"He doesn't remember me," Briar said at last, fighting to keep her voice even. "The bargain is complete. Allegra is healed. I'm free to go."
"He doesn't—how is that possible?"
"Does it matter?"
Her mother's hand went to her throat, a nervous gesture Briar recognized from childhood. "If he doesn't remember the bargain, will it hold? Will Allegra stay healthy?"
Of course. Even now, the only concern was whether Allegra would stay healed. Not what it had cost Briar. Not what she'd endured.
"Magic doesn't require memory," Briar said, repeating Síocháin's words. "The bargain stands."
Relief flooded her mother's face, followed immediately by suspicion. "Then why would he let you go? What aren't you telling me?"
"Mom!" Allegra called from the kitchen. "The kettle's whistling!"
They moved to the kitchen, the familiar space feeling like a stage set and she didn’t know the part she was meant to play. The white cabinets and cheerful yellow walls belonged to a different life. Briar sat at the table where she'd eaten thousands of meals, her hands flat on the surface, trying to ground herself.
Allegra poured tea, chattering about her classes, her friends, how she’d joined theatre club and would Briar come to her first performance. "It’s Peter Pan, I’m playing Wendy," she said.
“I’ll try,” Briar replied, unwilling to make any more promises she wouldn’t be able to keep.
"So where did you go?" Allegra asked, sliding a mug toward Briar. "Mom just said you needed to take a trip."
Briar looked at their mother. "That's what you told her? That I went on a trip? What were you planning to say when I never came back?"
Allegra's eyes widened, looking between them.
"What do you mean, never came back?"
"Nothing," their mother said quickly. "Briar's being dramatic."
Briar gripped her mug so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
"I was going to cross that bridge when I came to it," June continued, not looking at either daughter. "I didn't expect... I thought..."
"You believed I was gone forever." Briar's voice was hollow. "You made peace with that. Were you going to tell her I died or that I just abandoned you both?"
"Okay, what is happening right now?" Allegra set down her mug hard enough to slosh tea. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," their mother said again, but her hands were shaking. "Briar just... had some difficulties. While she was gone."
Difficulties. Briar almost laughed. She'd been marked by thorns, hunted through forests, kissed by someone who forgot her entirely, watched someone die in her arms. Difficulties.
“What really happened, Bri? You look terrible," Allegra said, studying Briar's face. "Have you been eating? You've lost weight."
“I'm fine.”
“You're not fine. You're being weird. More weird than usual.”
“Allegra,” their mother warned.
“What? She disappears for two weeks, comes back looking like a ghost, and you're both talking in code about never coming back and bridges and—” She stopped, frustration clear on her face. “Why won't anyone ever tell me anything? You guys always do this! I’m not a baby anymore.”
Their mother looked away. Briar couldn't find words that would make sense. How did she explain the truth when the truth sounded like an impossible lie?
“Is this about money?” Allegra asked suddenly. “Because of my hospital stuff?”
The guess was so far from the truth but so close to the heart of it that Briar almost laughed. Yes, it had been about the medical bills, in a way. About the cost of keeping Allegra alive.
