Page 69 of Still the Sun

“Nophe.”

Brushing hair from his face, I kiss his nose, then slide back to his side. “I don’t know,” I admit, quiet enough to be ignored by the wrens. “I’ve been remembering in fragments, but the pieces were so disjointed, I could never connect them. But whatever spell took my memories was breaking. I was on my roof in the mist when I felt the pull to know.I followed it, and I remembered.” A lump forms deep in my throat. I swallow, but it does little good. “I’m so sorry.”

Heartwood runs a hand through my hair before guiding my mouth back to his. I kiss him slowly, lazily savoring him. When I pull back, he murmurs, “I’ve always wondered what you thought, seeing me again. The only memory you would have had of me was pulling that knife.”

I blink. “Knife?”

“At the machine.” Seeing the confusion in my face, he props himself up on his elbow. “After you forgot ... I didn’t understand. Istilldon’t understand. And I kept asking you, and I scared you, and you pulled a knife on me.”

I scan his face. Nothing but sincerity. Twisting around, I find my clothes—don the undershirt, just in case we have visitors—and pull Arthen’s blade out of my trouser pocket. “This one?”

He doesn’t need to examine it. He nods.

I turn the blade over in my hand. “No, I ... I didn’t know you at all. When I first saw you, that time, I just thought you looked like Moseus. I thought you were brothers. When Moseus came to ask me for help ... I had no recollection of either of you.”

Heartwood frowns. Tucks my hair behind my ear. “But now you remember the rest?”

“Yes.” I recount more to prove it: work on the machines, stopping to repair a well, sleeping with him in my home. “But not that knife.” I shake my head. “Arthen kept asking me where it was. I told him I didn’t take it.”

Heartwood frowns.

I lower the knife. “I didn’t take anything else, either, Heartwood. I swear it. But ...”But something is missing.

Heartwood said I pulled a knife on himafterlosing my memories. So I should remember pulling it. But I don’t.

If Machine Three took my memories the first time, what took them the second?

“Perhaps time affects the Ancients’ malediction,” he assures me. “In time, you will recall.”

I mumble an agreement, not because I believe it, but because there’s no point in arguing. Not when I can’t remember. I stare at the budding retalia, the poisonous chrystanus, and the verdant fairy wisps, as though they might reveal something to me. My relief to be with Heartwood again, to have his forgiveness, overwhelms my simmering frustration. I havehim.

Putting the knife away, I ask, “How often does Moseus come here?”

He considers. “Perhaps three times since we first came to the tower. It is unlike him.”

“Good.” I push him back into the fairy wisps and climb atop him. “Because we have a lot to make up for.”

My head pressed against Heartwood’s chest, knees curled up, sleep comes easily.

I carefully align the sprocket with its track, balance the track on my shoulder, and twist the screw into place. It took me forever to figure out where these internal pieces on Machine Three go. My first guess seemed correct, but it would require me to bore new holes into the metal, which is not only difficult, but wrong. The Ancients made these machines a certain way for a reason. They functioned, long ago. I have to learn their patterns and follow them, even if it takes more time.

My clammy hand fumbles around the turnscrew. Heartwood should return any moment now. Over and over I’ve rehearsed what I’ll say to him and how I’ll say it. Prepared myself for a litany of reactions and a defense for each one. But he has to know.

Before I act, he has to know. He’ll understand it better than I do. He’s a god; he has to understand.

No, that wasn’t it. I’m missing something.

Deep breath, focus. I check behind me, scanning the room before zeroing in on the hole in the floor. Listen, but it’s silent. Too silent? I’m not sure. I never paid attention to the noises of the tower before. I’ve always been the loudest thing here.

I carefully align the sprocket with its track, balancing the track on my shoulder, and push the screw into place. I miss, the first few times. My nerves are getting the better of me. I wish Heartwood hadn’t left. If he’d been here, it’d be different. I’d feel safer.

It took me forever to figure out where these internal pieces on Machine Three go. My first guess seemed correct, but it would require me to bore new holes into the metal, which is not only difficult, but wrong.

Holes. They make me think of him. Of the way her body crumpled. I’m trying not to. I have to wait for Heartwood. I fear that lingering in Emgarden will give me away.

Focus on the work,I remind myself.

The Ancients made these machines a certain way for a reason. They functioned, long ago. I have to learn their patterns and follow them, even if it takes more time.

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