“They could have been, yes, but it wasn’t a certainty.”
“There is no room for uncertainty in times of war.”
“But they didn’t attack us until we attacked them!”
“And if we hadn’t done so, we would have entered the situation at a tactical disadvantage.”
“There was nosituationfor us to enter.”
“You are out of line, Mara.” The Warden’s voice was quiet, but it still cut like a whip. “Clearly you weren’t concerned enough about those creatures to defy my orders and try to save them. How many hostiles did you slay? Five, correct? All on your own? Why is it only now that you’ve decided to speak on their behalf?”
The question struck me so hard that only years of training kept me from wavering mid-flight. She was right. I could have tried harder to stop her. I could have done more to save the Oldens. But I hadn’t. In the end, I’d done exactly as I was told. Because that was what I had been taught to do? Because it was easier?
I imagined what it would have been like to defy the Warden: attacking her instead of attacking the hostiles, turning on my fellow Roses if they didn’t follow suit; turning on Cira, on Brigid. My stomach turned, and the truth came to me with such a hard quickness that it felt like I’d been punched.
I would not have been able to bear the disappointment in the Warden’s eyes or the wounded shock in Cira’s.
I was a coward. And I didn’t even have the nerve to look my cowardice in the eyes and accept its judgment quietly.
The Warden shifted gingerly in my arms, wincing as she jostled one of her wounds. My silence seemed to placate her. She even turned into my body, nestling close to me as if for warmth.
“You did well, Mara,” she said again. “I knew you would. I never doubted you. Take comfort in that.”
The gentle heat of her palm resting on my breastbone quieted my storming thoughts. She touched no other Rose like this, I told myself, as if that were any kind of excuse. Greedy, craven, I reveled in the press of her hand.
***
I didn’t sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes I saw not the beings I had slaughtered but the Warden instead. The Warden smiling at me, the pride on her face, her crumpled body thatIhad rescued, thatIhad borne all the way home.
The next morning, I strode through the priory with a raging headache and my eyes burning from exhaustion. Gareth and his team wereeverywhere. I wasn’t sure how twenty people could seem like two hundred, but somehow they managed it.
I went to the kitchens to grab leftovers from the breakfast I’d missed, and there was Gareth’s friend Loudon Barnes, the pale and square-jawed sage who had shot Cira with his crossbow. Beside him sat his lover, Tarek Farber, a beautiful beguiler with brown skin and soft dark curls. They sat at a table poring over sheaves of notes while their eggs grew cold.
For a moment I considered joining them. My presence would certainly terrify Loudon, which might be amusing enough to distract me from my thoughts. But even Cira had admitted to me that Loudon had been more than adequately contrite since his arrival. She found itmuch easier to forgive than I did, and she would be unhappy to hear about me tormenting him. Bitterly, I left them in peace.
I passed through one of the reading rooms on the second floor and nearly knocked over a waif of a librarian—Fiacra Browning was her name—who for some reason thought it wise to stand not two inches from the entrance. She had been engaged in a heated debate with yetanotherlibrarian, Marvyn Blaine. I hated that I knew all of their names, which I recognized was an unreasonable thing to hate. That only fed my irritation.
“What is that doing here?” I said, gesturing at the table beside them. One of their little gadgets was perched there, spinning noisily. “None of your equipment is to leave your wing without express written permission from a senior officer.”
Marvyn glanced nervously at Fiacra, who cleared her throat and then said, “Begging your pardon, Lady Mara, but the Warden did say it was all right just for this morning. This piece is rather sensitive, and we thought it best to—”
“Fine. Just don’t let it out of your sight. And no one is to touch it except for the two of you.”
“Of course, Lady Mara,” said Fiacra. Then she and Marvyn exchanged a bewildered look, as if I were the strange one in this conversation.
I pushed past them and left before I could say something terrible. Words boiled at the back of my throat. I didn’t trust them. I didn’t trust myself.
Even in the barracks, where of course visitors weren’t allowed, in every hollow of the central Heart Tree and through every door left ajar, I heard Roses whispering.Do you know what they’re working on? Why are they here? Is it something about Kilraith? Have you seen that man Gareth? He’s the one in charge. What I wouldn’t give to bring him back to my room some night and let him take charge ofme.
Whenever I heard Gareth’s name, I flinched like I was a naughtychild being disciplined.Every time you sayGarethyou’ll get a rap on the knuckles.But he was nowhere to be found, most likely ensconced in their converted laboratory and not thinking about me at all, which was exactly as it should be. How would he react if he could open me up and see the true beast beneath my beauty? How would Gemma and Farrin? The way they’d looked at me weeks ago during my interrogation of Nerys the harpy had been awful enough.This is our gentle sister? This is what life at the Order has done to her?And that had been merely a glimpse of the true horror I was capable of.
By the time I burst into the stables, my skin was crawling and images of death crowded the edges of my vision.
Brigid turned at my entrance, as did the three gaping littles beside her. She had an easy shift this morning, teaching some of our newest recruits how to groom the horses.
The sight of them dredged up a cruel memory. Twelve years ago, in those sad, quiet days before my trials, Petra and I had groomed the horses just like this. She had finally coaxed me out of bed and into the stables, where the first thing she did was teach me the horses’ names. It was important, she had said, for me not to fall farther behind. And clearly, knowing the names of all the Order’s horses was the highest priority. Petra hadn’t minded when I’d walked away mid-lesson to cry in the corner. Neither had the horses.
I remembered every detail so clearly. Petra’s curly auburn hair. The sweet smell of clean hay. The old gray mare mouthing gently at my arm as I wept and longed for Ivyhill. Garnet was her name.
