The Banishment That Never Was

At midnight, the Blackthorn archives smelled of dust, ink and old secrets.

"Banishments," Lucas muttered, running a finger along the shelf. "Seven centuries of them. Every decree sealed, signed and witnessed. If your husband banished you, Elena, it's here."

"Don't call him my husband," Elena said.

"Technically," said Lucas, "I should."

She glared at him. He grinned and went back to searching.

Adrian stood near the door with his arms crossed, silent, watching her. He had been watching her all evening. Every time she looked up, his eyes were already there, dark and intent, and every time she looked away, she could feel them like a hand on her skin.

It was making her crazy.

"Nothing," Lucas said finally. He slid the last ledger back. "No decree. No witness. No Council record. Nothing between the thirteenth and the twentieth of November."

"There has to be something."

"There isn't." Lucas looked at Adrian. "Brother, you never banished her. Not in any law, not on any page."

"I know."

"Then why does she remember it?"

"Because it was put in her head," Elena said slowly. "Wasn't it?"

No one answered.

She walked to the end of the aisle, wrapping her arms around herself. "I remember it so clearly. The room. His face. The words. It was more real than my own name."

"That's what makes it dangerous," said Lucas quietly. "A false memory that clear isn't a mistake. It's craft."

Elena shivered.

"Lucas," Adrian said. "Give us a minute."

Lucas raised an eyebrow, glanced between them, and said, "Of course. I'll go count books."

He left. The door clicked shut.

The silence that followed was different from before. Softer. Dangerous.

Adrian walked slowly down the aisle, until he stood close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

"I owe you an apology," he said.

"For what?"

"For all of it. For believing a letter. For letting you disappear. For every night you spent alone."

"You didn't let me disappear. I was taken."

"I should have found you."

"You tried."

"Not hard enough."

"Adrian."

"I tore the city apart, Elena. I should have burned it."

She looked up at him, and for the first time she let herself see him fully. Not the king. Not the man in her false memory. Just Adrian, with shadows under his eyes and a tension in his shoulders that said he hadn't truly slept in years.

Something inside her gave way, just a little.

"I can't forgive you tonight," she said.

"I'm not asking you to."

"But I don't think you're the one who hurt me."

His breath caught. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and stayed there.

Neither of them moved.

The aisle was narrow. The air smelled of old paper and cedar and him. She could feel the warmth coming off his chest. Her hand had somehow risen and rested flat on his shirt, right over his heart. It was pounding.

"Elena," he said, very low. A warning. Or a plea.

"I know."

"If you don't want this..."

"I didn't say I didn't."

His hand slid into her hair. His forehead dropped to hers. Their breath mixed.

Their lips were an inch apart.

"Ahem."

Elena sprang back like she'd been burned.

Lucas stood in the doorway, looking at the ceiling with great concentration. "Sorry. Terrible timing. But I found something you should see."

Adrian made a sound very close to a growl.

"It better be important."

"It is." Lucas held up a leather-bound log. "Your medical record, brother. From the week she vanished."

All the heat drained out of the room.

Adrian took the book. He read. Elena watched his face change.

"What?" she said. "What does it say?"

"I was sedated." His voice was flat. "Not sick. Sedated. For seventy-two hours. By the Tower physician."

"Who authorized it?"

"It doesn't say."

"Adrian, someone drugged you."

"Yes." He closed the log. His hand shook, just slightly. "And whoever did it needed me asleep while you vanished."

Elena stared at him.

So that was the missing piece. It wasn't that he had left her. It was that someone had made sure he couldn't follow.

"Then neither of us ever had a chance," she whispered.

For a long moment, they just looked at each other, two people finally standing on the same side of the truth.

A soft sound came from behind her.

Elena turned.

Noah stood at the end of the aisle in his pajamas, barefoot, clutching the blanket she'd thought he was sleeping under. A guard hovered behind him, apologetic.

"He woke up," the guard said. "He said he needed to come here."

"Noah," Elena said, hurrying to him. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Noah didn't answer.

His eyes were open, but they weren't looking at her. They were pale and shining and far away.

When he spoke, the voice that came out wasn't his.

It was a woman's voice. Low, ancient, achingly tender.

"He didn't forget you," it said. "He was made to."

The lamps went out, all of them, at once.