Chapter 7
I spent the next day at the university, helping Gareth and his team prepare for their journey north.
Their equipment—strange gadgets and sensors with clockwork pieces that whirred and buzzed—required protection from the barrage of wayfaring magic that would transport us to Rosewarren by greenway.
I told them everything I could about the route, as well as what to expect upon arriving at Rosewarren.
The priory was closer to the Mist than any of them had ever been, and they would need to be on the lookout for curious Roses and erratic Mist-touched magic alike.
They needed to know everything: the layout of Rosewarren, our schedules, the procedure when the breach bells rang, and what would happen if a breach opened on the priory grounds.
I grew increasingly agitated the longer I spoke with them.
It wasn’t their fault; they were bursting with eager questions, every one of them thoughtful.
But all day I’d been glancing out the windows at the dark northern horizon, where storms endlessly churned now that the Mist was in constant turmoil.
What were my sisters in the Order doing?
What new disasters had they faced in my absence?
The questions tore at me with quiet persistence.
I hadn’t been away from Rosewarren for so many consecutive hours in ages.
The distance made me itch. Memories of flying sparks, ashen girls, and the nymph child’s corpse in my arms kept tugging at the corners of my mind.
It was worse when I had the rare moment to myself. What had the Warden said?
This is what happens when you stop moving, isn’t it? All the mean thoughts wriggle in.
And I had so many mean thoughts. They clawed at the doors of my mind incessantly.
At least Gareth was so occupied with his own tasks throughout the day that I saw mere flashes of his messy blond hair and the occasional glint of his glasses, only heard his laughter and his hearty, teasing voice rise above the chaos a paltry few times.
Whenever I thought about the way he’d looked at me during the council meeting or recalled the sensation of his hands on me as we danced, my stomach clenched uncomfortably.
A dangerous feeling, and one I hadn’t experienced in years.
What a silly thing I must have seemed to him, no better than any of the other giggling women he’d managed to seduce over the years.
Me and my provocative shoulders. I scowled at the thought and longed for Rosewarren, where the Warden quite wisely allowed no beverages that made one lose their senses.
It wasn’t until eleven o’clock that I finally retreated to the rooms set aside for me in the palace. We would leave at dawn. This time tomorrow, I would be going to sleep in my room at Rosewarren, and Gareth and his team would be doing the same in theirs.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and rolled out my aching shoulders.
I couldn’t decide who was likely to cause me more trouble: the intruding librarians or my curious fellow Roses.
All I knew was that I wouldn’t be able to sleep that night without first training or finding someone who wanted a quick tumble.
But thinking about sex made me think of Gareth, and his pretty face was not welcome in my thoughts, nor were my mind’s distracted musings about what he might look like underneath his clothes.
So training it was. I would punch him right out of my head.
But when I reached my room, Farrin and Gemma were there in their nightclothes, talking quietly on a settee by the hearth. Farrin had her knees pulled to her chest and was staring at the fire. Gemma was braiding her hair.
“There you are!” Gemma sat up and scooted over. “Come sit. You look tired. Have some of these cookies I found in the kitchens.”
“I’m really not hungry,” I said.
“Just eat them,” Farrin mumbled sleepily. “She’ll keep pestering you about it until you relent. And they are quite good—laced with liquor of some kind. I actually feel a little drunk.”
“Oh, I haven’t been drunk with you in far too long. We’ll have to set aside an evening for it the next time we’re together. Mara, please come.” Gemma patted the seat beside her. “You look alarmingly tense.”
The chance to sit with them alone, privately, was a rare treasure, but I couldn’t trust my mood. “I was going to train,” I protested halfheartedly, joining them. “It helps me sleep.”
“This will be even better, I promise you. Here.” She held out the plate of cookies. “Try one.”
I gave up and took one, and as soon as the crispy sweetness hit my tongue, I felt myself relax.
“Good, aren’t they?” Gemma grinned, watching me. “Don’t they remind you of the ones Mrs. Rathmont used to make?”
In fact, they did. Mrs. Rathmont, the head cook at Ivyhill, was famous in our household for her cinnamon-and-chocolate cookies.
On stormy nights when I was a child—before the Warden, before the Order—Mrs. Rathmont would leave out a fresh tin just for my sisters and me, and we’d pile into Farrin’s bed and eat so many we’d fall asleep feeling happy and delirious and a little bit sick.
I closed my eyes, sinking into the memory.
Lightning flashing outside the curtains.
Farrin making shadow animals come to life on the walls.
The smell of Gemma’s cookie breath as she giggled beside me.
Remembering was like pressing on a bruise; I relished the soft bloom of pain.
“I received the Warden’s report about what happened at Graystone,” Farrin said after a moment. “I’m so sorry, Mara.”
All at once, the memory of home vanished. My eyes snapped open. “She sent you a report? What did it say?”
“It was a simple account of what happened, starting with the breach bells and ending with your retreat. It’s standard procedure when there’s a breach. You know that.” Farrin paused, looking keenly at me. “Are you all right?”
“Did her report describe the fire nymphs?”
“Only that they set fire to the main buildings and held some young recruits hostage. You rescued so many of them.”
“Of course she did,” said Gemma promptly, squeezing my hand. “Brave Mara.”
So the Warden had said nothing about my hallucination. I wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or disappointed. Not until that moment did I realize how desperate I was to talk to someone about what had happened.
I swallowed hard. “Not all of them. I didn’t save all of them.”
“No one can save everyone,” said Gemma.
“If anyone could, though,” Farrin added, giving me a soft smile, “I think it would be you.”
“I did nothing extraordinary,” I said. Their kindness rankled me.
I closed my eyes and reached for calm. But this time my memories did not cooperate.
I was back in Graystone, the dead girls’ ashes coating my fingers.
I was at my trials, the blade in my hand and Petra’s blood on my face. Sweat dampened my brow.
“It was just another battle in a long string of battles,” I muttered. “I did my duty.”
“That doesn’t make it any less remarkable,” Farrin said.
Suddenly the cozy stillness of our little spot by the fire no longer fit around me. Or perhaps it was me who no longer fit. My sisters were a sweet green meadow, and I was the monster who couldn’t help trampling their flowers, no matter how hard I tried not to.
“Can we talk about something else?” I snapped. “Not Graystone, or Gareth’s work, or Mother, or Mhorghast, or how Gemma and Talan are hunting for anchors, or Farrin’s search for Ankaret. And I don’t want to talk about Ivyhill either. I can’t bear that. Not right now.”
Gemma went very still. Even with my eyes closed I could feel Farrin watching me steadily.
“I know you’ve been working so hard,” I added.
“I’ve been frightened for you both.” I opened my eyes and nearly lost my breath at the sight of Farrin’s warm brown gaze.
My sister. Both my sisters, here beside me.
“But I’d like to just be with you. I’d like to pretend we’re ordinary sisters. Please.”
Farrin placed her hand softly on mine. “Of course.”
“I know,” said Gemma, lifting a cookie to her lips with a sly grin. “Tell her about your latest training session with Ryder.”
Farrin dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, gods.”
Gemma leaned a bit closer to me. “She’s learning how to fight with a sword.”
The change in topic was so abrupt and absurd that I let out a breathless laugh. “You’re telling me that instead of sitting here by the fire, we could be watching Farrin wave a sword around?”
“I’m not terrible at it, you know,” Farrin said. “Ryder is an excellent teacher.”
“In more ways than one,” added Gemma.
Farrin tossed one of the settee’s pillows at her. A smile lit up her face. “You’re a scoundrel. And I much prefer daggers to sword work. I also prefer punching. And running away. And everything else that doesn’t make me feel like my arms are going to fall off.”
“But you told me singing helps lessen the weight.”
“It creates the illusion that they’re lighter,” Farrin said, “which gets me through training well enough. The sword, however, remains a sword, and my muscles pay for it afterward.”
I closed my eyes and smiled. The easy rhythm of their conversation was like a song. I was ravenous for it. “Tell me about Ryder. How is he? And Alastrina?”
“Alastrina has recovered nicely from her time in Mhorghast,” Farrin replied. “She had trouble wilding for a few days, but that didn’t last long. Half the time she’s at Ravenswood, providing shelter to northern refugees, and when she’s not there, she’s at the Farrow estate.”
“With her head between Illaria’s legs, I hope,” Gemma said.
I laughed. “And the other way around too.”
“Of course! Illaria is endlessly generous. Much like a certain burly, bearded man we know.”
Farrin threw another pillow.
I opened my eyes to relish the embarrassed color in Farrin’s cheeks. The flush of love suited her.
“You wouldn’t be talking about Ryder, would you?” I asked innocently. “Ryder…Bask, I think he’s called?”
“The very same,” Gemma said cheerfully. “And listen to this: the night before you arrived, Talan fetched me some of these very same cookies from the kitchens. That’s how I found out about them in the first place.
He’s such a dear. Being here in the city with so many people around and so much magic in the air gave me terrible body aches, and the cookies helped, as they tend to do.
Later I went to Farrin’s room to share some with her, and I stopped right outside the door and heard them. ”
Farrin groaned and flung an arm over her eyes in mortification.
“They were deep in conversation, I assume,” I said. “Discussing matters of state and the like.”
“Oh, yes,” Gemma replied. “And quite passionately too.”
I took Farrin’s hand in silent apology. “I’m glad for you,” I said softly, and I meant it with all my heart. “It’s clear when he looks at you how much he loves you.”
Farrin’s shy smile was like the sun rising. “Both of your crass insinuations notwithstanding, he is very…generous.”
As Gemma burst into delighted laughter and Farrin scooted closer to press her leg against mine, I let myself fall into the comfort of their nearness, their voices, their familiar scents.
My skin still itched, dark memories roiling in my mind and storms of worry rumbling just out of reach.
But I concentrated on the warmth of my sisters and thought, Let me be. Let me be with them tonight.
And for a while, they obeyed.