The more she thought about her mother, the more she realized that her first, wholly negative reaction to Shandi’s description of Vennie had come from the fact that Jade had been exactly the same sort of strongwilled, brash, egotistical teenager—or she would have been if it hadn’t been for Shandi’s iron discipline. Having been told, over and over again, that impulsiveness was a sin against her bloodline and the gods, that she had to control herself or terrible things would happen, how could she not paint her mother with that same brush? But that brought up the question of nature versus nurture.
How much of the person she was today was because of her bloodlines and genetics, and how much of it had been created by her upbringing? Gods knew most of her career was based on a single sentence: Tell me about your childhood.
What did the gods want from her, really? They had sanctified her parents’ marriage, but not until after her conception. Was she, then, a child of the gods? The thought brought a shiver, because that was what the triad prophecy—the one that spoke of finding the lost sun—had called for. But if her parents had been meant on some level to unite the harvester and star bloodlines to create her, why had the gods chosen Shandi as her winikin?
“That one’s easy,” she said aloud. “To teach me to control the impulsiveness that got Vennie killed.” Or rather, the impulsiveness that had led her mother to sacrifice herself in vain. If Vennie had been a different, steadier mage, still allied with the star bloodline, maybe they would have listened to her. Maybe they would have tried to make her a true Prophet. And maybe, just maybe, she could have averted the massacre. And oh, holy gods, how different things would have been then.
Which meant . . . what? Was she supposed to be open to her emotions or was she supposed to control them, or was there some ineffable balance she was supposed to find between the two?
“Shit. I don’t know.” She knew it was ironic that she was a therapist who didn’t know how to deal with emotions, but there it was. Or rather, she knew how not to deal with them, because Shandi had taught her welclass="underline" Turn the emotions off. If you’re not having them, they can’t hurt you. You’re not vulnerable. Now that she understood the reason for those lessons, though, she wasn’t sure they played.
Magic isn’t the answer. Love is. The words drifted through her brain, bringing a complicated mix of reactions. A warm fuzziness came from Lucius’s having brought her the message, keeping it private between the two of them. But countering that warmth was a kick of self-directed anger that she had wanted—needed—to believe he’d meant more than he had, only to have him withdraw when she reached out to him. More, there was the layer of guilt she suspected he’d meant to in-still with the message, one that said her winikin wasn’t the only one to blame for the lack of real friendship between them. As a winikin, even a reluctant one, Shandi would have been fully interwoven with the harvester way of life, culturally programmed to support the bloodline’s doctrines. It couldn’t have been easy for her to see the rebelliousness of the star bloodline surfacing within Jade, when such personality traits had led to heartache and loss of face for the harvesters before. She should’ve said something, Jade thought as anger stirred. How was I supposed to know? I—
She broke off the thought train, partly because it wasn’t going to get her anywhere, and partly because there had been no change in the spell book she held open on her lap. The glyphs hadn’t risen up into the air and danced in front of her, shifting to become something else. The page was just a page, the book just a book. Which suggested that the magic didn’t come from anger, and further indicated that the key had to be some sort of emotional openness. Of course it couldn’t be easy , Jade thought morosely. Pissed off she could have managed these days. It was the other stuff she was going to have trouble with.
Magic. Love.
Shit.
Annoyed, she climbed to her feet and returned the Idiot’s Guide to its drying rack. Not sure where she was going, just that she needed to be up and moving, she stalked out into the hallway—and nearly slammed into Shandi.
The winikin stumbled back, putting up both hands as though warding off an attack. “Whoa, slow down!”
I don’t want to slow down, Jade wanted to snap at her. I’ve never wanted to slow down! But, knowing that her mood was as much about the magic and Lucius as it was the winikin, she held in the knee-jerk snarl and tried to smooth herself out. As she did so, she realized that her previously slow-
to-boil temper was heading toward becoming vapor-fast. What had happened to peace, serenity, and her counselor’s cool? She was off balance and reactive, borderlining on the drama she had so pitied in her patients, keeping herself above and apart from it all.
Which way of dealing was right? Was there even a right or wrong? Gods, this was exhausting.
Consciously exhaling, both her mood and a sigh, Jade said, “I’m sorry. I should’ve looked where I was going.” Shandi hesitated with her mouth partway open, as though she’d planned one response, but Jade’s apology called for another. Into that gap, Jade said, “I’m also sorry for how we left things last night. You shared something painful and I made it about me, not you.”
The other woman narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need therapy.”
That’s debatable, Jade thought but didn’t say, not the least because her own winikin was one of the last people she would’ve taken on as a patient. She might be going a little crazy—to use the woefully unprofessional term—with everything she was dealing with right then, but she wasn’t that crazy. “I’m not being a therapist right now. I’m apologizing for being insensitive last night, and for not always understanding what you need from me. I’m going to try harder from now on.” That much she could promise. And, as she said it, she imagined she felt a faint tingle of magic.
“I—” Shandi broke off and shook her head. “Never mind. We’ll talk about it later. You’re wanted in the kitchen.”
The star inside Jade wanted to ask who wanted her, for what, whether it had to be that exact moment, and what the “never mind” meant. The woman inside her, the one who thought she was starting to understand that the three “D”s were less about never rebelling than they were about carefully picking her rebellions for maximum effect, said only, “Okay, I’m on it. Thanks.”
She moved past the winikin and headed for the kitchen, but turned back after only a few steps when she realized that the other woman hadn’t moved. “I’m sorry. Was there something else?”