Page 71 of The Verdant Cage
The Seingalts and Khans eagerly lift their plates.
“This will do me just fine,” Gran says cheerily, indicating the pot nearest to her. It holds the simple wild rice porridge I’d left slow cooking all day. Her hand is shaking, but Jarek doesn’t seem to notice.
“Nonsense,” he says. “Smell this meat. Isn’t it glorious?”
The odor is rich and cloying, unlike anything I’ve experienced before. The pink, glistening color of it clutches my guts. Even without Gryphon’s warning, I doubt that I’d have tasted it.
“At my age, there’s only so much the stomach will tolerate,” Gran says.
“Let me help you,” I tell her. I scoop her some porridge and a portion of stuffed plums, since I know she adores them. We finished the last of our summer fruit at the Apothecary House weeks ago. “Gryphon? Oscar?”
I take their plates and fill them with food from my end of the table, avoiding the slippery meat. Oscar stares at it longingly, but he doesn’t object. Misia looks like she wants to force us to taste it, but Jarek is talking, commanding all the attention in the room.
“Let’s have some pruno, as well. Misia, pour us drinks.”
“Hear! Hear!” David calls, holding out his glass.
Jarek’s wife stands, filling our cups from a pitcher. Other than Gryphon bringing the meat to the table, only women have served the meal. That goes down sideways. I smell the brownish liquor she pours me and wrinkle my nose. I’ve never tried pruno, a drink normally reserved for village feasts. It smells like fruit gone bad, and those who drink it become silly or morose. But what’ve I got to lose? I take a sip. The flavor’s sharp on my tongue but not as bad as I’d expected. I take a second swallow and decide I prefer water.
Jarek drains his glass and holds it out to Misia for an immediate refill. “Our training is going well, wouldn’t you agree, Perez? Boudicca?”
Boudicca has a great, shiny lump of meat at the end of her fork, poised just outside her mouth. That’s when I realize what it reminds me of, both in sight and smell: the burnt flesh of Jarek’s wound. The bite of baked plum I’d just taken rushes back up, but I swallow it down.
“We’ve never been stronger,” Perez answers for them. His wife pops the pink bite into her mouth, smiling and nodding as she chews.
“That’s great,” Marina says, sounding as bored as humanly possible. She looks particularly lovely tonight, her hair bound in intricate braids that cleverly join into a rope trailing over her shoulder. Her dark blue eyes shine like river water and are equally cold. I notice she’s also avoiding the meat, cutting it into small pieces and moving them around her plate. “But can we talk about something that includes all of us?” she continues. “Like Friday’s party?”
David’s mouth tightens. “Quiet,” he says. Marina is unmarried, still a girl. She shouldn’t be wresting control of the conversation from an elder.
Marina turns her attention to me, ignoring the man to talk about him. “You should thank my father. He’s the one who decided your wedding would be this Friday, and that for auspiciousness, it must be held in the evening.”
I hear a rare jealousy in her voice, though I don’t think she’s glanced at Gryphon once since he and I entered. I hope it’s a sign that whatever existed between them is over now, at least from her end of things. It’s an unfair thought. I’m leaving, after all. The kind thing to do would be to wish for happiness between him and Marina, but I can’t do it.
“He insists no other day will do,” she continues. “His research says it must be a big celebration, as well. Our House is vital to everything inside this Wall.”
While she talks, Simon impersonates his father, adopting his posture and prim, disapproving look so perfectly that I struggle to contain my amusement. Lozen and Leonidas don’t even try, laughing aloud at the Seingalt father.
“Quiet, I said!” David barks.
But Jarek hardly seems to notice. “None of this would be possible without the Record Keepers,” he says magnanimously. “Neither the skill we’ve obtained, nor Friday’s joyous celebration. Your knowledge,” he says, raising a glass to them, “is our power.”
Marina smiles at me across the table. “And I’ve got the key.”
She glides her thumb below a white ribbon at her neck and lifts. We don’t have many locks in the Valley, which means I haven’t seen many keys, but I do recognize the style of this one from a book. It’s a warded key made of gray metal, the length of my pointer finger and half as thick. One end has an arched design that reminds me of the chapel’s stained-glass windows. The other is constructed of lines of metal as intricate as a maze.
It can only be one thing: the key to the Record Keeper vault.Simon must have told her I’d asked about it.That little snitch. I try to catch his eyes, but he looks away.
The meal continues. The Guardians, all but Gryphon, do most of the talking. Their voices grow rowdier the more they drink, until no one else can be heard above them. We’re forced to listen to crude jokes I only half understand, boring stories about their training, and gossip about the people of the Valley that finally draws Marina into the conversation.
My food congeals on my plate. The two swallows of pruno have given me heartburn. The room feels hot and crowded. Worst of all is that Gran’s fading. She should be in bed by now. I’m deciding that I don’t mind at all that we stopped doing dinner swaps in the Valley when I realize there’s a pause in the chatter and everyone’s staring at me.
My breath hitches. I glance around the table. Marina and Leo appear to be gloating, happy that I’ve fallen out of sync with the group. Oscar looks worried. Lozen’s trying not to laugh.
“Did I not speak clearly?” Misia asks. She means to embarrass me, but the fact of the matter is that she’s slurring her words. She’s drunk at least four glasses of pruno.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t listening.”
Misia’s eyes narrow. “I asked what your favorite part of your new wedding dress is.”
