Page 135 of Sword & Sacrifice

“Thank you, Father,” Silas said, hesitating over the address. He hugged Braden one more time, pulling Koen into the hug with him. Then he nodded goodbye to Mirinda and boarded the ship.

Captain Moira immediately held out her hand for the coin purse. She counted a few coins out, then tossed the purse back to Silas. “I’ll give you the discounted rate, since you’re technically our employer now.” With that small kindness offered, she turned around and shouted, “Enough with the delays! We have a delivery to make!”

As the crew bustled around him and the ship slowly went out to sea, Silas remained at the rail, watching Bellacosta get smaller and smaller in the distance. Before long, he turned his eager gaze toward the east. Toward Arnsveld. Toward his future.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Valerian felt thirteen again, though he couldn’t quite remember what thirteen felt like. There was a certain familiarity of sitting on a cot while a medic examined him. No, a healer, he corrected himself, since that was how Penn introduced her.

On the other side of the room, Penn paced restlessly, his eyes never leaving Valerian. The pacing wasn’t very productive, since the cottage’s workroom was so small that he could barely take five steps before turning around, but hopefully it released some of his pent-up energy.

“Do you remember who I am?” the healer asked.

Valerian returned his attention to her and looked her up and down. Auburn hair, delicate frame, lines around her eyes and mouth from a lifetime of joys and sorrows. He searched through the burned edges of his memories until one word came to mind. “Witch.”

The corner of her eyes crinkled. “That’s right. My name is Adelaide Orestes, but some people call me the Witch. Do you remember meeting me before?”

“Do you have to talk to him like that?” Penn demanded.

Adelaide glanced at him curiously.

“Like he’s a child,” Penn said. “He’s not. He’s just …” Penn cut his gaze back to Valerian and didn’t finish his sentence.

“Confused,” Val supplied. “And a little foggy.”

Adelaide grabbed his face and tilted it up so she could gaze deeply into his eyes. “I think it’s more appropriate to call that fog ‘smoke.’ What’s the last thing you remember before waking?”

Images shimmered in Val’s mind, faded and singed around the edges. Towering trees with mirror bark that never showed his own reflection. Spiderwebs enveloping the canopy. A white tree blazing too brightly in the darkness. “I was in a forest … there were spiders and a white tree that didn’t belong.” Trying to concentrate on the images felt like pressing his finger into a healing burn. “And there was a fire …”

Adelaide sighed. “I thought so. That forest was a magical manifestation of your mind and your memories. Unfortunately, another mage had invaded it. From what I can guess, you chose to burn the forest down to kill him, which was a very brave decision.”

Valerian grinned at her.

“It was also very stupid.”

The grin slipped slightly. He wracked his brain for a moment, then said, “You’ve called me stupid before.”

The declaration startled her, but she smiled again. “I called you stupid quite often before I learned some better bedside manner.”

“And I’m sure I deserved it every time.”

Penn stopped pacing and approached Valerian, reaching out as if to touch him, before dropping his hand back to his side. “So what does that mean for Val? His memories, are they all … gone?”

“Not all of them,” Adelaide said. “Though with Valerian, it will be difficult to tell what is gone and what isn’t, because he kept so many secrets close to his chest.”

Valerian stared down at his scarred hands. “I wish I’d paid your price.”

“What?” Penn asked, looking confusedly between the healer and her patient.

“Tell me the story behind each scar and I’ll clear the slate,” Valerian quoted, all he remembered of the long ago deal she’d offered him. “If I’d told her those stories, she could share them with me now, so maybe I could remember.”

“For now, it’s enough to know that you remember what I said,” Adelaide replied. “I’m going to treat your hand and examine your other wound. Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do for your mind until the fire dies down.”

“What do you mean dies down?” Penn demanded. “It’s still burning? Does that mean he’ll lose more memories? That he’ll”—his breath hitched but this time he forced the word out—“forget?”

“I don’t know yet. Mental magic has never been my specialty.”

“Too bad I don’t still have that grimoire,” Valerian said. He could picture the book exactly—blue leather, tightly scrawled notes across every page, the words mundane until they were examined through special spectacles—though he couldn’t remember who it belonged to.