Faerie Winter - Janni Lee Simner [72]
I remembered thorns reaching for her eyes. “Are you—”
Karin moved toward my voice, and I heard the slight hesitation in her steps. “They may yet heal.”
I hadn’t thought I’d made any sound, but I must have, for Karin said softly, “It is all right, Liza. The trees are no longer silent. I hear them all around us, speaking of spring, of rain, of turning their leaves toward the sun. You have done more than I dared hope for, and it is an honor to be your teacher.”
I glanced at Caleb. Surely he could heal this. He could heal so much.
“Injuries involving connections between body and mind are never wholly under the healer’s control.” Caleb’s voice held steady, as if he were delivering a lesson. “I can only repair the pathways the plants damaged. I cannot make the mind decide to follow where they lead. That will happen or not, over time.”
“It is all right,” Karin said again, with a faint note of impatience that made me think she’d told Caleb as much before. “We did what needed doing, and in the end the cost was less than I was willing to pay.” Karin reached for me. Her hand was crossed with thick pink scars. I took it, and she squeezed my fingers in her own. I’d have given my life to bring back spring, and I knew she’d have done the same. It didn’t need saying. We made the decisions we needed to make, paid the prices we had to pay to save what we could.
“You give up much for our people.” Mom’s words had a strange edge.
Karin lifted her head toward her. “That surprises you?”
Mom looked away to smooth the blankets one-handed. “I have grown accustomed to being surprised, since the War.”
“You were wrong, Tara, when you said I would enjoy watching your people die.” Karin brushed a hand over the wool nightgown she wore, as if the fabric were strange to her. I saw the outlines of more bandages through the coarse cloth. “I did not enjoy it. I still wake to the memory of their screams. Does that please you?”
Nightmares, I thought. There were worse nightmares than mine.
“No. It doesn’t.” Mom set the toy frog, duck, and pig atop the blankets. “I’m sorry, Karinna.”
I heard an indrawn breath from the doorway. Elin stood there, her arm bandaged as well, the silver butterfly back in her hair. “They cried out when I killed them, too,” the girl whispered. “Humans do not die as quietly as our people do.”
“No. They do not.” Karin released my hand to turn to her daughter. “And were you glad, when they died?”
The sleeves of Elin’s brown dress were ragged with tiny knots, as if she’d been worrying them. “No. I thought it necessary, but I was not glad.”
Karin stepped toward her daughter. “Later,” she said softly, “we will talk.”
With a sound that might have been a sob, Elin turned away. She fled down the hall, her steps making no sound against the hardwood floor. Karin sighed, rested her head against her hands, and didn’t try to follow.
Outside, rain began pattering gently against the roof. Other footsteps barreled up the stairs, not silent at all. “Liza!” Kyle threw himself at me, wrapping his arms around my legs. “Not sleeping!”
Hope ran in after him, flashing me an apologetic look. “Sorry, Liza. We tried to keep him out so you could rest.” The acorns were gone from her hair, and her usual mischievous grin was missing as well. She’d been subject to glamour, too, at least for a short while. Long enough to be turned into a tree. There was no one in my town magic hadn’t touched now. “Though keeping the other Afters out has been almost as hard,” Hope said. “You’ve no idea how good it is to see you’re all right, Liza. We’ve all been worried. I hear it’s thanks to you we don’t still have roots and branches, by the way.” She laughed uneasily. “We’ll make sure the Befores all know that it’s you who saved us. They need our magic, whether they like it or not.”
I held Kyle close with my good hand. Seeing him was reminder enough I hadn’t saved everyone. I looked at Mom. “You know about …”
Mom squeezed the plastic pig. “I saw Johnny’s shadow. Kyle told me the rest.” She looked across the room to Hope. “Brianna?”
Hope