“Am I not me right now?”

She shifted, one ear flicking as she laid her chin on the floor. Brown, baleful eyes looked up at me. “You are you again, but it takes time. I feel like it takes longer each time.”

I uncorked the flask and regarded the milky liquid in the bottom. I didn’t relish the sweet, coppery taste, but I wasn’t sure how else to get the information I needed. My father had kept copious notes, but they didn’t address all of my questions. Each glimpse into his past gave me glimpses into my own past.

The windows were shut tight against the storm, but I could still hear the howling winds. “Be patient with me, Thrana,” I said.

“Always.”

I sat on the bed and lifted the flask to my lips.

Another wave hit the side of the boat, sending more liquid than I’d anticipated down my throat. I tried to cough, but then the room and all sensation vanished.

I was back in my father’s body – a younger one again, without the creaking bones and subtle aches. I stood in a darkened hallway, a lamp held high in my hand. I could smell sandalwood oil each time I moved, clinging to the fabric of my clothes.

The lamp illuminated a door.

I knew this door, and not just as Shiyen – as myself. The library. Judging by the height from which I regarded this, I was Shiyen full-grown. My keys lay heavy around the chain at my neck. Why stand here with a lamp? Why not enter?

Through his eyes, I saw a thin bar of light from beneath the door, heard a soft creak.

Someone was behind the door. Someone who was not Shiyen.

I looked at my hands again. Not liver-spotted. Could it be an earlier version of Bayan beyond that door? Of myself? Footsteps sounded close to the door, and I covered the lamp with my robe, sending the hallway into darkness.

The door cracked open, the thin bar of light growing wider. A face peeked out from behind the crack – a face I would always know as my own. But there were slight and subtle differences.

Not my face. Nisong’s.

She crept out of the door, shut it quietly and pulled a key from her sash pocket to lock it.

And I, as Shiyen, unveiled the lamp. “No need. I can take care of that part. That is my key, after all.”

Nisong leapt back so abruptly that she dropped her lamp. “Dione’s balls!” She knelt as the oil spilled out, lifting it before the floor could catch aflame. She did not shrink back, though by her back-planted foot, I could tell she wanted to. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my palace,” Shiyen’s deep voice rumbled from my throat. “I walk it as I please. When I please.”

Nisong lifted her chin. “It’s my palace too.”