All for a Rose Read online

  “Is it really such a burden to take me to Mother Briar’s? It’s not even a mile away, Maribel, surely that’s worth having someone who actually knows what she’s doing tend to me?”

  Maribel’s lips parted, shock momentarily stealing her voice. She opened and closed her mouth as a hundred words fought for space on her tongue.

  I work my tail off all day to support you.

  I was defending you!

  I’m sorry you’re hurt.

  Why are you so mad at me when I should be the one who’s mad at you?

  “Corrine…”

  Corrine’s brown eyes sparkled with unshed tears, reminiscent of the puddles that pooled in the garden after a hard rain. She hunched her shoulders over her injured limb. “It must be such an inconvenience for you to have a sick sister. So much time wasted trying to keep me alive in this cursed place.”

  “That’s not fair. I have never complained about taking care of you!” The words flew from Maribel’s mouth, determined to be free regardless of how desperately she wanted to keep them in. She squared her shoulders, trying not to let her gaze wander to her sister’s wound lest it leech away some of the righteous indignation protecting her from her sister’s venom. She jabbed a finger at the book leaning against the tomato plant. “I have been studying all day—and doing my chores—all so I can help you. I want to help you get better, Corrine, and I’m doing my best.”

  “If I hadn’t come up here and found you chatting with that horrid woman from across the fields, I might believe you.” Corrine’s face tightened, sparks in her eyes burning away her tears. “Did you agree with her when she went on about how lazy and worthless I am because I can’t do as much work as you do?”

  “I never said that!”

  “Not to me,” Corrine countered evenly.

  The denial faltered on Maribel’s lips, her brain working furiously to comb through her memories of every conversation she’d had where she’d mentioned her sister. Yes, sometimes she thought Corrine could help more than she did, but she’d never said that out loud to anyone. She hadn’t—

  Too late, Maribel realized her hesitation had betrayed her. Corrine’s gaze dropped to a tomato plant and she ripped one of its leaves off, crushing it in her fingers until the scent of ruined greenery filled the air between them.

  “You could work more if you wanted to.” The words were sour on her tongue and they left an unpleasant taste in Maribel’s mouth, but it was too late to pretend now. As much as she pitied her sister and the illness that had plagued her since childhood, there were times she thought she and her father had coddled Corrine too much. Perhaps a little tough love was in order.

  Corrine fell back as though Maribel had struck her. She must have tightened her hand into a fist or something, because she cried out, eyes squeezing shut and her face twisting in pain. What little blood she’d had left in her cheeks drained away and sweat broke out in a fine sheen on her forehead. The fingers of her burned hand curled into claws and she sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. Maribel lunged in an instinctive move to support her, but Corrine bared her teeth at her and hunched over her hand like a wounded animal.

  “I wish I could be more like you,” she choked out. “Out here digging in the dirt, snacking on the fruits of my labors and dreaming of all the wonderful things I’m going to cook for dinner.” She stepped back, the movement uneven as she fought not to fall over the churned earth. “But I can’t. I don’t know when my limbs will freeze, when my mind will go spinning off into…”

  She pressed her lips together until pale white swallowed the pink. A glint of something hard flashed through her eyes and she dropped her gaze to her hand. “I don’t want to cut my flesh open on a gardening tool during a spell, or fall onto the stove because I thought it was a bed. I don’t want to put my hand into a boiling cauldron because in my mind it was a wash basin, or be caught talking to a cat as though it were a human being because I thought it had spoken to me first.” Her voice wavered and she raised her good hand to point at Maribel. The wind tousled her brown hair and for a moment she appeared wild, untamed. “If you think for one second that I wouldn’t trade places with you if I could, then you don’t know me at all.”

  Maribel tried to push away the images Corrine’s words raised. Her sister wasn’t wrong, wasn’t lying or exaggerating. Her…episodes, had put her life in danger more than once. She couldn’t be around fire at all—apparently even fetching the rug from near the fireplace was too close. Maribel’s gaze was pulled unwillingly back to Corrine’s burned hand.

  “I’m sorry, Corrine.” She ran a hand over her face and then shoved it back through her hair. “I know you would help if you could, really I do. I just get frustrated sometimes, and—”

  Corrine stomped a few steps away, leaving deep footprints in the soft soil of Maribel’s garden. “Are you going to walk me to Mother Briar’s or not?”

  Maribel’s gaze fell on the tomato plants around her, their ripe red flesh beckoning to her, their leaves reaching for her as if begging her to save them from the weeds trying to choke the life from their fruit. She had so much work to do…her share and Corrine’s.

  She returned her gaze to Corrine, ready to offer one more protest. Corrine’s face had faded from the color of warm eggs to the sickly pallor of a discarded caul. The burned mess of her hand was starting to smell, scalded flesh, blood, and pus poisoning the fresh spring air between them. Maribel swallowed her objections.

  “All right, let’s go.” A sharp ache in her spine reminded her of how much time she’d spent that morning bent over the plants she was now abandoning. “But I can’t stay long. I need to get back here and finish my chores.”

  Corrine’s shoulders sagged. “Good. Good. Thank you.”

  Maribel stayed close enough to Corrine that she’d be able to catch her sister if she fell, but not so close as to risk bumping into her injured limb. They trudged slowly down the rolling hill and crossed over the well-tended pasture to the edge of the woods. Trees towered over them like sentinels, filling the air with the sweet smell of new blossoms and the singing of baby birds. Despite her stress and the weight of the chores waiting for her, something inside Maribel loosened, eased as though a fist had been closed around her gut and was only now letting go. Nature was twirling around her with open arms, and despite everything, she couldn’t feel anything but blessed to be in the midst of it all.

  “If only I could be more like you.”

  Maribel stumbled and almost fell over a coil of wild vines. After a head-spinning moment of wind-milling her arms, she managed to keep her balance. Her sister’s gaze was fixed solidly ahead of her, her footsteps slow, but determined. Maribel’s heart softened and she put a sympathetic hand on Corrine’s shoulder.

  “Corrine, you can’t help being sick. I’m sorry I—”

  “I’m not talking about being sick.” Corrine halted abruptly, tearing herself free of Maribel’s offered comfort. Putting a little more distance between them, she resumed her pace, staring resolutely ahead.

  Maribel gave her sister some space even as she tried to see past the mask Corrine had schooled her features into. She tried to remember the Corrine she’d known when they’d lived in the center of the kingdom, been in the midst of the bustling activity and the thriving social scene. A time when the lines around her sister’s eyes had been laugh lines, her tears few and far between. Corrine had always had episodes, always struggled now and then, but it was nothing like it was now out here on the outskirts where they had to work to survive. They’d been milder, manageable.

  Maribel trailed a hand down the bark of a tree as she passed. Loose dirt coated the pads of her fingers and she rubbed them together. “Other than your illness, what difference is there to envy?” She offered a tentative smile. “It’s my recipes, isn’t it? You’re jealous of my buttermints.”

  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 hungr
y 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.