Heat rushed to my face. “He hasn’t.”
“Oh, he has,” she said dryly. “We’re not blind, Liora.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“And while I do find watching men sulk vaguely entertaining, I’m more concerned about you. Something’s off. So.” She handed me a mug. “Spill.”
I took the tea, wrapping my hands around the warmth, and sank into the opposite chair.
Bracken hopped down to the table and immediately began investigating the biscuits.
“Those are comfort food,” Agnes told him. “For Liora. You can have crumbs if she says it’s okay. Also, nice to meet you.”
“Tell her I prefer seeds or something of that sort.”Bracken chittered, and I smiled.
“He says he prefers seeds.”
“I’ll see what I have in back in a bit.”
“So.” Agnes gave me an encouraging smile. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“I hurt my sister’s feelings. And she wasn’t entirely wrong to be worried about me. And then I kind of froze Torin out all week, which is why he’s been moping about, and then Friday night I told him I needed space,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “And now everything is murky and muddy and I don’t know what to do.”
“Let’s unpack that a bit more slowly,” she suggested.
I let out a shaky breath. “Zara and I had a big fight.”
Her brows went up. “But you two are like”—she pressed her hands together—“super close.”
“Maybe too close,” I muttered. “She’s furious with me. And she’s right.”
“About?”
I stared into my tea. “Not telling her things. Like that I was hooking up with Torin. And about a truth spell I screwed up. Or even not telling her about me being a chartweaver.”
Agnes whistled softly. “Right. So. Those are not minor omissions.”
“I know.” My throat tightened. “I should have told her. She’s my sister. We tell each other everything. But I was afraid if I said it out loud it would all…evaporate. Or she’d give me The Talk.”
“The Talk?”
“About how I rush into things. How I don’t think. How I blow up my life and then expect everyone else to help me pick up the pieces.”
“Is that what you expect?” Agnes asked quietly.
I swallowed. “It’s what she thinks I do.”
“And what do you think you do?”
I stared at her, caught.
Because the ugly truth was, a part of me agreed. There were times where my optimism just failed me completely and I was convinced I was the absolute screwup who left a trail of messes across Scotland like glitter, clinging to everyone unfortunate enough to know me.
“I guess I am messy. Maybe that’s just my lot in life.”
Agnes tapped her fingers against her mug, thoughtful. “I think you’re giving yourself too much credit, darling.”
I blinked. “Sorry?”