Orla was her host. She was only here because of her goodwill. “He deserves to be safe,” she said eventually. “He deserves your support.”
Orla nodded, her expression almost understanding. “If only I could make all my decisions based on what people deserved,” she said.
Aurora tried to practice magic again that day, but her thoughts would not settle. She could not stop thinking of Rodric, of what he might be doing now. Rodric captured, Rodric arrested, Rodric hurt by the rebels he wanted to help. Rodric, still in the middle of it all, while she ran far away.
She had left him there, to deal with his father and the fighting alone. He had wanted to help people, together, and she had run and taken that hope away from him.
Worst of all, she had barely thought of him since. She hadn’t imagined him in danger or putting himself at risk. A few moments of concern, perhaps, a request for Finnegan to write to him, but that had been it. She had not even penned the letter herself.
How could she have been so selfish?
Flames burst around the candle, growing larger and larger. She tried to pull the fire back, to make it dim. It only grew brighter.
So much practice, so much effort, and she still could not fully control it. Meanwhile, Rodric was actually helping. He was actually making a difference.
If the reports were true.
She knocked on Nettle’s door a little while later, too frustrated to practice any longer. “Aurora,” Nettle said, as she opened the door. “Are you all right?”
“Did you hear?” Aurora said. “They think Rodric is working against the king.”
“I have heard,” Nettle said. She guided Aurora into the room and closed the door.
“Tell me everything you’ve heard,” Aurora said. “Every detail. I have to know if it’s true.”
“I doubt I know any more than you.”
Aurora paced across the room. “If Orla has learned of it, then the king must have learned of it too.” And the king’s reaction would not be pleasant. “I don’t understand. Is he working with the rebels? They seemed to hate him. Or is he working alone? How would he know where to begin?”
“I do not know, Aurora. I wish I could tell you.”
Aurora suddenly noticed that the room was half-bare. Most of the pots of color had been cleared from the dresser, and the gowns were tidied away. Nettle’s pack leaned against one wall.
Aurora stopped pacing. “You’re leaving.”
Nettle nodded.
“You’re going to find out more about Rodric?”
“To find out if these stories are true.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Tomorrow morning? It was so soon. Aurora sank onto the bed. “Were you going to tell me?”
“Yes,” Nettle said. She sat beside Aurora. “Of course. I only found out recently myself.”
“Won’t it be dangerous?” Aurora said. “If Petrichor isn’t safe—”
“Nowhere I go is ever safe, Princess. Do not worry about me.” Nettle combed Aurora’s hair with her fingers. “Such lovely hair,” she said. “Do you mind if I braid it?” Aurora shook her head, and Nettle began to braid, her hands moving as quick as spiders.
“Take care of Rodric,” Aurora said. “If you can.”
“I will try,” Nettle said softly. “But I am a spy, not a fighter. I do not know what I can do.”
“Then stay safe. Promise to stay safe.”
“Only if you promise me the same.”
“I promise.”
Nettle tugged lightly on her hair. “Liar.”
She was braiding it into a crown, Aurora realized. Aurora reached up to touch the spiral of hair that stood out from her head, but Nettle pushed the hand away. “Not yet,” she said. “I haven’t finished.”
Aurora closed her eyes. A shiver ran along her scalp. Nettle’s very presence was soothing. And she had done so much. She had saved Aurora, in her own way. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For helping me, in Alyssinia. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”
“You would have survived, Aurora. You are good at surviving.”
“I don’t just mean that. You were my friend, too. I have not had many of those, but you . . . you made things easier. So thank you.” She wanted to say more, but she could not think of the words. She could sense Nettle smiling behind her, but the singer did not reply.
Nettle tied off the end of the braid and tucked it in. “There we are,” she said. “You look beautiful.”
“Like a princess?”
“Oh,” Nettle said. “Much more beautiful than that.” She hesitated, and then moved to pick up a folded piece of paper from her dresser. “Here,” she said.