Page 92 of A Spell for Midwinter's Heart
Her mother stared, open-mouthed, and then after a moment pulled her in close.
They stayed that way for a long time, until finally Rowan pulled back.
“Why were you so afraid of Grandma teaching me, Mom?” She had her suspicions, but she wanted to hear it from her mother’s lips.
Liliana looked down. Her face was creased and haggard in the cold morning light. “Your grandmother, she…I loved her, but she was a hard woman to love. She was so wounded, she simply could not cede an inch, ever…She was always on the offensive. And she had her reasons—I can acknowledge that. There were times she needed to protect herself, to protect us, and when she used her power against people with power of their own who deserved it, it was righteous. But she stopped being able to see clearly who did and did not deserve it, trusting only in herself to judge, and used it in ways, on people, she shouldn’t have.” Her mother looked away briefly before looking back. “And it drove her further and further away from everyone.”
Liliana was studying her hands, and Rowan reached out to hold them. She looked up, smiled faintly. “I didn’t want that for you.”
“I don’t either,” said Rowan, and a familiar fear coiled in her belly, readying to strike.
“But listen to me—you aren’t her, and it wasn’t fair of me to project what she did onto you. You can and will make the right choices about how to use your magic. You already are.”
“Thank you.” Rowan hesitated a moment and inhaled power from the earth below before saying what came next. “But the thing is, Iamher. There are ways that I am her, just like there are ways that I’m you, because I’m not one person, and neither was she, and she used her magic to hurt you, really badly. She hurt me too, but she also helped me. Just like you have helped me and hurt me. And I’m going to hurt people too. No matter how hard I try—I’m going to hurt people too.”
Liliana inhaled sharply but didn’t protest, only listened.
Rowan took a deep shaking breath, pushing down the swell of anxiety. “Something…something I’ve been trying to come to peace with, and I think I’m just understanding now, is that none of us are just one person. We’re someone different to everyone in our lives, and even different people on different days. Which is one of the reasons it hurts so much to lose someone. We not only lose them—we lose who we weretothem. All those people, though, they are the same person, they’re all us, and they coexist inside us. The only way I know how to make peace with that in myself is to make peace with it in others too.”
Her eyes searched her mother’s face, desperate for understanding. “Does that make sense?”
Liliana Midwinter’s eyes, which had been cloudy, cleared and shone. “Yes,” she said, “yes it does.” Then she touched her hand to Rowan’s cheek. “My wise and wonderful girl. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I ever gave you reason to doubt yourself.”
Something in Rowan released then. She was lighter. The conversation hadn’t healed everything—no conversation could—but it had softened the ground.
“There’s one more thing we need to talk about,” said her mother with an inhale. “You need to stop blaming yourself for the house. Many people were at fault, but no one more than your grandmother herself. If she’d told someone sooner, maybe we could have helped, but she wanted to fix it all herself. Even though she was barely capable of magic by then. If I hadn’t found those statements hidden in the china cabinet…”
Rowan inhaled deeply. “There’s something else you need to know about that night.”
Her mother waved a hand. “I told you. Whatever you did, we can put it behind us, I—”
“No, it’s important. The reason I’ve never told you what happened is because I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
Her mother looked stricken. “Was it Mom, did she—?”
“No.I did it to myself. I erased my memories. The components are still in my spell chest. Whatever it was, whatever I did that night…I didn’t want to remember. And I can’t help but feel like…” Rowan looked out the window. “Like part of why I’ve been…so stuck is because I’m missing that piece of me.”
There was a long, quiet moment before her mother said in a low voice, “Do you want to undo it?”
Rowan glanced her way, startled. “Do you know how?”
“No,” admitted her mother, and then she looked thoughtful and crossed to a photo of Grandmother Madeleine hanging on the wall. “I can try to figure it out, but…I wish we still had our expert. You know, for all I used to think we were opposites—we’re more alike than I like to admit. Especially lately. I’ve been channeling her fierce streak.”
“It’s not the worst thing. You’ve been fighting for us.”
“I’ve been trying.” She looked from Rowan back to the photo, touching the glass with her fingertips. “Even after everything, I miss her so much.”
“Me too,” said Rowan, a pang in her chest.
Her mother looked toward the kitchen, blinking back tears. “I went looking in the tin for her fudge this morning, forgetting it wouldn’t be there.”
“I did that yesterday! Do you, um, have the recipe anywhere?”
Her mother brightened. “Oh! Um. Probably somewhere…”
“Well, why don’t we try making it? I know it won’t be the same, but—”
“Let’s try it.” Liliana passed to the kitchen to root around in a card box. “The one thing I can never really get right is the cooking time. I always overcook it.”
