Chapter Nine

AN OLD MEMORY came to Briar’s mind as she walked the path from the carport to her grandpa’s estate. She’d been sixteen years old and he’d bought her a car, shiny and new, with a bow on top. She’d been ecstatic. It felt like she was the most special girl in the entire world until it was Fauna’s birthday a few months later. She’d gotten a car too, equally shiny, equally new, and an offer. Come sit in on his board meetings once a month. A signed copy of his book on business sat on the dash.

She’d never hated a book more than that one—and she’d never wanted one more. She’d done everything right, she’d gotten decent grades, sometimes even spectacular grades, in all her classes. Sure, she’d caused some problems but she went to boarding schools with rich kids, she was hardly the worst one. She’d tried. She’d yearned. She’d cried. But Fauna had gotten the offer.

And she knew it was selfish. Even then, with a child’s brain, she’d known. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew how most people lived. She was a princess in a gilded castle demanding more, more, more. She was a spoiled brat. She’d never been hungry, never wanted for much of anything. They’d given in to nearly every whim but there was one thing she couldn’t demand—respect.

Well, fuck them. She had Fauna. Sure, Fauna would run the business and sure, Fauna was the cherished child, but Fauna loved Briar. And Briar loved her.

That’s why her feet kept moving up the paved path. She could play the tattletale once more. She could make her grandfather furious, a skill she’d never lacked. In public he talked of unity, of the fae and the witches coming together. Briar was pretty sure he honestly meant it; he didn’t want witches on top. He wanted equality. She’d seen him give to faerie’s political campaigns, donate to charities. But Constance Steel was synonymous with powerful witches and Soren was not just any fae. Some man off the street he might abide, but sullying his legacy with the Savros name?

He would hate it. And Cliff’s hate would be more powerful a tool at keeping Vestia in Wesvik than any engagement of Fauna’s. Just like Briar, Vestia longed for her father’s approval. Briar had seen her wince at his criticism countless times.

And neither Vestia nor Cliff would ever approve of this. According to Vestia, there had never been a question of what last name her children would take. Constance meant power. It opened doors. Right now, Savros tended to get those same doors slammed shut.

She pitied Soren. He deserved none of the hate thrown his way. He was a philanderer and a pain in the ass, but he was good. He wasn’t his father, not even close. He could have flown so much higher if he had been left alone. She knew he would have found his way, made something of himself. But he’d never gotten the chance, he’d been surrounded by the same people who enabled his father’s misdeeds. Then those witches had died and everything had been soured. Soren had been used his whole life. It was a wonder he was as decent as he was.

The estate house loomed before her. Maybe she would never be enough for her family, but now she wasn’t sure they were enough for her either. There had to be more than chasing approval. It was all something to work out later, if there was ever a later. And still, she loved them, whatever their faults.

The carved wooden doors pushed open silently but the sound of heels on marble started toward her immediately. Briar’s stomach twisted into knots. Who wouldn’t Eliana target? She had no fear. Why would she? She was a Goddess. As much as Vestia got under her skin Briar was absolutely terrified for her. She didn’t want the Goddess anywhere near her aunt. She shook her hands, trying to calm the power building inside her.

“Miss Constance. We weren’t expecting you today!” The housekeeper rushed forward. Her hair was in a tight bun at the nape of her neck and her arms were dusted with flour. “Can I get you a drink?”

“My grandpa’s here, right?” She’d seen his car parked outside but that wasn’t an assurance.

“He just got back from walking the lake and went to change. Would you like to wait in the sitting room or the library?”

“Sitting room.” Briar waved off the housekeeper’s efforts to lead her, assuring her that she knew the way, then settled into her favorite blood-red armchair. She curled her feet under her and looked out of the window. A family of ducks made their way across the water, three little yellow ones behind their mom.

The scene was peaceful. She hadn’t always felt that way here. There had been a lot of yelling. A lot of tears. But also just normal moments. Vestia beating everyone at board games. Her grandpa laughing in front of his enormous grill. Her father teaching her to swim in the lake. Sparrow small and lean and squalling because he’d busted his chin playing on the rocks. Briar had started crying as well at the sight of him. He’d gotten three stitches and a purple popsicle.

This house was full of memories.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t realize you were planning a visit.” Cliff Constance stood in the doorway to the sitting room, a glass of amber whiskey in his hands. He was smiling but Briar could hear the irritation in his voice.

Excellent.

She chewed her lip for a moment and furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry to intrude, I just needed to tell you something, Grandpa. It’s so unfair.”

He sighed as he sat in the seat across from her. “Go on.”

Briar trained her eyes on a spot on the floor, a perfectly polished whorl in the gleaming wood. She’d broken a lamp sliding in her socks here once. “You won’t want to hear it. You’re going to be so mad at her.”

“If this is about Evaria Jakobson then I—”

Well, shit. She didn’t want him to know about that. “No, no. That is… No, it’s about Fauna.” She shrunk under his gaze and the silence spread between them until all that remained was the ticking of the grandfather clock.

“Briar…” He swirled his drink and the ice sounded like bells against the glass. “Go on.” His voice was clipped.

Even lying, she hated the way he looked at her. The way she was a child again when she sat here. “She’s marrying Soren!” It sounded petulant. He wouldn’t forget this. Another chip at their relationship and Vestia would never know she’d done it to protect her. “I thought…well, I didn’t think they’d get engaged. I know she does it all the time but eventually one has to stick, and she’s getting older.”

“Soren Savros?” A muscle twitched in Cliff’s jaw. “Do you think it’s serious? I know you were…friendly with him for a period and I know your cousin finds the media attention satisfying. My own embarrassment has never seemed to bother either of you.”

“It must be serious. She had to know how it would hurt me.” The words did not ring as hollow as she expected them to. Lillia’s face materialized in her mind. Then Evaria’s words. What did Briar know of love? To put someone first? To choose them, again and again?

“Does Vestia know?”

“I think she’s telling her soon.” She had expected to feel elated. She had come to trick her grandfather, a notoriously difficult task, and she was succeeding. But inside her anger, hot and sharp, grew. Fauna had once said everyone loved Briar but it was a lie. They loved the idea of her. People flocked to her, wanting a piece of the Constance pie, but then they came to know her and they fled.

It had taken Soren about a week of having his mind back to realize Briar was not what he wanted. Lillia had taken longer but her conclusion had been the same. Her mother had left. Her father visited but they both knew it was compulsory. But it wasn’t them, she couldn’t blame anyone else. It was her. She wasn’t a child anymore. Her choices weren’t spurred by reckless adolescence. She was an adult—and something inside her was rotten.

“Briar.” Cliff put down his drink and scooted closer, his blue eyes holding an emotion she rarely saw. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I thought I’d be better. I thought I’d be the one someone would choose.”

“I could have given you a position, if you truly want one that badly. I always have a spot for you but you’re wild and free. No one picks you because they know you’re whole, there’s no piece of you for them to fill. We have all this money, it seemed cruel to use it to cage you when I could use it to let you fulfill your dreams, travel the world, fall in love.”

Again, Briar found herself blinking back tears. She didn’t believe him. There wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t broken or twisted. “My girlfriend left me.”

“Making Fauna’s choice all the more cruel. You should take a long vacation. Your store will keep. I hear it does well. Go somewhere and let me handle this. There will be no Savros marrying into the Constances.”

“He’s a good man.” Briar forced out, vaguely afraid her grandfather would take a hit out on him. She almost laughed at the thought of him in some underlit bar. “Better than his father.”

“Not a hard accomplishment.”

Briar chuckled and dabbed at her eyes. “Vestia said she’s going out of town soon. I don’t want to ruin her plans.”

Cliff wrapped his fingers around his drink. “No, I don’t think she’ll be going anywhere until all of this is settled. Can I get you a drink, sweetheart?”

“No, I think I need to do something.”

*

MAYBE THE FLOWERS had been overkill. Two dozen was probably too many. So many flowers they were heavy in her arms. She stood still, making sure not to fidget, as she waited on the door to open.

“No. Not right now.” Estoria, Lillia’s sister, shook her head as soon as she opened the door. “You need to leave, Briar. Let’s keep this professional.”

“Professional? I don’t sleep with my colleagues.”

“I highly doubt that.” She kept the screen door closed and braced her arms on the frame.

“She’s my girlfriend.” Briar adjusted the flowers in her arms, nearly choking on the overwhelming scent. Her arms twitched with the effort not to fling them in Estoria’s face. She might know spells but could she throw a punch?

“Was she?”

“Estoria, move.” Briar shifted like she would push past her, but Estoria stood her ground. She yelled Lillia’s name. Once. Twice.

Estoria slammed the door in her face.

The gentle thwack of roses hitting wood wasn’t as satisfying as she hoped. She stood stupidly outside the house for several minutes, waiting. No one came to the door. So Briar ran. Though she didn’t have on the right shoes, and she’d probably wear a hole in the thighs of her shorts, it felt good for her feet to hit the pavement.

How could she convince Lillia she was wrong? She wasn’t. She’d understood Briar. Her lack of self-control. She’d seen right through her, her lust for Nilaja—though she hardly thought she could be blamed for that. But so much else she could have done better. She could have put her first, been honest and open, not layered everything in sarcasm and humor. She could have meant it when she said she loved her.

Lillia should have been enough but she hadn’t been. Not enough to keep her eyes from wandering. Not enough for her to fight instead of flee. Not enough to stop her hand from going down Soren’s pants and now Fauna was wearing his ring and Briar was a full-blown idiot.

She kept running until she was in Esse Park. It was magnificent in the spring. The eternal blossoms of the place amplified by true weather. Branches hung low, weighed down by fruit and flowers. Couples picnicked under willows, laughing and feeding each other, and she yearned to trample their lunches.

She kept running, her feet aching. Someone snapped a picture of her and she flipped them off.

Screw everyone in this park having a nice day. Screw Soren. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was mad at him for but she wanted to throttle him. Screw Nilaja and the casual way they showed up and made her feel…confused. Screw the conduits who had once held court at this park, imploring the Gods to do whatever inane thing some dumb human asked for.

And screw Eliana and everyone who couldn’t see that she wasn’t Jenia Alvier. Briar didn’t know what she was going to do. How she’d sacrifice someone and not turn the blade on herself. She didn’t know how she’d live but at least Eliana would be gone.

But would the Gods keep here there this time? Would they hold up their end and manage their own sacrifice? She still didn’t believe what they told her—how they had no other options. She was sure if one of them turned whatever shimmery, bullshit blade they had in whatever shimmery, bullshit world they lived in on themselves they could handle Eliana.

Cowards.

Her chest burned and she kept moving, the landscape a blur, until she was at the temple ruins. Her palms were clammy. Her heart felt like it might stop beating. She didn’t know what she had expected. “Lorcus, you stupid asshole,” she muttered. All that magic and he’d made a park. What had the Gods truly done?

A spring breeze blew past, pulling at her hair. “I used to love this place,” she said to the wind, feeling foolish. She sank down, the ancient stone scraping against her back. Her flats were ruined, the pointed toes scraped and bent beyond repair. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Again and again.

She was so mad, so unbelievably angry at so many things. She’d found the answers she’d searched for all her life, and it had left her worse than empty. She had lived on the dream of knowledge fulfilling her, that she had a purpose.

Closing her eyes, she let the noises of the park overtake the screaming in her mind. She needed to calm down; she was working her way toward a complete breakdown. Her heart had been broken so rarely she had forgotten the sting of it. All the anger and sadness. The desire to blame anyone but herself. Usually she didn’t, usually she did just what her grandfather had suggested and took a long vacation until someone tanned and windblown made her forget whoever had caused her to feel sad. But she didn’t want to forget Lillia, she didn’t want to forget the way she made her feel.

She pulled out her phone to find a string of text messages from Soren and Fauna. Why had she gotten so caught up in this plan? Why hadn’t they just, for once in their life, spoken to Vestia and asked her to understand? She was so tired of these stupid childish schemes. She was tired of being that girl. What had once been natural now seemed exhausting.

She didn’t want Soren, she knew that. She wanted something real. Someone who wouldn’t play games.

But Lillia didn’t want her. Not who she was. Not how she was. Lillia wanted someone steady, someone who would know how special she was and bask in it. She deserved that. Briar had always known Lillia deserved better than her, but she’d tried.

Briar wanted to be someone better.

She wanted to be someone worth wanting.

But she had to kill someone. She had to do real blood magic. She’d never get a chance to be someone worthy. She’d just be more broken.

Lillia was right to run. To get far away from her. Briar would never be there to grow old with her. To have a life.

All those years ahead of her, all that magic, she thought she’d had time.

Now she didn’t want to see autumn.