27
T HE NEXT WEEK brOUGHT ANOTHER WAVE OF RAINSTORMS that forced everyone to stay inside.
Noelia had decided to spend her rare free afternoon at Wildridge Hall, in an obvious attempt to comfort Marisol through her ongoing depression.
She hadn’t said anything to indicate that she could tell, mostly because she genuinely appreciated the effort.
She couldn’t talk about Rodrigo without revealing too much, and Noelia talked more than enough for the both of them.
It was nice not to be alone.
It was more than she deserved.
One of the servants played the harp near the fireplace, bathing them in light music, and Noelia was curled up in Marisol’s favorite armchair, a book across her lap. Marisol was too tired to read, so she’d settled on the rote motions of stitching to clear her head.
“If the weather keeps on like this, they might cancel today’s tours,” Noelia said, staring through the curtains at the gray sky and the raindrops hitting the windowpane. Her legs were thrown over the arm of the chair, the picture of relaxation. “Maybe I’ll visit my parents instead.”
Marisol paused her needlepointing. “Your parents?”
It wasn’t as though she’d thought Noelia had sprung fully grown in the heart of House Muerte, but this was the first time the other girl had mentioned her family.
Marisol had quietly begun to think that perhaps Noelia was an orphan like her, and she would open up about her family’s deaths when she was ready.
“They live in the rim of the city, which, now that I’m thinking about it, is a terrible name.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t see them very often. It’s hard to find safe topics to talk about after they sold me.”
Marisol set the needlepoint down before she hurt herself. A half-finished tent-stitched rowboat gazed up at her, the silver needle and brown thread sticking up from the center. She leaned forward. “Sold you?”
“Are you a parrot?”
“This is just a lot of information and yet so little!”
Noelia laughed, her high ponytail shaking with the motion.
“My parents are welks. When I showed signs of magic, they sold me to House Muerte for money. I can’t blame them for it, but it means that I was a reaper ward long before my first Coronet.
I never had a choice in my coven mark, even if it was what I would have chosen myself. ”
Several things about Noelia suddenly fell into place, like her sympathy for the Criterion and how bored she was by other witches.
If she’d grown up among them, forced to be a ward because her welk parents couldn’t afford to eat otherwise, it made sense that she would be overly familiar with both sides of society.
“Do you… want company?” Marisol heard herself ask. “Those visits can’t be easy for you.”
“They’ve gotten easier.” Noelia’s voice had grown soft. “I appreciate the offer, though.”
“I understand a little of what that’s like. Having guardians who have previously acted against your best interest, I mean. And loving them anyway.”
At this, Noelia sat up, dislodging her book. It clattered to the ground, but she didn’t notice. Her blue eyes were already wide. “Yeah?”
“It’s… hard to deal with the fact that the people meant to love and protect you are capable of terrible things. Whether that harm is done directly to you or not, it complicates the relationship. The love.”
She stared at her lap, unable to meet Noelia’s gaze as a world of legal guardians ran through her mind.
Her parents, who had worked hard in the hopes of a better life only to die and leave her alone to live it.
The Seawards, who had kept her ignorant to how badly they were mismanaging her home.
Gaspar Ruiz, who had taken her in because she was his best chance at overthrowing the witches.
Each of them had chipped away at her ability to trust. To love. To rest .
“I don’t actually have any advice,” she finished. “I guess I just wanted you to know that even if you go alone, you’re not alone.”
Noelia’s smile was warm. “I know now. Thank you, Marisol.”
A comfortable silence fell between them.
Marisol picked up her needlepoint, but she didn’t return to the stitches.
Her mind had drifted back to Rodrigo, and how little she knew about him even though they had grown up together.
She didn’t know if his parents had died or abandoned him.
She didn’t know if he had been born in Rojanea or in Coventry at all. She didn’t even know his last name.
Mourning him the last few days had felt like grieving the Seawards: a longing for a person and relationship that had never actually existed.
She had replayed their conversation in her mind a hundred times, wishing that she had handled it differently.
Wishing that she had just told him the truth. Wishing that she had just run.
A tear fell onto her needlepoint. She brushed it away.
She hadn’t even contacted Bas and Teo, though they’d sent several messages by courier.
Her last conversation with Bas replayed in her mind at the most inappropriate times, mocking her for caring about a boy’s feelings when she had cost another his life.
It wasn’t a fair thought, but it stayed her hand every time she considered writing them to come over, even just to scheme.
She was afraid she would be doing it because she wanted to see them, to know where they all stood, and not because it would advance the plan in any way.
They knew as much as they needed to know, anyway. All there was left to do now was wait.
“Do you want to go out?” Noelia asked. “The rain is starting to let up.”
Outside the window, the sky was graphite, but she could no longer hear the plink of water against the glass.
If the weather held, people would begin flooding the streets again, bringing the city back to life.
Marisol hadn’t been out since Rodrigo’s death, but she suddenly couldn’t stand to be in Wildridge a moment longer, enjoying these borrowed luxuries while Rodrigo had died without a family, believing her a traitor.
“I’d love to,” she said, climbing to her feet.
“I’ll bring the carriage around. You change into something that doesn’t make it clear you haven’t gotten out of bed in days.”
Marisol looked down at her rumpled housedress and winced. “Yes, all right.”
Marisol glanced out the window of the carriage, watching the market sprawl through the city center.
She couldn’t hear the vendors calling to customers, but she could imagine the sound.
As she’d thought, the break in the rain had caused the streets to fill with activity.
Children and dogs splashed through the puddles, much to the chagrin of their parents and owners.
Stalls offered fresh fruit and cheap jewelry, umbrellas still open to protect their wares.
A busker played a vihuela in front of an upturned hat, ducado already glittering inside.
It was hard not to think that Rodrigo should be among them.
He seemed to have joined the Criterion just to help people, and she could almost imagine him handing out free food or spending all his coin just to make sure no one in the market went home with an empty belly or emptier wallet.
Once, she had thought of the rebels as a violent fringe group, but she was seeing everything with new eyes now.
Marisol hadn’t bought much with the money that Gaspar had given her, and she didn’t see herself needing anything more before she returned to Domingo. But as she thought of Rodrigo and looked at a man selling cherries by the bag, an idea formed in her mind.
“Stop the carriage,” she said, leaning toward the window to call to the driver.
Noelia blinked as they wove toward the side of the road and parked. “What’s wrong?”
“I brought quite a bit of money with me on this trip that I didn’t spend.” Marisol threw open her door. “Why not give back?”
“To who ?” Noelia asked, but Marisol had already climbed out of the carriage.
She bought cherries and plums, apples and figs.
She bought freshly baked bread and several kinds of cheese.
She bought fish and fresh-caught shrimp, beetroot and carrots, pork sausage and ham.
Once she’d filled the carriage with food, she turned toward clothing and blankets and medical supplies.
Noelia contributed money, too, despite her unanswered questions; by the time they finished shopping, there was no room for them in the carriage, forcing them to sit on either side of the driver.
“To Kindred Orphanage, please,” said Marisol.
Noelia grinned.
It was a strange thing, to take a carriage back to a place that she’d left in another life and with another name.
The streets were familiar, but the building looked smaller.
This had once been the whole of her world, and now she’d seen and done so much that it was simply a stop on a much longer journey.
The matrons came outside once the carriage stopped, and there wasn’t even a flicker of recognition in their eyes. Mother Felicia had new wrinkles along her face and at the corners of her dark brown eyes. Mother Lupe had new gray hairs woven into her braids. They had changed in all the normal ways.
Marisol looked and felt like a stranger.
“My ladies,” said Mother Lupe, barely hiding her astonishment. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit? Are you looking to adopt?”
“We’re looking to donate,” said Noelia, jumping down from her seat.
Marisol followed her at a more measured pace, her tongue thick in her mouth.
Even now, part of her feared the matrons.
Even now, part of her was desperate for their approval.
“We have food, clothes, medicine—take as much as you need.”
Mother Felicia blinked. “We have nothing to give you in exchange.”
“We didn’t ask for anything,” Marisol said. She stared her former matrons in the eyes and projected earnestness. “This is a gift, not a permanent solution. If you’ll accept it.”
Mother Lupe was already by the carriage, where Noelia held open the door to reveal the bounty.
It was the youngest that Marisol had ever seen her look, her eyes wide and watery in the sunlight.
Marisol may have caused them trouble, may have resented their wagging fingers and how easily they’d sent her and the other older orphans away, but she acknowledged how hard they worked to care for the abandoned children of Rojanea.
How, during the lean years, the older children ate less so the younger ones could have more, while the matrons ate nothing at all.
How they, like the children, shared a single room to make space to fit more beds in the orphanage.
It was long past time for her to give back. She should have done it before, if not for the vengeance that had wiped every other person from her mind. She should have been more like Rodrigo when he was alive. At least she could still honor his memory.
“Thank you,” Mother Felicia finally said. “The children will love these gifts.”
Noelia directed the driver to begin carrying everything in. Mother Lupe began to help while Mother Felicia went inside and returned with a few of the older children to put them to work as well. Once they had enough hands to make her extraneous, Noelia floated to Marisol’s side.
“Do you know of any other orphanages in dire need? This shouldn’t be a one-time thing,” said Noelia. “We have the means. We should do it at least every month.”
Marisol smiled. “You know that I’m going back to Domingo after the Coronet. But I can get you a list before I go. These forgotten people tend to fall through the cracks, and it would be nice if that never happened again.”
“Oh, right.” An expression passed over Noelia’s face that Marisol couldn’t parse before it was gone. “I’ll do my best.”
Marisol expected Noelia to ask her to write, to reaffirm that their friendship would continue after the Coronet ended. But the other girl said nothing, and neither did Marisol, and they watched the children of Kindred carry everything inside in silence.