Page 88 of To Vanquish Darkness

They sat together in the garden after lunch while the sky darkened with rain clouds, making birds from the colored pages in her storybooks.

"You make it look easy." Amalie fought with the edges of her bird.

"It's all about patience and attention to detail. You're almost there."

They’d finished their swans just before the storm broke, running inside and setting them on display next to her bed, where they'd stayed until they moved away a few months later. Amalie clung to the memory, unable to believe how easily she'd forgotten those moments. How focused she'd been on losing her instead of remembering.

She clutched the mangled swan and shifted her focus back to the pile before her.

Next, she found a small notebook bound in leather. Its cover was worn, the pages inside were empty. Another image of her mother sitting up late at night by candlelight, her quill scratching across the yellowed pages of those same notebooks. There were dozens of them shoved behind books on the kitchen shelf and others scattered around the house.

“Why do you write everything down?”she’d asked once, annoyed that her mother couldn’t take her outside because she needed to finish whatever she was working on.

“Because someday I’ll forget.”

Those words hadn’t made sense to Amalie then, but now . . .

Amalie tugged the end of a delicate gold chain from under the armoire. Her mother’s locket. She remembered it hanging around her neck, which meant her mother had found a way to open the damn box.

She turned over the gold oval charm in her palm, again searching for a clasp that didn’t seem to exist. Perhaps it was only decorative. Her mother had never opened it, at least not in her memory. She slipped the chain over her head and pulled her hair free of the it.

Only one more item lay within reach. Amalie picked up a glass vial, turning it over in her palm. It had no cork and wasn't much larger than her finger—empty except for a bit of residue stuck to the bottom of the container. What would her mother have used something like this for? Perfume?

Dust from the floor finally caught her nose, and Amalie sneezed twice, holding her arm over her mouth and blinking into the dim light. Where could the other items have landed? She crawled forward, peering beneath her desk and feeling for anything that might’ve fallen between the cracks.

A flash of silver caught her eye at the corner of the room, and Amalie’s blood rushed. She scrambled toward it on her hands and knees, reaching out and grasping it tight. She turned her hand over, and frowned.

A ring.

Masculine.

Amalie furrowed her brow and shifted closer to the window. She hadn’t realized how low the light had gotten.

As soon as the light hit the face of it, her body stilled. An oval. Tilted on its axis. Half light, half dark.

37

1836 COUNTRYSIDE BEYOND MORDELLES, FRANCE

Aknock sounded at her bedroom door, and Amalie jolted. She slipped the ring into her pocket and jumped up from the bed.

“Amalie?” Bethany’s voice. Amalie rushed forward, pulling the door open and sweeping her little sister into her arms. She ran a hand over her braided hair, crushing her to her chest.

“Amalie, I can’t breathe.” Bethany’s voice was muffled, and Amalie relaxed her grip.

“Sorry. I’m so glad to see you.” Amalie pulled her into her room and closed the door.

“It’s only been a few days. You owe me an explanation, by the way.” Bethany was about to flop onto the bed when Amalie stopped her. She crouched and scooped up the items she’d spread out on the quilt, moving them to the nightstand.

“What are those?” Bethany asked as she sat.

Amalie crossed the room and used a match to light the candle on her writing desk. She pointed at the pile of splintered wood still sitting on the floor. “I opened the box.”

Bethany’s eyes widened. “It looks like you took a rock to the box.”

Amalie stubbed out the match. She sat next to Bethany on the bed and sighed. “I couldn’t figure out how to open it.”

Bethany’s eyes locked onto the collection of items she’d moved off the bed, and Amalie felt a pang in her middle as she fingered her mother’s locket. Her sister didn’t remember. She’d only been two when their mother passed.

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