A HENRY STORY 1: Memories Of The Fallen Prince

XV. Student

The colony had gone to sleep hours ago, but there was light streaming out under the curtain to Teslas' workshop. Both his lantern and the notebook tremored in Henry's clammy hands; he pulled the cape he had thrown around himself tighter, then knocked on the stone next to the curtain.

Quicker than he had anticipated, the curtain was shoved open, and he faced Teslas. "So you did take it," he said, unsurprised, then stepped back to let him in. His tool belt hung crookedly; he looked as tired as Henry felt.

Immediately after dinner, Henry had retreated to his bedroom and immersed himself in the stained pages of the booklet. It had been the name on its front that had drawn him in, and the conversation with Lovelace had made him nearly certain, but the notebook had finally delivered the undeniable confirmation of his suspicion.

He stopped in front of Teslas' table and held his gaze for a moment, then raised the notebook and read the handwritten signature aloud. "Princess Victoria, she was my—"

"—mother." Teslas nodded.

"She was also your teacher," Henry said. "Your teacher, whom you have to thank for all of this." He spread his arms, gesturing around the workshop.

Teslas hesitated. "That . . . is true," he said eventually. "You did not know about me, did you?"

Henry shook his head, tossing the notebook onto the table next to where Gorger's tooth now stood, held up by a type of small rack. Pencil markings dotted the light material. He would have asked about it, but he had no energy. He felt empty and drained. Like now that he had finally caught up with the answers he had chased, they had sunken their teeth into him and sucked him dry.

"I was eight when my parents were killed," he said curtly. "I barely remember her face." Sometimes Henry wondered if it was for the best that he didn't remember much. The more he remembered, the more he could miss.

"I know. I'm sorry," Teslas said, picking up the notebook pensively. "I smelled that it was you immediately. Your scent is similar to hers in a way I could have never overlooked. I thought I was having a stroke when you walked in here. Only then did I remember that she had children . . . two of them, no? A younger daughter and an older son. A son of the name—"

"—Henry," he said curtly. "You remembered that?"

"I did." Teslas laughed awkwardly. "I admit, it took me a few hours to check that chest, but I cannot say I was surprised when I found the book missing."

"Well, at least now I know what she was doing all this time." Henry bit down on his lip as soon as the words slipped out. He stared at the notebook, and his mind forced him back to all the nights he had lain in bed, knowing his mother wouldn't come, to making up stories and excuses that he could tell Nerissa when she woke up crying after one of her visions.

"I cannot say I blame her," Henry said. "It must've been so much more fun."

Why had he even taken the notebook? He stared at it in disgust. He could have just abandoned his search for answers and continued to tell himself the pretty lies.

Instantly, he cursed himself for the thought. Such a mindset was pathetic. Only weaklings ran from the truth, and he would not do it for a moment longer.

"Either way." He picked up the notebook; it contained all of his mother's and Teslas' inventions: concept sketches alongside full essays on new ideas and theories. "Here." He shoved it toward the nibbler. "It is yours, no?"

"Wait."

Henry didn't look him in the eyes, but Teslas made no attempt to take the notebook. He shoved Henry's hand back. "Wait, wait . . . I believe you misunderstood something. Henry," he said emphatically, "your mother did not prefer me over you or your family. She loved you greatly; I know that."