Close Remembrance (The Krinar Chronicles 3)

“He refuses to talk to us,” Alir told Korum as they walked toward the other side of the guardians’ building. “He says he will only talk to you.”

“Will he now?” Korum said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “And what gives him the impression he’s in a position to make demands?”

Alir shrugged. “I don’t know. But he seems convinced that you will be interested in hearing what he has to say. He says it has to do with Mia.”

Korum’s hands clenched into fists at the mention of his charl. The fact that Saret dared bring up her name –

“The report for the Elders is ready,” Alir said, changing the topic. “Would you like to review it?”

“Yes,” Korum said. “Send it to me. I’ll run it by the Council.”

Alir nodded. “Will do.”

They had reached their destination, and Alir stopped before going in. “Do you want me there?”

“No.” Korum was certain of that. “I want to speak to him alone.”

“Then he’s all yours.” Turning around, Alir walked back, leaving Korum on his own.

Korum waited until the leader of the guardians was gone, and then he took a step forward, toward the wall that shielded his enemy from his view. The wall dissolved, forming an entrance, and he stepped inside.

Saret was sitting on a float, a crime-collar around his throat. Korum smiled at the sight. He remembered having an argument with Saret about the collars a few hundred years ago, with his former friend trying to convince him that the collars were demeaning and unnecessary. Korum had disagreed, believing that the shame of the crime-collar was part of the deterrent for would-be criminals.

It was good to see Saret wearing one now, particularly in light of his views about it.

“I see you’re out of your disguise now,” Korum observed, studying his enemy’s familiar features. “Miscalculated a bit, did you?”

Saret gave him a cold smile. “Apparently. I underestimated how much Loris hated you. If I had known he would try to prolong the process of killing you, I would’ve shot you twice.”

“Live and learn,” Korum said. “Isn’t that what humans say?”

“Indeed.” Saret’s eyes gleamed with something dark.

Korum gave him a mocking look and sat down on another float, stretching out his legs in a gesture of disrespect. “You wanted to talk to me,” he said coolly. “So talk.”

“All right,” Saret said. “I will. How is Mia doing, by the way? She seemed a bit upset yesterday.”

Korum felt a surge of anger, but kept his expression calm, amused. “She was. But she’s happy now, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Of course she is,” Saret said. “And adjusting so well to life here, isn’t she? It’s almost as if she didn’t lose her memory fully, wouldn’t you say? It’s like she still knows you on some level, maybe even loves you. And she’s so accepting of everything. Nothing fazes her for long. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Korum froze for a second, a chill running down his spine. The only way Saret could know that would be –

“Yes,” Saret said. “I see you’re on the right track. I miscalculated again, you see. Mia was supposed to end up with me, not you.”

“What did you do to her?” Korum said quietly, the fine hair on the back of his neck rising.

Saret laughed. “Nothing too awful, believe me. I merely made sure she would be receptive. She’s still herself . . . mostly.”

“What did you do?” Without even realizing what he was doing, Korum found himself out of his seat, his hand wrapped around Saret’s throat.

Saret made a choking sound, his hand tugging at Korum’s fingers, and Korum forced himself to release him, taking a step back. He was shaking with rage, and he knew he would kill Saret if he didn’t put some distance between them.

“It’s called softening,” Saret said, rubbing his throat. His voice was raspy from Korum partially crushing his trachea. “It’s a new procedure I developed specifically for humans. A softened mind doesn’t feel fear as sharply. It’s also more open to new impressions, new ideas.” Saret paused dramatically. “New attachments. In fact, such a mind seeks something – or, rather, someone – to attach to.”

Korum stared at Saret, ice spreading through his veins.

“And that someone can be anyone, you see. It should’ve been me – but instead, it was you.”