“No. Don’t worry about me.”
She didn’t believe him. She could tell he didn’t feel well on most days, and the thought was painful to her. “What if I went with you to the doctor, Forest?”
“And what are we going to tell them? How am I to explain how I lived with such mortal wounds? How I was healed when I should be dead?”
Iris glanced away, to hide the sheen in her eyes.
Forest fell silent, his face flushing as if he felt guilty for his short temper. Softly, he whispered, “Look at me, Little Flower.”
She did, biting the inside of her cheek.
“I know you’re thinking about Roman,” he said, changing the topic so abruptly that it startled her. “I know you’re worried about him. But chances are that Dacre has him very close right now. Healing his wounds, stripping away all connections he once had. Connections like Roman’s family, his life in Oath, the things he once dreamt of. You, even. Anything that would interfere with his service and entice him to escape like I did.”
Iris blinked. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, looking at Forest’s neck. He still wore their mother’s golden locket. The tangible thing that had given him the strength to slip from Dacre’s clutches.
“Are you saying that Kitt won’t remember me?”
“Yes.”
Iris felt her stomach wind into a knot. It hurt to breathe, and she rubbed her collarbone. “I don’t think he would forget.”
“Listen to me,” Forest said, leaning across the table. “I know more than you about this. I know—”
“So you like to remind me!” she cried, unable to stop herself. “You tell me you know more, and yet you hardly tell me a thing. You give me bits and pieces, and if you would just be forthright with me—if you would tell me the entire story—then maybe I could understand!”
Her brother was silent, but he held her gaze. Iris’s anger was like a flare, short-lived and bright for only a second. She hated this; she hated being at odds with him. She sank back into her chair as if the wind had been knocked from her.
“I don’t want you to return to the front,” Forest finally said. “It’s too dangerous. And there’s nothing you can do for Roman but remain safe yourself, as he would want. He won’t remember you, at least not for a good long while.” He crumpled the newspaper around the scraps of his sandwich. The conversation was over, and he rose to toss his dinner in the dustbin.
Iris watched as he retreated to their mother’s old room, which he had taken for his own since they had returned home. He didn’t slam the door, but the sound of it closing jarred her.
She wrapped up the remainder of her sandwich and set it in the icebox before returning to her room. She looked at the typewriter sitting on the floor, just as she had left it, with paper curling from the platen. A half-inked letter addressed to Roman in its clutches.
Iris didn’t know why she was writing to him. This typewriter was ordinary; the magical link between her and Roman was broken. But she pulled the paper free and folded it. She slipped it under her wardrobe door and waited a few breaths.
When she opened the closet, it was just as she expected. Her letter was still there, sitting on the shadowed floor.
* * *
Sometime deep into the night, Iris was woken by the sound of music.
She sat up in bed with a shiver, listening. The song was faint but incandescent, a crescendo of notes played on a lone violin. Light flickered beneath her bedroom door, eating at the darkness, and there was the faint scent of smoke. It all felt strangely familiar, like she had lived this moment before, and she slipped from her bed, coaxed from her room by the music and that hint of comfort.
To her shock, she found her mother in the living room.
Aster sat on the couch wrapped in her favorite purple coat, her bare feet propped on the coffee table. A cigarette burned between her fingers and her head was angled back, eyes closed. Her lashes were dark against her pale face, but she looked at peace as she listened.
Iris swallowed hard. Her voice was ragged when she spoke.
“Mum?”
Aster’s eyes fluttered open. Through the curl of smoke, she met Iris’s gaze and smiled.
“Hi, sweetheart. Do you want to join me?”
Iris nodded and sat beside her mother on the couch, her mind full of fog and confusion. There was something she needed to remember, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. She must have been frowning, because Aster took her hand.
“Don’t think too hard, Iris,” she said. “Just listen to the instrument.”