The Memory Puller (The Memory Puller Series Book 1)
The Memory Puller: Epilogue

Cassandra pulled at the neckline of her plum muslin dress, the only piece of actual clothing she’d brought with her when she left the Temple a week ago.

She’d also gathered her training attire and jewel-toned underthings, but had left her naughty memory stash and her dress robes—a symbolic farewell to the life she’d left behind.

“Stop pulling at that,” Tristan murmured out of the side of his mouth as the two ascended the white marble staircase of the Secretariat. “You look fine.”

“Fine is the absolute worst word you could have just used,” she whispered back, trying not to draw attention to herself among the humans and Fae milling about the stairs and checker-patterned courtyard.

Tristan rolled his eyes. “You look stunning. The most gorgeous creature on the planet. The Vicereine is going to fall to her knees and beg forgiveness for not offering you this job years ago.”

Cassandra smacked him but couldn’t help her responding chuckle. “Not much better, Birdman.”

“Seriously, Cass, you look lovely, don’t worry about it. If you’re anxious about what you’re wearing, we’ll go shopping this week. Get you something to wear besides training attire and a day dress, okay?”

She blew out a breath and smoothed her hair. “Okay,” she answered as he pulled open the heavy wooden door and led her into the foyer.

Tristan had kept his word from the night of their first kiss, had given her a place to stay and not at the barracks. He owned a charming bungalow on the outskirts of Dienses Square, nestled on a peaceful street not far from the Fang and Claw. The clean, quiet neighborhood was filled with Fae, mostly mid-level officials. It lacked the filth of the slums and the pretension of Heronswood; she was already growing to adore it.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on what hour she was considering it—the house had multiple bedrooms, and Tristan had given her one all to herself. There had been no further discussions of the agreement they’d made before Xenia and Cael were taken. And though her chastity vow was no longer a barrier between them, the play sessions seemed so frivolous, just a selfish distraction. Could they have saved their friends if Tristan hadn’t decided to prioritize Cassandra’s safety? She’d been trying to shake off the guilt for days.

Anyway, their new living arrangement threw the whole thing into chaos. Leaving the order was a big enough change to deal with. She thought it safer for her heart and her sanity to remain friends and nothing more. No kissing, no touching, no exploring. Not that those practical decisions had stopped her from wanting all of that whenever she was around him. Which was now every second of every day.

They had made little progress in their search for Xenia and Cael. The only clue to Maksym’s whereabouts, Cora’s scrambled memory of the real necklace’s location, had yet to provide a single helpful hint. The memory was a disorienting jumble of half-formed scenes, jumping between multiple time periods. Cassandra had viewed it a hundred times since Isidora had handed it over and still couldn’t interpret it.

Tristan suggested they might make headway in the search if they had more resources at their disposal. It was why they’d come to the Secretariat today, to discuss the case with the Vicereine and to convince her to assign more Vestian Guards to help. And to give Cassandra a role as a human consultant, despite the danger that the Vicereine might learn Cassandra’s secret.

Cassandra had told Tristan about the magic in her blood, that she would never lose her memory-pulling abilities. He merely smiled, called her an all-powerful badass, and promised to protect her. She nearly swooned.

Once inside the Vicereine’s stark, glossy office, Cassandra found herself perched on a white leather chair, sitting on her hands to stop herself from tugging at her neckline.

As they awaited the Vicereine, Cassandra’s thoughts drifted back to the Temple, to the families that continued to risk obliviation as their only means of survival. It was the longest she’d ever gone without having another family in her scope, and the worry was a gaping wound in her stomach, acidic and searing. She told herself that replaceing the necklace and rescuing Xenia and Cael had to be her priority, that many more families would suffer if Maksym and Richelle carried out their plans. She clung to that justification; she had to or else she wouldn’t be able to function.

A stunning blond female with glittering golden wings strode through the office doors.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the Vicereine said in a low, throaty voice that suggested she was anything but.

As the Vicereine sank into her chair, her unnerving pale-blue eyes devoured Cassandra, glancing between her and Tristan as if trying to determine the nature of their relationship.

Tristan cleared his throat and ruffled his wings. “Your Excellence, allow me to introduce Cassandra Fortin, the former Shrouded Sister who helped us solve the case of her Sisters’ disappearances.”

“Former?” the Vicereine said, a wicked smile forming on her perfectly lined red lips.

Cassandra looked at Tristan, who nodded, letting her know it was safe to speak to the female before her who exuded raw power, centuries and centuries of it.

“Yes, Your Excellence,” Cassandra answered, bowing her head. “I’ve left the order, as I believe my skills could be of better use outside the Temple.”

“And what skills are those, mortal beauty?” The Vicereine’s eyes glistened with some emotion that Cassandra couldn’t quite grasp, and Tristan stiffened beside her, on edge based on how the Vicereine had addressed her.

“Despite having left the order, I will still be capable of pulling and viewing memories for a few weeks,” Cassandra answered, as vaguely as possible.

“A valuable skill, indeed,” the Vicereine answered, grinning savagely.

“The memories that Cassandra pulled for us were instrumental in solving the case,” Tristan cut in. “Plus, she’s pretty handy with a dagger.” He winked at Cassandra, and the Vicereine’s expression shuttered, becoming something so ice-cold it burned.

“That case hasn’t been solved, Officer Saros,” the Vicereine spat. “Last I checked, your partner and another Shrouded Sister are still missing, and our enemies remain at large.”

“You’re absolutely right, Your Excellence,” Tristan backpedaled. “Which is why we need Mistress Fortin’s help.” He signaled for Cassandra to continue.

“Vicereine Lykan, the Shrouded Sister who was captured is my former roommate and—”

She was about to say best friend, but that didn’t seem to encompass the depth of feelings the two women shared.

“She’s extremely important to me. I would do anything to rescue her and help thwart the Empire’s enemies in the process.” She said the last with only a hint of distaste that she hoped wasn’t noticeable. No matter how fiercely her soul protested, she would prostrate herself before the Vicereine, the Empire, risk her own safety for the chance to get Xenia back.

“I’m so pleased to hear you say that,” the Vicereine purred, her blood-red lips curving into a feral smile. “I know someone else who will be just as pleased.”

The Vicereine rose from her seat and signaled for Tristan and Cassandra to do the same.

The wall behind the golden-winged Windrider dissolved as iridescent black feathers parted to reveal a stone-faced male who bore a striking resemblance to Tristan.

He approached the Vicereine, extending a long-fingered hand topped with a massive onyx ring. The Vicereine bowed and touched her lips to the sigil of the Empire etched upon it. “Emperor Erabis, welcome to the colonies.”

Cassandra shot to her feet, disbelief coursing through her. Was she really about to meet the Emperor? Curse this plain dress.

She glanced over at Tristan, who remained seated, his features frozen into a mask of the deepest terror.

“Get up,” she murmured.

Her voice drew him from his stupor, his caramel eyes filled with agony. Yet he forced his muscles to obey as he dragged himself out of his chair.

Cassandra studied the Emperor, cataloging the similarities and differences between him and Tristan. The Emperor’s face was sharper, crueler, his hazel eyes a cooler shade than Tristan’s warm brown ones. But the height, the muscle mass, and those beautiful, iridescent black wings were the mirror image of her friend’s.

The Emperor gave the Vicereine a curt nod before throwing an assessing glance at Cassandra. A scowl of pure disgust appeared on his face.

Not a fan of humans, she guessed.

The male turned to Tristan, fluttering his wings in some kind of greeting. Tristan echoed the movement as if it were instinct, as if unable to control it.

The two males stared at each other, Tristan’s expression boiling and murderous, the Emperor’s imperious, cold, and calm—like the darkest hour of night.

“I see you’ve been well,” the Emperor intoned.

“Brother.”