Then Farrin had struck her with a staff, and we’d all watched in horror as her shattered face had knitted itself back together. After that, after hearing her wild story, everything had changed, for all of us.
“It seems to me,” Gareth said beside me, kicking his snowy boots against the doorframe, “that the Warden should have a greenway that leads directly to the Cloisters, yes? So we could avoid all this wintry trudging?”
His wry voice brought me back to the present, where the mountain winds howled. Even though I wore fur-trimmed sealskin boots, I could barely feel my feet. I shook off the memory of Mother and the ache of missing her—an ache that had been my constant companion for twelve years and showed no signs of abating—and followed Gareth inside the Order safe house where we would spend the night.
It was small, meant to house only the Warden and not an entire squadron of Roses. But it was well made and well stocked and stood strong against the elements. The snowstorm had come upon us quickly, chasing us past the alluring sight of Alderfeld’s cheerfully lit windows and into the dark pine forest beyond, where we used a starstone beacon to light our way. I wondered if this was an ordinary winter storm or the result of some Mistland breach hundreds of miles south. But this far north, and in the roaring darkness of the night, it was impossible to tell.
I tried not to imagine what was happening down there—in the Mistlands, and at Rosewarren. Who was on patrol? What was the mood in the barracks after yesterday’s slaughter?
And would it happen again? Our fortress had been breached for the first time since I’d arrived there, and at the moment my overstuffedmind couldn’t recall one bit of Order history. Had Rosewarreneverbeen breached before? Was this the beginning of the end?
I startled at the gentle weight of Gareth’s hand on my arm.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. “I feel like you went somewhere far away just now.”
I reached into my pocket for matches and moved away from him. Since leaving the Warden’s office, I’d felt raw and unsettled, and the bitter cold made everything feel worse. I longed for Freyda, who had obeyed my order to remain at Rosewarren only after giving me a sharp mutinous bite on my right thumb. After everything that had happened, I refused to risk her life on such a hard journey. And she was exceptionally gentle with children; the grieving littles would appreciate her company.
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Just tired. And she used to have one, actually.” I crouched before the cast-iron stove, which was full of fresh wood. “A greenway that led straight to Falkeron, I mean. There were five, one for each of the Cloisters. But the most recent Council of Abbots made her dismantle them.”
“Claiming that no one, not even the Warden, was entitled to travel to and from the Cloisters at their leisure?”
“Something like that.” I shook out a match and stood, watching the wood catch fire. “It’s a small room. It should warm up quickly.”
For a long time I gazed at the snapping flames, listening to Gareth unpack our supplies behind me. I heard the exact moment he noticed the room’s only bed; the sounds of his industrious bustling fell abruptly silent.
“Don’t worry,” I said without turning around. “I’m perfectly happy to sleep on the floor. I’m more used to sleeping in strange places than you are. And it’s warmer by the stove anyway.”
“Ah. I see.” He stepped toward me, then hesitated, then took another step, then hesitated again before clearing his throat. “Well, at the risk of seeming indelicate, or perhaps simply far too bold—”
“I can’t,” I whispered, my eyes watering from the heat of the growing fire. Or so I told myself. “Wecan’t, Gareth.”
“Darling, trust me, after the past couple of days, there is nothing I want more in this world than a good night’s sleep. I promise I won’t keep you awake with chatter or snoring or other untoward behavior.”
“Don’t do that.” I finally tore my gaze away from the fire and looked at him. “Stop calling medarling.”
He blinked at me behind his glasses, looking owlishly charming in his snowy furs and the flickering golden light. “All right. I will. I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“No. You didn’t.”
He scratched the back of his head and looked away, frowning. “I’m sorry, Mara. I didn’t mean to overstep. It’s only that I—”
“Fine. Good.” I found a blanket in the corner cupboard and began setting it up near the fire. My fingers shook as I worked; I felt like I was going to burst. Focusing on each small step of the task helped me keep ahold of myself: unfold the blanket, shake it out, fold it neatly in front of the fire, take off your boots, don’t cry, keep breathing.
The whole time, Gareth watched me. When I heard him start moving about again, I thought maybe he’d given up and would go to sleep without another word.
But instead he came over and crouched beside me. “What’s happening here? Are you angry at me?”
“I should think the answer is obvious,” I snapped.
“Well, it isn’t.”
“Surely you and your brilliant brain can figure it out.”
“This may come as a shock to you, but when it comes to matters of the heart, my brilliant brain is decidedly less so.”
I tossed my boots aside. “Is everything a joke to you?”
“Oh, yes. For example, my imprisonment and captivity were loads of fun.”
