72. Rosalina #2
A half sob, half laugh erupts out of her throat. She whips her head to look at me, and I jerk back against the chair, her gaze withering. “That’s great, Rosalina, really great you’ve got your whole happy family at Castletree. You keep on playing princess and leave me out of it, okay?”
“You can’t stay here,” I whisper.
“Why not?” She stands and paces to the back of the kitchen, slamming her hands on the counter. “’Cause this is your precious little home, and I’ll only infect it? Is that it? I can’t even have your dregs?”
“No.” I stand. “Because your place is with your family.”
“I don’t have a family,” she spits. “What don’t you understand about that?”
“Caspian’s your brother—”
Her lips pull back like a cat in a hiss. “He’s not my real brother. And he jumped ship as soon as he could to be with you.”
“Kairyn… He’s your mate—”
“Argh!” She claws at her chest. “It’s not real! It’s just stupid star stuff! It’s not real! I ruined his life enough already. I’d tear the thing out of me if I could.”
My heart is pounding now. I need to get through to her, need her to understand she is part of all this. “But Mom and Papa are at—”
Wrenley glares at me like I’m a bag of trash. “I don’t have a mother who made a bargain to protect me. And I never got a dad.”
“He wants to get to know you.”
“It’s too late.” She turns her back to me. I watch as her shoulders heave with each word. “Can you possibly understand how badly I wanted a father? All those nights when Sira forced me to sleep in a pool of cold water or struck my face because she didn’t like my eyes?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“I made a dad up in my head. Talked to him even.” A choked laugh escapes her.
“His name was George. How did I know that? Did Sira let it slip? Or maybe Cas did. But in my imagination, he was good as a king, brave as a hero. I’d picture him fighting down to the Below, rescuing me.
But he never came. Why?” She looks over my shoulder at me, and in the gray light, it’s striking how much she resembles him.
“Because he was with you. Being your dad. Being your hero.”
A sad laugh escapes me. “George was no hero. He was gone more often than he was home, and even when he was here, he was lost in a grief-fog. Everything, everything, was about our mother. I couldn’t count on him to remember my birthday let alone to feed me on the regular.
No, I didn’t grow up in the dark like you, Wrenley, but I still grew up alone. ”
“You’re not alone now. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Like you’re every star in the damned sky.”
“We’ve both changed. I had to learn to forgive him. And he had to learn to forgive himself. But I still carry it, that feeling I had as a kid. Why wasn’t I enough?”
She scoffs, sharp and bitter.
“I mean it,” I say and take a step forward.
“You should have had summers swimming in the lake and drying off in the sun. I shouldn’t have had to forge my own permission slips or tuck myself into bed each night.
And we both should have had a sister to grow up with.
To tease and laugh with and love more than anything. ”
“You’re delusional.”
“It’s not too late,” I say softly. “Not for me. Not for George.”
She spins, face contorting with pain. “It’s too late for me!”
“It doesn’t have to be this way.” I take a step toward her, reaching out my hand. “Please, Wrenley, there are people who care for you.”
She makes a sobbing sound and buckles over, hugging herself. “How can you stomach it? I couldn’t stomach it…”
“What?”
“Giving all those people so many ways to hurt you.”
I stare at her, a crumpled piece of paper of a girl. “It’s called love, Wrenley.”
Tears flow rampant down her face now, but she grits her teeth like a wild animal. “You must be sick with it.”
“It makes me strong.” I take a step toward her. “And there are so many people who love you.”
“No!”
“Caspian.” I take a step. “Kairyn.” I take another step. “Mom and Papa.” I lift her chin to look at me. “And me. You’re my little sister, Wrenley. I love you.”
“You don’t know me!” she shrieks, smacking my hand away.
She staggers backward to the very end of the kitchen, now pinned in by the cupboards, wall, and fridge.
Her eyes dart wildly, as if looking for a way to escape, before finding mine once more.
Her pupils blow. “And if you did, you wouldn’t. I’m horrible and hateful—”
“And I wish I could go back in time and steal you away from whoever made you believe those things,” I say.
“But I can’t. So I’ll tell you what I see.
Someone who is strong and passionate and still fighting to stay alive.
Someone with my mother’s smile and my father’s eyes.
And I bet you have my sense of humor, because Caspian tells me you’re funny as hell, and you know what?
So am I.” I’ve never had to be this brave.
But I fight for my family, so I will fight for her.
“Let me get to know all the other parts of you. Please, I promise I’ll keep them safe. ”
A beat of silence. Then Wrenley lets out a wail, throws open the cupboard, snatches out my SUPPORT LOCAL LIbrARIES mug, and hurls it at the wall by my head. It wasn’t meant to hit me, but the glass shatters loud enough to make me jump.
I take a deep breath. Close my eyes and choke back the tears. When I open them, she is curled in a ball in the corner of the kitchen, clawing at her shoulders.
“Go away,” she says, a whisper and a sob. “Please.”
So I do.
I walk out the door, down the street, and back to the rosebush. Stroking the soft petals of her prismatic roses, my own bloom entwined: gold and black, briars weaving together.
“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here,” I whisper. “I’ll never stop fighting for you.”