Chapter 59 Strangers in the Palace
The child who looked like my daughter would not let me touch her.
Three days. Three days of trying. Of explaining. Of showing her room after room of evidence that she lived here. That we were her parents. That this was home.
She believed none of it.
"My mother had brown hair," she said. Fourth time I tried to explain. "And she was human. And she died three years ago. You are not her."
"I know your memories say that. But something happened. Something changed you. Made you forget." I sat across from her. Careful distance. Not crowding. "What is the last thing you remember? Before waking up here?"
She was quiet. Thinking. "I was in the orphanage. In Graymoor. Mistress Hallen was teaching us letters. Then—nothing. Then I woke up here. In this palace. With strangers claiming to be my parents."
"What orphanage? What city?" Kael asked. He had been researching. Trying to find where these false memories came from.
"Graymoor. The eastern city. I have lived there since mother died. Since the fire took her." Nyx's voice was small. Lost. "I want to go back. To my friends. To Mistress Hallen. To home."
"This is your home," I said. Gentle. Desperate. "I know you do not remember. But you are my daughter. Nyx Draeven. You are ten years old. You have time magic. You—"
"I am seven. I have no magic. And my name is Nyx Thorne. Not Draeven." She stood. "I am not your daughter. Stop saying I am."
She ran. To the chambers we gave her. Locked the door. We heard crying through the wood.
"We are losing her," I said. "Every day she is more certain we are lying. More determined to leave."
"Then we let her leave." Kael's voice was hollow. "We send someone to Graymoor. Check the orphanage. See if her memories are real or invented."
"And if they are real? If she really did live there? If we are the false memory?"
"Then we have a bigger problem. Then the ritual did not just reset her. It created an entirely different timeline. An entirely different life." He looked at me. "We might not be her parents anymore. Not in any way that matters."
"No. I refuse to accept that. She is my daughter. The ritual changed her but did not erase her." I stood. "I am going to Graymoor. I am finding this orphanage. I am getting answers."
"We go together. We do not split up. Not now."
We left the next morning. Brought Nyx with us. She refused to stay in the palace. Said she would run the moment we left. Probably true.
The ride to Graymoor took two days. Nyx spent them avoiding us. Talking to guards. To servants. To anyone who was not us.
"She hates us," I said. Second night. After Nyx had gone to sleep in a separate tent.
"She fears us. There is a difference." Kael stared at the fire. "We are powerful. Strange. Claiming to be her family when her memories say otherwise. Of course she is afraid."
"I want my daughter back. The one who laughed. Who asked impossible questions. Who walked through time like it was nothing." My voice broke. "I want her to look at me with love instead of terror."
"So do I. But wanting does not make it happen." He pulled me close. "We find the orphanage. We find the truth. Then we figure out how to move forward."
Graymoor looked different than I remembered. Smaller. Poorer. The war had hit the eastern provinces hard. Many buildings still showed damage. Burn marks. Collapsed walls. Ghosts of violence.
"There." Nyx pointed. Excited. "That is it. That is the orphanage."
A small building. Grey stone. Narrow windows. Children playing in the yard. A woman watching them. Middle-aged. Kind face. Tired eyes.
"Mistress Hallen!" Nyx ran toward her. "Mistress Hallen, I am back!"
The woman turned. Saw Nyx. Her face went white.
"No. No you—you died. You died in the fire. You cannot be here. You cannot be real." Hallen backed away. "What are you? What trick is this?"
"I am not dead. I am here. I am real." Nyx stopped. Confused. Hurt. "I did not die. I just woke up somewhere else. In the palace. With—with people who claim to be my parents."
"The palace? With—" Hallen looked at us. Recognition dawned. Horror. "The Blood King. The Shadow Queen. You took her. You took our Nyx and did something to her. Made her into something else."
"We did not take her," I said. "She is our daughter. Always has been. The orphanage is the false memory. The ritual created it."
"You are lying. Nyx was ours. She came to us three years ago after her mother died. She lived here. Learned here. Was happy here." Hallen moved to stand between us and Nyx. "I do not know what you did to her. But you will not take her again."
"Again?" Kael's voice was sharp. "What do you mean again?"
"You came six months ago. Took her. Said she was needed at the palace. For testing. For—something. We never saw her again." Hallen's hands shook. "Then two months later, news came. She died. Killed in some ritual. Some sacrifice. We mourned her. Buried an empty coffin. And now she stands here alive and you act like we are the liars?"
"That is not what happened," I said. "She has been with us for—"
But had she? I stopped. Thought. The timeline did not match. Nyx was born four hundred days ago. Not seven years. Not three years in an orphanage.
Unless the ritual had not just reset her. Unless it had created an entirely new past. Inserted memories into reality itself. Made the orphanage real. Made Mistress Hallen's memories real. Made everything real except what we remembered.
"Grandmother," I called. She had followed at a distance. "Is this possible? Can the ritual rewrite history? Create a past that never existed?"
"Yes. If the power was strong enough. If the sacrifice was complete enough." Grandmother Arianna appeared. Studied Nyx. Studied Hallen. "The ritual unmade Nyx. To do that, it had to unmake her existence. Create a different life to fill the gap. This orphanage. These memories. This past. It is all real because the ritual made it real."
"Then which is true? Her life with us or her life here?" Kael demanded.
"Both. Neither. The ritual split reality. Created two timelines. In one, she is your daughter. In the other, she is an orphan. We are standing in the overlap. The space where both exist simultaneously."
"That is impossible."
"You watched your daughter trade herself to break a curse. You absorbed that curse into yourself. Nothing is impossible anymore." Grandmother looked at Nyx. "The question is not which past is real. The question is which future she chooses.
Which life she wants.
Where she belongs."