Page 56 of The Never List
Forget me?
“Rylee?” There’s an edge of concern in Kal’s voice, and I blink a few times, remembering where I am and who I’m supposed to be. He reaches out to touch my shoulder. “Do you like this one?”
“I do,” I say, doing my best to hide the trembling in my fingers.
Erin used to do something like this in the Ashlands, sneaking around at night and dodging the enforcers so she could splash little bits of paint here and there on different buildings. There was always a buzzing whenever anyone saw a new painting of hers, but then we were all quickly forced to wash them away. The enforcers never allowed such little intrigues to happen freely.
When did she do this painting? Had she gone out of her way to stop here before heading to the royal city last year before the Choosing? Ivy and Layce never mentioned taking the time to do that.
“Do you know how long this has been here?” I ask, hoping he thinks it’s mere curiosity.
Kal scans the massive building, noting all the different illustrations, the variety of painters laying claim to a blank space and making it their own. He points at the cat, his eyes reflective. “This one…I believe is relatively new?” He says it as if he’s not entirely sure. “From here to there,” he says, pointing from the cat to a few feet down, where there are other random paintings, “I would say all happened in the last six months or so.” He says more confidently, “I came to the art district around that time when the Ruby Aire Players were performing a fairy tale. I made this walk, and a great deal of this was still blank.”
My heart races in my chest and my legs tremble. Six months ago. Could he be right? Or could his memory be faulty? It would be easy enough to not recall the exact time this was done. But if he’s right…
That means Erin was right here in the Ruby Aire within the last six months. She was alive then. Tears gather in the backs of my eyes. The relief morphs into something else, and my body tenses.
She was here, finding leisure time to paint, while I sat grief-stricken in the Ashlands, wondering what happened to her.
Anger and desperation and grief strike me so hard, I’m sure they’ll bring me to my knees. I reach for Kal’s arm, as much for stability as for comfort. My entire world feels as if it’s crumbling around me, more questions and uncertainties threatening to swallow me whole.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, ripping my eyes away from the painting that’s mocking me. Mocking my grief. Mocking the tears I’ve shed over Erin.
Maybe she really did meet somebody and run awaywithout a second glance back. Maybe I didn’t know my sister at all.
No, that can’t be right. I shove away the irrational anger, forcing myself to breathe.
Forget me.
Erin knew me better than that. Knew that if I did happen upon this painting, I wouldn’t just acceptforget me.And she certainly wouldn’t want me to forget her if she was out there living her best life. Which means…
She wants me to forget her because she’s in danger or in some kind of trouble she doesn’t want me involved in.
Or it’s nothing like that, and she painted the cat and titled itforget meas some sort of apology for the fact that she hadn’t been around to feed the cat in months. I had, and whenever I couldn’t, one of the children from a family living next door took care of it for me, knowing I’d bring them back whatever treats I’d been able to steal during my outings across borders. Damn, I’d owe the kid a mountain by the time I got back to the Ashlands…ifI ever got back.
Ugh. Too many possibilities. But one thing is certain: she’s not overseas. Or wasn’t, in the last six months.
It doesn’t change things. Doesn’t change the fact that I want to find her. Only now I feel more like throttling her than hugging her for making my mind spin like this with worry.
Kal and I continue our walk, and his eyes light up as we near a pillared building with a set of grand stairs. “Would you like to see the library?”
“I would love to,” I say, nothing but honesty in my words. “You said there is a gallery with local artists there?”
“There is,” he says, smiling down at me.
I love books, though I doubt I’d be able to appreciate them right now. My mind keeps wandering to my sister, even as we ascend the stairs and enter the building.
I need to see that local artist gallery. Need to see if Erin left anything in there, too. Maybe it’ll give me another hint or some kind of answer to soothe my racing mind. The only thing I can cling to is the fact that Erin might be alive. Alive and well enough to paint. I should take more joy in that, more comfort, but I find myself confused and agitated at the uncertainty more than anything.
I’m in awe as we cross the polished marble floors, arching my neck to look up andup. Dozens of levels wrap around the building in a spiral, each set of stairs offering a new floor with new possibilities and stories to escape into. The place is drenched in the smell of parchment and leather and the hint of coffee brewing somewhere nearby. It’s a comforting smell, and my heart expands.
There are numerous people in here, some searching the stacks, others scribbling on parchment in little alcoves with tables and mugs of coffee. I glance over my shoulder, holding back my groan of irritation at the Occuli who followed us inside. They’re so out of place with their green flames in a space that contains mostly parchment.
“Your Highness.” A young man approaches us, bending low at the waist, a tome in his hand.
“Earl Marcus. How are you?”
“Very well, thank you. Might I beg a minute of your time? I’ve been researching the strain of plants we discussed weeks ago, and I found some riveting answers.”
