Stolen Crowns

The rooftops of Valdris had been Kira's home since she was old enough to climb. She knew every loose tile, every gap between buildings, every shadow deep enough to hide a girl who needed to disappear.

But the hunters pursuing her knew the rooftops too.

Three of them, moving with the coordinated precision of Guild-trained operatives. Not the Royal Guard—they would have announced themselves, made a show of the chase. These hunters moved in silence, which meant they were Memory Merchants. The Guild had sent its own to clean up this mess.

Kira leaped across a gap that would have given her pause yesterday. The king's memory burned in her mind, lending her a desperate energy. She had to survive long enough to make sense of what she'd seen.

Lord Castellan Vorn. The king's oldest friend. His trusted advisor. His murderer.

The memory played on repeat: Vorn's face twisted with regret as he drove the blade home. "I'm sorry, Aldric. But the kingdom needs a stronger hand than yours."

A crossbow bolt hissed past her ear, embedding itself in a chimney pot.

Kira dropped through a skylight into an abandoned textile mill, rolling to absorb the impact. The machinery here had been silent for years, its workers moved to newer facilities outside the city walls. Perfect for someone who needed to vanish.

"Kira of the Silk Road Guild."

She froze. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, echoing off the dusty looms and rusted gears.

"We know you have the king's memory. We know what you saw. The question is: what do you intend to do with such dangerous knowledge?"

A figure materialized from the shadows—an old woman in the gray robes of a senior Memory Merchant. Her eyes were clouded with cataracts, but Kira knew better than to think her blind. Those who dealt too long in others' memories eventually lost their own sight, trading vision for insight.

"I just want out," Kira said carefully. "Passage from the city. I'll never speak of what I saw."

The old woman laughed, a dry sound like pages turning. "You don't understand, child. The memory you carry isn't simply information. It's alive. It will grow inside you, consuming your own memories to sustain itself. Within a week, you won't remember your own name. Within a month, you'll be nothing but a vessel for a dead king's final thoughts."

Kira felt cold. "Then take it out. You're Memory Merchants—that's what you do."

"That memory was sealed with royal blood and royal will. Only royal blood can extract it." The old woman stepped closer, and Kira saw something like pity in her sightless eyes. "Lord Vorn knows this. He's already sent riders to the borderlands, where the king's illegitimate children hide. Once he has one of them, he'll use their blood to remove the memory from you—and then he'll have the only evidence of his crime."

"So I'm bait."

"You're leverage. And you're running out of time. The memory is already integrating with your consciousness. I can see it in the way you move—you're favoring your right side now, just as King Aldric did after the hunting accident in his twentieth year."

Kira noticed she was indeed leaning slightly right. She forced herself to straighten.

"What do you suggest I do?"

The old woman smiled. "Find the king's daughter before Vorn does. She's the only one who can remove the memory safely. And she's the only one with a legitimate claim to the throne strong enough to challenge the Lord Castellan."

"Where is she?"

"If I knew that, child, do you think we would be having this conversation?"

Above them, the skylight shattered inward. The hunters had found her.

Kira ran, and the dead king's memories ran with her.