“I know.” His words are simple, light. But the way he says them, somehow so knowing and understanding, it calms me.
* * *
A MEMORIAL ROOM.
There are lamps mounted to the walls of the cave, illuminating name after name carved into the stone. There’s an altar up front, not unlike the ones for missing Basso that have sprung up all over the island. Woven mats line the edge of the floor along the wall.
“The memorial room,” Dorian says so lightly it’s almost a whisper. Without another word he leaves my side and walks to a far wall. Crouching on one knee atop a mat, he touches a couple of names, bows his head, and says a few words under his breath.
He glances back at me and I walk over, stop next to him, kneel on the mat beside his.
“My parents.” Voice scratchy with emotion, he doesn’t take his eyes off the names.
I look over at him. “Dorian … I…” I have no idea what to say. Hearing him say it’s his parents, the hurt beneath his voice, it’s suddenly very real. I take his hand in mine, then set my sights on the wall as well, read his parents’ names, the dedications written beneath. The inscriptions aren’t graphic, but Laurel and Ren Winters were brutally killed by the Imperi, their remains never recovered. “I’m so sorry for you … For Bronwyn…” My voice quakes from sadness, but the words seem so small compared to the weight of the loss.
Dorian turns his head, eyes red around the edges, and his words about giving trust to receive it ring true. “Thank you. It means a lot—I know you understand my loss better than most.” He catches my eyes, giving a small nod, then stands. I release his hand, standing up along with him.
I glance around at the names, none of them familiar, but still significant. They were killed fighting for something they believed in. “Dorian?”
“Yeah?”
I glance over his shoulder at the names, trying to figure out if there’s any order to them. “My mother was Amalie Adeline; she died soon after I was born and, according to the Sindaco, fighting for the Night. I don’t know much about my father—nothing really—except that his first name was Vincent. I overheard my grandfather say it once coupled with a swear, but otherwise Poppy’s never spoken of him.”
Dorian’s suddenly stone-faced, not giving me the slightest hint of what he’s thinking. “I’m not sure about your father, but…” He peers behind his shoulder to the back corner where a single light shines in the darkness. “Over here.”
Dorian takes my hand this time. His touch sends a tingling warmth that travels up my wrist and back. He leads me to the orange glow of a torch that seems to burn with endless flame.
Just above it is the name Amalie Adeline, the words literally taking my breath away. It’s so beautiful it could be a poem. Two simple words, when put together, would illuminate the page. But it’s not a poem. It’s my mother’s name.
“What is this?” I barely manage to breathe.
“Moon help me, I didn’t know.” He turns to face me. “Please believe me, V. I’ve seen this memorial countless times, but didn’t put your last names together until just now when you said it.” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine … I believe you…” But I’m barely thinking on that. All I focus on is what scenario under the Sun could have ended with my mother’s name being carved into this wall.
“The woman, Amalie Adeline—your mother, apparently—her death was the catalyst to the first war. She and a team of Night soldiers were on a secret mission to get intelligence on the Imperi, but were ambushed. She was caught, pressed for information that she never gave up, and executed by the Imperi. Like my parents, her remains, unfortunately, weren’t recovered.”
My stomach churns, sending warm bile up into my throat. “Where did this happen?” I choke the words out.
“We believe she was taken to the holding cells under the Coliseum. Secluded. With no one around to witness any of it. The Imperi couldn’t risk Basso hearing word a revolution was brewing.” He shakes his head, taking a long breath in. “She was the first of many, but the one who sparked our initial uprising, hence the special memorial.” He glances at the flame illuminating my mother’s name. “She was a warrior. A hero. Your mother sacrificed herself so the other Night soldiers on her team could safely get away.” He lowers his voice. “Maybe your father was one of them?”
“Maybe…” I run my fingers over the ornate letters carved into the stone wall. “Dorian?”
“Yes?”
“Why lie? Why not just tell me the truth when I was old enough to understand? Swear me to secrecy like my grandfather? Why the seventeen years of complete horseshit?” The back of my throat burns with anger.
He gives a stern, yet sympathetic nod. “I’d be thinking the exact same thing.”
“I mean, it’s not like I’d go and tell anyone, because I’d be putting myself and Poppy in danger.”
Brow furrowed as if in deep thought, Dorian sets his jaw like he’s worked something out. “I guess, this whole thing”—he glances around the room, then stares right at me—“you being brought down here now, when you’ve just turned seventeen, is exactly that. Finally giving you the truth and trusting you with it.”
“Well, they sure did take their time.”
“I know … I agree … But I can only assume it wasn’t meant out of deception or mistrust but out of protection.”
And it hits me, and I hate how much sense it makes, because I really want to be angry at all the lies. “The less I knew, the less that could get me into trouble.” It doesn’t absolve the deception, but it definitely puts it into perspective.
He nods. “I’d say so, wouldn’t you?”
I lift an eyebrow. “I just did.”
Dorian gives a slight grin.
But I’m unable to smile back. Instead I face my mother’s memorial, run my fingertips across her name, a knot forming in my throat. “Thank you for showing this to me.” It’s like everything I thought was real has been pulled apart and I’m slowly puzzling the pieces back together in a new image.
He nods slowly, eyes heavy. “I wish I had more information to share with you. Something to ease the weight of it all.” Taking a deep breath, I glance at Dorian from the corner of my eyes as something I hadn’t considered nags at me. “Actually … I do have a question you can answer.” His eyes flash to mine. “Why didn’t you confide in me earlier? Up on Bellona? Why lie about who you were?”
Dorian sucks in a deep breath, runs his hands through his hair. “Technically, I didn’t lie.” I furrow my forehead but let him explain further. “I am Dorian Winters, nephew and apprentice to the glassmaker. I grew up on Bellona. I’m Basso and I can’t fish to save my life.”
“Oh, I see…” I snort. “So you just didn’t tell me everything.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure I could trust you. And, honestly, what if I had been completely truthful with you? Told you everything?”