A Dawn of Onyx (The Sacred Stones, #1)(49)

“Mari. That was—”

“I am so sorry, Arwen,” she said before turning her chestnut eyes on me. “It was so dangerous and completely stupid. I can’t believe you agreed to it, honestly.”

I could feel my all too familiar headache returning.

“You almost got us killed,” I snipped. “How could you think—”

I snapped my mouth shut as we passed by two strolling sentries in the torchlit hall. Mari and I smiled—warm and broad and phony as charlatans.

They passed us and I readied myself to lay into her further, but she slowed at the gallery, looking down at the people milling about the courtyard below us.

She looked stricken.

Had the strix scared her that much?

“I had to get the amulet,” she said. Voice low like a secret. “I couldn’t fail,” she turned to face me, eyes grave. “Being good at things, knowledgeable about everything. I don’t know. It’s all I’m worth, I think.”

Irritation still prickled at my skin, but her words made my heart hurt, too.

“Mari, that’s not true and you know it. How can you say that?”

“I didn’t have any friends here growing up. It’s an army stronghold for Stone’s sake. There were very few kids, and of them, the girls were sent to take classes in Willowridge, and the boys were taught to fight. I think Papa never sent me away because he didn’t want to be alone.”

The image of a small, lonely Mari, red curls taking up half her face, bullied by young boy soldiers and hiding in Kane’s ornate study, made me want to hug her.

“My mother died giving birth to me. I never knew her, but I knew from what Papa told me about her that she was a brilliant witch, and good at everything else she did. He was so enamored by her, and every day growing up he told me how alike we were.

“I loved reading, just like she did. It felt so good to have something that I could take pride in. Feeling like she and I were the same. Then, it didn’t matter what anyone thought of me. I had my mind, just like my mother, and that was all I needed. I was so afraid of failing at these spells, Arwen—at failing at something she was great at, that I had set my mind to—that I almost got us both killed. I am so profoundly sorry. I just didn’t know who I would be if I tried witchcraft and didn’t succeed.”

All the fury swept out of me like a snuffed candle.

I could relate.

Maybe not to the incredible pressure she put on herself, but to the childhood loneliness leading to some poor adult choices. Truthfully, had I found something when I was young that I was as great at as Mari was at academia, I might have grown up with some of the sense of self and confidence that she possessed.

I turned her to face me.

“Mari, if you never pulled a random fact out of thin air again, or quoted a text I’d never heard of, or mastered a new spell or translation, I wouldn’t think of you any differently. Your brilliance and fierce determination are only two of the many, many qualities that make you my friend.”

Her eyes brightened. “Thanks for saying that.”

“It’s true. I’m a terrible liar.”

We resumed our stroll, and this time the silence was pleasant—a nightcap to accompany the balmy evening that had somehow not ended in our death.

“So,” she said after a few minutes. “Are we going to talk about what we heard?”

My cheeks reddened. Amelia.

“My ego is still recovering from the fact that Kane seems to have slept with half the kingdom, including century-old witches, and shows no interest in me,” I said. It was a joke, but it didn’t come out like one.

Mari grabbed my arm tightly and swung me into her eyeline.

“Let’s not follow that train of thought,” she said, grimacing. “You don’t want to be wanted by a man like that anyway. You hate him, and with good reason.” Her voice was warm, yet firm. “You are a bright light, Arwen. And he is not worthy of you.”

I nodded but my heart had seized up in my chest.

Maybe, as much as I thought Mari couldn’t see herself accurately, it was possible neither could I.





THIRTEEN


I thwacked at the tree with all my might but barely made a dent in the bark. Even when I imagined it was Kane’s arrogant face, or someone named Amelia, my slashes were mere scratches against the wood. After all the mornings I had spent with steel in my hands, I still felt like my strength had not improved at all.

I wiped the sweat from my eyes and peered up at Dagan.

“This isn’t training. This is free labor. If you need more firewood, I bet Owen would be happy to oblige.”

Dagan loosed a chuckle, the novelty of which still hadn’t faded. Nothing seemed to bring the curmudgeon as much joy as these morning lessons. I couldn’t tell if he was secretly endeared by my learning, or just a sadist. Probably both.

“Give me four more blows and we’ll call it a day.”

I rolled my shoulders back and took the axe to the tree four more times, leaving a shallow gash in the wood.

“There you go,” he praised. “That’s something. We’ll get it down one day.”

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with sword fighting.”

Dagan offered me his sword in return for the axe I was holding. I made the trade and instantly felt my arm pull toward the ground.