Sneaking into Celeste’s room in the middle of the night was nowhere near as challenging as when she used to leave the castle to visit Lucas.
Even though she could practically cast the invisibility spell in her sleep, she dared not use the magical enhancement for her secret visits with her grandmother. She knew she would need all of her strength once she got there.
No one in the castle would question her late-night visits to her grandmother’s room, though she knew Latimer would eventually grow suspicious at the frequency of minor ailments that sent her off to bed early.
When she was seated beside her grandmother once more, Selena opened up to the last pages of the spell book. The usual doubts assaulted her. Did the Mastermage and High Masters know what she was up to? What would Latimer do if he caught her breaking one of the Restrictions of Magic?
Was it evil to read Celeste’s thoughts?
In the end, concern for her grandmother trumped any guilt. She had already passed the point of no return. As she spoke the Divine Tongue, she concentrated on her own memories, recalling some of her earliest impressions of Celeste and the room they occupied.
The initial disorientation faded quickly. She knew where she was and whose perceptions she was experiencing—though such knowledge could not prepare her for the shock of looking into the eyes of her younger self.
For a long moment, Selena could not hear the words that were exchanged between Celeste and her grandchildren. She recognized the younger versions of Evelyn, Riley, and the twins, but her own doppelganger mystified her. She simply could not believe she was ever that small.
Six-year-old Selena sat quietly at the foot of her grandmother’s bed, listening intently to what eighteen-year-old Selena recognized as the tale of Sinner the Saint. It likely was not the first time her younger self had heard it, but the little girl seemed as transfixed by the story as adult Selena was of her.
She had the impulsive desire to ask her younger self something, but then realized she could do no such thing. She was visiting a memory and nothing more. To travel through time would mean breaking another Restriction altogether.
Soon Selena the spell-caster was as caught up in Celeste’s yarn as everyone else in the room. The story was coming to its climax—Sinner the Saint was leading his rebel army to the capital, where his alter-ego, King Jarlen, had prepared an ambush—when young Selena interrupted the narrative with a question.
“Why did the king not spring the trap before now?” the girl asked in a high, squeaky voice. “Why wait until the army was on his doorstep?”
In Selena’s mind, she saw her grandmother smile.
“Who cares?” demanded one of the twins, who sat on a stool beside the bed. “Just let her tell about the battle!”
“Yeah,” the other twin agreed, “this is the best part.”
Selena waited for the girl in the red pigtails to make a retort or at least shoot them a dirty look, but she just waited patiently for her grandmother’s answer. Celeste closed the book, marking her place with her thumb, which drew a groan from the twins. Evelyn went on biting her nails, as though neither ancient history nor present events much mattered to her.
“Oh,” Selena heard her grandmother say, “I suppose King Jarlen had his reasons. He might have wanted the rebels’ hope to inflate beyond measure before bursting their bubble. Or perhaps he wanted everyone at the capital to witness his victory against those who dared challenge his authority.”
That seemed to satisfy young Selena. Celeste went on to read of the clash between Jarlen’s warriors and the insurgents. Barclay and Lucian were bouncing in their seats, and she knew the two of them would wage mock battles on their way to their bedroom later.
Selena took advantage of the times Celeste looked up from the book to examine her younger self’s reactions. This was her least favorite part of the story. King Jarlen—disguised as Sinner the Saint—fought his way into the castle, killing loyal subjects to make his pretext complete. The Selena of twelve years later understood that Jarlen’s sacrifice of a dozen lives was worth the tens of thousands he was saving.
Young Selena could not yet get her mind around the concept.
“But Sinner the Saint really is King Jarlen?” that foreign, high-pitched voice asked. “And the king is only pretending to be a villain?”
Before Celeste could answer, the twins began to shush her. But it was Riley who spoke next.
“You already know how the story ends, Lena. Be quiet and listen!”
“Mind your manners, Riley,” Celeste commanded in a tone that was firm yet kind. The little boy looked rebuked, and without answering Selena’s question, she continued with the story.
Out of the corner of her eye—of Celeste’s eye—there was a flurry of movement, followed by a yelp. Her grandmother looked up in time to see Riley fall off the bed. Young Selena was on her knees, poised at the edge, looking down at her brother.
“Selena!”
Her younger self flinched. “It was not my fault,” she wined. “Riley hit me first.”
“Did not!” Riley, who was standing now, looked to be on the verge of tears. “She hit me, so I hit her back. And then…and then…”
Riley began to sniffle. Selena had forgotten how much of a crybaby her brother had been. But now she remembered quailing under the disapproving stare of their grandmother. She remembered worrying that Celeste would not like her anymore.
“He is lying!” young Selena insisted.
“That is enough.” Celeste closed the book. “It is time for you all to go to your own beds. Go on! Yes, you too, Selena. Come here, Riley. You are not hurt, but let me give you a hug.”
Selena watched the children leave. The youngest of them peeked back around the doorframe for a moment and then disappeared. For several minutes, Celeste embraced Riley, muttering comforting words to the weepy boy.
Selena the adult was no longer paying attention to what transpired. Her own memory contained pieces of this episode. She remembered leaving her grandmother’s room, fuming at the injustice of it all. She vividly recalled Riley hitting her first, and yet, walking in Celeste’s memory, she had seen in her peripheral vision young Selena strike first.
Whose memory was accurate? she wondered.
Selena felt the enchantment begin to waver. Instead of fighting it, she mentally eased herself out of the memory. When she was once more sitting in the pitch-black room, her only company the raspy breaths of her grandmother, Selena slumped against the back of her chair.
She knew she ought to return to her own bedroom, lest she fall asleep gripping incriminating evidence in Celeste’s room, but she could not bring herself to rise. In the grand scheme of things, it mattered not one whit whether she had smacked Riley first or vice versa. It was ancient history after all.
Yet Selena could not help but wonder how many of her other memories were discolored by bias. Had she told the lie about Riley hitting her so often that she had begun to believe the lie herself? Or had Celeste’s own memory been corrupted by presumption?
Pulling herself up from the chair, Selena bid her grandmother goodnight and crept back to her bedroom.
She should have been feeling victorious. After all, she had successfully picked which time and place to visit inside Celeste’s mind. The next step would be to concentrate on more immediate events. Specifically, Selena wanted to investigate the night her grandmother had fallen while wandering the castle at night.
A part of me is happy, Selena thought later, lying in bed with her blanket pulled up to her neck. But she did not like the idea that her memories were anything but the most objective records of her past. If her mind was selectively altering events from the past, then could not her perceptions be doing the same thing with her present?
And if one could not trust oneself, then what hope was there?