Page 100 of A Promise of Peridot
I bypassed the bed to peer outside and down at the swing on Briar’s porch below. The wooden beam creaked under my hands as I leaned over, and I watched as two fireflies flitted through the lawn that sprawled beneath me. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, letting the moonlight brush over my face and clear my mind.
How nice it must be for Briar—to wake up in the mornings and walk out to her quiet porch, survey her bountiful lavender, and read a book on the softly rocking bench.
Lonely, sure.
But peaceful. Untouched. Unthreatened.
Nobody to worry over. To grovel and beg and pray for their safety.
Nobody to hurt.
No ticking clock. Just a long, endless life, all alone.
A pang of envy clamored through me.
I wanted her solitude, her serenity. She had built this life for herself that would ebb and flow for the next century.
My life would end within the year, and what had I built before it was ripped from me?
Turrets and spires and ramparts of sheer cowardice to protect me from my own pain and suffering. Now I might never be able to tell my closest friend how profoundly sorry I was. I’d let my grief over my mother’s death carve a chasm between my siblings and me. I’d broken my own heart and had no idea how to untangle the knotted mess between Kane and me. I had definitely led Fedrik on in my pursuit of normalcy. And all the while, the walls I’d built did nothing to protect me from a fate I had no control over.
For so long, my sorrow had felt like an untouchable foundation under the structure of my life. A base I had to build atop—any joy, any progress erected over that same buried, stagnant, inaccessible grief.
And now, I realized all I had built was an abundance of pain.
My heart seized with the intensity of how much I missed my mother. She would have had thoughtful, soothing words to remind me why things could always get better.
But she wasn’t here.
And even if there was a chance of my survival—even if I could let myself believe in such a thing—I didn’t particularlywantthe life that would stretch before me.
I lay in bed for hours as that thought gutted me over and over and over.
I finally fell asleep, my legs twined in lilac-scented cotton, alongside the rising sun.
29
arwen
Arwen, wake up.” Kane’s voice was a caress. “Briar has news about Mari.”
My eyes flew open and peered past Kane to find Briar, face solemn, standing in the cherrywood doorway, her near-translucent skin shadowed by pale, evening light.
I shot up, nearly colliding with Kane’s head. “What is it? Is she—”
“She’s going to be all right.”
Solace and concern warred in my heart. If Mari was going to be fine, why did Briar look so worried?
I launched myself out of bed and scrambled for the silk robe that Cori had hung beside a birdcage stuffed with more of those wrinkled, flaking books. Kane and Briar strolled down the dark, carpeted hallway and I rushed after them.
Had I slept until evening?
In the last bedroom, Mari lay, still unconscious under white quilted bedding. An impressive sunset flirted through the window that looked out across Willowridge’s cityscape. Cori laid a dampcloth on Mari’s forehead, then took her pulse, writing something down in a worn journal on the bedside table.
I crossed the room to Mari, taking her cool palm into my hand. The lack of warmth sent my power rippling at my fingertips, but there was still nothing to heal—a deeply unsettling sensation, like trying to see out of a blinded eye.
I almost missed Griffin, leaning forward in a leather chair in the corner of the room, elbows pressed to his knees, palms tightly clasped, eyes ringed with lack of sleep.
