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“Memoriam Gardens?” This question was softer, more halting.

I circled her wrist even as Shelby pointed to the large glass-walled building nestled between a bend in the river that housed the Gardens in Starguard.

“When someone dies, we burn their bodies to release them to the God and Goddess of Death,” I explained. “Then we plant a tree or other fauna within the nearest Memoriam Gardens.”

Amaria nodded. “Like with the ribbons,” she said, “after a decade, the choice to make the walk is given to each person to decide.”

It was obvious she had asked about the mourning ribbons while they were looking at the vendor carts.

Amethyst’s gaze flicked to the one woven through my hair. “Are you going to do that? The walk?”

I shook my head. “My mother has been gone twenty-six years.”

Her eyes locked on the ribbon again, and there was so much sympathy in them I wanted to pull her into my arms.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she whispered.

I ran my thumb over her jaw. Before I could say anything, though, another person approached the pavilion. With an internal sigh I made sure was not visible in my body or expression, I turned to him and the rest of the growing celebration.

34

CALLUM

Amethyst frowned as I led her into the unused ballroom of Vincent’s estate.

“We’re studying here?” Confusion and distrust colored her voice.

“Not studying.” I set the jar in the center of the room and then pulled back my hair so it wouldn’t accidentally get caught in flames if that was how her magic wanted to naturally manifest.

Amethyst stood just inside the door, her arms crossed and her brows lowered. Her hair was still down, framing her face, though she’d pulled the silver trinkets from it shortly after returning from the Central Square earlier in the day. She wore a set of leggings and an oversized sweater with the sleeves pushed to her elbows. It was one of the ones I’d brought to the Passage for whomever I chose on Magefall, and it swallowed her curves where it fell to mid-thigh. Her gaze flicked between the jar, me, and the wall of windows that overlooked the inner courtyard.

When it was clear she wasn’t going to come closer, I said in a gentle voice, “I want to help you become comfortable with your magic. You said your Arizona had no magic, not like this.”

I let a flame flare to life in my palm for a moment before snuffing it out. She slowly shook her head. Then, after nearly a full minute, she eased closer, her lips downturned.

“Why this room?”

While the celebration feast had been mostly held here and the inner garden, Arden’s celebration would be large enough to need the main gardens outside the estate. Thus, only the permanent sconces and decorations affixed to the walls as well as a few vases of snowdrops and daffodils were in here now.

“So you don’t worry about potentially breaking anything,” I told her, entirely honestly.

Some of the tension in her shoulders faded, and she took the final few steps until she stood on the other side of the jar.

“So do I just…” She twisted her hand the way she would to activate her messaging mirror.

The earth around me writhed in response, a shiver of awareness coasting through it.

“Nope. Apparently not.” Her voice was dry humor tinged with just a bit of embarrassment.

Had she not noticed the earth’s response?

If she had not been taught how her magic could feel, perhaps she had not.

“Do it again,” I encouraged, “but focus on it.”

“I thought I was.” She frowned and took a half-step back. “Focus on it how?”

“Does it have a particular feeling?” I tucked my hands into the pockets of my trousers to keep from crossing my arms. She’d probably assume I was frustrated with her when in reality I was just trying to keep from scent-marking her. “My father describes his as feeling like a crackling energy, a spark that wants to be given breath. Vincent feels his more as a rumbling through his limbs, like a vibration.”