Page 2 of The Verdant Cage
“Time,” he says.
I nod and rinse my hands, stealing one last look at the rows of medicinal plants I’ve nurtured all my life—St. John’s wort, black cohosh, wild bergamot, mint, the echinacea and hops. Seeing how they thrive, I allow myself a moment to imagine I might rise to today’s occasion. I could walk into the crowd with my head held high, feeling proud and ready, couldn’t I? I swallow a gummy lump as I pass by Jonas onto the cobblestones, shivering when the crisp breeze kisses my cheek.
“Nervous?” he asks, falling into step beside me.
I pinch the web of flesh between my pointer finger and thumb, a self-calming trick. “More like nauseous.”
Jonas’s smile falters.
Oh no.Nothing upsets my twin. If he’s distressed now, it can only mean that every worry I’ve had about today is real. Dread pitches my stomach with such force that I have to lean against the nearest cottage for support. I press my forehead to the cool plaster as the scents of lavender and beeswax wash over me. Fresh candles? I notice the neat row of tapers cooling on the Candlemaker’s windowsill. Each is the same height as the next, except for one that’s a quarter-inch taller. I itch to shorten it. Cire must’ve been distracted, perhaps by another villager at his door.
Probably asking for blessing candles, I think.Everyone wants extra protection these days.My belly churns again.
“You should try not to vomit,” Jonas suggests.
He and I have the same wavy brown hair. Duplicates of Mom’s light-beige complexion. Two copies of our dad’s broad nose, though neither of us inherited his heterochromatic eyes. My brother wears our shared features with an easy charm, though. He loves talking, laughing, people. Jonas is a jar of sunshine, whereas I’m more like…a well-made poultice. I don’t begrudge him his carefree manner. In fact, I’m thankful for it, grateful he didn’t end up a chronic worrier like me.
But then, Jonas didn’t see what I saw twelve years ago.
“Solid advice,” I say, straightening. The sound of the ornamental bells in my hair reminds me of a mosquito’s whine. “Thanks a million.”
My red gown tightens around me. I tug at the collar and take as deep a breath as the lacing allows. Forcing my mind to settle, I exhale and lift my eyes. All around, the unbroken white Wall soars to hold up a cloud-studded sky. I try to draw on it for strength, just as Gran taught me, but end up pinching the skin between my thumb and pointer finger again. It’s a bad habit that annoys my mother all day and a night. She says it makes me look like I don’t know what I’m doing.
“She’s not here,” Jonas says, reading my mind.
“Right.”
My whole House should be walking with me, all of us strolling past the neatly swept stoops of Noah’s Valley, gliding beneath the puffs of chimney smoke and golden autumn foliage, crossing the cobblestoned streets. But at the Council of Elders’ request, the other Apothecaries gathered early at the village square. Mom’s been there since lunchtime, along with our aunt and uncle, watching for signs of the Vex. That leaves Gran back at the cottage, skipping today’s festivities for the only reason allowed—she’s dying. Grief blooms in my chest.
I slide a hand into my pocket, touching the tiny medicine bottle to distract myself.It’s a good thing the others aren’t here, really. It would be difficult to leave the vial at Horace’s cottage without at least one of them noticing.
“You ready to get moving?” Jonas asks, knocking the side of the Candlemaker’s cottage and pulling me out of my reverie. He should be in the village center with the other Apothecaries, but he sneaked away so I wouldn’t have to make this walk alone. Since their early attendance was technically a request, it isn’t a rule broken. That’ll be how Jonas sees it, at least.
“Not remotely,” I respond.
“Good,” he whoops and pulls me forward.
I laugh and nearly trip over the hem of my crimson gown. I’m usually sure-footed, but I’ve never worn a dress. With my hair done fancy and my beaded shoes slap-tapping against the cobblestones, I feel like a painted goat. I long for my simple Apothecary linens, the smell of crushed herbs, the steady, predictable rhythm of the mortar and pestle.
Normally, my morning begins with the bell. Three gongs. Outside, the village hums to life. The Cobblers’ and Coopers’ hammers sing as Bakers pull loaves from clay ovens (when we’re lucky enough to have fresh bread). Farmers lead horses into the fields, Weavers tighten their looms, all of it thanks to the blessed Wall that encircles our community. For five generations it’s kept us safe, and all that time we’ve lived in harmony because Noah’s Valley runs like clockwork.
Usually.
Today, the gears are off.
At least I have a few more minutes with just Jonas and me, I think as he leads me to the village center. Of all the things I’ll lose today, it’s no longer living with my sibling that saddens me most.
“Is everything okay?” I ask him. “I mean, besides what’s about to happen at the square. You seemed off back at the cottage just now.”
His expression immediately shutters, that same ill ease returning. “I’m fine,” he says.
Without slowing, I reach for his hand. I know he spent the morning with his friend. Maybe that’s the problem. “Did you and Simon fight?”
“No, we got along fine.” His expression grows pinched. “I saw something I wish I hadn’t, that’s all.” He glances over at me. “In their vault.”
My hand flies to my throat. Just when I thought I’d worried about everything worth worrying about. An Apothecary in the Record Keeper basement is a major infraction. I glance around to make sure no one’s overheard him, but of course they’re all waiting for me in the village center. “Tell me you’re only teasing and you didn’t really go into the vault,” I plead.
Something painful flits across his face. “Shoot, Rose,” he says. “It seemed like good fun at the time.”
