Page 90 of A Reign of Roses
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Arwen
“I know it’s in heresomewhere,” Mari said, blowing a red curl from her face like a horse. “I purposely didn’t leave it in the library because I knew how valuable it was.”
Mari’s bedroom rivaled the aftermath of a tornado. Not just books—of course the shabby, cozy, colorful space washemorrhagingbooks—but also quills and partnerless shoes and half-melted rouges and various brainiac hobbies she’d started and then promptly given up on.
After our morning training session, Kane, Griffin, Dagan, and I had met with the nobles to discuss our position with Queen Ethera. The tricky monarch wouldn’t be swayed by gold or land. All she really wanted was to keep the south from rising up against her. We’d discussed offering her battalions and convoys, but we couldn’t spare the men ourselves.
We’d left the forum with clear orders: findsomethingof value to offer Ethera in return for her army. When I’d filled Mari in, she’d dragged us to her cottage on the spot.
“I still don’t see why the ledger is our way in with Ethera,” Kane said coolly, stepping over a half-knit quilt to lean on Mari’s childhood vanity. She’d never replaced the old wooden thing, and when she sat down to paint her lips and cheeks she looked like a glamorous giant. “If we give it to the queen, she’ll track down every living name in that book and torture them. Doesn’t seem like a plan anyone but Griffin would go for.”
Griffin grumbled, eyes glued to a smear of lip stain on one of the four half-drained mugs on Mari’s bedside. “Don’t waste your breath.”
I frowned at them both.
“I told you all,” Mari said to us, fishing through her unmade bed. “I’ll explain when we find the ledger. It’ll make more sense then.”
I’d forgotten Mari had even taken the book with her from Reaper’s Cavern. The one that contained all the names of the men and women from the south of Rose who’d fought against Queen Ethera’s northern army and lost.
“Are you going to help or…?”
Chastened, I opened drawer after drawer and felt around for the tome, fishing unashamedly through Mari’s unmentionables. The two texts I found sandwiched between all the dainty lace were both recipe books. One was entirely about pies.
I washonoredto be this woman’s friend.
I waggled the books at her. “I need to understand the organizational choices that were made here.”
Griffin, far too tall and broad for Mari’s cluttered room, paled beside me at the sight of all her lacy underthings. He turned, busying himself with a half-threaded embroidery hoop on her shelf. He’d mindlessly begun to sort the various spools when Mari shrieked at him, “Don’t touch those!”
The commander’s jaw went rigid. “This room is a cemetery of hobbies, witch. It’s making me ill.”
Mari’s eyes devoured his as if prepared for combat.
Kane snorted, tinkering with a tiny music box. “Tread carefully, Commander.”
Griffin shifted on his feet. He appraised the vibrant, tangled threads in his hands. “I could just—”
“Idareyou,” Mari sniped.
Any laugh that had threatened to bubble up my throat was swallowed hastily.
The commander sighed. “Someone let me know when she’s found the damned thing.”
Maybe it was because I’d spent so many weeks away from them all, or maybe I was still raw and a bit overly sensitive, but something in my heart cracked at his resigned expression. That he couldn’t bear to be around her, nor without her. That he couldn’t welcome an ounce of vulnerability into his generous yet walled-off heart.
It wasn’t his fault. Nobody had ever taught him how.
Mari said nothing as Griffin maneuvered his too-big frame through her small doorway and out of the cottage. Through the window I watched Mari’s father nod sternly at the commander. He’d been sitting on the front porch for the last twenty minutes. The sweet lumberman claimed no interest in getting in our way, but I knew he feared being in such close proximity to Kane. I’d seen sheer terror drip through his expression as soon as we’d arrived.
“So,” I tried casually. “You revile Griffin again?”
Mari frowned. “Of course not. I just don’t like people touching my things.”
I raised my fistfuls of her underwear and heard Kane’s elegant chuckle.
“Well, notyou. You can dig your grubby hands through anything you want,” she said with a smile. Then her eyes lit with some new thought. “Speaking of.” She spun, searching. “Do you want to borrow my basil pots? In the spring you could—”
