Page 48 of The Enemy's Daughter

“I don’twantto be enemies.”

Tristan’s eyes track over me, like a finger trailing across my skin. “Then let’s not be.”

His whispered words are cocooned in an earnest invitation that if I didn’t know any better I might accept.

“My point,” I say, “is that if I could help you without betraying the clans, I would. I’d probably do it for anyone. For yearsI’ve studied to become a healer because it’s not in my nature to let anyone suffer.” I think of his father and all I risked in trying to save him.

Tristan licks his lips, looking thoughtful. “You’d connect with just anyone?”

Before I can speak, he presses a memory against my mind. Our eyes meet, and his smirk tells me it wasn’t an accident. However, just like every other memory we’ve passed like this, it’s useless. Nothing more than a tease, an unopened present that floats around in my mind.

“What did you send me?” I ask.

“Just my memory of what connecting with you was like.”

Hismemory. Curiosity burns a hole through my common sense, and I flip through my own recollections of what we had to do to connect. Is he talking about lying with me on the bed? For a moment, I relive the jolt it sent to my senses when his fingers wound with mine. Or is he thinking of after that, when he—

Like a strike of lightning on a dark night, illuminating what can’t be seen, my own face flashes in my mind. But it’s notmymemory. I’m looking down at myself through Tristan’s eyes. Wisps of blond hair splay around my head as I lie on my back, bracing to retake the poison from him. His concern for me pulses through him.

She needs a distraction.

The scene cuts out, showing me another heartbeat in time. I don’t see much except for the curve of my neck as his lips press against my skin. His thoughts are a million, his emotions too many to pick out. But in that quick moment, I know two things: he’s memorizing the feel of me.

And he desperately wants to drag his lips to my mouth.

A flush of warmth surges through my body.

Tristan stares. “Did you see something?”

It’s difficult to form a coherent thought. A fine layer of sweat has broken out on my skin at having seen—felt—everything through his eyes.

“It worked, didn’t it?” His mouth splits into a blinding smile.

I can’t confirm what he’s asking. I can barely breathe. This boy is so very dangerous.

But I’ve also learned something important: seeing his memories is how I’ll get the most sensitive information about Kingsland.

So somehow, before I leave with Annette, I’ll need to make that happen again.

16

My fingers fiddle with my skirt again as a chorus of voices floats through the door leading to where the funeral is being held. Everyone in the hall is singing together. I don’t recognize the song, but that’s not surprising. I’m not familiar with many songs, other than a couple that Mum will hum when she’s happy, like on the rare occasion a trader arrives with enough poppy extract to last the month. Perhaps singing and being able to learn and enjoy music is another luxury that only comes when you know safety, thanks to an electrified fence.

The song ends, and Vador’s deep voice is mysteriously amplified as he speaks to the crowd. Enola startles me by sneaking in through the hallway door and taking a seat. “Did he start yet?”

“Just now.”

“You don’t have to be here with me,” I say. “I can manage alone.”

She wiggles her nose. “This is exactly where I want to be.”

I doubt that but return to listening.

“Thirty-seven-years ago, all I knew of Farron Banks was that he was an academic who read too many books while sitting in the heatof the sun.” Vador’s deep voice reverberates through the walls as he speaks. “I knew this not because we were friends, but because we were neighbors. My firstrealinteraction with Farron came the day the bombs fell. Though we were many miles away from the first explosions, our windows shattered and our walls cracked as they shook. Enola and I knew we had to flee. But as we backed out of our driveway, a set of hands slammed on the hood of our vehicle. My eyes met Farron’s. ‘Get in,’ I said. And he did.”

A rumble rises from the crowd as it stirs. I’m riveted.

“That began our journey through what we were sure was the end of all existence,” Vador continues. “Together, the three of us drove until we couldn’t drive anymore. Walked until we couldn’t walk anymore. Slept and ate where possible, until even those things became impossible. All hope dwindled as we realized that our enemies, though we still don’t know which one, had laid waste to us in the most strategic and catastrophic way. With the cities destroyed, and the land and water poisoned by their bombs, violence from the survivors escalated.

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