I watched Gareth long enough to ensure that he wouldn’t lose consciousness. When he looked over at me, sweaty but clear-eyed, I turnedand trudged through the snow toward the priory’s turreted silhouette. Freyda stayed with him, which made me feel a little better about the fact that I couldn’t bear to be around him for another second.
But only a little.
My throat ached with regret, but if I lingered, he would speak, and I couldn’t bear that. Not now, not when every word trapped inside me was choked with barbs he didn’t deserve.
Maybe, I thought, this would be the end of it—a few aborted kisses that I wouldn’t have allowed had I been in my right mind, and nothing more. I walked with clenched fists and forced myself to think of Crellin’s broken body. Ordinarily, when I recalled my long-ago lover, I preferred to think of her alive and whole. But maybe if I meditated fiercely enough on the memory of her shattered skull, and how the other Roses had to forcibly drag me away from her corpse—maybe if I imagined Gareth’s body in place of hers—that would renew my resolve.
That is what happens when a Rose decides to love.I must have said it to myself a hundred times.Walk away before it’s too late.
The quiet told me it was the middle of the night. Rosewarren’s carpeted corridors were quiet; the polished wood-paneled walls gleamed softly in the dim lamplight. Everyone except the night patrol was asleep, and no one bothered me until I reached the barracks, where Danesh sat on a root of the enormous Heart Tree that grew in our common area and supported the roof with its branches. She was reading a book and chewing on the end of her braid. I hadn’t seen her do that in years, not since we were children.
I strode past her, hoping my stony silence would deter her, but I should have known better. She jumped up and hurried after me, letting her book fall to the floor.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Out.”
“Fenwood?”
Why not? “Yes.”
“An interesting choice, to take someone to bed right after…” She trailed off.
Posey. Right after you killed Posey.
“Everyone grieves in their own way,” I said flatly.
“It must have been a rough one. You look like shit. Did you have sex in a pigsty or something?”
I stopped short and kept my gaze straight ahead. Maybe if I didn’t look at her, she would go away. “What do you want, Danesh?”
“I just…” She hesitated, then blew out a sharp breath and came around to face me. “Mara, I’m so sorry.”
I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard Danesh sound genuinely sad about anything. I was surprised enough that I finally looked right at her. “Sorry for what?”
“I was the one who gave the report to the Warden. I didn’t know how to stall her. She was adamant. She wanted every detail. I think she nearly lost her mind when she saw you in Gothyn. You looked half dead. She might have thought you actuallyweredead. And once she heard my report, that was all the justification she needed to target Posey.” Danesh looked away, her mouth twisting. “I know we’re not the best of friends, but we were inducted together, we endured the trials together, and that means something to me. I didn’t like Posey, but for your sake, I never wanted anything to happen to her.”
The wordtrialssat between my shoulders like a stone. Petra’s auburn hair flickered in the corner of my vision.
“But for her own sake,” I said dryly, “you didn’t mind so much if it did?”
“Look, I may not trust fae, but that doesn’t mean I want them to suffer like that. I don’t want anyone to suffer like that.” She crossed her arms over her chest, no longer looking at me. “I’m sorry she died.I’m sorry she died likethat. And I’m sorry that you had to be the one to do it.”
I didn’t know what to say. Anger was pointless; when the Warden was set on doing something, there was no deflecting her. And like Gareth, Danesh didn’t deserve my anger.
I was starting to think the only person who did was me.
“All right.” I touched Danesh’s shoulder. “Thank you, Danesh.”
When I went to my room, she didn’t follow. My exhaustion was so complete that I crawled into bed in my muddy clothes, boots and all, and didn’t even stop to light a lamp. The darkness was far preferable anyway; in the darkness, I couldn’t see my painted Ivyhill.
But I felt it. I knew every vine winding across my walls, every leaf, the mansion’s every meticulously drawn window. My mind whirled with so many thoughts, so many memories—each containing a different hurt—that the weight of them pinned me to the bed. Could a person die of sadness? Could they fall asleep wrapped in grief and longing and never wake up?
I missed my sisters. That was the last thing I remembered thinking before I fell asleep. I missed them so badly that it felt like the distance between us was tearing me in half.
I clutched a pillow to my stomach and willed myself to sleep.
***
