perhaps he truly carries regret. Or, perhaps the memory of another’s guilt resonates so deeply within him that it feels like his. Who's to say? I doubt he knows the truth anymore.”

  Ruth’s chest tightened. She wanted to believe in him, in the sincerity she had seen in his eyes. But the threads of his story were fraying, leaving her grasping at what might never have been real.

  Ruth thought of his tangled stories at dinner—fragments of lives that didn’t quite fit together. And his missing name… Was it a deliberate deception, or had it slipped away with everything else, lost in the torrent of other people’s memories? Who was the stranger she had come to care for? Was he a man, or a vessel for ghosts, his own life lost and buried?

  And did it even matter? Memories shape the choices we make, but so long as they shape them well, what difference does it make where they come from? What are memories but ghosts that linger, shadows cast by a past already dead? The living dwell only in the present. What does it matter, then, what shapes a person’s actions—so long as those actions are good?

  And his were.

  He’d brought the world to her. The scents and sounds of distant places, the joy of endless possibilities, the laughter they’d shared. She knew so little about him, and yet she felt they understood each other. The sense of duty that underpinned every story he shared, the quiet kindness that colored his actions—toward her, toward her sister, even the way he spoke about strangers and past enemies.

  She didn’t need to know his past to see the man he was now—and that was a man she could trust.

  Her parents had moved to talk around the table. She rejoined them.

  “…Might not be a bad thing if the commander dies,” Father was saying. “His bandits have grown bolder lately. His death might bring some order back to the region.”

  Mother, ever the pragmatist, was less optimistic. “There will be inquiries into his death. Investigators sniffing around the region. We’ll have to empty the larder.”

  Ruth winced. “I’m sorry.”

  Mother patted her hand. “You’re a teenager. It’s my fault for trusting you with a pretty boy. What’s done is done; all we can do now is learn our lessons. The punishment your father set for you starts tomorrow. I want you to go to the tower and meditate on your mistakes until lunch. After that, I will need you. We’ll be seeing increased traffic soon if the commander dies, and I will rely on you to draft lists of alternative supplies we can secure.”

  Ruth bowed her head, relief mingling with shame. She hadn’t lost all of her mother’s trust. She wouldn’t disappoint her again.

  ***

  Filled with newfound resolve, she headed to the tower. Leaning out of her favorite window, she gazed over the wastelands—her future domain, her responsibility, her burden. In the bright morning sun, even the barren expanse seemed inviting. A bird chirped nearby, and a faint breeze carried the scent of sun-warmed stone. For a breath, the view was almost beautiful.

  …Then why did the walls of her home feel tighter than ever? The tug of adventure whispered in her veins, like a lost soul leading her astray.

  But she’d failed her family enough already. Never again. Time to prove she was worthy of leading them one day.

  Ruth sighed. The land stretched vast and untamed before her. How could she protect it when even a single guest had shaken her resolve?

  Filled with newfound resolve, she headed to the tower. Leaning out of her favorite window, she gazed over the wastelands—her future domain, her responsibility, her burden. In the bright morning sun, even the barren expanse looked inviting. A bird chirped nearby, and a faint breeze carried the scent of sun-warmed stone. For a fleeting moment, the view was almost beautiful.

  …Then why did the walls of her home feel tighter than ever? The tug of adventure whispered in her veins, like a lost soul leading her astray.

  She turned away. Hadn’t she failed her family enough already?

  Never again. Time to prove she was a worthy heiress.

  Only… She didn’t feel ready. How could she protect so much land when a single guest had shaken her resolve?

  She wished her friend were there, with his easy smile and encouraging words.

  Her fingers brushed against a pocket in her dress. She had snatched a few of the Wanderer’s tools before ushering him from the pantry. She had meant to return them, but there hadn’t been time. Among them was the artifact he had used so often—the one that gauged the moods of memories. She’d watched him use it countless times. Could she do the same?

  Just a few memories, she assured herself. Only enough to gain a few useful skills, a touch of confidence. To make herself better—worthier.

  She wouldn’t let herself get overwhelmed—wouldn’t repeat her friend’s mistake and lose herself in grafted memories. A mind mage who lost her morals and reason became a poison to those around her—the very threat that gave her kind a bad name and kept her family in exile. That would never happen to her.

  Ruth’s hand trembled slightly as she drew out the artifact. The silver winked at her invitingly.

  She licked her lip.

  Dead men were delicious. And they told the best stories.