“You don’t need my help, then?”
“I don’t. I swear.”
And I didn’t. Not now.
If he’d come to me a day before, my answer probably would’ve been different. I would’ve said yes. I would’ve run. But he couldn’t give me what Casteel could. Ian. And I couldn’t walk away now, knowing that I could help change things for the people of Solis. The freedom Alastir offered wasn’t the kind I needed.
Alastir sighed, and I could tell that he thought I was making a foolish choice. Maybe that meant he didn’t believe Casteel. It could mean he felt bad for me because he believed me. I didn’t know.
“If you ever change your mind,” he said, his eyes sad, “you only need to tell me. Can you promise me that?”
I really felt like crying now. “I can promise that.”
“Good.” He smiled, and I…
I didn’t even know what I was doing until I sprang forward and threw my arms around Alastir. I hugged him. The gesture stunned the man. For a moment, he didn’t move, but then he put his arms around me.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, pulling away. My face was hot.
He smiled then, one that crinkled the skin at the corners of his eyes. “You never need to apologize for a hug, Penellaphe. It’s been far too long since I’ve had one, to be honest. Neither Casteel nor Kieran is the hugging type.”
I laughed hoarsely. “I think if I tried to hug Kieran, he’d pass out.”
“Most likely. Well, I think I know all that I need to,” he said, yet he still sounded sad. I thought the emotion was either for his daughter, for Casteel, or even possibly for me. “I should probably get you back to the Prince.”
I started to turn but stopped. I didn’t know when we’d get a chance to speak privately again. “May I ask you something?” When Alastir nodded, I said, “You used to help move Atlantians or their descendants from Solis?”
“I did.”
“I was thinking about my parents—about why they left the capital. It’s possible that they knew what the Ascended planned or learned that they were descendants themselves. At least one of them. Were there others who did what you did?”
“There were others. Not many. And sadly, most never returned home.” He stroked his chin with his thumb. “We assume they were captured, so there aren’t many you could speak with.”
I hadn’t even dared to hope that there was anyone I could talk to. “I was just wondering if it was possible for my parents to have known that someone like you existed.”
“Of course, it was. The King and Queen knew that we were actively searching for our people,” he confirmed. “It’s possible one of your parents learned of us from an Ascended.” His head cocked. “So, you think that is what happened?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, running a hand over where the knife was sheathed to my thigh. “I don’t remember much about the night I was attacked, but I do remember that my father was quieter than usual during the trip. So was my mother. They seemed nervous instead of excited about starting a new life in a quieter place. And I…I think my father met with someone. I vaguely remember there being another person there.”
“But your memories aren’t clear enough.” When I shook my head, he said, “That’s fairly common after such a trauma.”
It was. Or so I’d been told.
“After the war, many survivors claimed to have forgotten entire battles they fought. The emotions and the scars were still there, but the details were nothing but shadows,” he explained. “The same with Casteel. He remembers very little of his time in captivity.”
That wasn’t true. He remembered it all, or at least enough to not have to search the shadows for details, but I didn’t say that. I was surprised that he’d shared enough for me to know that he remembered and had not told Alastir.
“I have dreams. Sometimes they reveal a little more. Like opening a chest and letting more of the night out. But I don’t know if those memories are real or not. The new ones, that is,” I said. “Anyway, I don’t know if it matters. I just want to know.”
“Wanting to know is understandable. I understand.” His features tightened for a moment, and then they smoothed out. “Most of those who knew to look for us used false last names. What were your parents’ first names?”
I exhaled heavily. “Coralena and Leopold. Cora and Leo,” I said, staring at the lamp, trying to remember what my father looked like. The memories of him had faded. “That’s what they called each other.”