He had made his case, and now he honored the answer.
“Thank you,” I told him.
He said nothing, but he moved toward the tent.
I turned to my mother. “All right. Let’s do it tonight.”
“It will hurt,” Tay warned her, all warmth and worry. “It’s a mistake.”
“It’s not a mistake.” My mother sounded as weary as I felt. “Magic cannot be trusted. None of us should carry an enchantment.”
Tay shook his head. “Mortals don’t have our own magic. To have an enchantment gives us the power we lack.”
“We don’t have our own magic because of her.” My anger spilled out; it was always seething under the surface. Always, the memory of the Fae stripping away my magic, my first wound, my childhood nightmare that had chased me into adulthood. “We are supposed to have magic. We only lack because they steal from us.”
“This is not the conversation we need to have now.” My mother overruled us as she had for a thousand childhood arguments. “Corbyn’s enchantment was to alter my memories. I certainly have the right to my own memories. Do I not?”
She gave us both a pointed look.
“Of course you do,” Tay said reasonably. “That’s totally different than what the queen has done. She healed me. Corbyn hurt you.”
My mother’s attention snapped to him. Her lips parted, then sadness drifted over her face, and the words faded.
Dread settled into my stomach like cold. Had there been another enchantment? Had I missed part of it and left it still settled into his flesh? Had I made an unforgivable mistake? My gaze flew to Fear, who stood holding the tent flap.
I had been so careful.
Fear was watching me carefully, as if I was the one who worried him. There was no answer to my questions in that gaze.
“Do you know exactly what you’re cutting away?” Tay had moved from working on my mother to me, and he sounded entirely rational. “You don’t have magic of your own. You’re only guessing at how to use the knife. Do you know it only takes what it should?”
It was a reasonable question. But Tay had always been the one who said if anyone could do something, he’d bet on me.
I wasn’t sure if I knew my brother anymore.
“Yes.” Because I had to say something and because it was close enough to truth. “I know.”
He shook his head. Unconvinced, but gentle.
Voices nearby startled me, laughter threaded among them. Riven and Tesa stood at the next campfire, and Corbyn and a few of his rebels stood with him. Fear was watching, too, and I had the feeling he appreciated Corbyn’s effort to ease contact between the camp and Nightwalkers. Corbyn clapped Riven’s shoulder and began to move away.
“Corbyn!” Tay called cheerfully, and my mother’s lips pressed together tightly, going pale.
She did not want Corbyn anywhere near her. Not for this. She certainly didn’t want him to know that she was rejecting his offer of painless lifting of the enchantment.
She’d prefer the knife to trusting him. That would cut for him.
I glanced at Tay, who had certainly never been stupid. Because he was earnest and good, people sometimes saw him that way. But it takes a cleverness of its own kind to be good in our world. He was always able to read my mother and me. So why had he summoned Corbyn? It was so unlike him.
The cold dread in my stomach crept through the rest of my body.
Corbyn responded cheerfully, coming over with good humor and greetings for all of us. His gaze only lingered a little longer on me and then on Maris. He could not resist staring at her as if she were still his whole world. Meanwhile, she didn’t look at him at all.
“Everything all right?” Corbyn asked, and I had no doubt that he was keenly aware that everything was not all right.
“Fine,” my mother said doggedly. “I was asking Cara to use the unmaking knife on me.”
The rejection barely ghosted over Corbyn’s face. “That makes sense. She’s your daughter. You would trust her the most.”
