Page 73 of The Rebel's Prize

He nodded. "There was apparently a small fire backstage," he explained to the others before focusing on Chloe again. "Do you remember what they said?"

"That someone had knocked over a candle. But Deandra helped put it out and got...Pierre, was it? Got him to safety."

"Yes."

"A firewouldmake an impression," Imogene said.

"It would, but they all explained it nearly identically. Not what they'd been doing when the fire started, but that someone knocked over a candle, and Deandra helped put it out and got Pierre to safety. They all said that. Almost to the word."

"They shouldn't all have such a similar memory," Chloe breathed, realizing what he was getting at.

"No," Lucien agreed. "They shouldn't. I think we've found a thread to tug on. I think someone must be planting memories to cover up when something is erased. Especially where there are gaps of a longer period."

Imogene shuddered. "That's awful. And I'm not sure how you would do it."

"A sanctii," Chloe said. "They can do things that impact our minds. Like the reveilé. Even if no sanctii is actively helping now, one of them must have helped a mage learn how to do this."

"That's no better," Imogene said, looking horrified. "Are we sure they couldn't have used a decoy? Someone made to look like Deandra?"

"I can't rule that out. Istvan is clearly powerful. I'm sure he could do it, particularly if the decoy was able to keep to herself," Lucien admitted. "But it doesn't explain the story about the candle. We need to talk to people who know more about this. Valentin and the healers. And the venables. Perhaps the archives at the Academe might yield something. Find out if anyone has ever tried anything like this before. I imagine it would be kept quiet if it had."

"Yes it would," Chloe agreed. "Neither the emperor nor the Academes would want it to be widely known if a mage tried to tamper with someone's memory to that extent. Not if a sanctii was involved. That would make people scared of sanctii. We'd end up like Anglion. Or worse."

"Henri didn't mention anything back in Lumia," Imogene said.

"He was only thinking about charms that might erase a memory, not replace them. That's something more to go on. And he doesn't know everything that's in the archives. Not even the chief archivist knows that. But they will know how to look," Chloe offered.

"All right. So, we wait until we return to Lumia," Imogene said. "Which means we all need to get back to the navire."

* * *

Chloe had hoped she would be able to sleep better once they were heading back to Lumia. But apparently not even Lucien proving again that the bunk beds could indeed withstand uses the army probably hadn't intended after dinner was enough to soothe her to sleep. He was sleeping. She was wide awake, mind whirling from thought to thought but not coming to rest on any one useful idea. Which was exhausting in itself.

Somewhere above her the navire's hour bell chimed the tenth hour. Perhaps Imogene would still be awake.

She slipped out of the bunk gingerly, but Lucien didn't stir. It didn't take long to dress, but when she knocked on Imogene's cabin door, there was no answer. A quick peek into the mess room also yielded no sign of her friend.

She made her way back up on the deck. Given the hour, it was mostly empty, just the mage pairs flying the navire and a few other crew moving around, doing the kinds of things crews did.

She glanced toward the prow and spied a familiar figure wrapped in a cloak standing on the observation deck, looking out at the star-strewn sky. The boards of the deck were slick from the cold, and she picked her way across carefully.

"You're up late," she said, climbing the stairs.

Imogene turned her head and smiled tiredly. "I could say the same for you." Both her hands were wrapped around a mug of something that steamed gently in the night air.

"True." Chloe gestured at the sky surrounding them and the faint glimpses of moonlit land below. "Couldn't resist enjoying the view from your creation?"

Imogene grimaced, one shoulder hitching, and sipped the tea. Chloe caught a waft of mint and something sharper that she thought might be axelberry, which gave her pause. That combination was generally used for settling an upset stomach, and Imogene famously had a cast-iron constitution.

She nodded at the mug. "Don't tell me the woman who invented the navires gets queasy flying in them?" she said.

This time Imogene's grimace was more of a wince. "Not exactly," she muttered.

Chloe studied her friend. Imogene looked, she thought, paler than usual, though it was difficult to judge properly in the moonlight. She cast her mind back over the past few hectic days. Imogene had seemed tired, but then they all were. "Are you sick?" she asked, worry shading her words.

"Not exactly," Imogene said again, and then she placed her hand over her stomach.

Understanding dawned. "Oh. You'repregnant," Chloe breathed.

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