Page 123 of A Reign of Roses
Mari used the heel of her other hand to wipe her dripping eyes, and I opened the infirmary window to let the fat little leech out onto the roof tiles. A soft winter night swam inside and cold air brushed across my face.
When I turned, Mari was wiping down the floors.
“Let me do that.”
“Don’t even think about it. Yet another one of myliteralmesses you have to clean up.”
“Right,” I said, dropping to the floor with a rag to help her. “As if you’ve never had to do the same for me.”
“It’s different.”
“Why?” I sat back on my heels. “Because you decided at some point that your value to people is how perfect you are?”
Mari said nothing as she scrubbed.
“It’s not your job to protect us. Or to be the smartest, or the best witch. You didn’t even know you coulddomagic six months ago.”
“You don’t get it. You can’t imagine the pressure—you had the blessed luck of being the last person anyone expected greatness from.”
I frowned at her.
“You know what I mean.”
“You’ve put all these expectations on yourself for so long and I have no idea why. Who made you feel like you couldn’t make mistakes?” It was something about Mari I’d never understood. Her father adored Mari more than the moon and the stars, and told her often.
“I don’t know, nobody did.”
“The boys who bullied you growing up? Maybe you felt like you had to prove something to them? I want to understand. Did someone—”
“I lived and she didn’t, Arwen.”
My heart constricted at the words.
Her mother. Who had died giving birth to her. Who by all accounts had been the most talented, warmhearted, lovely woman and witch. Who had been rendered perfect by the pedestal she inhabited in everyone’s memories.
“That has to be worth something,” Mari murmured. “Ihave to be worth something.”
“You are wortheverything, Mar.”
“So you think. But one day, people will realize that I’m not as talented, or clever, or…That I’m not anything special. I’ll disappoint all of you.”
I swallowed the emotion in my throat. I had no idea how to explain to the smartest person I knew how wrong she was.
“It was the worst moment of my life,” she whispered. “Watching you all struggle in that parlor.”
“What even was that spell?”
“They’re called Delusions. Briar told me they were difficult to master but I didn’t know what else to do. We needed the manpower.”
I tried to replay the situation in my mind. “But they went afteryou.”
“I know. You think I haven’t pored over the exact sequence ofevents a dozen times?” Mari rolled her wet eyes and sniffed. “I can’t control it, Arwen. Sometimes my magic wants tohurteverything. Even me.”
“Maybe there’s something in my lineage that shouldn’t be touched.” That’s what she’d said when her powers had disappeared. And then, in Revue, she’d told me her magic had a mind of its own.
I was terrified to ask the question, and yet I found myself doing so anyway. “What do you think is wrong with them? Your powers?”
Mari’s brows knit inward. “I have these dreams. Horrible, horrible dreams. I can’t even tell you—” She shuddered. “I think I’m from something tremendouslybad. My lineage. My coven…”
