“I never said that,” she reminded him. “I said that since the Älvolk aren’t blocking this particular memory, it shouldn’t be difficult or painful recovering it.”

When Sunniva had gotten here, she’d told us about the conversation she’d had with Eliana. Eliana was telling Sunniva all about how we were sisters but neither of us could remember our parents.

“For different reasons, obviously,” Eliana had elaborated. “Mine because the Älvolk messed with my mind so my memories are all bappers. But Ulla’s is because she was only a baby when she was taken away.”

As soon as Eliana said that, Sunniva explained, she’d had another of her auditory precognitions. The fire and rumbling and me shouting her name was only one of them.

“I think I’m supposed to help you remember your mom,” Sunniva had finally told us. “I know you can’t remember being a baby, but your brain was still there, recording everything. It’s hidden away by natural barriers, your mind’s own processes, and that is much, much easier to circumvent than the Älvolk’s magick.”

That’s how I ended up on the bed with Sunniva, with Pan pacing apprehensively. The process was different this time, because Sunniva wasn’t using her abilities to repair the damage the Älvolk had done, but rather to make a connection between latent memories and my conscious mind.

She put her index fingers on my temples and stared down at me. Her black hair was pulled into a thick braid, and her dark eyes were framed by long lashes. Multiple pairs of sparkling earrings were in her ears, and I stared at them instead of meeting her intense gaze.

“Stop that,” Sunniva commanded.

“What?” I asked.

“Averting your gaze. I need to look into your eyes.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, and looked up at her.

“Should I run a cold bath?” Pan asked.

“You can do whatever you want as long as you stay quiet, okay, buddy?” Sunniva asked, not bothering to mask her annoyance at all.

“Sorry,” he said sulkily, and I heard him sit back in the chair, while I stared up at Sunniva the way she commanded.

Her eyes were nearly black, with inky lines spiraling through her irises. And as she looked at me, I swear they started to move. Pulsing subtly but hypnotically, and it was like a black ocean rushing for me.

Then I was gasping. My throat felt raw from crying. The darkness around me finally broke with a painfully bright light, but all the shapes were blurry. Then a blob of amber came toward me, breaking up the monotony of gray.

“Shh,” a woman’s voice cooed, and instinctively, I knew it was her. My mother.

Her face came into view, and she was close enough I could see her more clearly, though she still had a warped quality to her, like I was looking through a foggy pool up at her.