The Grand Duke's Memories Are in My Hands

My mother's coffin was empty. Recorders leave no bodies. An immortal loses every memory once a century. The House of Linde holds those hundred years in trust and hands them back before the Forgetting arrives. With her mother four days dead, twenty-four-year-old Nea Linde is the last Recorder alive on the continent. On the night of the funeral, six of them come to settle who will hold their next hundred years. And in the oldest account in the vault, three hundred years deep, three years have been cut out. Not torn. Cut, with a silver needle. Only a Recorder can do that. There have been two Recorders in thirty years, and one of them is Nea. "Three years of your memory are missing, Your Grace.""I know. I asked for it two hundred years ago. Never give it back.""...Why?""I do not know. It was erased so that I would not." Withhold it and in eleven months he becomes a monster carrying three centuries. Return it and whatever her mother died hiding comes open. "I will restore it. On one condition. I decide the order." A slow, cold court fantasy about memory as a debt, told in twelve fragments.