All for a Rose (3 page)

The corner of Corrine’s mouth twitched, but the humor didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, Maribel, I envy you your buttermints.” She paused and frowned. “Great, now I’m craving sugar.”

“I knew it!” Maribel smiled, but the joke pittered out, dying all too soon. She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m sorry, I guess I really don’t understand.”

“No, I guess not.” Corrine stroked her gown with her uninjured hand, dancing her fingers lightly over the intricate embroidery done in shades of silver that glittered in the sun. A roughened edge on the side of her fingernail snagged the material. Corrine stumbled as all her attention shifted to her dress, her breath catching in her throat the way it might if she’d suddenly dropped an infant.

Maribel kept her gaze ahead, but studied Corrine out of her peripheral vision. Her sister held her breath as she eased her finger away from the skirt, carefully examining the material for damage. Her fire-ravaged hand was all but forgotten in her concern for the garment, and Maribel was once again struck with the sense that there was more going on with her sister than she realized.

“Corrine, please talk to me.”

Apparently satisfied that her gown was fine, Corrine slanted a glance at Maribel. “About what?”

“Anything—everything. I want you to be happy.”

“Ha,” Corrine barked. “Happy, you say.” She snorted, shaking her head. “You might be thriving out here in the middle of nowhere surrounded by plants and animals instead of people, but I
liked
the life we used to have, I belonged there. Out here…” A muscle in her jaw clenched as she swallowed. “I feel worse with every second that passes. Every day it’s harder to remember a time I was comfortable, that I was
happy
.” She surveyed her dress. Her brown eyes lost their shine, despair dragging her shoulders down. “Every day the things I have left fade a little more.”

“Oh, Corrine.” Maribel tried to embrace her sister, but Corrine pivoted out of the way, putting more space between them. Maribel bit her lip. Suddenly Corrine’s obsession with her gowns didn’t seem quite so frivolous as before. “I’m so sorry. I know this has been hard on you. You had so many more friends than I did, and—”

“Friends,” Corrine spat, kicking a pile of leaves. The scent of wet earth filled the air along with the faintest hint of frost left over from winter. “
Friends
wouldn’t have shunned me when I needed them.
Friends
wouldn’t have shut their doors in my face and talked about me behind my back after I lost everything. Where were they after all of Father’s ships were lost to pirates? Where were they after we lost our house, our land?” Her features hardened, giving her the appearance of a fierce marble statue. “I have no
friends
.”

The hair on Maribel’s arms stood up. There was a certain…promise in Corrine’s words. A seed of desired action in the lament that made it more than blowing off steam.
Perhaps I should be paying more attention to the magic Corrine is learning from Mother Briar.

Old stories of madwomen driven to magic out of a thirst for revenge filled Maribel’s mind with macabre images and she shoved them away, not wanting to see Corrine’s twisted by such dark intent.

“You know, Corrine, I was thinking,” she said lightly. “I know that Mother Briar said my talents lay with plants and medicine and such, but perhaps she wouldn’t mind if I sat in on one of your magic lessons? After all, we are sisters. Who’s to say I don’t share some of the same potential she sees in you? You didn’t know you had the potential for magic until—”

“No.”

Corrine stopped so suddenly that Maribel nearly crashed into her. She pinwheeled her arms, trying to keep from falling into her sister’s injured hand. The uneven ground offered no help, but she managed to regain her footing in time. Breathing faster, she blinked at Corrine. “What?”

Immediately, the sharp lines that had spread out from the corners of Corrine’s eyes a moment ago vanished. Corrine smiled, though the expression was strained to the point of being a grimace.

“You know what Mother Briar said. Magic can’t be taught to someone who doesn’t have a natural affinity for it. She read your aura, and she saw that you have a kinship with nature and that’s why she limits your studies to botany and medicine. And if you want to learn about plants, the best thing to do is surround yourself with them. The best thing for me is to have a quiet space alone with Mother Briar to practice what little magic I’m capable of learning.”

Maribel shifted on her feet, trying to ignore the roll of unease sliding over her stomach. Her annoyance at constantly being left outside to “study” while Corrine and Mother Briar retreated into the witch’s cottage was now shifting into unease. Corrine didn’t want her seeing her lessons with Mother Briar. Why?

Corrine hesitated, good hand twitching against the fold of her gown, then pulled Maribel to her side. She tucked her arm into hers, holding it too tight. “Thank you for trying so hard, Maribel. I know you’re only studying plants with Mother Briar so you can make medicines to help me.” She nudged Maribel with her shoulder. “I know you’d rather drop those herbs and flowers into some sort of stew.”

Maribel ducked her head at her sister’s teasing tone. “If this is about the raspberries last week—”

“Raspberries were obviously meant to be eaten, not brewed into medicinal teas,” Corrine interrupted smoothly. “I don’t resent you for eating them and Mother Briar was wrong to make you feel guilty about that.” She laid her head on Maribel’s shoulder, her dark brown hair brushing against Maribel’s arms like a braid of silk. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t help more, and I’m sorry I took out my pain and frustration on you. You didn’t deserve that, and I know you aren’t like that awful Madame Balestra. I want you to know that I don’t know what I’d do without you. I wish there was some way I could repay you for all you’ve done for me.”

The knot in Maribel’s chest loosened and she rested her cheek briefly on top of her sister’s head. Corrine’s dark hair held on to the sunlight until it practically burned against her cheek. “I study plants because I want to. You know I like playing in the dirt.” She lifted her head and nudged her sister until Corrine met her eyes. “And don’t talk about yourself like you’re not great with magic. I’ve seen the twinkle in Mother Briar’s eyes when she looks at you. She’s as proud of you as if you were her own daughter.”

“Don’t sound too excited.” Corrine toyed with a loose thread in the embroidery on her gown. “It’s not like I can spin straw into gold or anything. At this point I’m not even sure if what I’m doing works. Maybe the old witch only came up with this ‘absorbing energy from the air’ thing to make me shut up about how wretched I feel.”

“What exactly is it you want to be able to do with magic?” Maribel ducked under a low hanging branch, the air filling with the crunch of dry sticks as she and Corrine tromped together over a fallen limb.

“I want security,” Corrine answered immediately. She let go of Maribel to fist her skirts and step over the remains of a rotted tree trunk. “I want to be surrounded with people, like we were at home, our real home, not alone in the middle of nowhere where we could die and it would be months until anyone noticed.” She kicked at a pine cone, sending it skittering over the half-frozen ground. “I want to get dressed up and go to parties. I want to enjoy sweets if I feel like it, and go dancing. I want enough money to make sure no one ever has a reason to snicker behind my back, enough money to make sure I never have to worry about starving again.”

Maribel gripped Corrine’s arm. “You will never go hungry again, Corrine, I swear it.”

For a moment they were both silent, lost in the same memory. Those first days after their father had lost everything, after every one of his ships had been taken, leaving him with no cargo and no means to transport more. They’d always been so wealthy, one would have thought it would take more time for it all to vanish, but vanish it had in the blink of an eye.

Debtors had showed up  from all four corners of the kingdom, friends had turned their backs. They’d had barely enough money to purchase the small farm, far from the main village, and in the most undesirable territory in all of Sanguenay. Winter had fallen on them like a hungry wolf, chewing their bones and rattling the old farmhouse with its howling winds. They’d nearly starved, surviving only because the old witch in the forest, Mother Briar, had taken pity on them and taught them to forage for edible wild plants. She’d even shared some of her own personal stores to get them through.

It had been a poor substitute for the feasts they’d been used to, and none of them had felt it so acutely as Corrine. Her delicate sister with the sweet laugh had died that winter, replaced by a pale, brittle woman with hard eyes and a haunted expression that never truly left her. It had been Corrine’s idea to seek out Mother Briar after that winter and beg to be taught more than just how to forage for food.

“Hello, girls.”

Mother’s Briar’s raspy voice broke into Maribel’s reflections and she nearly jumped out of her skin as she realized they’d arrived at their destination. Her hand flew to her chest as her gaze darted around the trees, finally landing on the old woman standing amidst a tangle of flowing ivy, the long green vines spilling over the roof of her modest cottage to tickle the sides of the stone on the way to the ground. They writhed like the tentacles of a living beast as the witch disentangled herself and stepped to meet her visitors.

Ebony eyes gleamed as she brushed her graying hair out of her face and dusted off the simple brown dress she wore under her green cloak. Between her garments and the ivy covering her house, both the witch and her cottage were practically invisible.

“I’m sorry we’re late, Mother Briar,” Corrine said immediately.

Maribel frowned and glanced at her sister.
Late? This visit was planned?

“No sense waffling on about it now.” The witch gave Corrine’s burned hand a disapproving glance. “You were near a fire today. Another episode, I suppose?”

Sweat beaded on Corrine’s brow and patchy redness crept up her neck like a sickening sunrise. Corrine’s brave front wavered, the pain revealed in her moment of weakness. Maribel took an instinctive step closer, but Corrine stepped away, nearer the witch.

“Yes.”

If Mother Briar noticed how unsteady Corrine was, she didn’t show it. “We’ll need to step up your lessons. From now on, you’ll see me every day.” She glanced at Maribel and produced a book from somewhere under her cloak. She handed it off to Maribel and pointed at a circle of thick green bushes bedecked with broad-petaled purple flowers. “Maribel, take the book and go study those plants there. When I come out, I want you to tell me what kind of plant that is and be able to give me three ways to use them in healing.”

Maribel bristled at Mother Briar’s dismissive order. She parted her lips, ready to give the witch a piece of her mind—starting with what she could do with her book. The words halted on the tip her tongue as Corrine tensed, her eyes flashing too much white and a stricken look seizing her features. Maribel pressed her lips into a thin line and swallowed her irritation like a bitter potion.

“Actually, Mother Briar,” she started tightly, “I had a question first.” Maribel brushed away the tickle of unease as the witch focused her intense stare on her and squared her shoulders. “I was reading the book you gave me the other day, and I don’t understand Mountain Arnica. It says it can heal bruised skin, but it also says contact with skin can be poisonous.”

“Well?” Mother Briar prompted impatiently.

“Well? Which is it?” Maribel tried to keep the frustration out of her voice for Corrine’s sake, but she really wasn’t in the mood for Mother Briar’s mystique today. Especially not now that she had the distinct and growing impression she was being kept in the dark about something. Something involving her sister’s magic lessons.

“Depends on who you are. Mountain Arnica is also called Holy Herb. It’s used by humans and the bright creatures beyond the veil for healing. In other places, it’s called Demon’s Bane, and it is quite poisonous to those creatures closer to the other side of the grave. I wouldn’t recommend it for demons, vampires, and the like, but for humans,
sidhe
, and that sort of creature, it can be quite helpful.”

“The book could have said that outright,” Maribel muttered.

“This is why it’s important to study with someone who knows what they’re talking about instead of relying solely on books.”

A book
you
gave me and told me to study.
Maribel bit back her retort, giving in to the plea in Corrine’s eyes. She graciously accepted the new book the witch offered her, gripping it tightly to keep from giving in to the urge to whack the old biddy with it. Corrine practically ran inside the cottage without so much as a backward glance at Maribel and the witch shuffled after her. For a heart-stopping moment, Maribel thought Corrine was going to crash into the doorframe, but she managed to twist at the last moment and stumble safely into the house.

Again Mother Briar appeared unperturbed by Corrine’s worsening state. She strode into the house with the meandering gate of someone who hadn’t a care in the world, leaving Maribel to glare at her back. Her ire went unnoticed as Mother Briar shut the door behind her.

Alone again, Maribel let out a breath of resignation and trudged with her book over to the plants the witch had indicated. It didn’t take long to identify the plants as blue elderberry and she plucked some of the flowering tops to prepare a tea later. The book said such a tea would ward off a cold, and though Corrine didn’t have a cold, Maribel guessed it wouldn’t be long until she or her father caught one. It was one of those things that came from working outdoors all day—something Corrine didn’t have to worry about.

Smothering the nip of guilt that bit her at that last uncharitable thought, Maribel was about to close the book when she spotted a particularly beautiful bloom filling a page in her peripheral vision. She opened the book and flipped through the pages until she found the flower that had caught her eye.