The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [12]
‘You wouldn’t trust Liam?’
She shook her head. ‘Not with this.’
‘You certainly let him…’
‘Jarrod, stop. I’m not going to see you for a long time. Don’t end it with an argument about me and your brother.’
Jarrod pulled his hand away from her warm skin and shook his head. ‘I don’t want to leave you.’
‘Me neither. Now go. Hurry.’
He got up, shouldered his bow and stared up at the cliffs. ‘When will I see you again?’
‘I don’t know.’ She handed him his pack.
‘Keep it. There’s still bread for the morning and water. Rosette, I…’
She stopped his words with a kiss, holding his face in her hands. ‘Don’t write to me. Don’t send any messages. It has to be like this. Promise?’
‘I promise.’ He buried his face in her hair. ‘I love you, Rosette de Santo.’
‘I love you too. Tell Liam…’
‘What?’
‘Tell Liam I’m dead.’
They held each other until Jarrod turned abruptly and jogged away. He would have to take the long way around now that it was dark. She hoped he would get home before they sent out a search party. At the rate he disappeared down the beach, she felt sure he would.
Rosette went back to the fire, tears welling again. She picked up a stick and jabbed the coals, making sparks dance like fireflies. What have you done, John’ra? What have you done to us all?
Rosette’s relationship with her father had never been smooth. A tension had lain in between them ever since she could remember. Maybe it had to do with the magic that flowed in her veins, an inheritance from her mother. The power had passed by her siblings to land full force on her, and it had made John’ra nervous.
‘Bethsay let it go,’ he’d said, pacing the floor when she tried to discuss her future.
‘I’m not my mother.’
Rosette had wanted to develop her powers, not hide them. She’d aspired to train at one of the teaching temples—Treeon, Bangeesh or maybe even Timbali—where she could learn the star-craft and more complex rituals, and train with the bow and the sword. Her mother had smiled when they discussed it, nodding as if she were a toddler begging to ride a green-broke stallion.
Rosette hated that memory. She shook it out of her head.
John’ra had stood dead against her training.
She hated that too.
In all other things, she’d found her father a fair man. He was born in the time of the Sea-goat and had a strong body, a pragmatic mind and, generally, a kind heart. Unfortunately, he’d had dreams beyond his money-lending business and horse markets—dreams that Rosette and her propensity for magic perturbed.
His political ambitions meant he needed his family to be a neat and happy clan. He didn’t want a fey daughter, outspoken and vivacious, raising eyebrows everywhere she went, getting involved in temple politics. But now it didn’t matter what he’d wanted. The man was dead. How could such a horrid event descend on her home without forewarning? She had seen the sea eagle return. That meant good things would come. What had she missed?
I should have paid closer attention.
There is no should. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind.
Still, if she had paid better attention, what would she have seen? Rosette pressed her forehead into her hands, sifting through the past. It had all gotten worse after John’ra discovered her and Jarrod behind the barn.
Every Sunday, when her father had gone to the horse markets, the two of them had sparred in the makeshift arena, or shot arrows at straw figures lined up against the hay barn. John’ra had returned early one day, surprising them—surprising himself. Both she and Jarrod were stripped to the waist, slashing at each other with practice staffs. Rosette had struck a winning blow, knocking Jarrod’s staff to the ground. His hands were in the air.
‘Tío. Kalindi. Tío!’
It was their code word for I give up.
‘What in the dark underworld are you two doing?’ John’ra had screamed so loudly Kalindi slapped her hands over her ears.
‘Training,’ she’d said, her breasts rising and falling as she’d gasped for air. ‘Don’t shout.’
‘Training