Assessing me with eyes as gray as stone, Sinisa says flatly, “Well, at least you know they’re not going to kill her. Otherwise they would become Reapers too, and that’s a fate no one chooses.”
There’s sadness in her words, but I’m not sure why. From everything I’ve seen so far, it doesn’t seem like she’s unhappy being a Reaper.
“Is it not what you wanted?” I hear myself asking, wishing I knew how to keep my mouth shut instead. I’m pretty sure if my father was here—and if he cared anything about hurting a Reaper’s feelings—he’d tell me this is exactly the kind of question you don’t ask someone.
To my surprise though, she isn’t offended. The question actually almost seems welcomed. And because I tend to put my foot in my mouth so often, it’s a welcome change.
“Who knows. I have no memory of what I wanted before becoming a Reaper,” she answers plainly. There is no feeling behind her words whatsoever. No remorse, no doubt, no anger. It’s as if she just told me the color of the sun or sky.
“You what? Really? How can you not remember?”
She shrugs. “I just don’t. It’s like I was born anew the day I was initiated.”
I blink, mulling over the information. Although it seems like common knowledge to her, this is something I’ve never heard before and I doubt many people know.
“But…why not?” I ask finally. “How—why would you lose your memories? Why would that be part of your initiation?”
The more I think about it though, the more it actually does start to make sense. Without their memories, Reapers would be completely disconnected from their past lives. They’d have no friends or family, absolutely nothing to connect them to the mortals they were sent to kill. Killing a human would be just like killing a hog or even a stigree; it would mean nothing. The death would be weightless because they wouldn’t be able to see their sister’s face in the person they killed, let alone be able to sympathize with the families they were taking these people from.
Without their memories, they’d become perfect assassins.
“I don’t know,” she answers, sounding bored. “Perhaps it’s just how Veltuur works. An exchange or something.”
I nod, pulling a chair away from the small table. Before I can bring myself to sit down though, I search underneath it for more spiders like the one in the corner of the room. When I find none, I position it so that I can keep one eye on the spider in the corner while still being able to face Sinisa.
Only, my gaze doesn’t settle on her or the spider. Instead, I can’t stop myself from staring at the pouch resting against my leg.
“Would you want to remember if you could?” I ask her, wiggling the pouch free and setting it on the table. Idly, I twirl the drawstrings around my fingers, waiting for an answer as the subtly, earthy aroma of the memory tree’s leaves fills the space between me and my restless fingers.
“Maybe. I guess it would be interesting.”
She doesn’t seem to notice that I’m suggesting it is an actual possibility. She says it the way I say something that, when given the opportunity, I back out of. Like when I told my mother that I’d think about accompanying them to the ball, but then when the day finally came, I said no, just like I always knew I would.
There’s a moment when I realize I could just let all of this talk about reliving the past go, and Sinisa wouldn’t know the difference. I could keep the memory leaves to myself and use them for seeing my family in the moments when it was hardest to be without them. After all, since I don’t think I’ll be going back to the palace any time soon, this batch of memory leaves is all I’ll have for a long, long while.
Then again, the thought of withholding an opportunity for her to be able to learn about her past doesn’t sit well with me.
“It wasn’t a hypothetical question,” I say finally. “If you really wanted to know, you could. I have some—well, there’s this tree; it’s sort of forbidden? It’s at the palace, but before I left, I sort of… grabbed some of its leaves and—”
“You stole something that was forbidden?” she asked, bemused.
My head sinks into my shoulders, and my smile is guilty. “Maybe? I know. I shouldn’t have. I mean, the tree is basically extinct, and I know it’s not a toy to be digging into memories but…” When the topic becomes too painful, I let my words fade out, and I redirect the conversation to the possibility I’m presenting her. “The leaves help people recall things, so, if you really are interested, then you could try some. And it’s totally safe. I promise. I’m not trying to like poison you or anything.”
Sinisa jerks back, looking at me like I’m the most ridiculous and insane and goofy person she knows. I may be all of those things, come to think of it.
“Which, I’m realizing now sounds completely auspicious—sorry. Um… suspicious. I just mean that I’ve done it before, so I know what it’s like.”
Something about the way she’s staring at me, like she’s analyzing every single muscle in my face as it shifts, makes me stop talking. I swallow what little saliva is left in my mouth, but it goes down like I’ve just grabbed one of the cold coals from the hearth and swallowed it instead.
“Why did you take some of the memory leaves?” Sinisa asks.
She inches closer, still scrutinizing me like I’m a trellis and she’s trying to figure out the best way to climb up me—not that she’s thinking about climbing me, not in that way or anything, she’s just—
“Why would a prince…” she
