“I’ve never seen you smile like that,” she said quietly.
“He makes me smile,” I replied, “and laugh, which astonishes me every time. I don’t laugh much anymore. But when I do, it’s because of him. His wit is as sharp as mine, if not sharper. He infuriates me. He challenges me. He’s so good with his team at Rosewarren. He leads them effortlessly and never hesitates to encourage them. He’s not a warrior, but that doesn’t stop him from throwing himself into battle with as much courage as any Rose. If it wasn’t for him, I’m not sure I would have survived Gothyn. I think I would have given up and stopped climbing that tree. I would have let it consume me and the key too.”
I blinked back a sudden rush of tears. “But he doesn’t let me give up, even when giving up is all I want to do. Even when it’s the only option I feel is left to me.”
Farrin squeezed my hand gently. “You love him.”
“I do.” I looked at my sister, let my tears spill over. “I love him, and it terrifies me. Look at me.” I gestured helplessly at my face. “This isn’t me.”
“But maybe it is.” Farrin wiped my cheeks with the backs of herfingers. “Maybe you’ve just had to hide this part of yourself for so long that you don’t remember it. Brave Mara. I’m so sorry for everything. If I could go back to that day, I would take your place in an instant. I would insist that the Warden—”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” I swiped a hand across my face and looked away. “We all have our places in the world. Rosewarren is mine. Ivyhill is yours, and it wouldn’t have survived without you. Father wouldn’t have survived without you.”
After that, we were quiet for a long time. All three men were now wrestling like schoolboys on the lawn, covered in mud and grass stains, but I felt as though they were very far away. My world was only as large as my sister and me. She nestled against me, and I held on to her, and the leaves above us rustled softly in the wind.
When I recovered my voice and my calm, I remembered a question I’d thought of while lying in Gareth’s arms early that morning, all the worries of my own life wiped away by his touch.
“Gareth has told me that his parents were cruel,” I said quietly, “especially his mother. But he hasn’t said more than that. I assume you know the story?”
“I do, but it’s not my story to tell. Please be patient with him when you ask him about it. Those are old wounds, and humiliating ones.”
“I know a thing or two about old wounds.”
Farrin blew out a quick, sad breath. “I wish I could take all of that away from both of you.”
I moved closer to her, relishing the feeling of her warm body next to mine. Memories of my childhood at Ivyhill were so often muddled, but this I remembered perfectly—this closeness, the warmth of my sisters’ bodies. I remembered whispering to Farrin under the covers after a bad dream and chasing a squealing Gemma through our mother’s ivy-crowned hallways.
I remembered little, but I remembered the most important things.
“This helps,” I said to Farrin. “This helps more than you know.”
***
Later that night, after supper, I sorted through Mother’s bountiful supplies to gather what we might need in Vauzanne.
Everything Gareth and I had brought from Rosewarren remained at the Falkeron monastery, including his glasses; while I didn’t expect to miraculously find a spare pair at Wardwell, I was nevertheless disappointed not to. We would have to watch him carefully in Vauzanne. His eyesight wasn’t dreadful close up, but he could still confuse things from a distance.
I sat on the floor of Mother’s storeroom, thinking through logistics—what we would take from Wardwell; what we could borrow from Talan’s friend Kirsa, at whose house we would stay in the Vauzanian town of Westry; what food I should eat over the next twenty-four hours to ensure that I could run all the way from Briarcourt to Vauzanne’s southeastern coast, if it came to that. My body was strong and fast, but it was still a body and needed fuel. I’d have to eat like a horse between now and then.
Suddenly a cry of terror shattered the storeroom’s quiet, followed by the sound of something crashing to pieces. I bolted to my feet and made it to the kitchen a few seconds before Father did.
Mother stood beside the kitchen table, shards of plates at her feet and her face white, frozen. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, and she held her head in her hands. Everything in the cottage rattled quietly, as if some great beast were thundering closer and closer.
I hurried to Mother, pried her hands loose, and shook her a little. “What is it? Speak. Are we in danger?”
When she blinked, silent tears spilled down her cheeks. “It’s Neave,” she whispered. “She’s in terrible pain. Someone is hurting her.Someone is making her bleed.”
I heard the others hurrying into the front room but kept my eyes fixed on my mother.
“We need more information,” I told her. “Think hard. What can you see? Who is hurting her? Where is she?”
“A house,” she whispered after a moment. “A grand house in a dark wood.”
“Briarcourt,” Ryder muttered behind me.
“What else?” I demanded. “Every detail is helpful.”
Mother’s wide-eyed gaze was far away. “A towering staircase. A pretty room and a pretty bed. A man with rings. And music.” Her gaze shifted, and she found Farrin, who stood stiffly at Ryder’s side. “I hear music. A piano, and it’s making such a racket.”
