Page 152 of First Ritual
“You sure?”
She smiled too brightly. “Absolutely. Have a great time.”
My heart panged as I left her. My cousin had been excluded from the coven and made to feel inferior. Now she didn’t know—or maybe want—to be part of things again. She loved it here yet remained on the social fringes. I couldn’t blame her after how she’d been treated, but excluding herself felt like letting them win somehow.
“Sir, good morning.” I stopped next to the esteemed loading his tray with pastries.
He looked at me, then continued loading his tray. “Miss Corentine. To what do I owe this very early greeting?”
Varden wasn’t a morning person? “I have some questions for you about my mother and grandmother.”
He groaned. “Right now?”
I grinned at his obvious despair. “Was it a late-night reading, sir?”
The esteemed glared. “You’re far too much like Rowaness.”
I tempered my grin. “Apologies, sir. Shall I find you again later?”
His glare ramped up. “And far too much like your mother. Come then, let’s find someplace quieter than this. Rattling cups. Scratching cutlery.”
He really wasn’t a morning person.
Varden led the way to a stone bench set down the narrow tunnels leading to his quarters. A beam of light illuminated it from high above.
“Peaceful,” I said.
“Thought I’d need it,” he grunted.
I waited as Varden sipped at a coffee. Not many magus drank the stuff—mainly grimoires and divination affinities. Battle affinities tended to treat their bodies more like a temple, as did apothecary-inclined magus.
Varden closed his eyes as he swallowed, then sighed. “That’s better. One has to wonder, when addiction brings you joy, whether we are lacking in joy otherwise or merely greedy in our pursuit of more.”
Did one? “Right.”
His lips curved. “Your mother placed far more worth on books and philosophical discussion than Rowaness.”
“I know, sir. They were very different in many ways.”
“Yet they had the same essence. That which makes us humane, they shared in equal measure. So as different as they were, they were deeply connected. Because they trusted in each other’s morality.”
Maybe they had. A sub-sixteen-year-old didn’t have such thoughts. “Isn’t that true of everyone? If we can trust a person will do what’s right in a tough situation, then we’ll always share a connection with that person.”
Varden murmured, “For how can we trust, when we are unsure of a being’s capacity for kindness and decency? Once we become aware that one’s capacity for kindness is different to ours, is there any going back to what those two people might have been? Or do those two people merely trust each other in things up to that place where their decency and kindness differ? If so, is there any point in maintaining a trust with such a person or shall we abandon that relationship to seek out people with a closer capacity to ours?”
Grimoires. I needed damn coffee to be in their presence. “What’s the answer, sir?”
“The answer is as complex as we are. Which would you choose? To have a full, trusting relationship with your best friends and loved ones? Or to have many relationships and trust people in varying degrees?”
“With my closest?” I asked. “Full. Or else why even call them family and friends?”
“Why indeed?” Varden said. “I grew up with your grandmother. We were born in the same year, and our mothers had a lot to do with each other as a result. We shared apothecary as an affinity, and we formed an easygoing friendship, much of which centered around the friendly jibbing of her battle versus my grimoire. We were very different, and I trusted your grandmother completely. Not while facing her in a fight. But in essence. There were lines your grandmother wouldn’t cross if every bone in her body were broken. I have known two people like that in my lifetime. Maybe you shall be luckier than I in finding relationships of that caliber. If you do, treasure them like nothing else.”
I would. After losing my twin, I absolutely would.
I tipped my face to the beam of light. “Was there anything romantic between you? I’ve wondered a few times.”
He chuckled. “No. Though I wasn’t alone in spending some months pining after her. Your grandmother was like a lightning storm. One could not help but watch her everywhere she went and marvel. And fear. There was only one man in this coven who never feared her. In fact, Caradoc appeared to rather like getting zapped. Anyone with eyes could see that they were intended for each other, and—I believe—your grandparents always knew it too. Which is why they never rushed the process.”