Page 33 of The Verdant Cage
“If you want flavor, you should taste this.” He sets the cloth on the table and opens it to reveal what looks like four one-inch tubes of colored glass, one red, one purple, one green, and one a shade of blue I’ve never seen before.
“Go ahead,” he says. “They’re zoo zoos.”
Given what I’ve done to his congee, I’m reluctant to taste the food he’s offering. But the set of his jaw makes clear this is an order.
I reach for the green piece, marveling at the color. It’s as bright and as jewel-like as the chapel’s stained-glass windows. There’s no scent to it. I pop it in my mouth and close my eyes in ecstasy. It’s got the honeyed sweetness of a maple zoo zoo combined with something tart that makes my taste buds dance and pucker.
“That’s right,” Jarek purrs. “It’s called a rancher candy.”
The name is peculiar. “Are the Bakers making it?” I take it out of my mouth, studying the glittering green treat in wonder. Gran’s going to love it.
“It’s a secret between you and me,” he says, winking. “A little something a few of us are working on. You cannot tell anyone.”
That doesn’t sit right. “But you’ll share it with others? When you have enough?”
He chuckles. “Of course. Such a tender heart you are.” His expression grows serious. “Your mother was kind, too. Henrietta and I were friends, you know.”
I don’t like the sound of my mom’s name in his mouth. She never talked about Jarek, not that I recall.
“Hen was something special,” he continues, his face growing soft, then tightening with what I swear is grief. “Smart, fearless, striking.” His eyes flick to me. “Do you take after her in more than looks?”
The Plumber had said something similar, but it felt different coming from him. Jarek’s words, the way he says them…they make me wish I had on another layer of clothes. I raise my arms to rub the goosebumps forming there but manage to stop them at waist level, grabbing my elbows instead. For some reason, I don’t want him to know he’s unnerved me.
The sweetness has gone bitter on my tongue. Isthiswhat Mom and Gran were protecting me from when they told me not to draw attention?
“My mother was wiser than I’ll ever be,” I say.
He nods absently before switching subjects so quickly it leaves me dizzy. “Tell me about your knowledge. You understand herbs, medicines, the mixing of potions. Could you craft a concoction to make a plant wither, as easily as to make it thrive?”
It’s a bizarre question, and the way Jarek’s studying me makes my skin crawl. “I suppose I could, though a Chemist would be better suited to the task.”
He seems about to add something else when Misia and Gryphon walk in, bringing the smell of the outdoors on their cloaks. Misia has a swollen cheek, an ugly-looking scratch across it. Gryphon appears wary, his onyx eyes snapping between his father and me.
“Late for the first good meal we’ve had in ages,” Jarek says, leaning back. “A fine pair you two are. Pull up a chair and experience what food is supposed to taste like.”
I’m not sure who he means to insult—the home chores should be shared among the three of them—but he clearly intends for his words to sting.
“What is it?” Misia asks.
“Wild rice congee,” I say. I have to stop myself from offering to clean her wound.
“It doesn’t smell like it.” She eyes the stove suspiciously.
“I added herbs.”
“Maybe you’ve heard of them,” Jarek says. “They give food flavor.”
Ah, so Misia is meant to do the cooking. In school we learned of the bygone cultural mandate—women responsible for a majority of home duties—in our history class. It made no sense when partners were doing equal work in their trades, but a lot of history didn’t make sense.
“Go easy on Mom,” Gryphon tells his father roughly. “She said she had to dispatch”—here he glances at me—“another animal.”
Jarek’s face turns a deep red. He lunges toward Gryphon, swinging a fist. His son dodges the strike, but he’s backed against the wall.
“You know better than to tell me what to do,” Jarek says. His voice is low and dangerous, his hand still raised.
This is how they eat dinner?is my first thought. My second is worry for Gryphon. One of these days, the habit of caring what happens to him will wear off, surely. I force myself to replay the moment when he shoved Jonas in the basket, and that does the trick. I’m able to watch the Tzus’ excuse for a domestic scene unfold with something close to dispassion.
“It was to be expected,” Misia says, removing her sword belt.
