She seemed to do pretty well. “Our—your mother,” shecorrected, not completely ready to acknowledge her yet, “what is she like? And, do you—we—have a father?” The moment the question slipped past her lips, Thorn wanted to drag it back.
But Rose didn’t scoff or snicker. Instead she wore an expression of rueful compassion. “Both,” she answered. “They are Lady Shoshan and Lord Clotaire of Northbrooke. Both sorcerers, though not oneiromancers. We have oneiromancers in the family, but several generations back. Theirs is an arranged marriage. They were brought together by the clients holding their contracts entirely on the possibility that they could breed an oneiromancer child of my—our—potential.” She grimaced. “They don’t really get along all that well, though individually they’re fine people. Fortunately they’re not often in an enclosed space together,” she added with a wry familiarity Thorn envied.
In a flash, she could see her life as it might have been, as vividly as a memory in reverse—growing up with Rose as her sister, knowing her mother and father, she and Rose sharing the joke,Oh, no, don’t let Mum and Da be in the same room!She both wanted to cry and wanted to rage about the unfairness of it all. She cleared her throat instead, trying to think of something to say back to the patiently waiting Rose. “Shoshan means rose,” she noted in a dull voice.
Rose frowned. “It does? I suppose I didn’t know that, or didn’t think about it.”
“I have a lot of time to read, at least the books that I’m allowed to. But don’t you see? It can’t be a coincidence. She is the rose, as are you, and I’m the thorn she clipped away.”
Looking stricken, Rose didn’t seem to have an immediate reply. “Itcanbe a coincidence,” she finally said, then held up a hand to stop Thorn’s next words. “Besides, you were named Lily. It’s carved on your—” She stopped abruptly. “Probably this Jada called you ‘Thorn’ just to be cruel. And what if our mother didn’t give you away—have you thought of that? Maybe Jada stole you. Maybe our mother truly believes you died.”
Thorn’s battered heart wanted to believe it. “It’s possible,” she replied slowly, “that everyone butyouknew that I hadn’t died.”
Rose stared at her long and hard, her face a lovely, neutral mask that Thorn was learning meant the sophisticated woman was thinking hard. “It’s possible,” she finally acknowledged. “I really don’t know where the lies started, how and why you ended up here with Jada, but I do know where I have to ask that first question. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Thorn did and didn’t. That is, she understood Rose’s logic, but she didn’t like it. “I understand. It’s just that, and this probably doesn’t make any sense, but it’s going to be lonely with you gone.”
Rose smiled, close-lipped and sorrowful. “It makes perfect sense. I promise I’ll be back. Soon.”
19
Rose had already been away from HASP for longer than she’d expected. Well, she hadn’t knownwhatto expect when she stepped through the Dream in search of her supposedly dead twin. She’d estimated that the errand could take anywhere from mere moments—if she emerged in the middle of nowhere and had to quickly claw her way back—to eternity, if she got herself killed in a duel or lost in the Dream. As it was, she’d spent the better part of the morning sitting at Thorn’s kitchen table and discussing this very strange turn their lives had taken.
Still, despite that she’d been gone for hours with only a cryptic note to explain her absence, Rose didn’t return to HASP like the dutiful student she’d once been. Too much in her world had turned upside down. Really, she should go talk to Sebastien, but facing him right now was more than she could bear to think about. It probably indicated something important, that she regarded dealing with Sebastien as a burden rather than support, but she didn’t have the ability to think about that either.
She could only think about her burning questions.
So, she carefully drew her portal, taking the opportunity to explain and demonstrate to Thorn, giving her the benefit of her expensive instruction. Rose did give the wisdom of that a second thought—and a third and fourth thought—but given Thorn’s impulsive and desperation-driven, not to mention successful, attempt to physically walk the Dream before, she’d likely try again. Especially if something happened like Jada returning and imposing another terrible punishment on Thorn.
Rose had gotten a look at the root cellar and had not blamedThorn one bit for being wild to escape that mildewy, claustrophobic prison. She shuddered just thinking about it, knowing she’d likely have done the same. And, knowing that, feeling that she recognized so much of herself in this mirror image, so utterly like and yet unlike herself, as if she viewed the inside of her own heart, Rose figured Thorn would try again with or without good instruction.
Thorn might as well learn the correct methods and cautions. Rose already worried that Thorn had driven herself somewhat mad from her previous amateurish dabbling, surviving through sheer luck, but not entirely unharmed. There was something slightly off about her. Though, as for that, it wasn’t easy to discern how much of Thorn’s oddness came from unhealthy exposure to the Dream, her near-absolute social isolation, or Jada’s obviously cruel treatment.
Regardless, Rose showed Thorn the basics, after making her swear to every star in the sky that she wouldn’t try it again on her own—giving matching promises that she would return to assist Thorn—and then set her mental sights on Northbrooke. For places she already knew well, like her childhood home, she didn’t need to scour the Dream for a nearby dreamer. Fortunate, as midafternoon was a terrible time to find dreamers. Even if people napped, at that time of day they almost certainly went into deep sleep, with no dreams. As it was, Rose was sure she could find her way to a quiet place she’d been more times than she could count: the little waterfall where she’d ridden Aster any time she could get away. It wasn’t that far from the bustle of Northbrooke, but it was isolated enough that no one else went there.
She didn’t want to advertise her visit, if she could avoid it. So, she awkwardly hugged Thorn goodbye—still marveling that she didn’t mind touching her sister—reminded her twin of her promises, and renewed her own. Adsila flew to her shoulder, which came as a relief. Part of her thought the avatar mightprefer the purer-hearted Thorn to cynical, pushy Rose. Who would blame her, if so?
She stepped through her portal and walked a few steps through the Dream. For the third time, Rose felt as if she had to pour magic into reassembling her physical body as she emerged from the comfortable realm of the Dream. She still hadn’t had time to ask Master Zoltan if it should feel that way. The few texts she’d consulted didn’t mention anything like that, but all of her teachers emphasized the individual craft and art of sorcery. Each magic-worker had their own unique imprint and style. In truth, they argued that a mark of true progression in a student was when they internalized their lessons and made it their own, rather than aping other examples.
Still, it made her wonder as she stepped onto the spring grass beside the burbling waterfall of her childhood. With a sense of dislocation, not entirely derived from traveling the surreal landscape of the Dream, Rose looked about at the place she’d spent so much time in as a young child and hadn’t seen since. It had never occurred to her to visit it on her sporadic and fleeting visits home. The once-magical waterfall had shrunk to a knee-high trickle and the enchantment had worn thin.
She tried not to take that as an omen of further disillusionment to come. Allowing both portals to close with a snap of finality, Rose squared her shoulders and prepared to have possibly the most difficult conversation of her entire life.
Walking up to the keep dressed in full court regalia with the avatar of a vengeful goddess on her shoulder, even via the back entrance, didn’t lend itself to secrecy or even subtlety. Nothing to be done for it, though. She wanted to talk to her mother first, and Shoshan was likely at Northbrooke at the moment, if Rose recalled her schedule correctly. Most important, Clotaire was not there.
Rose hadn’t been able to think too much about her father’s role in this. All these years of raining love and gifts upon her,of stoking her ambition and painting a glorious future for her, had Clotaire known that his other daughter lived, but deprived, neglected, and abused? It was unthinkable and yet… she had to at least consider the possibility.
And, perhaps it wasn’t fair to her father, but Rose could far more easily see Clotaire coldly conspiring to make it look as if one of his infant daughters had died than Shoshan. Rose loved her father, but he always advised Rose to set aside sentiment in favor of ambition. The softer, sweeter Shoshan would always put matters of the heart above power. It occurred to Rose in that moment that perhaps she was more like her father, and Thorn more like their mother.
Regardless, Rose couldn’t stew over this insane situation any longer. She had to take her chances on being seen and having her parents fined for her unauthorized visit home. Quickly traversing the formal gardens, she slowed her steps as she passed the gravel path that led to the keep cemetery. There she’d find the miniature gravestone for Lily, her death date the same as the birth one. If Rose were to dig it up, would she find an empty coffin? It might come to that, depending on whether her parents decided to continue the lie.
But she moved on, crossing into the smaller, tumultuous kitchen gardens, stakes ready for the spring seedlings, and drew near the servants’ entrance to the busy food-preparation areas for the sprawling complex. She’d played often here as a child, helping the kitchen maids pick herbs while her nanny stole an hour or two with her paramour.
A feminine shriek pierced the air and a gray-haired woman in a gravy-spattered apron threw up her hands. The head cook, Durst. “Lady Rose!” she cried. “As I live and breathe, is that you, in my kitchen garden and looking like the queen herself?” Her gaze went to Adsila on Rose’s shoulder, eyes quickly darting away again.
Rose put a finger to her lips in a signal to be discreet. “I’mnot supposed to be here,” she said in a quiet voice, then added a wink.
“You always were a wicked one, Lady Rose,” Durst sighed, her eyes twinkling. “I see that hasn’t changed.”
