Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
She leads me up a spiral staircase of shimmering onyx to another level. I look around with interest. This place is the opposite of the sun—dark and soulless. And yet, my memory tells me it’s new to me even still, that I’ve never been here before.
Lovia takes me into a cavernous room with a couple of torn chairs, their guts pouring out of them, and a bathtub in the corner. She leads me over to a wide bed with a black bedspread. One of the windows is broken, snow blowing inside. I sit on the edge of the bed while she starts rummaging through a wardrobe in the corner.
Suddenly, I am hit with a memory. I may have not been here before, but I have done this with Loviatar. My mind skips back, like looking over photographs or a reel of film, still more objects from a previous life.
And then, it stops on a specific scene.
I remember when I was first brought to Shadow’s End.
I had traded my life for my father’s.
I had promised to become Death’s bride.
I had been brought to his stronghold, placed in my own room, prisoner but not a prisoner, and Lovia had been kind enough to dress me so I looked good for her father, for the dinner.
I knew I immediately liked her, even as other memories roll in—how I kicked her off the boat in the River of Shadows and stole her sword while battling some swans. The swans were akin to a goddess like myself, and I feel a flash of shame that I killed one of them as a mortal.
“Here,” Lovia says, turning around with a black gown in her hands. Tiny beetles scurry off the fabric and onto the stone floor, running for a hole in the wall. “Uh, ignore the bugs.”
I take the dress from her, staring down at it.
“I know you’re pretty tall for a human…” she begins, and I give her a sharp look. “Ex-human?” she stammers. “Either way, it’s still your body and you’re tall. But my mother was taller, bigger all around. You know, muscle. Not that you aren’t muscular; you really do look like you work out. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is it might be too big and too long, but we can always make it work with some sashes and a pair of scissors.”
I stare at her, all the memories flooding back. I feel like I’m watching a movie in which I care about the characters, but because it’s not happening to me, I’m indifferent.
“You don’t like the dress?” Lovia asks, her brows knitting together.
“I think the Hanna I was would appreciate it,” I admit, running my fingers over the fabric. “I am remembering how we were. The two of us. When you took care of me at Shadow’s End.”
Her eyes widen with excitement. “So you do remember!”
“I do. Not everything—just pieces.”
“Well, that’s great. That means you haven’t lost your humanity.”
I look down at my hands. On the sun, they had strange runes on them, but here, they look normal. “I remember, but I do not feel.”
She tilts her head, bright eyes studying me. “Do you want to feel?”
“Perhaps,” I tell her. Then, I sigh; everything feels heavier now, so much more than it did when I first arrived and set about fulfilling my purpose. “But won’t that make me lose my gifts? That is why I’m here. I’m not here to be a wife or a mother-in-law or a friend. I’m here to help you win. Feelings seem like a complication we can’t afford. I am probably better off without them.”
She makes an unsatisfied noise with her mouth. “Well, for now, at least you remember. That’s a start. Why don’t we get you dressed, and then perhaps we can use your logic and distance to help me and my father formulate our attack. There is more than one way you can help us win our battles.”
I nod and stand up. The gossamer veil I was wearing instantly disintegrates as Lovia makes me step into the inky gown. It is a little loose and too long, but Lovia makes quick work of it by wrapping sashes around my waist to pull the dress in before taking scissors and cutting off the bottom so it comes to my ankles in jagged edges.
“I might as well have a bath,” she says. “I’ll need a clean dress to wear after, for this little respite before we have to fight again. Do you want me to draw you one?”
“I don’t need it,” I say. I’m still purified by the sun.
“Suit yourself,” she says, going back to the wardrobe. More insects scurry out of the way.
“You and your mother were not close,” I say in both a memory and observation.
She tenses for a moment. “No. We certainly weren’t.”