“You don’t.” I touched his hand. “You don’t remember everything. And that’s not the only thing.” I told him what Janan did to souls like mine.
19
TRANSFORM
AFTER TELLING SAM everything that happened in the temple, I didn’t have the energy to attempt translating the books, though I’d hoped to try.
Instead, I started crying again, and Sam grew somber and distant as he led me downstairs. Dusk had fallen long ago, leaving only lamps and reflections off polished wood to illuminate the parlor. I wrapped myself in blankets on the sofa, listening to his footfalls in the kitchen. Cabinet doors opened and closed, boiling water hissed, and a spoon clanked on ceramic as he stirred honey into my tea.
He left the mug on an end table for me, then went to work on the piano, adjusting strings beneath the gleaming maple lid, then testing pitches. Every so often, he’d stop working to play, always making sure to ask if I had any requests, but most of the time I was content to watch and listen.
Nocturnes and preludes lulled me into dozing, and I awakened to find morning had arrived, covered in a film of snow. Sam and I dressed warmly and headed to the Councilhouse for my very late monthly progress report.
Predictably, the Council quizzed me mercilessly on my supposed sickness and symptoms, expressing false sympathy. Well, Sine’s concern might have been real. She worked hard to steer the conversation back to my progress report, but the general suspicion was clear: the Council thought I was up to something.
And wasn’t I? I’d discovered Menehem’s poison-making machine, Janan’s terrible hunger, and their fellow Councilor alive inside the temple. I possessed the only unaltered memory, books from the temple, and—until recently—the key to the temple. Sylph sang for me.
It wouldn’t matter that Janan had even more sinister plans for Soul Night. The Council couldn’t trust someone like me.
Fortunately, Sam had foreseen the Council’s questions about my illness and prepared me, so I described sleeping through a fever that involved lots of snot and throwing up.
“I died from that once,” Sam added as we descended the Councilhouse stairs. An icy breeze scoured the market field, though it didn’t deter devoted gossips and workers.
“Um.” I hunched beneath my coat hood, conscious of glares in my direction. Merton was out again, reminding people about the sylph incident at the lake, and how disgusting it was that Sam was in a romantic relationship with me. The Council’s advice on this was the same as it had been: ignore it. “If you died from the illness,” I asked, “is it a miracle I’m alive?”
He slipped his hand around mine and squeezed. “Well, yes. But that was several lifetimes ago.
Medicine has come a long way since then. Don’t worry. The medic who supposedly treated you is a good friend. She won’t say anything if they ask.”
“Oh, good.”
We stopped at Armande’s pastry stall, sipping coffee and eating muffins until he was satisfied I wasn’t starving to death. Sam kept checking his SED, but otherwise held a long conversation with Armande about what they each planned to have for lunch. It seemed suspicious to me, but we sat a good distance away from the temple and Merton’s gathering, and Armande continued giving me snacks. I didn’t complain, but I couldn’t ignore the voices from the Councilhouse steps.
“Newsouls are a plague,” a woman shouted. “Punishment for our lack of devotion to Janan.”
Her theory and the truth were as far apart as the sea and the stars, but it was a popular sentiment.
“They have no skills,” said a man. “Why should we feel obligated to care for anyone who can’t offer anything to the community? We don’t have resources to shelter and feed them. What happens if there are more and more? There are—
I glanced at Sam and Armande just in time to see them cringe.
It was a good question. I didn’t know, either. Of course, this man was leaping to conclusions. For all anyone knew, newsouls might be limited, too. Eventually, by counting how many newsouls were born, they’d be able to tell how many oldsouls had truly been lost during Templedark. At least seventy-two.
Probably more. But it seemed to me, once we reached that number, that would be it.
Then we’d either be reincarnated or we wouldn’t.
At noon, Sam wished Armande a good day, and we headed back to the southwestern residential quarter. Snow flurries pushed through the streets, and the day was just cold enough to allow a layer of white on the ground.
When we got home, tracks in the snow led to the front door and away, scuffed enough that I couldn’t tell anything about them except the intruder had been through a lot. Light seeped from the parlor windows.
Perhaps the Council had finally made good on their threat to have my room searched. If they took my books and research, and Deborl had the keyFear splintered through me. “Sam?”
“It’s all right.” He took my hand and drew me to the door, where I caught a sweet scent. And when I stepped inside, roses transformed the parlor into another world entirely.
Shades of red and blue clustered in vases on tables and shelves. They rested alone on the piano’s music stand and on the edge of each step of the staircase. They peeked from stands, from instrument cases, from behind the decorations that served beauty and acoustics.
The perfume was intoxicating, so rich I could taste it. A subtler, spicy aroma filled me up, warming me as the front door shut and Sam stopped beside me, wearing a smile. “I like it.”
“Did Cris run out of room in his greenhouse?”
Sam chuckled. “Not as far as I know.”
I drifted through the room, touching petals. “I like the way they’re all mixed together, the red and blue.
Are these”—I bent to sniff one—“Phoenix roses?” They had more petals than the blue roses I was used to, like ruffles of wisp-thin paper.
“They are. As many blue and Phoenix roses as he could stand to lose.” Sam tugged off his boots and leaned against the piano, tracking my progress through the room. “I haven’t seen you look this happy in a long time.”
“It’s like a greenhouse exploded in our parlor and left—” I swept my hands around. They were everywhere, changing the way light and color caught my attention, drawing my eyes to places I hadn’t looked since I’d first come to Heart. They were by the cello, resting on the harpsichord, and threaded through my music stand.
And by my new flute, resting on its stand and polished to a shine, lay the most perfect blue rose I’d ever seen, with smooth petals so flawless they didn’t look real. The bloom bent under my fingertips, as soft as air.
I turned. “Why would you do this?”
He smiled as I stepped into his embrace, and his arms wrapped strong and solid around my waist.
“Why not?” He pulled me tight, and when I lifted my eyes to his, he kissed me.
I lost myself in the brush of his lips, the thrill of his fingers against my cheek and neck and shoulder, and thump of his heartbeat under my palm. So engaged in the way his mouth fit with mine, I almost missed the purr of my coat being unzipped. When he paused his kissing, I stepped back, and he slipped my coat off my shoulders; I dropped my arms and the cloth fell with a soft
“I love you. Have I told you that since you got back?” He curled his hands over my hips and didn’t wait for me to answer. “I want to tell you every hour. Every minute. Ever since you returned, all I can think about is how close I came to not having you at all. And how close you came to being—” He looked away, expression grim.
“You remember that?” I would be so grateful if I didn’t have to keep explaining it, or reminding him that I hadn’t actually been missing. “You remember everything I told you about being inside the temple?”
He nodded, looking wrecked. “I keep remembering it.”
“And the white wall in the north? Right before the dragons?” I bit my lip.
Recognition flickered through him, but he shook his head. “No. A little, but no.” He grew quiet, seeming
