“Maraya,” Genevieve repeats with new understanding.Safe haven.
“Exactly,” I say with a smile. “When I’d asked, my mother said the elders had apparently either forgotten this history, or deliberately omitted it.” I roll my eyes.
“Why don’t you believe it could be true?” Her eyebrows furrow.
“A village getting an unsung hero—one with my exact gift, which just so happens to be the first ever gift in the history of our coven, and in a time of a powerful ruler with unjust beliefs?” I scoff. “It just sounds so fantastical. It doesn’t help that my mother had only told me this story after the elders had discovered my gift, and we’d had to leave the village.”
“Youhadto leave?” Genevieve’s frown deepens. “Did they make you?”
My lower belly dips at the open threat in her voice. “What? No. I mean … they were just … wary. They obviously didn’t understand.” I don’t want to think about those days—the weeks before my mother hadmadeus leave. “Anyway, since that first oerhwu, according to my mother, no one in our coven has ever been given this gift again. Until me.”
Genevieve looks into my eyes, one after the other. She knows I’m changing the subject, but she lets me. It makes my heart ache.
But I can’t stand the way she’s staring. She’s looking at me like I’ve brought her the moon, the sun, and the stars—like I hold the endless expanse of the universe in my gaze.
I duck my head, my pulse thundering. “Like I said, it’s all a little too fantastical, isn’t it?”
“Magical girl,” she whispers, in English this time, and I blink rapidly so I don’t cry.
I’m laid almost fully bare; two of my biggest secrets, out now for her to take. The only thing keeping me from floating into her orbit is gravity.
And fuck, I’m so tired of thinking about tomorrow. All I’ve done since she’d left me is think about fuckingtomorrow.
I’m exhausted, stretched thin, as fragile and exposed as a bee in a downpour, trying fruitlessly to cross an impossible stretch of ocean—trying desperately not to get my wings wet, even though I know it’s inevitable that I will.
It’s inevitable that I’m going to drown.
It’s reckless. It’s solely because I have her right here, solid and unwavering and so fucking beautiful. But if I’m going to drown anyway …
Iwantthis.
I want here.
I wantnow.
“That’s why I left you,” I confess in a whisper, looking up. Genevieve’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s why Iletyou leave,” I force myself to amend. “I could see myself eventually telling you about being an oerhwu, maybe. But if I’d told you about that, I would’ve had to tell you about my “gift”, and I just …”
I’d loved her. I’d trusted her. But … I’d trusted others, too. And with that inescapable, impendingtomorrowtrailing behind me like my shadow, I’d been so afraid.
Even now, I still am. But the universe, it seems, has gently taken the choice from me; it has rendered useless the fear, placing my bruised core in front of the love of my life like a delicate flower uprooted.
And Genevieve is holding the flower just as gently, curious and perhaps a touch wary, but not condemning. Not crushing or recoiling.
“Ah, Rosemary.” She swallows visibly. “I’ve missed you.” My hand flies to my chest, like I need the pressure to confirm my heart is still beating. Genevieve’s eyes look wet. “Fuck, Rosemary, I’ve missed you so much.”
And I’m shifting onto my knees, getting ready to crawl into her arms.
“No.” Her hand flies into the air between us, making me freeze. “Stop. That doesn’t—this doesn’t mean—”
“Why?” I don’t care that I sound anguished. “I understood before; the fear of people finding out. The knowledge that if we ever gave in, if you were ever truly mine, the entireworldwould know.” We’re both breathing hard, our eyes helplessly locked. “But we’re alone here. Genevieve. It’s been so—surely we can—”
“It doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head, resolute. “None of that has ever mattered. You won’t understand.”
“Won’t I?” I rest back on my calves, thinking of what had happened in the study before … something had killed me. Something that seems so entwined with the shannko I hadn’t noticed the danger until it was too late. I don’t want to think about it right now. It’s clear Genevieve hadn’t heard everything the shannko had said. “That was your grandmother, wasn’t it? In the study.”
She jolts.
“Rosemary.” It’s said with warning.
