He cursed softly. “Powder’s damp. Worthless.”
He pushed her in front of him and pulled his knife free. They crossed the barren Ring of Power. She only stopped long enough to grab her abandoned boots. She hesitated when she saw the lantern light in her parlor. A lecture was surely waiting for her inside.
Joshen squeezed her hand. “You want me to go in with you?”
Senna shook her head. “It’s probably better if you don’t.”
His broad shoulders drooped a little. He had to know Senna’s mother didn’t like him.
“Don’t worry. She doesn’t like anyone. Me included.”
“I or one of the other Guardians will be here in the morning. Bolt the door and stay inside until then.” He kissed her piously and stepped back, then waited while she mounted the steps. She knew he wouldn’t leave until she’d locked the door.
Through the window, she watched him go, but her gaze was drawn back to the darkness. She felt someone out there. She stepped back and pulled the drapes closed.
Behind her, Senna’s mother used a dried leaf to mark her place in her book. “Why are you barefoot?” She found a towel and tossed it to her daughter.
Senna dropped her boots by the door and started cleaning her feet.
“The rest of Drenelle’s class came home long ago.”
The words that hung unsaid made the air hard to breathe. Senna considered telling her mother everything, but she didn’t want to relive that conversation again. Besides the Heads had asked her not to tell anyone; she’d already broken that promise by telling her Guardian, but that was Joshen. “I spoke to Joshen for a moment afterward.”
“Guardians aren’t to have contact with Apprentices.”
Senna said the one thing she knew her mother wouldn’t argue with. “Reden and Joshen feel I’m still in danger. They plan on watching over me.”
Obviously flustered, Sacra took one look at Senna’s wet bandages and hauled out her healing kit. “That doesn’t explain why you’re late.”
Senna sat at the table, her cheeks burning as her mother cut away the soiled, damp wrapping. She knew what her mother thought—that she’d sneaked away to meet Joshen—but she couldn’t tell her the truth.
Sacra inspected her daughter’s wound. “There’s a very good reason Guardians were not allowed on the island before now. Your studies come first.”
“They do.” Senna’s palm was wrinkled and waxy. The stitches stuck out, black against her pale skin. The puckered wounds almost looked like the pursed lips of an old man.
Sacra applied a strong-smelling salve and started rewrapping the hand. “See that it stays that way. Because if that changes, so will your privileges.”
“I’m sixteen, Mother. Old enough to be married.”
Her mother tied off the bandage. “Senna, I don’t think you’re ready for this. The only man you’ve ever known is Joshen. And you’re so very young. How can you know what you want when you’re still discovering who you are?”
Senna cradled her hand against her chest. “He’s a good man, Mother. Why won’t you give him a chance?”
Sacra repacked her kit, each item in its place. “This isn’t about Joshen. This is about you. If you’re not strong enough without him, you’ll never be strong enough with him.” Leaning forward, she rested her hand on Senna’s arm. “You owe it to him, to yourself, to become the woman you’re meant to be.”
“Just because you failed doesn’t mean I will,” Senna said coldly.
Sacra’s gaze went distant, it was like she wasn’t here at all. “Failed? Yes, I failed. Your father. Your sister. You.” Her pain was almost visible, as if grief had been etched on her skin. “So you should learn from my mistakes instead of repeating them.”
As though some unseen weight bore down on her, Sacra took a labored breath. “It’s healing nicely. Try to keep it dry this time.” She trudged up the stairs.
Senna watched her go, regret building in her chest. Long ago, someone had told her she should pray that she would never experience the hurts her mother had, that she shouldn’t judge her mother without knowing those hurts. “Mother, I’m sorry. I just…have you ever heard the music that wasn’t really there? Have you ever danced with that music and found yourself somewhere else entirely?”
Sacra half turned, tears shining bright in her eyes. “Traveling? No. Such a thing is of legend.”
Traveling…Senna straightened. “What legend?” Legends were sometimes based on fact, after all.
Sacra shook her head. “The legends of women long dead.” She started back up the stairs with a set in her shoulders that indicated she would speak of it no more.