Page 36 of The Verdant Cage
This is usually the shortest and most enjoyable part of the service. Villagers share birth and marriage ceremony announcements, plus miscellaneous updates, since Sunday chapel is our only regular gathering. It’s almost always good news we hear, but when Misia stands, Gryphon stiffens beside me.
What does he know?
Misia turns to the congregation, her face severe. “I would like to announce that my son Gryphon will be wedding Rose Allgood today, here in chapel.”
My face goes slack.
Gryphon flies to his feet. “No!” he yells. His muscles are flexed, every line of him sharp with fury, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. He’s never looked more alive—more impossibly handsome—and the sting of his rejection lands all the deeper for it.
I hear someone cackling behind me. Marina? Embarrassment roasts my belly. If humiliation was fatal, I’d be dead on the floor. Then I’d rise again to drag Gryphon down with me.
Any lingering childhood affections I had for him are finally and utterly snuffed out. I find I’m grateful for it. It makes everything easier. Cleaner.
Misia spins on her son, her eyes narrowing. “She’s your betrothed.”
Even as mortified as I am, it’s impossible to miss the angry set of Sojourner’s jaw at the front of the chapel. She’s the only Head Priest I’ve ever known. Her children and husband direct the hymns and light the candles, and they offer support and counseling outside of our Sunday service, but only she leads our ceremonies.
“It is not up to you to call a wedding, Artemisia Tzu.” Sojourner’s voice rings clear and true.
Because Gryphon is still standing, I have a straight line of sight to Jarek. His hand crawls to the mother-of-pearl knife strapped to his waist, and I flinch, remembering the gore pouring from Wendy’s finger. Sojourner must spot the threatening gesture, too, because her lips purse, though her voice remains strong.
“There are necessary preparations for such an occasion,” she continues, her spine straight. “Our ancestors were wise in threading structure and celebration into our days. We will not rush their timeline.” She narrows her gaze, asking a question that ought to be no question at all: “Or do you doubt our blessed Founders?”
My stomach tumbles. Misia looks to Jarek. I see no change, but she must read something in his expression, because her aggressive posture eases down a notch.
“Forgive me,” Misia says to Sojourner, somehow managing to make her submission sound like a threat. “You are correct, of course. In fact, let’s wait for anothersunnyday or two to hold the wedding. Bless it with glory.”
She returns to her seat, as does Gryphon, who drops his head into his hands. Sojourner glares at Misia for three beats longer before beginning her sermon with the traditional words.Bathed in Sun, rooted in Soil, Watered by the sky…
I’m in shock and hear none of it. Another sunny day or two? Now that her first choice has been shot down, Misia wants to wait until the tablet is fully recharged! They cannot be thinking of another Harvest, not so close to Jonas’s. Not on another one of my wedding days, for rain’s sake. The village would surely revolt. But what else could she mean?
Her words from yesterday return without my reaching for them, what she’d uttered in reference to the “beastie” attacking her.
Good practice for the big day.
My instincts tell me that, once again, I’m going to end up a part of it.
.
The chapel basement has the same wide footprint as the building overhead, though more modest in design. The ceilings are low, the walls and floor plain, gray granite. Long pine tables and chairs crowd all the space except for a small kitchen in the rear. Besides our after-service meal, we also hold celebrations down here when the weather outside is too cold or rainy.
I angry-whisper at Gryphon as we descend. “Did you have to humiliate me in front of everyone?”
I’d spent the rest of the sermon seething beside him, mostly so I didn’t cry. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, that I’d have developed a thicker skin. But no matter how many times Gryphon and Marina and everyone else in this village reject me, it still shivvinghurts.
He scowls. “You don’t want to marry me.”
“You don’t want to marry me, either,” I hiss. “What does that have to do with anything? Our union is law, Gryphon. There’s no getting out of it.” If there was, I’d still be an Apothecary.
He tosses me a glance, dangerous and sharp-edged. “Wouldn’t want to make a choicefor ourselves, would we?”
Then he stomps off to find Leonidas, immediately saying something that makes his friend laugh. Anger that’s really humiliation wraps around me like poison ivy.
Jarek and Misia, who preceded us downstairs, are engaged in a heated conversation with Perez and Boudicca Khan of the western Guardian House, Leonidas’s parents. They look like brother and sister, though I know they’re not. Familial proximity is of chief concern when assigning marriage partners; the Record Keeper House maintains meticulous genealogies on that front. But both Perez and Boudicca are compact and strong, with shoulder-length black hair, thick eyebrows, and eyes a light shade of brown. Perez wears a full beard and mustache. All four glance over at me as they talk. It seems like everyone else in the basement is sneaking looks at me, too.
Here I go, winning again.
I walk over to the food line to serve myself a bowl of stew speckled with dried currants, though I could sooner choke down my own hair. Wasn’t it just last night that I wished the wedding would be postponed, so I wouldn’t have to share a marriage bed with Gryphon? But privately hoping for more time and having your betrothed—who you used to dream of kissing—announce to the entire village that he detests you are two entirely different animals. Gryphon’s outburst, along with what sounds like a plan for another Harvest on our new wedding day, have landed like a slap.
