Page 78 of Throne of Dreams
“What if I promise not to strike a bargain with a memory keeper?” The tug on her magic yanked again, stronger this time. “I only want to see if one exists and maybe talk to them. I have my reasons, same as anyone else. We all have things we long to forget.”
Lir squeezed his eyes shut, like he was dealing with a petulant child. When he opened them, the silver pools of his irises had darkened. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Nothing I do is ever a good idea.” But her attempt at humor failed miserably. Instead of cracking a smile, he simply glowered down at her. “That being said, you can either come with me right now and keep me safe, or I’ll just sneak out and go without you. Because either way, I’m going.”
Lir offered his arm and she accepted. “Has anyone ever told you how incredibly stubborn you are?”
She looped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “It’s an excellent trait to possess.”
“More like a flaw,” he muttered and shook his head, his face grim. “If the High King finds out about this—”
“Then I’ll handle it,” Maeve cut in, trying to put his mind at ease. Caring about what Tiernan thought of her escapades was the furthest thing from her mind.
Lir glamoured them in hooded cloaks of softly spun cotton, and they treaded quietly into the Shadow District. She wasn’t sure which direction to go or what exactly she was looking for, but the tug on her magic was more prominent now, so she was certain they were going in the right direction. At least, she hoped as much.
The air was cooler in the Shadow District. It sifted in through the thin fibers of her cloak, chilling her skin. Lir must have sensed it as well, because he moved closer to her side. They wandered through the streets, carefully avoiding the uneven bumps, the rising swells of the cobblestones. The scent of magic was strong, pungent and tinged with crushed herbs. There were interesting shops with oddities and curiosities. Potions and runes. Charms and baubles. There was even a bookstore, but the windows were all dingy, so Maeve forced herself to keep going. They passed only a handful of other fae. All of them wore cloaks or coats to keep their faces discreetly hidden from view. They walked with hasty steps, never once looking up.
The grip calling to her magic ceased and Maeve paused in front of a nondescript building.
“Here.” She looked at the shop that resembled an old, abandoned home instead of a storefront. It was plain with a crumbling brick exterior, and its pale gray shutters were peeling from the salty ocean breeze. “This is the place.”
Lir’s hand instantly went to the hilt of one of his swords. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.” She glanced up. Creaking in the faint breeze was a wooden sign with faded lettering that readRecollections. She nodded sharply. “Yes. I’m sure this is it.”
Lir stepped in front of her and walked inside. The door groaned open, announcing their arrival, and Maeve followed behind him.
The inside of the store was just as unadorned as the outside. It was a small room with a shabby, cushioned bench placed in front of the bay window. There were two chairs sitting across from it, their leather cracked and splitting. A round table was set in between the seating arrangement. On its wooden surface was a half-melted candle. Actual fire, Maeve noted. Not faerie light.
An elderly fae male appeared from a back room, ambling toward them with a lopsided gait. His knobby knuckles curled over a cane that looked to be made from an ash tree. His clothing was ragged and fraying, his skin tanned like aged leather. He had a tuft of white hair on his head with a snowy beard to match. Wrinkles lined his face, but his eyes were clear and bright.
“Can I help you?” he asked, and those eyes of his seemed to stare right through her, like she was a mirage.
She snagged Lir’s hand in her own as an unexpected jolt of nervousness shot through her. “I’m looking for a memory keeper.”
The older fae nudged his wire-framed glasses further up his nose. “Is that so?”
She nodded stiffly.
“Then you’ve come to the right place. The name’s Cormac.” He hobbled over to the table and a thick tome materialized before him. Its bindings were falling apart, and the pages of parchment looked nearly translucent. The book flipped open, and he pulled a pen from his front pocket. “What sort of memory work are you needing?”
“I want to know how the process works first.” Maeve hedged away from the book, whose pages had begun to flip on their own. “Before I enter into any sort of arrangement.”
“Of course.” Cormac set the pen down and the book closed. “Happy to help.”
For a fae whose magic was spoken of in hushed murmurs, he really didn’t seem too bad. He was more unsettling than anything.
“Memories are tricky business, so the cost is usually rather high.” He settled himself into one of the old leather chairs and something cracked; she hoped it wasn’t his bones. “Some only want to erase a moment in time, others want more. As fae, our memories can span hundreds of years, so it makes sense we’d want to ease the worries of our minds. We all have something we’d like to forget.”
An eerie sense of trepidation settled around her, heavy and dense like fog rolling in from off the coast. How odd it was he’d nearly repeated her exact words back to her. But he was right. In her mere twenty-four years, she already had dozens of memories she wouldn’t mind doing away with for good. It was bad enough she was reliving Rowan’s death, the dungeon of Spring, and the haunting cage from her childhood every time she closed her eyes at night.
“And then there are some fae who wish for new memories altogether,” Cormac continued. His breath wheezed in and out, like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in years. “That’s a rather extensive process, but worth it all the same, so long as you’re on the receiving end.”
She adjusted her cloak, pulling it tighter around her shoulders. “And do I get to choose the exact memory you take?”
Cormac smiled, displaying a set of slightly yellowed teeth. “Usually.”
That didn’t sound very promising.
