Page 42 of The Verdant Cage
Jarek strides from the cottage before I can.
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With his father out of sight, the most terrible shadow of loneliness crosses Gryphon’s face. I look away, sensing that any words of comfort would only make him feel worse, which I suddenly have no interest in doing. In any case, I have my own reeling emotions to contend with. Was I wrong about Jarek going Beyond? From the interaction I just witnessed, it seems he was wounded using a weapon the Engineer House created, not one from outside the Wall. Perhaps hope and desperation have clouded my judgment, forming connections where there are none.
“What’s in the blanket?” I ask, getting to my feet. I make a show of turning away to retie my buns so Gryphon has a chance to collect himself.
“A weapon,” he says.
“What kind?”
Gryphon is quiet long enough that I turn. He’s standing exactly where his father left him, eyes on the blanket he holds.
“Gryphon?”
He blinks as if waking up. His eyebrows gather in annoyance as he recalls, I assume, how much he despises me. “It’s new. For protection.”
He hasn’t answered my question, but he has raised a new one. “From what, exactly?”
“You don’t want to know,” he says, striding toward the rear of the house. He bumps me as he passes. I think it’s an accident, but it ignites a fire in me. I’m fed up with his attitude. I’m fed up witheverything. I storm after him.
“Oh, but Idowant to know,” I say archly. “What sort of animal are you hunting?”
Gryphon opens the back door and steps into the brittle fall air. The bleating of sheep carries from the barnyard on the other side of the village as I follow him out. He tucks the bundle under his arm, steps onto a ladder nailed to the rear of the cottage, and begins to climb. “We must be prepared for any danger inside the Wall, and for any threats trying to get in,” he calls over his shoulder.
He’s not getting off that easily. “Okay, and what exactlyisoutside the Wall?” Gryphon’s already halfway up and doesn’t answer. “I have a right to the information,” I call out, hoisting myself up behind him.
He reaches the top of the ladder and hops onto the roof and out of sight. I race to follow. When I’m on firm footing again, I continue. “You said there’s a chance Jonas is alive. I deserve to know what he’s up against!”
“Jonas is dead, and you’re a fool to think otherwise.”
The pressure inside me snaps. One second I’m upright, the next I’m lunging, every cell screaming to make him hurt the way he’s hurt me. I slam into him low, driving my shoulder into his knees. He staggers with a grunt, the bundle cradled tight in one arm as he pitches forward. His free hand snaps back, catches the collar of my shirt. We spin, a chaotic blur of limbs and momentum, until he hits the roof hard on his back.
I land sprawled across his chest, breath knocked from both of us, his grip still tangled in my collar, the weapon clenched in his other hand.
“Careful!” he barks.
“No!” I shout, “Not until you explain yourself!” I can hear years’ worth of rejection and hurt in my tone, but I don’t care how pathetic I sound. I’m tired of not knowing. “Why do you hate me, Gryphon? What did I ever do to make you loathe me this much?”
He rolls me off him and stands, setting his bundle on a ledge. “I don’t hate you,” he mutters.
I jump to my feet and grab his arm, forcing him to face me. “You sure act like it! You basically ignore me, even when it’s just the two of us, and on the rare occasions that you deign to acknowledge me, you treat me like my existence is a personal attack. Not to mention how you’re so disgusted by the prospect of our marriage that you humiliated me in front of the entire village!” I’m practically yelling now and have to force my voice back down, lest our neighbors overhear our first premarital spat.
“The idea of spending the rest of my life with someone who doesn’t even want to share a bed with me isn’t my dream, either, Gryphon.” I realize that’s not entirely fair to say—in fact, I appreciate that he hasn’t pushed for that intimacy, bare minimum as that ought to be—but hurt isn’t always logical. I take a calming breath, but my grip on his arm remains firm. “It’s clear how you feel about me. You’ve felt it for years, and I’m tired of not knowing why. So can you please just explain it to me?”
He’s studying me now, really staring at my face.
Still, he doesn’t speak.
I sigh and drop his arm. “You don’t have to lie about it. I’ve known for years that you’re in love with Marina. She told me the truth after the betrothal ceremony. I was just giving you the chance to confirm it.”
His eyes flash. “What?”
I hold myself against the cold. “That’s why you hate me, isn’t it? You loved her, and I guess I—” I swallow, surprised by my own candor. “I guess I was too attached to you, and it was obvious, so you abandoned our friendship. And now that Jonas is dead and I’m the only thing keeping you from marrying her, you hate me even more…” I let my voice trail off, processing the admission I just made not only to him, but myself.
“You got too attached?” He sounds dangerous.
“I didn’t mean to,” I admit, willing my voice to remain steady, “and I’m sorry for putting that on you. You were my best friend, and you wanted Marina.” My voice catches in my throat.Why am I telling him this?I guess with all the recent tragedy, I’m no longer willing to bottle up old wounds.
