Night Rose, page 23
“That’s enough.” Neven watched her flop to the floor, his arms folded and then crossed the room to his bag. When he walked to her, he held out a packet of papers to her. “Here. Everything I could find on Vydian. There was only one file under that name—and not a whole lot. I’m assuming it’s the same person.”
Briatta had asked him to look into Vydian, to see if there was any information at Night Rose headquarters or in Weiler records. She hadn’t wanted to risk her standing with the Ackmanlee, or face Owena. Blessedly, Neven had agreed, and she stared down at the file she held. Vydian Lockwood. Skimming through it, she read that the woman was from Seradan. She was Ardorless, which was obvious from her lack of an Ardor mark—though, Briatta considered, she could be hiding something the same way she was—and worked as a caretaker for elderly people. On paper, Vydian appeared harmless. But why had she traveled from Seradan to compete in the Ackmanlee? Not to mention she’d picked out Briatta and Neven immediately; that wasn’t something any other competitor had done.
“Thanks,” she mumbled. Then, closing the file, she looked up. “Neven.” Thankfully, it was still early, though it felt much longer since that morning’s events with the thieves in Sour Soup. “Why didn’t you tell me that Owena brought you to Sour Soup before?”
Neven stopped in the middle of returning a sword to the rack on the far wall of the basement, his gaze turning to the floor. He was silent for so long that Briatta thought he might not respond at all, so she turned her attention to pulling on her shoes. She’d removed them in a desperate attempt to ground herself when she’d started to lose control of her Ardor for what felt like the hundredth time.
“It wasn’t my place,” Neven said finally, hanging the sword and facing Briatta. “I…it still isn’t my place.”
Briatta regarded him carefully. She saw her friend, but while Neven had always loved her and her family, this was a version of him that was surprisingly protective of Owena. While her aunt had helped him when no one else had, had given him purpose, education, and self-defense training, and had introduced him to an entire community that was still there for him in the D’ivories, Neven had always taken Briatta’s side, especially as children.
But they weren’t children anymore. That much had been made all too clear to Briatta in the recent cycles.
Now that she considered it, Owena had done the same thing for Briatta and her siblings as she had for Neven, but she’d been younger and didn’t remember much about their lives beforehand, unlike her friend. If she’d been Aden’s age when their father had left them…Founders, Briatta didn’t know how that might have affected her life.
Briatta had often defended Neven to her aunt when sibling-like scuffles had broken out, and Owena had caught them fighting. She and Neven had kept secrets from their aunt, as all children did. But if there was ever a situation where Briatta and Owena had to hide something from Neven—Choosing and Ardor aside—what would she do? Briatta honestly couldn’t answer that question; she thought she might cave and run to Neven just as she had with her Choosing, even if she wanted to believe she’d be able to remain as loyal to Owena as Neven evidently was.
Founders, yet another issue she’d have to address eventually.
A part of her warmed with affection for Neven because he was guarding Owena, allowing her aunt to be the one to share her life experience with her adoptive children. There was something special about that, something that would have otherwise felt stolen.
Now, Briatta and Neven were both older, and apparently, Neven was a little wiser. That aspect of character growth had skipped her entirely, Briatta thought bitterly. Maybe if she’d gained a fraction of the experience Neven had, she could have saved herself the trouble she’d caused.
It seemed Neven appreciated all that Owena had done for him because of his past, whereas Briatta took it for granted because she didn’t remember enough of the hardships she’d endured, only taking in the lavish life provided by her aunt.
Or maybe she just wasn’t as good of a person.
Briatta’s gaze caught on her shoes again. “Alright.”
Briatta saw the flicker of surprise surging through Neven, because she wasn’t the kind of person who would let an issue like that drop. The old Briatta, anyway.
Pushing herself to her feet, Briatta forced a smile and looked at her lifelong friend. “Vydian wanted to meet at the next store that had been stolen from, right? In about an hour?”
Neven, still looking at Briatta with an incredulous look on his face, nodded slowly. “Right.”
“Should we grab breakfast before we go? I’m starving,” Briatta continued. “It’s been a long morning.”
“What, milking a few cows getting to be too much for you?” Neven teased, though he still regarded Briatta with suspicion. She was glad for the shift, grinning over her shoulder.
“No, actually,” she said. “Sour Soup was being robbed when I arrived.”
“What?” Neven’s entire demeanor darkened as Briatta filled him in on the events of her morning as they headed up the stairs to the Belrose dining room. Only after they went through the doorway did Briatta realize she hadn’t checked who was there before entering. Since her fight with Owena, she’d always peered into the dining room first, avoiding it if her aunt were there.
This time, however, the one time that Briatta didn’t look, Owena was sitting at the table, absorbed in the papers spread before her. She looked up at the sound of Briatta at the door, her face lighting up.
What?
Briatta stared dumbly at the woman, confused at the scene before her. How could Owena be happy to see her after what she’d said in the carriage? After how Owena had punished her?
“Bria,” Owena greeted her with a warm smile, shattering the thoughts tumbling through Briatta’s head. “I’m sorry I haven’t been home. How are you? How is the Ackmanlee going?”
Briatta was frozen, her stomach plummeting through her legs and all the way to her feet. She swallowed thickly, but her mouth had gone so dry, it felt like cotton.
“O-Owena,” she stammered, both thrown by the friendly greeting and her presence. If Owena had been avoiding her all this time, Briatta didn’t understand why she was glad to see her niece now.
Owena’s smile faltered, her gaze going briefly to Neven before returning to Briatta, puzzlement blossoming in her eyes.
Wait.
Did her aunt not realize the emotional turmoil she’d put Briatta through when she’d disappeared after having given Briatta the list of requirements for how she was to live?
“I’m sorry I haven’t been home,” Owena went on slowly. “We have an…interesting assignment at the Night Roses. But Neven has been updating me on your progress when he’s dropped by. I hear that things have been good.”
Only just having considered that all her anger and frustration toward her aunt may have been unreciprocated, Briatta’s mind snagged on the fact that Neven had been reporting to Owena. She whirled to face him, her stomach dropping even further—if possible—at the betrayal. Neven, who seemed to have realized the same thing, shook his head and stepped back at the same moment Briatta opened her mouth to question him.
“I only told her you’d been doing well when I saw her at headquarters,” he said. “I swear it, Bria. Keep me out of this.”
Caught between her aunt and her friend, Briatta felt as though she would have rather been quite literally anywhere else on Carceron—even outside the biodome without protection.
Owena appeared to conclude that there was more going on than she realized, because her brows came together as she nodded slowly. She looked between Neven and Briatta, the thoughts clearly churning across her face. Finally, her mouth parted as she sucked in a sharp breath.
“Briatta,” Owena started, her head tilting. “Is there something wrong?”
Was there something wrong?
Briatta stared with disbelief at her aunt, and so much churned in her mind that she couldn’t find the words she wanted to say, her mouth hanging open like one of those aquatic animals in her history books, gasping for air where there wasn’t any.
Of course there was something wrong.
“Is there something wrong?” Briatta finally managed to squeak. Owena’s brows rose at the raw emotion in her niece’s voice.
“Yes,” Briatta continued. “There is, in fact. For starters, I know that I am totally fucked up, and I didn’t turn out the way you wanted me to, and I know I shouldn’t have said what I did, but you handed over the harshest punishment you’ve ever given me, and then you stonewalled me for two weeks!”
Now that she’d found her voice, the words wouldn’t stop coming. Just like the day she’d damned herself in the carriage on the way home from Malcalaire, but this time felt different.
“Owena, I’ve been questioning everything about myself,” Briatta cried, her arms waving. She felt like a child, flailing for control over her feelings, but everything was pouring out all at once, and she couldn’t help herself. “I can’t decide whether I was cursed with this Ardor because the Founders see how rotten I am inside, and I will fail the Ackmanlee and live in D’ivory forever as penance. Or if I will eventually destroy myself because I know that I should be okay with that life, but I am not, and I will keep fighting for something better because I am selfish, and that will be the end of me.”
The more she spoke, the more frustration flowed, and Briatta suddenly felt empty and exposed as she stood there, facing the one person who truly knew who she was inside and out.
Briatta wasn’t perfect, and she had a very long way to go before she would once again feel good about who she was at her core, but recognition was a good thing.
To her surprise, tears welled in Owena’s eyes. Her aunt’s beautiful features crumpled as she stared up at Briatta.
“No,” Briatta breathed, her heart clenching. Any hesitation she might have still felt toward approaching her aunt evaporated, and she rushed to the table, crouching beside Owena. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you again. Ever since my Choosing, I can’t seem to say the right thing. I…what can I do? How can I make this better?”
Owena placed her hands on Briatta’s cheeks, her skin warm and calloused as her index finger gently brushed some of Briatta’s hair back.
“I am the one who has failed you.” A tear escaped the corner of Owena’s eye, trailing down her cheek. She gazed warmly at her niece. “I should never have scolded you like that and then left. You’re right. I…I can’t imagine what you must have been feeling after your Choosing, and the choices that you’re now faced with for your future. You are not rotten, my darling girl. You are just young. Young people make mistakes; they’re flawed, and they have prejudices that they must work through. From the sound of it, that’s what you’re already doing.”
The words washed over Briatta like cool water, the shock of realizing Owena hadn’t resented her this entire time coupled with the dizzying knowledge that she’d been tearing herself up over…what? Nothing? This wasn’t what she had expected, and Briatta’s emotions welled up again in response to Owena’s, tears threatening to fall from her own eyes.
“Oh, don’t you cry, too.” Owena laughed and pulled Briatta into a hug, pressing her niece’s head to her chest and resting her chin on Briatta’s hair, stroking it the same way that she had when Briatta was a little girl.
“I’m sorry,” Briatta said. The dam of emotion behind her eyes released as she heard Neven leave the room. Tearing herself from Owena, she glanced after him, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve.
Owena held her niece at arm’s length, looking at her sternly. “I’m fairly certain you could do just about anything, and I would still forgive you, Briatta. Just because I steer you in a different direction—and I’ll admit I didn’t do it well this time—doesn’t mean I do not love you.”
Despite herself, Briatta’s heart swelled again, and she laughed as she shed more tears. When she finally collected herself enough to drink deeply from a cool glass of water, Owena tilted her head toward the hallway.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve been able to make enough to pay rent yet. I don’t even know how much it is, but it’s got to be more than what I’ve made.” Briatta realized she was rambling and closed her mouth.
Owena looked confused before throwing her head back, laughing. Caught off guard again, Briatta rocked on her heels and watched her aunt, perplexed.
“You do not need to pay me,” she finally said, smiling at Briatta. “That was meant to teach you how little many of our fellow Elfeans live on each cycle.”
Nodding with understanding, Briatta looked down at her feet. “I didn’t realize how much we had. In comparison, I mean.”
“You did, my dear,” Owena replied. “You lived that way as a child, but I believe you blocked much of it out. We must never forget where we come from, no matter how much it hurts.”
Briatta’s eyes heated again, and she looked at the ceiling as she pushed the feelings back. “I know. I’d forgotten,” she admitted quietly.
There was a long stretch of silence, and then Owena nodded as though she’d made a decision.
“You can come back in, Neven,” she called. He appeared a moment later.
“Well, I’m glad that’s resolved,” he said, sighing dramatically and pouring himself a large cup of tea.
Briatta picked up a roll of bread and tossed it at him in playful annoyance. He caught it effortlessly, taking a bite as he sat across the table from Owena. Her face still felt hot and swollen, so she took a clean napkin and dunked it into the cool water on the table, dabbing it on her face.
“What is it you’re working on?” Briatta asked casually, setting down the wet napkin to put together a small breakfast.
Owena sighed as she sat back in her chair, lifting her tea to her lips.
“It’s classified,” she told them over the rim of the cup. Briatta raised her brows, glancing up at her aunt. It was very rare that something was so classified she and Neven weren’t permitted to know about it—at least not at this stage in their careers.
“I promise I’ll tell you when I can.” Owena set her cup on the table and smiled at them both. “Well, I’ve got to get back to headquarters. I’ll hopefully see more of you in the next couple of weeks.” She rose to her feet and swept from the room. Briatta and Neven watched her go and immediately looked at each other.
One of Neven’s eyebrows lifted in silent question, and Briatta shrugged. Unfortunately, she’d been entirely too wrapped up in her own emotions and concerns about her moral dilemmas and life problems to involve herself with whatever Owena was doing. Now, though…maybe they’d be able to fit in some additional scouting if things progressed well with the Ackmanlee.
Chapter 23
Shortly after Owena left, Neven and Briatta followed. They were running behind schedule to meet Vydian, but it had already been an entirely too-eventful day, and it was only just past breakfast. Briatta hoped they wouldn’t have to deal with much more, even if it meant things progressed a little slower with the Ackmanlee. After all, it was only day three, and between Neven and herself—despite still being more than a little irritated that he was helping—Briatta was perhaps overly confident in their abilities to win this competition.
Vydian waited on the street corner of the shop they were visiting first, leaning against the wall of the building with her arms crossed and a bored expression. They were in an area of town mainly occupied by warehouses and businesses that required either manufacturing space or storage. Some buildings in this area were run down and abandoned, their exteriors peeling and patchy from neglect. It was a section that wasn’t often frequented by the average person.
When Vydian saw them, she pointedly lifted her wrist and pretended to check an imaginary timepiece.
“Sorry,” Briatta said without really meaning it, her hand going to her own timepiece at her throat. “I had an unexpected…annoyance this morning.”
“Got more action at a soup kitchen than we have since this whole thing started,” Neven said jokingly, although it was all too real of a statement.
Vydian pushed herself off the wall, straightened the lightweight jacket that was only meant to protect against the Polar Sun, and shook her head slightly. Briatta could tell Vydian didn’t believe Neven. Instantly, her friend stiffened beside her.
While Briatta didn’t care whether Vydian believed she could defend herself—and perhaps it was better her new ally thought she couldn’t—Neven had always been protective of Briatta. She couldn’t afford for that protectiveness to be a problem, especially if he was going to insist on following her around.
“Let’s go,” the woman said, turning and flicking her shining black hair over her shoulder.
Neven avoided Briatta’s pointed look before following. After a moment, Briatta started after them, too, her thoughts shifting to consider how much she could trust Vydian. While she had initially approached Briatta, apparently, she had little patience for tardiness and levity.
The store wasn’t far, and Vydian held the door open for them as they squeezed into the small, dim interior. The tiny bell above the entrance heralded their arrival, and a moment later, a young man appeared behind the front desk from a doorway that presumably led to an office or back storage area.
“Welcome, welcome,” he called brightly, looking over those who had entered his shop. “How can I help you?”
They hadn’t discussed how they would interview clerks or store, so there was a moment of hesitation from all of them as the man observed his three patrons.
“Might I interest you in some brambleberry liquor?” he asked. “Can’t keep the wares out front, unfortunately. Everything’s in the back.”
Even though it was only mid-morning, Neven brightened at the sound of something to drink. The man smiled and disappeared through the door.
“How much should we tell him?” Vydian hissed.
