I blinked, clearing my eyes, and I saw the dawning in his face. “Eleven years. That’s why you wanted to know how long—”
“That’s right, Jase. He was a Previzi driver. While I was starving and freezing and thieving on the streets of Venda, and my mother ended up the gods know where, you were providing him with a warm, safe home. How wonderful for him.”
“That was eleven years ago. How can you be sure he was even Previzi? Your memory—”
“Don’t! Don’t you dare question my memory!” I growled. “I’m good at details, and I’ve had to live with those every day since I was six! Some days, I’ve prayed to the gods that I could forget! He drove in on a wagon that morning—four black stripes on his tarp!”
Jase was well aware that was a distinguishing mark of the Previzi.
“You were six years old! It was the middle of the night! It might not have even been the same man! He might—”
“He was tall, Jase—like you! But thin, bony. He had dead white skin and long strands of greasy black hair. His eyes were shiny beads of onyx. You know the new cook’s husband? Except for the eyes, he looked remarkably like him. I’m guessing he’s about thirty-five by now. And his hands—as he forced drugs down my mother’s throat, I saw the dark hair on his knuckles and a large mole on his right wrist! How’s that for details?”
He didn’t answer, as if he was already digging through eleven years of memories.
“You may have been a child eleven years ago too, but you know them all by now,” I said. “Is there a driver who fits that description?”
“No!” he shouted, throwing his hands in the air. He turned away and paced the room. “There are no drivers like that!”
“How can—”
There was a tap at the door.
I turned, swallowing my next words. We both stared at the door. Another light tap. I crossed the room and opened it.
Lydia and Nash stood side-by-side, their eyes wide and worried.
“Nash. Lydia.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Were you two fighting?” Nash asked. His voice was small, delicate, and it stabbed me with its innocence. I stared into his frightened eyes. He looked like he had been punched in the stomach. I hated how easily innocence could be robbed—how quickly a child could go from plucking wish stalks at a pond’s edge to clutching stolen bread beneath a coat.
I knelt so we were eye to eye. “No, of course not.” I forced a smile. “Just a loud discussion.”
“But … you were crying.” Lydia reached out and wiped under my eye.
“Oh, that.” I quickly swiped my hands over my cheeks. “Only dust in my eyes from a long, galloping ride,” I said. “But what’s this?” I reached behind both of their ears and frowned. “Did you two forget to wash today?”
They grinned with wonder as I pulled a coin from behind each of their ears and clucked with feigned dismay. I tucked the coins into their palms.
“What did you two want?” Jase asked.
&
nbsp; “Mama wants Kazi to come down for supper early so she can talk about food.”
“The kind the queen likes!” Lydia added.
Jase told them we’d be down shortly. I watched them race along the hallway, laughing, forgetting about the shouting they’d heard, the tears they saw, and I wished all memories could be erased so easily.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
JASE
Nash swirled his creamed squash into three green circles. I looked at his small fingers gripping his spoon, playing with his food the same way I had when I was six. Lydia arranged the pieces of meat that Mother had cut for her into a sunburst around her plate.
I was on the streets from the time I was six.
I couldn’t imagine either Nash or Lydia fending for themselves. I couldn’t imagine them being all alone and the terror they would feel. I couldn’t imagine that they would survive at all.