Memory Box

MEMORY BOX

A spen ushers me into the chamber and past pews stuffed full of observers.

At the front, facing the benches, twelve stern faces peer down at me from an elevated, polished wooden podium. I spot Mel’s moms on the far right, and Granny Hutchen flanked by two severe-looking older women who must be the rest of the Northern Trinity. The other faces are unfamiliar, their eyes boring into me with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

Off to the side, Esme and Zane occupy a smaller table set in front of the observers, nervous energy rising from them. Ros sits with them, on the side closest to me, and he reaches up to brush his fingers over mine as I pass .

Sliding into the pew behind him, Owen leans forward to whisper into Ros’s ear, and both men look at me. I frown back suspiciously. I know when my mates are talking about me.

Gael slides in next to his brothers on a pew on the opposite side of the aisle.

Aspen directs me to stand in front of the tribunal.

Granny Hutchen leans forward. “State your name for the record.”

Lifting my chin, I announce, “Rowena Agatha Branning Wendall Rothaven Hartford Shultz Haut.”

The silence that follows is deafening, thick with shock and incredulity.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I see Owen’s lips twitch.

He leans toward Ros again and stage-whispers, “Should I be happier that I’m first among the new additions or that Haut is last?”

Ros’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. “At least you’re not stuffed in the middle.”

“Hold up,” Owen hisses back. “Tris isn’t even in there!”

“Pretty sure he said he’s taking Rowe’s name,” Ros retorts under his breath.

Owen’s eyebrows shoot up. “What, all of them? ”

A few of the observers chuckle, and I fight the urge to glare at my mates, but a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

The tribunal regards us with a mix of disapproval and bewilderment, thrown by the discussion.

Granny Hutchen’s voice cuts through the murmurs, silencing the room. “Are any of those last names legally registered?”

I face her without flinching. “To be honest, I’m not even sure if I’m legally registered. Never seen my birth certificate.”

The witches exchange glances, some puzzled, others disapproving.

Granny Hutchen purses her lips, the lines around her mouth deepening. “Very well. From this point forward, you shall be addressed as Rowena Rothaven.”

“But—”

Aspen’s hand on my arm stops me. His icy-blue eyes flash a warning, and I bite my tongue, swallowing the objection.

Granny Hutchen leans forward, her hands clasped on the table before her. “It has been suggested, Ms. Rothaven, that you can corroborate the claim that the accused, Esme Holloway, did not share an eternal spark with Calix Draven. Is this true?”

I nod, my voice steady. “Yes, it is.”

“How long have you known Esme Holloway?” Granny Hutchen’s sharp tone shows her skepticism.

“Three weeks,” I say, feeling the weight of the tribunal’s collective attention.

Granny Hutchen’s brow furrows. “Did you know Calix Draven?”

I shake my head. “I never met him directly.”

Behind me, a woman shouts. “This is ridiculous! Why are we even giving this girl floor time? This trial has dragged on long enough!”

Turning, I spot an older woman, her face twisted with fury. Wild, raven hair frames her face, and self-righteous grief turns her gray eyes stormy.

Mirella Draven. Mother of Calix Draven. Funny that she carries the namesake of the Hutchen witch who wanted so badly to kill a mother and daughter for revenge. History really does repeat itself.

The air around her crackles with a familiar dark energy, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “You’re the dog owner.”

Turning back to the tribunal, I thrust my arm into the air .

Granny Hutchen frowns, but Mel’s mom, Bramble, stifles a smile. “Yes, Rowe?”

“For clarification, if Zane had died because of a bite from a council dog sent after him and Esme by Mirella Draven, would she be on trial for murder?”

Mirella sputters, her face reddening. “That’s preposterous! My dogs were not poisonous. They were merely a tool to find my son’s killer.”

“A tool that inflicts wounds that won’t heal, which would lead to infection, then death,” I counter. “Sounds like a pretty convenient loophole to me.”

The room falls silent, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. I can feel the eyes of every witch upon me, some curious, others calculating.

“Mirella is not the one on trial here,” Granny Hutchen reminds me, her voice firm.

Hawthorne, another of Mel’s moms, speaks up, her tone laced with steel. “Not yet, anyway. She will be, though, for creating those abominations without the council’s approval. Unless the Western Trinity was left out of the vote to release war dogs on a single witch and her vampire mate?”

Heads shake, and hard stares turn on the Northern Trinity.

Granny Hutchen faces straight ahead. “Mirella will be dealt with as a separate case. For now, we will hear what Ms. Rothaven has to say only in regard to the death of Calix Draven.”

I face the tribunal. “I may have only known Esme for a short time, but I’ve seen the truth of her heart. I can say with absolute certainty she did not share an eternal spark with Calix Draven.”

I turn back to Mirella, meeting her self-righteous stare. “Calix Draven was a monster. He abused and manipulated Esme from the time she was a child , twisting her love and trust into something dark and poisonous. And when she finally found the strength to break free, with Zane’s help, he tried to kill her.”

Mirella’s face contorts with rage. “How dare you sully the name of my son! You know nothing of our ways. You weren’t even licensed as a witch until four days ago!”

“I may not know all your traditions, but I know right from wrong.” My hands curl into fists. “What Calix did to Esme was evil.”

I turn back to the tribunal, my gaze sweeping over the assembled witches. “Esme acted in self-defense. She should not be punished for protecting herself from a man who would have killed her before letting her go.”

Granny Hutchen leans forward, her expression hard. “Self-defense must be proven first. We cannot take your word for events you were not even present for. A witch is dead by another witch’s hand.”

Crow, the third of Mel’s moms, leans forward, her face alight with curiosity. “Is there a reason you thought we would take your testimony into account? You admit to having only recently met Esme and not knowing Calix at all.”

“No,” I correct. “I said I didn’t meet him directly .”

She cocks her head to the side like a bird spotting something interesting. “Expound on that, please.”

“As I said, I’ve seen the truth of Esme’s heart.” I step forward, meeting Esme’s tear-filled eyes. “With your permission, I will share the knowledge with the tribunal.”

“Now hold on a minute.” Granny Hutchen’s beady gaze narrows on me. “Explain yourself. How is this different from what you’ve already told the tribunal?”

I lift one shoulder. “Honestly, I struggle to explain my process. I’m more of a show-than-tell kind of witch.”

A ripple goes through the gathered crowd.

Granny Hutchen opens her mouth to shoot down my demonstration, but then Gael rises from his seat among the observers.

“If I may?” He steps forward. “I have firsthand experience with Rowe’s unique technique. It really is more of a performance piece. Easier to grasp in action.”

Granny protests, but one of the other Trinity witches, a wizened old man with a long white beard, raises a liver-spotted hand. “I’d like to see it. Let the girl show us what she’s got.”

A chorus of “ayes” rings out from the other Trinity members, with only the Northerners remaining silent.

I shoot Gael a grateful look. He may have done us dirty, but he’s earning his way back into my good graces.

I turn back to Esme, reaching for her hand. Her fingers tremble within mine, but she takes a breath and nods. In her expression, I read fear and shame, but also a fierce, bright hope.

“I’ll block you as best I can.” I squeeze Esme’s hand, hoping I can keep that promise. I have no desire to force her to relive her trauma.

Releasing her, I take Gael’s outstretched hand, and his magic thrums against my palm, hot and electric .

When I turn to Aspen, though, my old mentor steps back, hands raised. “Whoa there. Every time you touch me, you threaten to fry my brain. I’m not at your level, and you know it.”

“Don’t be such a baby.” I wiggle my fingers at him. “I need your link to Mel.”

From her seat above us, Crow leans forward, her brow furrowed. “What does our daughter have to do with this little spell of yours?”

I tip my head back to look up at her. “I need a link to share what I know.”

I’m totally winging this based on a theory that falls in line with teleportation and Rowena’s ghostly memory locked to this place, so I seriously hope it works.

“Gael connects me to the Hutchen clan.” I raise our linked hands. “But I’m not sure there’s a strong enough link among the Trinities without a second focus point.”

Aspen shifts on his feet, torn between his loyalty to me and his fear of having his mind scrambled by my power.

“Ah.” Crow’s expression clears, and she rises. “Then I will stand as your second link.”

Crow drifts down from the podium and crosses the floor to stop in front of Aspen. “We would not want to make our daughter sad by allowing her fiancé to be damaged.”

Aspen flushes. “My appreciation.”

She pats his arm before she strides over and slips her hand into her pocket and withdraws a silver coin, glowing with magic.

“Here, you will need this token in order to access your magic.” She stares hard at me. “Otherwise, the wards around the fortress would stop you.”

“Oh, right. Silly me to forget.” I take the coin and drop it into my pocket before holding out my hand.

Lips quirked with amusement, she takes it without hesitation, the metal of her rings cool against my skin. Her magic surges against mine, immense ethereal power rising from her.

She dips her head in a nod, close to respect. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I take a deep breath, open myself to their magics, then dive deeper, seeking the threads of connection they have to those in the courtroom. Crow provides the link to the Trinities I had hoped for, but in Gael, I find a treasure trove linking to everyone in the courtroom.

They’re all residents of the Northern Fortress, people he grew up with or who watched him grow. The threads are thin, but more than enough for what I need.

I light all the threads, strengthening the links, then dip into my memory and open the box in my mind labeled “Esme’s Suffering” and let the memories pour out. Every raw and bleeding moment of her suffering under Calix’s control.

The memories rise like a tidal wave, and crash down through the links, sweeping everyone along. No longer in the courtroom, I trap them in Esme’s memories, reliving her darkest moments.

Calix’s hands on her skin, his breath hot against her neck. “Don’t cry, Esme. This is what it’s like for an apprentice to serve her master.”

Pain lances through Esme as Calix’s magic tears into her, a twisted punishment for daring to defy him. “You’re mine,” he snarls, all pretense of affection gone. “You’ll never leave me.”

The flare of pain from a broken arm, a fractured rib. The fear of being locked in the dark. Of starving.

The moment she first met Zane, the first pure thing in her life, an unbreakable thread linking their hearts.

Them running. Their hope that they escaped. The belief they could set up a home for their growing family. The life in Esme’s stomach.

Calix finding Esme alone. Trapping her.

The tight constraint around her throat. The desperation.

The choice that brought us here.

Zane’s return home, finding Esme injured but alive, another moment of purity in the darkness.

I latch onto that thread, using it to pull myself back to the present. Back to the courtroom, where Esme sits tall, her eternal spark still the brightest part of her life.

Behind her, horrified faces and tear-streaked cheeks fill the pews.

“That’s only a fraction of what she endured,” I say, my voice raw with shared pain. “Calix tried to break her, but he failed. And when he realized she would never stop trying to escape, he did his best to kill her.”

I meet the eyes of each member of the tribunal, daring them to deny the truth laid bare before them. “Esme acted in self-defense against a monster. She deserves freedom, not punishment. The only thing Zane is guilty of is protecting his mate.”

In the charged silence that follows, the weight of my words settles over the room. The Trinities exchange loaded glances, their faces inscrutable masks.

Into the stunned silence, Granny Hutchen clears her throat. “Thank you for your… illuminating demonstration, Ms. Rothaven.” Her carefully neutral voice gives nothing away. “We will take this new evidence into consideration as we deliberate.”

Too drained to muster a proper response, I nod.

Crow squeezes my fingers before she releases them to join the others.

As the Trinity files out, Esme rushes over and throws her arms around me, her slender frame shaking with sobs.

“Thank you,” she whispers brokenly. “Thank you for believing in me.”

“Always.” I hug her back. “You’re family.”

Over her shoulder, Zane mouths a silent “thank you,” his face lined with gratitude and relief.

I just hope it’s enough to sway the Trinity.