“I needed the Inheritor’s identity to rally support,” Dad said in a rush. Micah glanced over at me, letting me know that he and I had just come to the same conclusion—Dad’s memory was so shot, he had no idea why he’d done it. “I never would have put you in harm’s way, not then, not ever.”
Sadie nodded, then she sank down into her chair. “This is really bad,” she mumbled.
“It is,” Micah agreed, “but we shall overcome it.” Then he yawned so widely I worried his jaw would unhinge.
“You need to rest,” I murmured. Micah didn’t protest as I pulled him to his feet and led him out of the kitchen. As soon as we were in the hallway, he wrapped his arms around me, something I didn’t protest, either.
“Your sister is right,” he mumbled into my hair. “This is very, very bad.” Micah tightened his arms around me. “I do not know if I can withstand the might of the Golden Court should Oriana name us traitors.”
“Do you think she will?” I asked.
“She may. I have convinced her that Sadie is naught but a foolish child who knew not what she did. Mind you, that was quite difficult, what with Sadie’s obvious intelligence and her many supporters clamoring for her coronation.” Micah pulled back, then tucked a length of hair behind my ear. “We have a day, maybe two, before we must decide on a plan of action.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay. So Sadie needs to suck it up and pledge to the queen.”
“Yes, that would be best.”
“Let me talk to her. She’s sufficiently freaked out, so it shouldn’t take much convincing to get her to pledge to Oriana. While I do that, you sleep. I need you sharp if we’re going to work our way out of this.”
Micah smiled, but he was so exhausted it was more of a grimace. “As you say, love.” He kissed me, and again, and once more for good measure. Once I’d promised to join him as soon as my little talk with Sadie was complete, he staggered off to bed.
I watched Micah climb the stairs to our bedroom, wishing I could join him. Before I could settle into bed with him, there was the matter of my sister to attend to.
“No, Sara,” she said when I reentered the kitchen. Dad and Max were gone, so it was just us girls. “Whatever you’re going to say, no.”
“Okay.” I sat across from her and picked at the wicker breadbasket. Of all the opulent creations in the manor, the silverkin had chosen wicker for a centerpiece. The little guys were cute, but lacking in style. “What did you think I was going to say?”
“You’re going to try and convince me to be a leader like Dad,” she replied.
“Nope.” I grabbed a slice of bread and spread some butter across it. “I’m going to convince you to pledge to the gold queen.”
Sadie shuddered. “It’s so gross.”
“Yep. And once you do it, it’s done. Never again.”
She stirred her coffee for a moment. “What if there’s a new queen?”
I stopped moving, my knife held mid-slather. “Huh?”
“Come on. You can’t expect Oriana to be around forever. I mean, these Elementals drop like flies, so even if she doesn’t randomly kill herself with a feather duster, someone will probably kill her. Then we’ll all have to pledge to the new ruler.”
“Maybe, but—”
“And what about the one after that?” Sadie continued, her voice going shrill. “And the one after that? This is a bloody, freaky, germy mess!”
“It is,” I agreed. “And if you don’t participate in that mess, Oriana’s going to name us all traitors. All of us, even Micah.”
Sadie’s lower lip trembled, and her head drooped. “Crap.”
I stood and patted her shoulder. “Micah bought us some time, but only a day or two. Just think about it, okay?”
She nodded, and I left her to her thoughts. Little did Sadie know that if I had to I’d knock her out and carry her to the Gold Court on my back in order to fix this mess. I loved my sister, but there was no way I was going to let Micah and our entire family be branded traitors.
12
My head was spinning.
After I left Sadie mulling over her admittedly bad options—either get germy and pledge to the queen or be labeled a traitor—I went for a walk, hoping to sort out my thoughts. Unfortunately, the fresh air wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped.
As I walked, I put those thoughts aside and considered my father’s recent revelation. When Dad first told me about his missing memories, I’d been alternating between relief—since he really did still love Mom, despite constantly wandering away from her—to dread, wondering how we could fill in the gaps. Along with a fair bit of anger. I mean, I knew Dad was fighting a war and all, but why did he have to sacrifice his memories to power a spell? Why memories of us? He didn’t have any others he could have let go, like how to drive stick or pilot a helicopter?