Chapter 38 #2
Footsteps approached, quick and eager. The door flew open and Allegra stood there, vibrantly alive, color in her cheeks and a glow about her that had nearly been snuffed out.
The sight of her sister's health should have filled Briar with joy.
Instead, she felt nothing. A hollow acknowledgement that the bargain had worked.
"Oh my God, finally!" Allegra practically shrieked, throwing her arms around Briar. "Mom said you went on some last-minute trip but that's so not like you and you didn't even text and—" She pulled back, eyes narrowing. "You didn't bring me anything."
"What?"
"From your trip. Two weeks and you didn't bring me back anything? Not even like, airport chocolate?"
Briar stared at her sister. Airport chocolate. As if she'd been to Europe or Vegas or somewhere that sold souvenirs instead of bleeding on ancient stones while magic tore through her body.
"I... forgot."
"You forgot." Allegra stepped back, arms crossed. "You disappear for two weeks without saying goodbye, don’t even call. Mom acts all weird and secretive about where you went, and you just forgot to bring me something?"
Their mother appeared in the hallway behind Allegra, and the temperature seemed to drop. She looked older, grayer, but her eyes were sharp and alert and afraid.
"Briar." Not a greeting, but a statement. An assessment.
"Mom."
"Allegra, why don't you go put the kettle on? Your sister probably wants tea."
"She probably wants to explain where she's been," Allegra muttered, but she headed toward the kitchen.
The moment she was gone, their mother stepped forward, voice dropping to a whisper. "What happened? How are you here?"
"He let me go."
"Let you go?" Her mother's eyes darted toward the door, as if expecting to see fae warriors stalking down the suburban street. "Or did you escape? Are they going to come looking for you?"
Briar fought the urge to frown. Not 'are you okay?' Not 'I'm so glad you're safe.' Just immediate fear about what Briar's presence might bring. If she had ever doubted her mother's priorities, they were devastatingly clear now.
"He doesn't remember me," Briar said at last, fighting to keep her voice even. "The bargain is complete. Allegra is healed. I'm free to go."
"He doesn't—how is that possible?"
"Does it matter?"
Her mother's hand went to her throat, a nervous gesture Briar recognized from childhood. "If he doesn't remember the bargain, will it hold? Will Allegra stay healthy?"
Of course. Even now, the only concern was whether Allegra would stay healed. Not what it had cost Briar. Not what she'd endured.
"Magic doesn't require memory," Briar said, repeating Síocháin's words. "The bargain stands."
Relief flooded her mother's face, followed immediately by suspicion. "Then why would he let you go? What aren't you telling me?"
"Mom!" Allegra called from the kitchen. "The kettle's whistling!"
They moved to the kitchen, the familiar space feeling like a stage set and she didn’t know the part she was meant to play.
The white cabinets and cheerful yellow walls belonged to a different life.
Briar sat at the table where she'd eaten thousands of meals, her hands flat on the surface, trying to ground herself.
Allegra poured tea, chattering about her classes, her friends, how she’d joined theatre club and would Briar come to her first performance. "It’s Peter Pan, I’m playing Wendy," she said.
“I’ll try,” Briar replied, unwilling to make any more promises she wouldn’t be able to keep.
"So where did you go?" Allegra asked, sliding a mug toward Briar. "Mom just said you needed to take a trip."
Briar looked at their mother. "That's what you told her? That I went on a trip? What were you planning to say when I never came back?"
Allegra's eyes widened, looking between them.
"What do you mean, never came back?"
"Nothing," their mother said quickly. "Briar's being dramatic."
Briar gripped her mug so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
"I was going to cross that bridge when I came to it," June continued, not looking at either daughter. "I didn't expect... I thought..."
"You believed I was gone forever." Briar's voice was hollow. "You made peace with that. Were you going to tell her I died or that I just abandoned you both?"
"Okay, what is happening right now?" Allegra set down her mug hard enough to slosh tea. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," their mother said again, but her hands were shaking. "Briar just... had some difficulties. While she was gone."
Difficulties. Briar almost laughed. She'd been marked by thorns, hunted through forests, kissed by someone who forgot her entirely, watched someone die in her arms. Difficulties.
“What really happened, Bri? You look terrible," Allegra said, studying Briar's face. "Have you been eating? You've lost weight."
“I'm fine.”
“You're not fine. You're being weird. More weird than usual.”
“Allegra,” their mother warned.
“What? She disappears for two weeks, comes back looking like a ghost, and you're both talking in code about never coming back and bridges and—” She stopped, frustration clear on her face. “Why won't anyone ever tell me anything? You guys always do this! I’m not a baby anymore.”
Their mother looked away. Briar couldn't find words that would make sense. How did she explain the truth when the truth sounded like an impossible lie?
“Is this about money?” Allegra asked suddenly. “Because of my hospital stuff?”
The guess was so far from the truth but so close to the heart of it that Briar almost laughed. Yes, it had been about the medical bills, in a way. About the cost of keeping Allegra alive.
“It's complicated,” Briar said softly.
“You always say that.” Allegra's bottom lip jutted out in a pout, a childhood habit she hadn't quite outgrown. “Everything's always complicated and I'm always too young to understand.”
Briar looked at her sister, healthy, alive, oblivious, and then at her mother, guilty, frightened, already calculating dangers. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, too full of everything she couldn't explain and they wouldn't understand.
“I’m moving out,” she said.
Both of them stared.
“What?” Allegra asked.
“I need my own space. Time to figure things out.”
"Figure what out? You just got back from wherever—" Allegra started to protest.
"I just—I can't be here." The words came out harder than intended.
"Briar," her mother started, reaching across the table.
Briar pulled back. The gesture was small but her mother's hand froze midair, then slowly withdrew.
"Is this because of where you went?" her mother asked carefully. "Did something happen that might bring... trouble?"
There it was again. The fear. Not for Briar but of her and what she might bring to their doorstep.
"No trouble," Briar said, standing. The chair scraped against linoleum, too loud. "I'm not a danger to you. I'm just... I'm done."
“Done?” Allegra stood too. "Done with what? With us?"
“With being the one who fixes everything." The words tumbled out before Briar could stop them. "With being the one who handles it, who takes care of it, who pays the price.”
"What price? Bri, you're scaring me."
She was scaring herself. The emotions were still too raw, too visible. She needed to leave before she said something that couldn't be taken back. Before she screamed that Allegra's miracle cure had cost everything, that their mother had traded her away like currency.
"I'll get my things later," she said, moving toward the door.
"You can't just leave!" Allegra followed her. The hurt and confusion in her sister’s voice gave Briar pause. "You just got home!"
She took a deep breath, hand resting on the door knob. "I’m sorry, Ally-cat. This isn't home anymore."
"So you're abandoning us," her mother said quietly. June hadn't moved from the table, her hands wrapped around her tea mug like it might protect her. "After everything."
After everything. After years of sacrifice. After working multiple jobs to help cover costs when June had been unable to work her own job. After giving up college, her youth, her dreams. After being traded to a fae lord and forgotten entirely.
What more did her mother want?
"I saved her," Briar said, hand tightening on the door handle. "The debt is paid. Whatever happens now, you'll have to handle yourselves."
She left before they could respond, closing the door on Allegra's confused protests and her mother's calculating silence. She walked toward her car, keys already in her hand, needing to leave before she broke completely.
"Bri, wait!"
Footsteps slapped on concrete behind her. Before Briar could turn, Allegra crashed into her, thin arms wrapping around her waist from behind.
"Don't go," Allegra said into her back, voice muffled by Briar's coat. "I don't understand what's happening but please don't go."
Briar's composure cracked. She turned in her sister's arms and hugged her properly, tightly, the way she had when Allegra was small and crawled into her bed at night because she was scared of thunderstorms. The memory made Briar's chest ache.
"I love you," Allegra said, voice muffled against shoulder. "Whatever's wrong, whatever happened on your trip or wherever you really went, I love you. You're my sister and I love you."
The tears came then, hot and sudden. Briar held her sister tighter, memorizing this, the simple pure love of a child who didn't understand and loved anyway.
"I love you too," Briar whispered into Allegra's hair. "So much. More than you'll ever know."
"Then why are you leaving?"
"Because I need to figure some things out. Adult things. Complicated things."
"I hate when you say that."
"I know." Briar pulled back enough to see Allegra's face, those bright eyes that held no trace of illness now. "But this isn't about you, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong. I just…this is about me needing space. It doesn't mean I don't love you."
"Will you visit?"
"Of course."
"Promise?"