Chapter 25 #2
“At first, when I was really little, it was fine. I had my parents, and they weren’t the typical Rollins robots.
They actually cared for me, though they didn’t let it show when we were in view of other family members.
When we were alone, though, I knew my parents loved me.
But after they were killed because they wouldn’t agree to the really dark direction Jeremiah was taking the family in, everything got a lot worse for me.
That’s when I became a prisoner.” She gulped, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat as memories of that time came back to choke her.
“Children were pawns to be played in the family as a whole. Once they discovered I had a lot of power in reserve that I couldn’t access, I became a valuable chess piece, and they fought for control of me until Jeremiah stepped in and took over.
I was raised with his family, but even his own children were only seen but not heard until they proved their worth. ”
She remembered the long dining table at Jeremiah’s estate.
The carved high-back chairs and the hush that fell when elders spoke.
“Even at family dinners, we sat in order of usefulness. Little ones who showed promise sat closer to the Patriarch at meals. Those he judged weak were given the coldest spots, and the leftovers. There were ceremonies where some earned gifts, and tests where children were presented and told to accomplish particular feats of magic. If you failed to produce the magic they wanted, you were banished until you could be useful.”
Gavin’s arm tightened around her. “They presented their children like livestock,” he said, his voice flat. “Like property.”
“Exactly.” Marigold’s throat worked. “And if you dared to want something that wasn’t on the ledger—like a friend, or a bedtime story instead of instruction—you were corrected.
Not always with overt violence. Sometimes, it was more effective to let you feel the isolation.
The stares. The way adults would pretend you were ornamental and then call on you like a tool whenever they wanted a trick. ”
She remembered one cold night when a cousin had been praised for a flame trick, and all the elders had clapped and made notes.
Her parents, summoned, were praised for producing that child.
Then they had been awarded something small for their obedience.
Her chest cramped at how transactional even the pretense of love within the Rollins family had felt.
“How did you survive it?” Gavin asked softly. “How did you keep yourself from breaking?”
She thought of the small things that had brought her peace. A patch of sun on a stone ledge, a loose shutter to pry open for a glimpse of sky. Little things that had meant so much at the time.
“You learn to be invisible and to listen,” she said. “You learn to watch the movements of people’s hands and the tone of their voices, to know when a reprimand will come. You hide the things you love like contraband.”
“And Robert and Rowan?” Gavin pressed. He needed details because he would be the one to build safeguards, to consider patterns and likely moves. “You said they hid their power. How do you think they managed to do that for so long? They had to have started the ruse when they were kids, right?”
Marigold traced the seam of the blanket with a fingertip, searching for the right words.
“They had to be very careful, I’m sure. It’s a bit more obvious now, looking back.
The few times I saw them when they were teens, Robert would do just enough to impress the Patriarch—an incantation here, a show of magical finesse there—but he never performed in a way that made anyone think he was exceptional in any way.
He’d make a small mistake on purpose sometimes, let a lesser cousin outshine him in a game so no one would suspect.
Rowan has always had a patient face. I think she and her twin were playing the long game.
Once I caught her murmuring a quiet counter-ward in the corner when the Patriarch’s courtiers performed something dangerous, and no one else noticed.
People often didn’t notice her, and I think she tried to blend into the scenery on purpose. ”
Marigold pictured Robert’s precise hands, the way he folded a napkin with military neatness, and Rowan’s cool eyes watching everything from the corners.
She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t put it all together before, though after they’d been kind to her, she had suspected there was more to the twins than she’d thought.
“So, the twins let Jeremiah believe he was in control because that was the only way to ensure their own freedom within the confines of the family?”
Marigold nodded. “I think so. They let him think he held all the cards. And they probably did just enough to keep Jeremiah satisfied and blind to the secrets they withheld. It’s the oldest sort of rebellion.
They did what they could to survive within the system so they could dismantle it from within.
” She felt heat in her cheeks at the thought of how much risk they must have taken, and how many times a misstep could have cost them everything.
Gavin pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’m glad they spared you. I don’t think I could willingly work with anyone who hurt you.”
“They were actually kind to me in small ways that nobody else saw.” She let the memories of her time in their home move through her, telling Gavin about Rowan slipping a warmed pastry to her when she’d been given a cold plate, and small instances of Robert’s kindness.
“None of it was what I’d call love, but it was a different kind treatment than I’d been given in a family that had no room for kindness after my parents died. ”
Gavin’s expression tightened. “They were risking a lot to spare you.”
“True, but our situations were different. Robert and Rowan could mask what power they had. For me, there was no way to hide my power. And my parents—” Her breath hitched. “My parents paid for their defiance in the most brutal way.”
“They didn’t deserve it,” he said, no argument in it, pure conviction. “Nor did you.”
She let the truth of his words wash over her, letting the man beside her infuse her heart with his innate goodness.
They lay together for a long time, talking in low voices about anything and everything.
She told him about the patched doll her mother had given her that she’d kept hidden in her room at Jeremiah’s house.
It had been her only treasure and her only link to the past. She wanted to retrieve that doll someday, if Robert and Rowan would allow it.
At last exhaustion folded over them both.
Gavin’s breathing slowed to the steady thrum she’d come to find so comforting.
She closed her eyes, feeling the steady press of his chest beneath her ear, the rhythm anchoring her.
Outside, night settled over their corner of the world.
Inside, the future, messy and terrifying and bright, waited for them, and she no longer had to face it alone.
Marigold’s eyelids grew heavy, her body finally loosening into the warmth of Gavin’s embrace. He held her hand even in sleep, their fingers laced together as if to remind her she would never be alone again.