“I’m really not hungry,” I said.
“Just eat them,” Farrin mumbled sleepily. “She’ll keep pestering you about it until you relent. And theyarequite 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 myeyes, 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 asword.”
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?”
