Aric Vale
We mounted up again, my wrists tied looser this time, enough freedom to ride, not enough to threaten. We traveled in heavy silence as the sun descended toward the horizon.
My head still ached from the double vision, from the memory that had surfaced. I could feel the presence in my mind, quieter now but still there. Watching. Waiting.
"How many victims can we reach?" I asked Garrett as we rode. "Before we get to wherever the princess is?"
"Three more sites are on the route," he said. "All within two days' ride. After that, we're in the deep Wastes where her trail leads."
"Tell me about them. The three victims."
Garrett pulled out a journal, flipped through pages. "Victim seven: Lieutenant Damon Reeves. Found eight weeks ago in an abandoned mill. Same wounds, same mark. He was…" Garrett paused, reading. "He was part of your patrol unit. The night Prince Dorian died."
My breath caught. "He was there?"
"According to records, yes. One of six soldiers who accompanied you and the prince into the Wastes."
"Who else? Who were the other five?"
Garrett read further. "Sergeant Helena Voss, found dead seven weeks ago. Corporal James Drake, six weeks ago. Private Sarah Chen…."
"Chen?" I interrupted. "Related to Marcus Chen? The first victim?"
"His sister," Garrett confirmed. "She died five weeks ago."
The pattern was becoming clear. Sickeningly clear.
"They were all there," I said. "All part of that patrol. Someone's systematically killing everyone who was present the night Dorian died."
"Not everyone," Captain Lyons said from ahead. "You're still alive."
"Because I'm the weapon," I realized. "Whoever's doing this is using me to eliminate the witnesses. Using my own hands to kill the people who know the truth."
"What truth?" Lyons demanded.
"I don't know! That's the problem!" I pulled at my bound wrists in frustration. "My memory of that night is completely gone. But these people, they knew what happened. They saw something. And now they're dead because of it."
"Not all dead," Garrett said quietly. "According to this, there were eight people total on that patrol. You, Prince Dorian, and six soldiers. Dorian's dead. Five soldiers are dead. That leaves one."
"Who?"
"Private Marcus Thorne. Last seen three weeks ago at a border garrison. He went on leave and never reported back."
"He's running," I said. "He knows he's on the list. Know what happened to the others."
"Or he's already dead and we haven't found the body yet," Lyons said.
The thought sat heavy in my stomach. Another victim I couldn't remember killing. Another piece of truth eliminated.
"We need to find him," I said. "Before I do. Before whatever's using me gets to him first."
"That's not our mission," Lyons said. "Our mission is the princess."
"They're connected." I don't know how I knew, but I was certain. "The princess, the murders, Dorian's death, it's all connected. Has to be."
"How?" Garrett asked.
"I don't know yet. But think about it, why would Princess Elara be taken now? After seventeen murders spread over three months? Why would her kidnapping be the thing that brings me out of exile?"
"Because the king loves her," Lyons said. "Because losing her would destroy him like losing Dorian did."
"Or because someone wants me in motion," I countered. "Wants me to investigate these murders. Wants me to remember."
"Remember what?"
"The truth about that night." I looked at Garrett. "You said you didn't think I killed Dorian. Why?"
"Because I saw your face when they brought you back. You were broken. Completely destroyed. That wasn't the face of a killer. That was the face of someone who'd lost everything."
"But what if I didn't kill him?" I pressed. "What if someone else did, and I witnessed it? What if that's why I was cursed, not to punish me for failing, but to silence me for knowing?"
Silence fell over the group. I could see them processing the implications.
"If that's true," Thomas said slowly, "then someone at the palace knows. Someone high up enough to curse you, exile you, and cover it all up."
"And that same someone is using your curse to eliminate everyone else who knows," Garrett finished.
"But who?" Lyons asked. "Who has that kind of power and that kind of motive?"
I had no answer. But in my head, the presence stirred. And with it came a whisper, so faint I almost missed it:
*She does. She always has.*
"She," I said aloud. "The courier, right before I killed her in my memory, she said 'I only did what she told me to.' Who is 'she'?"
"Could be anyone," Lyons said. "Court lady, noble, even the queen."
But something about that didn't feel right. The queen had died years before Dorian. And most court ladies had no access to dark magic, no power to curse.
We made camp as darkness fell. This time there was no waystation, just open ground where they could watch me from all sides. They staked me to a tree again, more securely than before.
I didn't protest. After the memory at the ravine, after feeling myself split between two perspectives, I didn't trust myself any more than they did.
Garrett brought me food, sat with me while I ate.
"Tell me about the curse," he said. "What did the court wizard say exactly?"
I tried to remember. "That night was mostly blank, but I remember parts of his examination. He said there was dark magic woven through me, deep and complex. Said it felt like…" I struggled for the words. "Like something had grabbed my soul and pulled. Like I'd been split somehow."
"Split how?"
"He didn't know. Just that the magic was active, feeding off something. And that it was beyond his skill to break."
"Could it have split your soul in two?" Garrett asked quietly. "Made two versions of you, each with different memories?"
The question hung in the air. It should have sounded insane. But after the double vision, after feeling myself in two places at once…
"Maybe," I admitted. "That would explain the blackouts. The lost time. Why do I wake up in places I don't remember going?"
"And the murders?"
"One half of me, the half that remembers that night, is hunting down everyone who was there. Eliminating witnesses. While the other half, the half that forgot everything, just survives in exile, unaware."
"Until now," Garrett said. "Until the murders brought you back. Until you started remembering."
I looked at my shadow, cast long by the campfire. It seemed darker than it should be. Denser.
"What happens when both halves remember everything?" I asked. "When there's no more fog, no more gaps? Do we merge back together? Or does one destroy the other?"
"I don't know," Garrett said honestly. "But I think we're about to find out."
That night, tied to the tree with three soldiers watching, I tried not to sleep. I tried to stay awake and aware. But exhaustion pulled at me, and eventually my eyes closed.
I didn't dream this time. Instead, I felt myself splitting. Felt my consciousness dividing, part of me staying in my bound body while another part slipped free.
Through half-open eyes, I watched my shadow peel away from the tree. I watched it stand independently, a dark figure shaped exactly like me.
It looked down at my bound form, and I saw its face, my face, but harder. Colder. More certain.
"Soon," it whispered in my voice. "Soon we'll be whole again. Soon you'll understand everything."
Then it walked away, moving through the camp like smoke. The watching soldiers never saw it. Never noticed as it slipped past them into the darkness beyond.
I tried to scream, to warn them. But my body wouldn't respond. I was locked inside, helpless, while my shadow went hunting.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard a scream cut short.
Then silence.
Then nothing but the sound of my shadow returning, satisfied, and sliding back into place beneath my feet.
When I woke at dawn, my hands were stained with fresh blood.
And one of the soldiers was missing.