Chapter 21
For our journey north, the Warden gave us permission to use her own private greenways, which I’d never set foot in before. They were strong and smooth; traveling through them was like sliding into a warm, easy sleep.
But they only went as far as Alderfeld, a small town that hardly deserved the designation.
Comprising a smattering of cabins and an admittedly excellent inn, it stood in the northernmost reaches of the Spine of Caiathos, a mountain range that spanned the entire length of the continent.
From there, we would have to travel the rest of the way to the Falkeron Cloisters by horseback, on a path well-trodden by the faithful.
If we followed this same path to the southwest, we would eventually reach Vallenvoren, the town where we had all stayed on the way to Wardwell—though of course at the time, we’d had no idea what we were walking toward.
Thinking of those first moments in Wardwell was always bittersweet. My sisters and I had followed a strange voice through the snowy northern forest until we’d emerged into a much sweeter and greener wood near a cottage surrounded by flowers.
And there Mother had stood, her arms open, as if welcoming us home at last. Upon seeing her for the first time in twelve years, I’d at first felt only incredible relief. It was like I was ten years old all over again. My mother was alive after all, and somehow she would mend everything.
Then Farrin had struck her with a staff, and we’d all watched in horror as her shattered face had knitted itself back together. After that, after hearing her wild story, everything had changed, for all of us.
“It seems to me,” Gareth said beside me, kicking his snowy boots against the doorframe, “that the Warden should have a greenway that leads directly to the Cloisters, yes? So we could avoid all this wintry trudging?”
His wry voice brought me back to the present, where the mountain winds howled.
Even though I wore fur-trimmed sealskin boots, I could barely feel my feet.
I shook off the memory of Mother and the ache of missing her—an ache that had been my constant companion for twelve years and showed no signs of abating—and followed Gareth inside the Order safe house where we would spend the night.
It was small, meant to house only the Warden and not an entire squadron of Roses.
But it was well made and well stocked and stood strong against the elements.
The snowstorm had come upon us quickly, chasing us past the alluring sight of Alderfeld’s cheerfully lit windows and into the dark pine forest beyond, where we used a starstone beacon to light our way.
I wondered if this was an ordinary winter storm or the result of some Mistland breach hundreds of miles south.
But this far north, and in the roaring darkness of the night, it was impossible to tell.
I tried not to imagine what was happening down there—in the Mistlands, and at Rosewarren. Who was on patrol? What was the mood in the barracks after yesterday’s slaughter?
And would it happen again? Our fortress had been breached for the first time since I’d arrived there, and at the moment my overstuffed mind couldn’t recall one bit of Order history. Had Rosewarren ever been breached before? Was this the beginning of the end?
I startled at the gentle weight of Gareth’s hand on my arm.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. “I feel like you went somewhere far away just now.”
I reached into my pocket for matches and moved away from him.
Since leaving the Warden’s office, I’d felt raw and unsettled, and the bitter cold made everything feel worse.
I longed for Freyda, who had obeyed my order to remain at Rosewarren only after giving me a sharp mutinous bite on my right thumb.
After everything that had happened, I refused to risk her life on such a hard journey.
And she was exceptionally gentle with children; the grieving littles would appreciate her company.
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Just tired. And she used to have one, actually.” I crouched before the cast-iron stove, which was full of fresh wood.
“A greenway that led straight to Falkeron, I mean. There were five, one for each of the Cloisters. But the most recent Council of Abbots made her dismantle them.”
“Claiming that no one, not even the Warden, was entitled to travel to and from the Cloisters at their leisure?”
“Something like that.” I shook out a match and stood, watching the wood catch fire. “It’s a small room. It should warm up quickly.”
For a long time I gazed at the snapping flames, listening to Gareth unpack our supplies behind me. I heard the exact moment he noticed the room’s only bed; the sounds of his industrious bustling fell abruptly silent.
“Don’t worry,” I said without turning around. “I’m perfectly happy to sleep on the floor. I’m more used to sleeping in strange places than you are. And it’s warmer by the stove anyway.”
“Ah. I see.” He stepped toward me, then hesitated, then took another step, then hesitated again before clearing his throat. “Well, at the risk of seeming indelicate, or perhaps simply far too bold—”
“I can’t,” I whispered, my eyes watering from the heat of the growing fire. Or so I told myself. “We can’t, Gareth.”
“Darling, trust me, after the past couple of days, there is nothing I want more in this world than a good night’s sleep. I promise I won’t keep you awake with chatter or snoring or other untoward behavior.”
“Don’t do that.” I finally tore my gaze away from the fire and looked at him. “Stop calling me darling.”
He blinked at me behind his glasses, looking owlishly charming in his snowy furs and the flickering golden light. “All right. I will. I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“No. You didn’t.”
He scratched the back of his head and looked away, frowning. “I’m sorry, Mara. I didn’t mean to overstep. It’s only that I—”
“Fine. Good.” I found a blanket in the corner cupboard and began setting it up near the fire.
My fingers shook as I worked; I felt like I was going to burst. Focusing on each small step of the task helped me keep ahold of myself: unfold the blanket, shake it out, fold it neatly in front of the fire, take off your boots, don’t cry, keep breathing.
The whole time, Gareth watched me. When I heard him start moving about again, I thought maybe he’d given up and would go to sleep without another word.
But instead he came over and crouched beside me. “What’s happening here? Are you angry at me?”
“I should think the answer is obvious,” I snapped.
“Well, it isn’t.”
“Surely you and your brilliant brain can figure it out.”
“This may come as a shock to you, but when it comes to matters of the heart, my brilliant brain is decidedly less so.”
I tossed my boots aside. “Is everything a joke to you?”
“Oh, yes. For example, my imprisonment and captivity were loads of fun.”
“Don’t try to shame me like that. You know that’s not what I mean.”
“No, quite frankly, I don’t know what you mean, about anything.
” He stood and walked away, dragging his hands through his hair.
“This keeps happening. We share something—a moment, a tragedy, a look, a kiss—and I think maybe, just maybe, you feel even the barest hint of what I feel for you. And then you completely close yourself off to me. You treat me like I’ve done something wrong when I know I haven’t. Why?”
Listening to him, I could hardly breathe. All I could do was sit there on the floor and search for words that wouldn’t come.
He watched me, waiting, until finally his shoulders sagged and the light went out of his eyes.
He nodded to himself and made for the bed, shrugging off his coat.
Something about the way he held himself, like all the hope had been torn out of him, made me panic.
If we fell asleep like this, I would lose him.
The thought terrified me. And yet I wanted to lose him, didn’t I?
“I’m trying to do what’s best,” I blurted out.
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, and regarded me evenly. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means…” I shook my head and pressed my lips together, looking around the room as if I’d find the answer somewhere on the walls. But there was no answer. Whatever choice I made, there would be only heartbreak.
“I’m too afraid to tell you,” I whispered.
“Well, we can’t go on like this, can we?”
“Can’t we?”
“I can’t. My heart can’t bear it.”
The resigned sadness in his voice shattered my resolve.
The whole wild world had narrowed down to this single room, this single man, and the tidy fire burning steadily at my back.
I was too close to it; I felt like I was boiling and would soon spill over.
I could no longer pretend nothing was wrong. Everything was wrong.
“And neither can mine!” The words burst out of me. “No matter what I do here, it will hurt me, and I’m tired of hurting, Gareth.”
I drew in a ragged breath. My throat was so tight that it was hard to speak.
“With the exception of the few living people left whom I truly love,” I said, “I have lost everything dear to me. My home, my family. Lovers, friends. My freedom. And then you saunter into my life with your books and your glasses, and that godsdamned arrogant smile, and that hair that you’re forever running your hands through. ”
I couldn’t properly see him anymore. Through the shimmer of my tears, I could make out only the blurry shape of his body amongst the warm shadows.
“And your brilliant brain,” I went on, wiping my face, “and how kind you are to me, and to my sister. How good and patient and diligent you are with your colleagues, and how brave you are, how completely heedless of your own safety.”
He returned to the fire and knelt beside me, gently taking my hands in his. “That sounds an awful lot like someone else I know.”